Special Agent George Silvers liked coffee. It was the only true constant in his life. He bought his own beans, ground them to a precise texture and brewed each cup separately assuring the perfect flavor. That is where the Purest stopped and George stepped in .The coffee was then sweetened with three spoons of raw sugar and a double dollop of heavy crème. You couldn’t label George as a compulsive because coffee was the only thing he was compulsive about and it was a ritual that George needed. His clothes were unimportant. He would eat most anything as long as it came to him fast and was of sufficient quantity to fill his belly. His grooming was hit and misses… so he kept two bottles of cologne, one in his car the other in his coat. The cologne was used to mask the neglect in his personal grooming He despised working with others and the over-scent was his only concession to the conventions of others. Coffee mattered and a horrible world where creatures roamed and preyed upon the weak.

He lived alone. His apartment was mostly neat and unremarkably decorated. It had two bedrooms, his was a mess the other an office as well. But its clutter was of files strewn across a large desk and walls filled with grisly photos of crime scenes and bodies mangled and disfigured and frightening ways. All were the works of monsters and monsters were George’s business. He hunted them, tracked them down and put them away. If he was lucky he got to kill them himself. It was the reason he stayed at the Bureau. He knew that he had a one in six chance of being able to put a bullet or six into the body of the worst kind of beast. Perhaps even dispatch them to hell with a 26 inch Louisville Slugger. The irony never escaped him that he was the predator of predators. And he was the best.

Serial killers were his bread and butter the crème in his café. He was neither morbid nor stoic he was just very good at his job. And that job required him to look for clues, connections, insights all found in the photos on these walls. In his line of work people became bodies or parts of bodies. And being dead did not mean that their ability to communicate had stopped. George listened better than anyone did. Death is inevitable it comes when and how it wishes. You could die in your sleep from a horrible nightmare, or you could just slip away in that same nights sleep. You could pass peacefully and lonely or violently in the company of others. It can be quick or slow in coming. A massive heart attack or an angry knife through the liver, both could end a person the same way. You may be prepared for it’s coming or waiting quaking in fear. You could die young .You could die old. But in the end it is just the end. There are thousands of ways to die and of that George was aware in the truest existential way. His concern was those who die as unwilling players in grotesque Plays who would have otherwise died in some more natural fashion. Let God or Fate do the taking, not some demented bastard warped into a twisted demon by pain or neglect. He can do nothing about that terrible result except stop them from broadcasting their aberration, using the horrid death of innocents as a canvas for their expression. To bad –oh well-tough shit-life sucks-way it goes- George had no pity for the demon only purpose.

The call came at 11:00 p.m. he wasn’t asleep. He was smoking the one and only cigarette he allowed himself each day and it irritated him that he should be disturbed.

He barked, his Section Chief, quite used to George’s behaviors, continued undaunted.

George got the particulars put on his shoes and his rumbled topcoat and drove to the scene.

It was 4:00 a.m. before he walked his tired raggedy ass to the yellow tape inside the factory in the dark middle of New Jersey.

He stood as if it was SRO at a surreal Play…but this was all wrong. The crime scene was immense. Blood was strewn everywhere, great black slashes of burnt ash on the walls, and glass fragments covered the floor interlaced with what appeared to be long scratches in the concrete of that same floor. George noticed the broken window 30 feet up the back wall. There were two piles in the center of the floor, one …a neatly folded stack of clothes, the other a pile of bloody bones, ribs and spine, clearly human. At the top of the pile, two hands intact and folded over each other. The wedding ring still on the one left hand. On top of the hands a perfectly cleaned skull with the top cut off in a perfect circle. There was no flesh. There were no organs or entrails, in and odd way it was weirdly tidy.

George fell cross-legged to the floor. The forensic team stood behind him in equal revulsion. The photographer, blues and detective suits all stood back and waited for his word. All George could say was "Jesus wept!"

Minutes past as George looked over the scene from his unique position. Finally he stood up and called over the photographer ordering her to be extensive."…leave nothing out!" He screamed. "…every fucking inch." He raved.

