Baroota- the Hunting Ground Read online




  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright © 2016 Zach Fortier

  ALSO BY ZACH FORTIER

  Baroota: Definition

  Nietzsche

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  In Baroota

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Biography

  Copyright © 2016 Zach Fortier

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by

  SteeleShark Press

  ISBN-13: 978-0692651544

  ISBN-10: 0692651543

  Visit the author at:

  Website: www.zachfortier.com

  Blog: www.authorzachfortier.blogspot.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorzach.fortier

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/zachfortier1

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/5164780.Zach_Fortier

  Purchase other books by Zach Fortier in print, eBook, or audio by scanning the QR code.

  ALSO BY ZACH FORTIER

  CurbChek

  Street Creds

  CurbChek Reload

  The CurbChek Collection

  Hero to Zero

  Landed on Black

  I Am Raymond Washington

  “To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death freely chosen, death at the right time, brightly and cheerfully accomplished amid children and witnesses: then a real farewell is still possible.” ~Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols

  “Just pulled up outside,” Nick texted as he arrived in the parking lot.

  Texting while driving on post is a federal offense these days, so he waited until no one was looking. The military is so uptight now; nothing like when he was in, but those were different times.

  As Nick pulled into the crowded parking lot, people walked down the sidewalks in an orderly fashion, “brainwashed maggots” he would have called them back when nuclear war was the main threat and no one had ever heard of the Taliban or ISIL. The conformity was nauseating to watch, but part of the lifestyle, Nick supposed, and one of the huge reasons he got out when his time was up. It amazed him now looking back that he was able to survive the time he’d spent in green – and actually, truth be told, not only did he survive, he’d thrived, but it wasn’t always an easy gig.

  The phone vibrated in his hand, and he checked to see JoAnn’s reply, “OMW” light up the screen on the smartphone; it was their code for, “On My Way”. In his mind, Nick could see her entering the elevator and smiling as the doors closed.

  He thought back to the last time they were here for her work…it wasn’t a pleasant trip. He watched the crowds of people leaving the building now with a whole other agenda, looking at rank insignias, checking nametags. If Nick saw the motherfucker, it was on. The asshole would remember this day for the rest of his life. No matter how much he looked – and even when he showed up unannounced, scanning – Nick could never find him. That memory still flashed white hot in his mind.

  Nick could feel his back and chest tightening as the memories flooded back into his now blurred vision. He noticed the death grip he had on the steering wheel and tried to relax. It was six months ago when he found the texts on her phone, six months of daily searching for reasons to stay in this relationship. In the end, Nick stayed, hoping to rebuild and perhaps move on, if that’s ever possible after such a betrayal. Now it was day by day; back then it was minute by minute.

  Nick saw her leave the building as she swung open the double glass doors and walked down the sidewalk to where he’d parked. Still, he watched for any sign of anything amiss or unusual…six months, and it felt like yesterday. White hot rage started to boil up, and Nick thought, I have to calm myself. Breathing deeply, he talked in a low tone as the rental car’s air conditioner blew cold air on his face.

  “Chill, man, chill. Save it for when he finally slips and makes his face known.”

  As Nick got out and opened the passenger side door as she approached the car, a female captain walked past and commented, “What a gentleman he is.”

  Nick didn’t respond; JoAnn, however, replied to the captain, “Yes, he is! Aren’t I lucky?” while flashing a bright smile for all to see.

  Inside, thinking in a Sam Kinison-like scream, Nick spewed venom as he heard Sam’s voice in his head, Yes, you are very lucky – lucky my ass is still here at all.

  However, Nick said nothing and smiled as he closed her door. As he got in the driver’s side, she reached over, kissed him, and said, “How was your day? Did you work out this morning?”

  Watching the men walking past, still looking for “Daddy”, as she called him, Nick was vaguely aware that he answered her, something about, “Yeah, I had a good day, and the workout felt good today.”

  He slowly pulled out of the parking lot, watching everyone, scanning mirrors, looking for some smirk or gesture that would draw his attention to the now walking dead man. There was none.

  Nick thought, Man I really need to calm down. Seriously, I need to chill. There’s been no sign of anything going on for months now, time to move on. Enjoy today, and let bygones be bygones. Everyone makes mistakes, let it go.

  He started to relax, then in the darkest, deepest corners of his mind he heard a dark, evil voice; no, not really a voice, more like a thought that has a life, a mind, a will and a laugh of its own say, That will never happen! Never!

  Somehow they’d left the main gate, and Nick was now suddenly aware that she was telling him about her day; something about meetings, and sending out reports to the brass. She worked as a contractor, working as an IT consultant for the government. Most of what she said, Nick had known nothing about. They came from different worlds; well, maybe not so different at the beginning, but they were in different worlds now. As children they both had hard lives, and that was their common ground now. Nick dealt with it by his stubborn refusal to give in to anyone; she dealt with it by using her sheer, raw intelligence. You won’t meet a more intelligent person in your lifetime. Their past, however, had left its mark. They joke that they’re damaged goods, and it was true. Damaged and like-minded, soul mates…or at least he’d thought.

