The Killer (9 page)

Early the next morning he was awoken by a gentle knock on his door and he rubbed his eyes his to clear his vision as Valentino entered with a breakfast tray.

‘Good morning Mr. Butch.
Please take this breakfast and hurry down.
You have much work to do today,’ he told Darren with a smile.

After eating his fill, Darren sat on the side of the bed, lit a cigarette and drank two small cups of the very strong, dark coffee.
He would have preferred tea, but that didn’t seem to be an option here.
Finished with breakfast, he quickly showered, dressed and started downstairs.
He entered the dining room and found the whole family once again waiting for him.
He was greeted with handshakes, smiles and good mornings by all, and he even got a kiss on the cheek from Rosa herself.
Several coffees and half a pack of cigarettes later, Steve arrived.
It was now almost seven thirty, so they left the house and everyone climbed into an old Transit van.

Roberto started the engine and they drove off, making their way up a barren looking cart track.
As the van crested the hill, Darren could clearly see four large wooden buildings standing in a neat row in the middle of a lush and green plateau.
The van drew up to the front of the first building and parked.
Once they had all climbed out Rosa placed two fingers in her mouth and blew a short, shrill whistle.
Moments later men started spilling from each hut.
Most of them were still dressing, tucking shirts into trousers and fastening buttons as they went.
There were around thirty of them and they appeared to be a tough looking bunch indeed.
Quickly they formed a neat row and stood to attention.

Rosa waited a moment and then shouted for everyone to hear.
‘This,’ pointing at Darren, ‘is your new close combat training officer.
You will speak only in Español to him.
His name is Mr. Butch, he is to be obeyed instantly, and questioned never.’
As she stood looking at the “boys,” she asked if anyone had any questions.

An incredibly large and tough looking man took one slow pace forward and, staring directly at Rosa, said a string of words Darren didn’t catch.
Steve whispered a rough translation.
‘That man says you are too small and weak to teach him anything about fighting.
He says you look like a child, a weakling, you should be sent back to wherever you came from, as he would be much better suited as trainer.’

‘Ah, a challenge,’ Rosa further explained to Darren.
‘He wants to take your job.
Do you accept Mr. Butch?’

It seemed to Darren that Rosa wasn’t too happy at this turn of events, as though it had challenged her authority, and he was none too pleased himself.
He’d had one good night’s sleep but still felt weakened after his ordeal in the oil drums.
Still, he knew better than to let any doubt show.
‘It’s all right by me, I don’t mind at all,’ he yawned in disinterested fashion.

‘Yes, but a challenge for power here among our brave E.T.A. freedom fighters means to fight to the death, and the challenger has the choice of weapons.
Do you understand this Mr. Butch, and do you still accept?’ she asked, checking with Steve to make sure the Irishman fully understood exactly what this challenge meant.

Darren held a hand up to Steve, ‘I’ve got it mate,’ he assured him while his mind quickly rationalised the situation.
Every fight he’d ever entered was potentially to the death, so nothing new there.
Also, if he needed to stamp his authority on the situation, as he clearly did, then he would h
ave chosen the biggest, toughest
looking man to make his point anyway.
All or nothing, he decided.
‘Yer man over there looks like he wants it badly enough, so yes, I’ve no objections to taking him on at all,’ he told Rosa indifferently.

‘Combat here, now, and Juan asks for knives, so knives it is,’ Rosa announced at the top of her voice as the men quickly formed a circle around Darren and his challenger - their champion, Juan.

As the two men stood in the centre, each staring fiercely into the other’s eyes, two very large, mean looking knives, which bore a striking resemblance to world war one era bayonets, were thrown in towards the pair.
Juan bent and picked up his knife and tested its edge.
He gave an evil grin as he stood and waited patiently.
Darren looked down at his knife and shook his head, kicking it away into the crowd.
The men watched as he pulled
The Killer
from his pocket and flicked open the blade.
He glanced across to Rosa, waiting for her approval of his preferred weapon.
She nodded towards him and to Juan, who also nodded his acceptance of the knife, and then gave the command for the combat to begin.

The two men started slowly circling each other.
Both adopted the classic knife fighter’s pose, bent slightly at the waist, hunched over, ever staring they went with outstretched arms.
Each man knew that any mistake, no matter how slight, could be fatal.
Slowly and deliberately they circled each other until Juan could wait no longer.
With the surprising speed and agility of a cat he lunged at Darren, swinging the huge knife as he went.
Aiming for the throat, Juan missed, but the blade did connect and dug deep into Darren’s face.
The sting of pain blinded him for a split second and a huge spray of blood shot outwards, then slowly trickled onto his neck and down the side of his shirt.
The men cheered, baying like animals at the sight of first blood.
They were in no doubt that their hero was about to be promoted to the job of head trainer.

For such a big guy, Juan’s quick and nimble dive had caught Darren off guard.
‘Jesus, that man’s fast,’ he realised.
‘Better pick yer game up son, or you’ll end up a dead ‘un.’
Now fully aware of his opponent’s capabilities and speed Darren took a single step backwards as Juan sprang at him again.
Nonchalantly he sidestepped the big man.
Missing his target completely, Juan fell flat on his face and rolled around in the dirt, all the time cursing aloud as he struggled to regain his footing.
The crowd cheered.
With a look of pure fury on his scowling face Juan dived yet again, swinging his knife in a vicious arc as he went.
Missing by a good six inches he landed smack in the middle of the crowd of men.