He waved at the others, none all that eager to start, but moved by the anger and passion of their boss.

"All reports on my desk by 5:00 tonight. This is now a no shit 'George Case'. Get busy!"

They all knew what he meant.

* * *

He stretched and rubbed his stomach. He was satisfied and purred with pleasure. He wasn’t done sleeping but had risen for a moment feeling a cunning intellect at work upon the problem he had created. A giggle rose from inside him causing him to shudder with delicious pleasure. He was new and on the way to becoming. Confidence steeled his heart he was ready for the test. He felt that tired and soaring Intellect not yet knowing whom he sought. He smiled and purred deeper …it was wonderful. This event brought fullness to his life. He drifted off to sleep and thought of the cunning Special Agent Silver and the richness of his own new life.

* * *

Agent Silver stood looking in the mirror. He sighed, a sound that encompassed the 'giving-up' that an uncaring world heaped on its sad and weary denizens. George looked at his broken nose and juggy ears and thought of a God with such a clear sense of humor.

He wasn’t a pretty man, his eyes were too big and his lips too thin. He climbed in the shower recognizing that it had been too long since the last one. Two minutes later with all the strategic parts lathered and rinsed he climbed out and again looked upon his unshaven visage. He didn’t look the part of a FBI Agent. His Ph.D. and unfailing instincts slammed open unwilling doors. He chuckled .He knew what people thought of him and he could care less. The person in the mirror was well muscled, trained, and strong, all of it was hidden under the ' laundry - basket' style contrived to have people discount him. His own focus was total. People …people who are alive and breathing are easily distracted, inherently needy and therefore annoying. He purposely repelled them with his mien and behavior. He only demanded their attention when he spoke and nothing but the best was expected …there would be no silly platitudes or artifice. When the job was done correctly people didn’t die and when they were sloppy …then there were photos on George’s wall. He kept them there as a reminder to never drop his guard. People were asleep and believed that in this modern world the darkness was no longer a danger.

They are all wrong.

He pressed down the plunger that forced the coffee grounds to the bottom of the vessel.

The poured coffee steamed a delightful aroma into the air. Kona was his choice - rich and deep. He sat at the kitchen table and prepared the brew. He glanced at his watch then sipped the sweet concoction with obvious satisfaction. The phone rang he didn’t answer. It was 7:40 they should have called him at 7:00. He knew all the reports were delivered on time the night before and they had been pored over. His associates were stumped; which is why he wasn’t called on time. Someone of a startling intelligence did this crime and it was done to piss George off. " Rock star serial killers were the worst and the most dangerous…", he thought.

George decided not to call in. he would go in and allow the briefing. He would listen to the truths and the suppositions. He would say nothing and that would terrorize his subordinates. And sadly he would wait.

* * *

George watched the house burn. It was a glorious destruction. Firemen ran to and fro, hosing a nonplused conflagration. This fire would have its way until it was done. A police Lieutenant tapped George lightly on the shoulder as if he were afraid he wouldn’t get his hand back. He gestured to a waiting car. It was a short trip, without words, around the block to an alley that gave access to the back of the property. This was an upscale neighborhood in Rochester, New York. The lots were an acre and a half or bigger. To the front of this property the house crackled and snapped. It was amusing somehow as to why he was invited to watch a house burn. He soon learned. At the back of the property Police and Bureau cars surrounded a large barn -like structure. George was ushered over to a yellow taped door. The smell hit him like a wall. He took out a handkerchief and a small bottle of cologne. He tore down the tape and stopped to splash the cologne on the cloth. He opened the door and using the handkerchief found the light switch. Then putting the cloth over his nose walked in. A scene from the lower levels of Hell assailed him. In the center of the room was a pile of bones. The bones were not picked clean, connective tissue held together recognizable parts: rib cages, spines, hips, legs, arms and skulls. Two small skulls and two adults lay in a family line; the epidermis stripped with the muscle tissue intact. The eyes still intact stared at the door …stared with horrible accusation at George. The innocent and unprepared family from the front house he supposed. From the rafters hung intestine cut and tied at each end. Hanging like grotesque party streamers. There were no organs and most of the muscle tissue was missing. There was also a conspicuous lack of blood and no scorch marks. He carefully walked the room noting every detail. He spoke to no one just nodded to the forensic boys who grimly went to work.