  Anyway, she told him if he was up for it, they’d been invited to dinner with one of her co-workers, Jessica.

  Nick asked, “Where does she want to go?”

  JoAnn said, “The Mashhouse.”

  He mulled it over in his head for a minute and then finally said, “Sure.”

  He liked The Mashhouse; they had amazing blondes, and the food was OK, too. By blondes he meant the beer, not the waitresses. The Mashhouse was a micro brew, and the beer they call blonde was usually one of the better brews you could ever hope to drink.

  JoAnn said, “Oh, by the way, Jessica will be bringing her boyfriend. I
guess she’s pretty serious about this one, and she wants us to meet him.”

  “OK,” Nick replied, “What’s his name?”

  She said, “Jay, I think, and I guess he was in the Air Force but did his time in MI (military intelligence). Now he’s here at Ft. Bragg.”

  Nick grimaced, thinking, Great, some lifer maggot that’s gonna talk all about his last duty station and how he’s been all over the world and seen it all and yet can barely tie his own shoes without a tech order to explain how to do it.

  But he said nothing like that and simply replied, “Sure, that would be fun to meet him.”

  JoAnn smiled and said, “Great, we’ll meet them at 6:30. I thought we could go earlier if you’d like, just so we can catch up and talk with each other.”

  He had to admit, she was trying to make amends…maybe too hard. His life has made him suspicious of everyone, and with good reason.

  They arrived at the hotel and parked in the parking lot. They’d stayed there many times, and it felt like their home away from home. Walking into the lobby of the Home 2 Suites, JoAnn turned to him and smiled as she said just loud enough for two nearby patrons to hear, “I was thinking I’d make you my bitch before we go out to eat tonight. Are you up for that?”

  It wasn’t a request. The thought made Nick’s head swim and his eyes grow heavy as he smiled back at her and said, “You’re the boss!”

  And she was…very much so now. Before the texting bullshit began, JoAnn was very much a woman who needed to be told what to do and when. Now she took charge, and Nick very much approved.

  The Mashhouse was just down the street from the Home 2 Suites in Fayetteville, so they left at 6 pm and were there moments later. The place was one of Nick’s favorites on their semi-annual trips to North Carolina. Opening the large, heavy wooden doors for JoAnn, they walked into the dark interior. The hostess asked if they wanted to be seated in the restaurant or the bar, and Nick chose the bar area, which was their usual. There were a couple televisions that usually played whatever sporting event was currently being broadcast, and tonight it was the Panthers game. Cam Newton was dancing in the end zone after running in another touchdown. Nick and JoAnn sat in a nook just behind the cashiers’ appointed station and ordered two blondes; happily, they found out tonight the blondes were blended with blueberries. They added an order of calamari. The beer and food arrived a few minutes later, and they clinked glasses before diving into the food. The bar side was noisy, so talking required more effort than usual. Nick and JoAnn people watched and made comments to each other about the other patrons’ social oddities while they ate and waited for Jessica and her new beau to arrive.

  Finally, Jessica arrived and introductions commenced. She introduced her boyfriend as Jay and then motioned to Nick and said, “That’s Nick, and this is JoAnn.”

  Jay laughed and said to Nick, “So you’re the odd man out, huh?”

  Nick asked, “What do you mean?”

  Instantly, the rage began to boil to the surface. Nick thought he was about the knock Jay’s teeth out at the first smirking comment about JoAnn’s past indiscretions. Jay must have sensed Nick was in no mood and quickly explained how Nick was the only person at the table whose name didn’t start with the letter “J”.

  Nick studied his face for a minute and decided Jay’s answer was honest, and possibly truthful. The group was quiet and, he noticed, uncomfortable with his intensity. So, Nick laughed and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. All three of you are ‘J’s”.

  The meal began with Jessica and Jay asking how the blonde was tonight and sharing the remainder of the calamari with Nick and JoAnn. Jessica was an outgoing, gregarious woman who swore like a sailor and had a toxic and funny sense of humor. They’d had dinner with her before, and she was always fun to meet with and talk to. Jay was much like Nick and spoke very little, whereas the two female co-workers immediately dove into the latest gossip from work.

  Finally, Nick asked Jay what he did for work. Jay carefully responded. Nick noticed as Jay spoke that every word was carefully thought about and weighed for accuracy. He didn’t speak lightly or off the cuff; the cadence of his speech was deliberate and measured. It was notable and immediately odd at the same time. His carefully measured speech took time, much more time than normal speech would, and Nick had to listen intently to make sure he didn’t miss a thing over the loud crowd responding to yet another touchdown.

  Jay was retired from the Air Force and was indeed in intelligence. He was now a civilian and worked on Ft. Bragg as a government employee. Nick and Jay talked about places they’d been stationed, what years they were in the military, and finally Jay asked what Nick did now.