Darren calmly stood and lifted his knife arm for all to see, making sure everyone was witnessing this.
He folded and then retracted the blade.
Gasps of shock were heard from the crowd.
‘Juan will surely fillet the boy now,’ one of them whispered as the huge man emerged again form the group to find Darren facing him with a closed knife in his hand.
This only served to heighten Juan’s anger, for he took this to be a direct insult, not only to his fighting ability, but even worse, to his very manhood.
He could wait no longer.
He gave a terrifying and bloodcurdling scream as he ran like a man possessed, swinging the huge knife once more and aiming directly at Darren’s chest.
In a flash Darren ducked under the hissing blade as Juan passed and, jumping like a panther, he grabbed him around the neck and clung to him in piggyback fashion.
Quickly he raised his hand then delivered a crushing blow to the back of Juan’s head with the heel of
The Killer.
Juan was instantly stunned as the savage blow matched that of any hammer.
Falling first to his knees, then rolling flat on the ground, he promptly passed out.

A cheer went up from the men.
As fickle as any crowd could be, it seemed they now had a brand new champion.
Darren stood over his defeated adversary and flicked open the blade once more.
He bent and sliced open Juan’s cheek from lip to ear.
Nothing life threatening, just a little payback for the slice to his own cheek and one that would serve as a reminder of who the new boss was around here.

The men were shouting and cheering, screaming for Darren to deliver the deathblow, the coup d’état, and finish poor Juan.
This was, after all, a fight to the death.
Darren took his time as he looked around, staring into each one of the wicked, expectant, excited faces.
Then, very slowly, he shook his head and closed the knife.
He abandoned Juan and walked away towards Steve who had been watching every move made with avid interest.

‘You know, I think they picked just the right guy for a fighting instructor,’ he smiled.
‘When I saw the size of that Juan feller, and the size of that fucking great sword he had, I thought for sure you were a dead-un.’

‘The size of a man don’t mean anyth…’

Darren was cut off in mid sentence by the sharp crack of a single pistol shot.
He and Steve swung round together and stared in surprise.
The crowd of men stopped jeering and parted silently as Rosa emerged from the throng, pocketing an old revolver as she walked leaving Juan, now dead, in her wake.
Looking at the two shocked men she explained.
‘I had no alternative but to finish him.
Juan was a good man, but he was a famed knife-fighter and you easily beat him in a knife fight.
You even did it without drawing blood, so he was totally embarrassed, disgraced
and
dishonoured.
And a man with no honour - well, no telling what he would resort to.
Or
who
he would talk to.
You understand, no?’

It was obvious to Rosa that the Irishmen didn’t like what she had done one little bit.
But, they both fully understood why she had done it.
The two of them grudgingly admitted this to her.
She had been right.
Juan had been dishonoured and may have sought his revenge by turning informer - or anything really.
Yes, she had acted correctly and they told her so.

Darren still had blood running down his face from his wound so Rosa declared that training would commence the next day.
The men headed back to the barracks in silence.
The family and the two Irishmen climbed into the van.
As they drove back down to the farmhouse not a word was spoken.

Early the next morning Darren was in the van again, his cheek stitched roughly, but efficiently, by Rosa.
This time only Steve and Roberto accompanied him and, as they crested the hill, they saw every one of the men outside their barracks, standing to attention, waiting for their new instructor.
Steve and Roberto remained at the van, happy just to watch, as Darren left and approached the line of his new pupils.

Standing in front of them, he saluted and asked who was in charge.
A man stepped forward; he had what appeared to be only one eye, as he wore a piratical black patch over the left one.
‘I am Captain Antonio Rodriguez de la Vasco, and I am senior officer here,’ he announced as he saluted.
Returning the salute Darren told him to group the men into pairs and prepare for the first day’s training.
Within a matter of seconds they were paired up.
‘Hmm, they seem keen enough,’ he thought as he smiled at the speed of the pairing.
He was impressed.
He had never seen himself as a teacher, but he thought back to the calm, efficient instruction he had received from Collins and the authority that the man had possessed.
He had that authority now and knew it was his best ally in his new role of instructor.

Rosa had given him a little more information as she was stitching his cheek the previous afternoon.
He wasn’t sure he’d taken it all in.
Rosa didn’t have the gentlest touch and the pain hadn’t helped him to concentrate in Spanish.
However, from what he could figure out, E.T.A
.
were desperate for new recruits and they needed them trained quickly.
A breakaway faction of their organisation was giving up arms and attempting to reintegrate into the political structure.
Rosa did not approve of her government, and Darren could understand that.
He didn’t approve of his government either.
So, here he was with yet another set of freedom fighters and this time he was the teacher.

He gave his first order.
‘All weapons are to be removed and placed on the floor in front of the first hut.
This includes all knives, knuckledusters and anything else that could be considered as dangerous.
You will each then be searched by your respective partners.’
The men grumbled a little, but not one of them questioned the order, as they walked over to the front of their barracks and sullenly began emptying their pockets of all weapons, dumping them on the ground before returning to form their pairs.
As Darren walked among them he ordered the men to search each other.
Only two reported finding remaining weapons on their counterparts.
One was a cutthroat razor, which the man in question, Pablo, claimed was not actually a weapon, but rather a personal hygiene aid.
The other was a small but deadly lock knife and this, he was told, was just a small good luck piece.