"I’ve never seen anything like this …I don’t…."

"Just do your job Lieutenant that’s all there is now to do."

"Special Agent Silver do you ever get used to it?"

"Go to work! What in the name of hell is there to get used to?"

George walked to the back of the house and sat on a lawn chair and watched the house burn lighting up the night. He spoke to no one till the flame was almost extinguished. But a Fireman heard him say to himself "Nicely done you fucker. The fire is a nice touch."

It gave the Fireman a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

The edge on him was getting uncomfortable. There was no worthy female. The hunger was usually stronger than the pull in his loins. The becoming was sublime and when he fed again the change would be inevitable. He had read something of value in the Library and had further studied the subject on the Internet. It didn’t please him, it was to be a necessary perversion, but he would do what he must. A rush of pleasant waves coursed through his spine and brain. He thought of Silver and his eyes sparkled at the anticipation of the chase.

The briefing, from the first warehouse scene, was long and occasionally enlightening. Dental records and the fingerprints on the folded hands allowed Forensics to identify the remains. The victim was David Durham a stockbroker who had lived in Manhattan. He had left his wife a week prior to the discovery of the remains. His business trip had not gone at all well. His Town Car was found stripped in an alley in the Bronx. The scorch marks were just that, scorch marks, apparently done by a blow torch…Ash composition; paint residue, carbon, and burnt concrete- silica. Done with extreme temperature for no evident reason. The blood was from the victim …no finger-painting just flung in an artistic fashion. There were no fingerprints and no footprints. The blood intrigued George 'It must have been ensanquinated before the victim died then brought to the scene. The major muscle masses were expertly removed, not like a butcher but also not like a surgeon. The organs were removed including the brain a la Hannibal. All done without a single clue to the identity of the Perp.' George thought.

"What of the car?" George interrupted much to the obvious chagrin of the speaker.

George mussed, "…too impressed with his presentation …not on the material. I’ll have a chat with him later."

" If there was a struggle or blood shed, in the car, we found no trace of any biological residue… except prints. We have prints. The car was, cleaned and stripped of every thing remotely valuable…we believe…later." The Agent looked nervous. George let him stew a bit.

"Go on, Agent Watson, you are doing fine." George slurred an English accent for effect.

Agent Watson knew George well enough to know that what he did was not meant as an insult but designed to get him out of his head and in the mind of the Perp. He stared at the boards in front of him.

"All of you!" George yelled. " All of you are missing the point. Think …Not one person…"

George stood up. " …no one here has got here, with me, without being more than bright and more than intuitive."

Everyone was awake now. George walked over to the boards.

"Goddam it… Look! There are no fucking clues."

George walked back to his seat and calmly crossed his legs. Watson looked at him then at the board then back at George then the light came on.

"Dear Lord… thieves didn’t strip the car… the Perp did. But he waited for the thieves to start so their prints would be on the car." Watson pointed at a man in the back. " Get me the names of those hoodlums from the prints and then start looking for their bodies."

George stood and walked out. Watson sat down and sighed. Working for George was tough. The others sat and waited until Watson gathered himself. Agent Petres stood and asked Watson if she could give her presentation on the second scene. She passed out folders just as George walked back in the room with a cup of coffee and his thermos.. Agent Petres cleared her throat giving a quick glance at George… she started her presentation.

"The house was torched …no apparent hot spot …no device. Probably kerosene in the living rooms. All evidence of the murder obliterated …High probability that the murders were done in the house… No ceremony …clean and fast while they slept. The scene in the garage was staged with similarity to the first event. Same perp. The garage was spotless …no extraneous blood or oval… The victims were named Drake; Dan-41, Diane –36, Dana –13, and Dennis-10. The neighbors heard or saw nothing. Diane called her mother at 9:00 p.m.… they talked for two hours. Fire Chief believes the fire was started between 1: 00 a.m. and 2:00 a.m."