  “Not much,” Nick replied. “Been a cop for most of my adult life, worked all kinds of assignments, and now I’m out. I needed to get out,” he explained.

  Jay looked at Nick carefully and began to ask questions. “Were you ever on SWAT?”

  “Ya,” Nick replied, “two different teams, worked entry teams in both.”

  “Do you still shoot occasionally?” Jay asked.

  Nick replied, “I do. It’s hard to let go of a skill set that kept you alive for so long. For that matter, I still work out as well, heavy and hard, although my body will never reach the levels it had when I was in my 20s and 30s.”

  Jay asked for Nick’s personal best for the mile.

  Nick laughed. “Four-thirty back in the day, back to back in a four-mile race.”

  Jay’s eyes opened wide. “You ran four miles in 18 minutes?”

  Chuckling, Nick said, “Yeah, a long time ago. I was on a combat competition team, and we were relieved from duty to compete against the entire command.”

  Jay smiled. “Wow, that must have been cool. So tell me about your career as a cop.”

  Nick brushed it out in broad strokes, and he noticed Jay listened intently now and how the careful cadence of his speech disappeared when he asked questions. Finally, Nick asked about Jay’s job and career; silence followed, and then the measured speech pattern returned. Nick made a mental note, “Maxwell Smart” is hiding something, and he wondered what it was. Finally, the dinner arrived and they settled in to eat.

  Jay explained he liked to run the ‘Tough Mudder” races to test himself now and asked if Nick had ever run them.

  “I haven’t. Not real interested in a contest like that, for no real purpose other than to finish. Reminds me of the running fad in the ‘80s where everyone had to run a marathon to be legit. Never mattered how fast, just run a marathon and you were a legit runner,” Nick explained.

  Jay’s eyes narrowed, and the quick and more normal pattern of speech returned. “So you like to have a personal goal, a speed to meet, or a max weight to push?” he asked Nick.

  Nick replied, “Yes, to just finish was never enough.”

  Jay nodded and looked out over the crowd excruciatingly slowly while he formed his next sentence. “How do you feel about women and children being kidnapped and forced into slavery overseas?”

  Nick’s first thought was, What an odd fucking question, how do I feel? So he asked Jay, “What do you mean how do I feel? Dude, that’s an odd question.”

  Jay put down his fork and picked up his napkin, carefully wiping his mouth. His measured movements set off red flags in the back of Nick’s mind. He’d seen this kind of measured control before on the streets, usually from a person who had an explosive temper. Nick took a big breath, relaxing, then he took his hands out of his jacket pockets to be ready for anything as he waited to see what Jay would do next. Awkward moments ticked past, and finally Jay responded.

  “I’m forming a team for a wealthy benefactor who I call the Director. He wishes to make an impact where the government cannot or will not. This person wants to make a difference when it comes to women and children being kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery worldwide. This person wants to remain anonymous and wishes to work off the books with the State Department and conduct rescue missions. The work isn’t government
sanctioned, but also not interfered with by the government. If we’re caught, we’re on our own.” Then another cautious, measured pause as Jay looked out over the bar in a dramatic, measured sweep, which finally came full circle back to meet Nick’s gaze. “Would you be interested in being on that team?”

  Nick leaned back in his chair and looked at Jay for several minutes without saying a word. He saw Jay thought what he was saying was real.

  Is this guy a whack job? Nick ran down in his head all the things wrong with Jay’s statements. The government knew about these operations, but didn’t interfere? A wealthy benefactor who just wanted to do good, worked with the State Department, but independently funded this operation? And you want me, a 54-year-old burned out cop damaged beyond belief, to join this team based on a conversation we have at dinner? Nick assumed the operation was classified “Secret” at the very least, and “Mr. I-Robot” just spilled it over dinner?

  Nick said none of this and instead just continued to run down the list in his head of all that was wrong with this conversation. The list grew and grew, and finally Nick replied, “No. Maybe a few years ago I could and would have been interested, but now I’m just trying to heal from all the damage. Just the thought of children being sold as sexual slaves fires me up. I’m calm now as we sit here eating, but trust me, I can fire up to toxic levels in the blink of an eye. You need stable, calm, tactical people on a team like this, not damaged old fucks like me.”

  Nick noticed the table had gone quiet as Jessica and JoAnn listened to their exchange.

  Jay nodded and said, “I agree, but you’d bring to the team an element I can’t train into the military guys I’ve recruited for this team. You’re an independent thinker, and more than that, a critical thinker. You’re used to working alone, and you understand the legal aspects of this operation. Your law enforcement background is unusual, at best. You’re still fit and shoot, and yes, you may be damaged, but I think everyone on the team is damaged in one way or another.”

  To Nick this was all bullshit, none of it rang true. He just said again, “No, not interested. My life now is taking care of her and trying to make the best of what life I have left to live.”