CASE DAY ONE

Munro heard the movement before he saw Edwards emerge from behind the shack. He wore army fatigues, army boots, a knife hanging from his belt. Edwards face was drawn tight, scowling. Munro shuddered, instinct setting off alarms. He directed a tentative smile, but Edwards ignored it. The former agent watched him advance, light footed, in a crouch, an attack mode. Munro got up and dropped into a defensive tactics stance. The wind picked up, shadows moved over the pine-needled ground. Munro was afraid.

He had faced similar eyes many times. Crazed eyes filled with hate, psycho eyes, killer eyes. He yelled, “Hey, partner, I’m not here to hurt you.”

Still advancing, beads of sweat big as thumb nails popped out on Edward’s face. The guy was half Munro’s age. Jesus, he groaned, he’d never be able to handle Edwards. Munro backed away, opening his palms as if declaring he was helpless. The damn knife bothered him.

Edwards slowed, quizzical lines crossing his features. Then with an ear splitting scream, KEE-AI, Munro froze and Edwards swung. Munro countered the blow with his left arm, but the force nearly knocked him down. Munro backed off, circling slowly, hands open, fingers held tightly together in a chop mode.

“Stop, Stop!” he yelled, but Edwards stalked him like a mountain lion cornering its prey. The army sergeant muttered something about the mission. Spittle flew. He rushed Munro.

Munro pumped a right, then a left, more rights and lefts into Edwards’ midsection. He felt the man’s ribs crunch and stood panting, his strength seeping out the toes of his boots. For a moment Edwards stepped back, his head swaying, breathing hard, but on he came firing fists at Munro’s head and body. The ex-agent covered up, taking shots on his forearms, circling, always circling. Edwards’ strength was awesome. As Munro gasped for air he felt red-hot pokers running through his lungs. Blood, he tasted blood in his mouth, knew his ribs were damaged. His arms dropped leaving his head unprotected. God, he couldn’t even raise his arms.

Munro grabbed a thick tree limb from the ground and swung it, caught nothing but air. With his eyes centered on the tree limb, Edwards slipped on a rock and went down. Summoning everything he had left Munro leaped at his tormentor and hit Edwards full across his head.

It seemed to Munro an eternity, an eternity measured in his gasps. Unable to move he watched Edwards get up to one knee, then stand, wobbling. Munro’s mind screamed, “Get out of here,” and in a daze he finally understood that Edwards was the guy he gave the ransom to.

He turned and stumbled to his Buick, but just short of his goal he fell down. His fingers crabbed at the rocky ground, trying to get leverage, but a boot smashed into his head. Even as he lost consciousness his fingers continued to march along the dirt. They went nowhere.