"Fast worker isn’t he?" George offered.

"Yes…"

"Purposeful?"

"Theater and something else."

Petres responded in a very professional manner. Murmurs of approval arose from her peers. Petres smiled.

"What are you smiling at Petres? You are here because you are the best with the best. If you are looking for strokes go back to the Des Moines Police Department. As for the rest of you, she may be a women but it is you who should be seeking her approval. If you have contained yourself Petres …continue."

George never moved a muscle or changed the tone of his voice. A young man came in with a greasy bag, George paid him, sent him on his way and unwrapped the burger and fries. He stuffed his face. Petres continued as if nothing was happening. George grinned through his mouthful of fries.

"Do you have any ideas as to a way for us to proceed?" George said as he wiped his mouth.

"The D fixation is interesting. And I believe he eats his victims. We need to look for a freezer full of steaks and roasts. Other than that, he has a sense of humor." Petres stood quietly waiting for George to respond.

"Dammit Petres get the fuck on with it. I know what I think and I’m not interested in reiterating my thoughts out loud …tell me what you think. What is so funny about this asshole?"

"The intestines were party decorations … he’s careful …artful. But it’s not ritualistic, it’s spontaneous …he makes it up as he goes …He’s doing it for you Special Agent Silvers…He’s knows who you are but he’s not trying to impress you. The hands, they are your hands in it…in the game…the wedding ring… He’s being spectacular… because it is you. Nothing mundane will do… so it’s art but its mocking … not you or us … he’s mocking death, mocking the ritual, making fun … making a joke."

" Is he done…" George slurped his soda " …making jokes, Agent Peters?"

"No …not until you get it."

* * *

George sat at the computer searching the net for anomalous crime reports. It was often a waste of time but it served to anneal his thinking, allowing winged ideas to connect where connection would not be normally possible. He snapped back and thanked a caring God. Here it was… the Chicago Police Department, ten victims, throats slit, dumped in a dumpster. Ten bosses of a notorious crime family wiped out and all at one time. All the corpses were bloodless and neatly wrapped in burlap. There wasn’t any real interest in an investigation based on what he was reading… no prints …no real clues.

"Ran into a little snag …did you ? We found what you left of the car thieves…one was a heroin addict …you washed him and left him whole, you butchered the other, only taking what you needed. Wrapped them up for me…my present. That was planned. " George sipped the Guatemalan Blend he had bought this afternoon. "The boys in Chicago, did you surprise them or they you? It was a glitch, unexpected, but you still had to do it correctly … so I could see it. You’re moving west… what’s there my friend…what’s there?"

He clicked on a cheap tickets web site and bought some not so cheap tickets for a flight out in the morning. He finished his coffee and decided to take a shower and a shave. They know him around here but the Chicago folks might need a snappy and true first impression.

* * *

The tow truck was found the next day…two in the afternoon…one hundred twenty degrees. The remains of the apparent driver were strewn throughout the cabin of the truck. The vehicle was towed to a cold storage facility for the comfort of the forensic team.

*

George sat at the Chicago cities Coroners’ Desk chewing absently on a stubborn hangnail. He had examined the bodies with the coroner, who had since gone home. The files were in front of him. He mused to himself in a low mutter. " The victims were all lacerated at the throat almost severing the head. No metal fragments in the wound. Not a knife…larger and thicker…hard plastic or stainless steel…small enough to hold …never drops it…strong grip… maybe attached to the arm. Wounds always leave something behind not these…Why? All of the bodies were bled…tidy…it was civil and respectful…odd, somehow. All the men had residual gunpowder on their hands…emptied their guns …didn’t hit him …no guns found. No clothes, no jewelry, no money, all their teeth pulled. Soveniers? This guy doesn't take trophies. Each man had an ID taped to his chest…made it easy for us. A no- brainer …not supposed to happen…caught you napping."

He got up and walked over to a steel drawer, opened it and pulled out the tray. George’s eyes moved over the body. He whispered "…deep bruising to the backs and chests…broken bones…contusions …from being thrown around…hitting walls and furniture…and the floor. You my friend were naked, washed, and wrapped in burlap…a poor man’s mummy? Or did he know you were crooks? …Stacked you in a dumpster …fitting …Ah! He was telling me…did us a service…pick up your trash and let George know." George chuckled. " The real trash was taken out and thrown on the alley … irony…the Chicago Police did notice that mess."

A detective walked in and looked George up and down in the most condemning way. George kept quiet.

"…Heard about you Mister Fed Agent Man. You look a fucking mess. How the hell did you convince or esteemed Coroner to let you stay down here after hours? Shit, you might stumble around and fuck up a-lot-o-evidence. I’m gonna kick his ass in the morning and maybe yours while I'm at it."

George looked at him with little apparent intetrest and sat back down and tidied the files.

"You gonna fucking talk or are you so fucking high on your filthy unshaven self that you don’t think you have to?" The insulting Detective continued.

The Coroner walked in and looked a little sheepish.

"Special Agent Silver? I forgot to tell you something I found. It's important. A minute amount of semen. I know what you’re thinking, dying men do ejaculate but this was in the tissue of one of the men’s throat. I couldn’t run any DNA analysis because it was mixed in with the victims blood traces. I'm going home now."

George nodded and motioned the Coroner to step outside with a wink. The Coroner looked at George then at the Detective and left.

"Captain- Detective Flannigan… isn’t it? Big dog around here. You are not so much a desk guy . You get out here in the street, in the dirt, and mix it up don't you? I like that."

" I don't really give a shit what you like Raggedy man?"

I saw that movie. Do I look like Mel Gibson? My ears are too big, I think. I got a little Irish in me too, on me mothers side. Sit down…please."

"I’ll stand." The detective sneered.

"This is a hell of a case. I got a serial killer running around the whole country and he ends up here in Chicago. Did I tell you I was born here? Anyway…These ten guys walk in on him and 'whoa' he's apparently jacking-off. He’s right there and these guys walk in guns blazing and he’s running around trying to fucking finish…dodging bullets …whacking…dodging…whacking. I couldn’t keep one with all that folderol going on.

…Bang, bang, bang, he comes then beats the shit out of these guys…kills them…cleans them up and leaves them for Chicago's finest. You I guess! The cities worst for the cities finest. One considerate and pissed off serial killer…he whacks them…ha ha …you get it?"

"What are you fucking crazy?"

The Detective was tall, maybe six-six or seven a full muscled 300 plus. George got out of the chair fast and swept the Detectives feet right out from underneath him. The big man hit the ground hard. George grasped hold of the man’s balls before he could recover.

"Now you listen to me and be real attentive or I’m gonna rip your nuts off. OK? If you stand up with any attitude I don't like, I will beat you so that your four weeks of accumulated vacation will be spent in a hospital. Do you believe I can do that, Captain-Detective? Because I don't have the time or inclination to play apey dominance games with you. I am the boss monkey here and you are now my worthy sidekick, my second…got it?"

The Detective nodded still trying to find air.

"I know the names of eight of the victims. All wanted by the Bureau. The way I see it…No, that’s not fair. The Bureau knows about you and your ties to these guys. The way I see it, your salary dropped better than… half? And your gonna have to re-negotiate because your 'protection'… failed. And that has made you cranky and very disrespectful. So you thought you were gonna come in here, set the fed right, find out about the killer… go get him and turn the body or the head, whatever is vogue now, to the people to whom you must re- negotiate. Fucking troublesome …the Chicago's Finest Widows and Orphans Fund is not my concern. Nor do I care that you are grossly underpaid, that the assholes Downtown figure in this non-existent fund when they consider pay-hikes and that you’re really a nice guy responsible to a lot of hard working and brave people. As well as the safety of the good citizens of this town. I…don’t care about politics. I am the original Son-of-a-bitch and you want to be my friend."

George let him up. Flannigan stood and let out his breath, trying to regain some dignity.

"Sorry…you stated the case pretty well."

George pulled over the phone and dialed a number.

"GE 1113… Yeah I’m here. Eight… that we know. I’ll send in a file on the other two. I’ve got Flannigan here…. He's scared shitless… it could get ugly… it’s a mess. Have a word and don't let this boil. Handle it for me …back to status quo. I don't want to have to come back here and fix things when I'm through. Right! Good man!"

George hung up. He said nothing either did the Detective. The phone rang. George motioned for the big man to pick it up. He did …listened and nodded and nodded again sighed, "Thanks.", and hung up.

"I assume the everything is back as it should be."

The big guy nodded.

"Thanks will not be required. You have been assigned to me as my assistant and body guard."

"You are shitting me …I don’t think you need a body guard."

"You underestimated me …as you were about to do with this killer. You and I are going to get a burger. And I’m going to fill you in."

"Why me? You know I’m compromised."

"Doesn't matter you work for me. It's better money, we got full dental. You are no longer the city of Chicago's protector. These son-o bitches are on their own. Trust me they will do just fine."

George stopped and looked up at the man. Then smiled.

"You are the best detective in this city. And you know how to juggle what life throws at you. You are unmarried. You are ex-military. God knows how they could have missed you…pretty big target. You want this guy because he upset a delicate balance and a lot more people would have got hurt and you were not going to have that. You’re are a good man, Flannigan. I need a good man for the end game. You hungry or what?"

"You gotta show me that move …Christ I never saw it coming."

* * *

The Lexus was ditched in Phoenix for something bigger. He broke into a lot and acquired a Lincoln Navigator. It had tinted windows and a great sound system. And no one had to die in its acquisition. He didn’t have much time, the change would happen soon and Silvers had to be ready. The snacks were gone. He placed the ice chest with his semen in the back seat and took off for Las Vegas. The hunger was grinding at him and the change was on him. The stress was too high. He was cutting it too close. But he knew he could do it …all will be well …all will be well.

* * *2

The flight to Phoenix was in the dark and unpleasant to the two exhausted men. George had hired a single engine plane, with a pilot a little too proud of his racy little plane and a bit too goosey with the controls. They finally bounced onto a small airfield outside of town. Tom Flannigan, perhaps too big for the Sporty Moody, peeled himself out of the aircraft with a satisfied and relieved grunt. They called a taxi and headed to Police Headquarters. Tom had pored through the reports as well as the aerial antics would allow. George filled in the rest.

The Las Vegas police were respectful and helpful, Tom wondered if they had dealt with the rumbled man before.

They both looked over the now cleaned tow truck. Tom noted tiny unnoticed gouges in the metal just rear of the driver side window. George smiled.

Neither man spoke as they drove to the desert site. The black and whites marked the spot, George told Tom to pull over. The Sheriff waved them to him and introduced himself. Tom acknowledged the greeting. George did not. He strolled quickly ahead his black overcoat billowing behind him in the 90-degree heat.

"Over here!" An officer called, having caught sight of them. Tom and the Sheriff ran to catch up.

"Anyone touch anything?" George barked.

"Look Agent…what ever your name…?" The Sheriff started coming behind George, out of breath.

"Shut the fuck up! We are running out of time." He bent down and dusted off sand at his feet then moved about six feet and squatted.

"Dogs?" The Sheriff just glowered at him. "Sheriff be a public pain in the ass tomorrow when I am not here. Answer the fucking question."

"Yes…" The man was not pleased at being talked to in this way. His brow furrowed and his blood pressure was surly raising.

"Calm down you will have a heart attack and we don't need any more bodies. Photographer?" George smiled.

The Sheriff called the photographer over.

"Sheriff I don’t have time for normal procedures…I want Tom and you to stand on either side off me and note everything, be brilliant for me. You are a thorough man and that’s what we now need. Shutter-bug you take lots of pictures, especially when and where you’re told."

George slowly dusted sand off the blanket just under the surface. He pulled out a large tweezers and lifted the blanket. The two dead officers were face down on another blanket. It was obvious that their throats were cut. He let down the top blanket carefully as the Photographer snapped away.

"Sheriff, we found the car it’s up on a mining road about a mile up-road." One of the officers on the scene commented. "The men say it was almost completely buried."

"Tell them to stay put…Special Agent do you need to look…"

"No…this was an accident…"

"An accident? Goddam… two of my men are dead…" The Sheriff was purple and sputtering.

"Calm down big fellow let him finish." Tom put his huge arm around the much smaller Sheriffs shoulders. The Sheriff looked at Tom’s big Irish grin and recognizing the threat, he calmed instantly.

"They were not supposed to stop him …he would have taken precautions…the drive was boring…not tidy …expedient…fun maybe but in a hurry …hasn’t much time."

George walked back to his car, both he and the madman were attached by an invisible thread. He opened the door of the car and sat down still musing. The Sheriff and Tom walked over to the car, stood and stared at George in silence.

"The tow truck pissed him off…Really angry…took a lot of time butchering the driver…caught up with the truck …jumped up and killed him from behind…climbed in…the scratches …didn’t care if we found the tow truck…pissed… no respect… he was stealing his car…and something important was in it."

"Is this shit real?" The Sheriff whispered.

"Learn Sheriff…Listen and learn." Tom whispered back.

"…He honored those men …quick deaths…buried them with respect …to the north …faces to Hades as the soul lifts to heaven…old ritual…ancient. He’s dumped the car."

A deputy yelled to the Sheriff. "Lexus… It was called in early this morning…"

The sheriff nodded and looked back at George.

"Thanks Sheriff for your indulgence." Tom smiled.

"Sheriff…Agents …come here." One of the forensic boys called them over.

They had uncovered most of the first body. The left arm was out stretched the hand clasped the index finger pointing.

"What’s over there?" Tom asked.

"Nothing…desert…then Vegas. The way you came."

"That’s where he’s going, George. The tow truck out here wouldn’t get too much attention…a cop car would have brought a lot of trouble …it was a matter of timing… for you." Tom said ominously.

"Sheriff! You run a great bunch of guys here…please send me the reports through the LVPD." George half-grinned.

The Sheriff took the comment and the grin as an apology.

"I would like to sit down with you over a beer some time…and start a friendship on better terms." The sheriff said.

.

"Tom…Let’s get out of here…you drive." George was still muttering to himself .

"Sheriff…it ain’t personal. He’s an asshole and he’s damn good at it."

"Just get the bastard who did this."

"Sheriff…if anyone can… he can." Tom got in the car and started it up.

* * *

His latest creation was a masterpiece. Silver will see his way and know his duty and his destiny. He ate what he needed and burned the rest. His back hurt. He tried to masturbate earlier but it was futile. The change was on him.

"What kind of guns do mobster use?"

"You reek…and don’t splash any of that high-karate crap on you…It just makes it worst!"

George took out the cologne and looked at the label. It wasn’t what Tom said it was. He paid a lot for it, hoping that would make some kind of difference…guess not. He splashed some on.

"Damn…OK we’re getting a room. And you are going to take a shower…with soap."

"The guns Tom?"

"Open your window. I can’t breathe."

George did …so did Tom.

"22 caliber clip load with a silencer…9 load if they can find it…favorite of the ‘take a last ride variety’…usually in - house cleaning. We were told ahead of time …no civilians. 38’s small six shot…easy to hide or throw away…defensive. 357 mag. chamber bored to hold five or six …nasty…leaves big holes… a big mess… and leaves a clear message."

"Ten guys …How many bullets found?"

"No count yet. They were lodged everywhere…beef, ceiling, walls, floor. This guy must be able to move real fast. Even with a stiff dick. Why didn’t he take a bullet?"

"I guess he moves real fast. Lets get something to eat."

"It will be a drive through."

"That’s fine…How tall are you?"

" Six-foot –eight…. 320."

"Its because I’m shorter than you, hurt your feelings and now you want to get back at me …isn’t it?"

"It’s because you reek and because you are shorter than me."

*

Rested and clean they called the LVPD. They were patched through to a unit on the site of a multiple homicide. They drove to the site. George knew it would be terrible to behold and he was right. Tom got to the top of the arroyo first and stopped, looking down at the worst thing, even he, had ever seen.. He said nothing. George caught up with him… didn’t even hesitate. He slid down the bank and fell to his knees. It was not the worst thing he had ever seen but it was close.

Three women were buried up to the bottom of their breasts. All three had silicone implants. A blond, a red head and a brunette all in a line. The middle facing ahead. The others turned slightly to the right and left. All were wearing sunglasses. George got up and walked to the front of the corpses. He called Tom over for a look. He blew out a huff. Took out his big forceps and removed one of the jeweled eyeglasses, carefully placing it in an evidence bag that an officer held open. He then backed off. The eyes have been removed. Each victim’s left hand pointed to a large stone in front of her. A small trench was dug in front of the stone and it appeared as if water had been poured into the gouge. The whole nine-foot length was still muddy. Tom sat back on a boulder and took in the scene. The forensic guys came over the lip of the arroyo. Tom waved them off.

"Give us a few!"

"Talk out loud what you’re thinking Tom. I‘m sticking here …I’m starting to take it personal." George was sitting in the dirt staring at the bodies.

"This is a painting…Three girl, three strippers, three sisters … The position means something…color of the hair …the rock …muddy …muddy waters…river …Colorado River. Officer?" He pointed to the closest man. "Is there a formation along the Colorado, close by, that is red, yellow and brown."

George continued where Tom left off.

"Not close by …the breasts …artificial…silica…sand…maybe mining …mineral mining…you’re right it’s the Colorado…high cliffs…the place is out in the open yet hidden…we’ll see it at dusk. He needs time… won’t find anything much of these women under the sand… I believe he ate their uterus’s…needed a certain kind of meat…There won’t be any more planned killing. As long as no ones got in his way."

The closest Officer wretched.

"Officer, when you gather yourself get on the horn and find me a Sheriff or a Park Ranger that flies helicopters over and knows the Grand Canyon." Tom barked and waved.

George stood and dusted himself off. He took off his coat. Tom was worried.

"Call Petres…" George threw Tom his cell phone… " She’s in Phoenix, tell her to have a full Tactical Team meet me …Officer, is there a Ranger Station in the Grand Canyon?"

"Yes sir. I don't know who's on."

"Find out …Tom, throw the officer my phone when your done …you and I are in a hurry."

George climbed out of the gully.

Back in the car, George drove and Tom looked over a map.

"I’m hungry and I’m thirsty." Tom whined.

"Me too. We’ll stop at the first place we find. That didn’t take you off your feed?"

"It’s upsetting …but if I’m not hydrated and fed I’ll not be strong enough for this monster. Because you don’t plan to take him in…You and I are going to kill him. Aren’t we?"

"Do you know I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in two days."

"Yeah...Me either …a good Kona or Kenyan sweet with crème."

George looked over at Tom who didn’t flinch.

" …With a great fucking huge juicy hamburger."

"You are fucking with me."

Tom just looked out the window. "What the fuck is this guy?"

* * *

The helicopter was waiting on the pad. The pilot was from the Sheriff’s Department out of Flagstaff. He waved them over.

"Are you Special Agent Silver?

George nodded, while Tom introduced himself to the Deputy. A larger helicopter roared over head and George pointed to the craft while yelling at the Deputy.

"That’s my people Deputy. They will stay on the ground till we give the order."

The large helicopter landed with a roar and ten heavily armed, helmeted and armored personnel jumped out. Tom walked over asking who was in charge. A smallish helmeted man raised his hand while pulling off ‘her’ helmet. Special Agent Petre was briefed and barked orders to her men above the din.

"A woman?" Tom asked George when he got close.

"You think I’m tough? She’ll kick your ass…Beats me up all the time.’

"Really? Tom turned a little paler."

"Lets go…Deputy when you are ready."

The three men climbed into the helicopter, strapped in and put on their headsets.

"I can think of four sites that may fit the description Tom gave me. It’s going to take a while the canyon is a big place. Indians, Explorers, Historians and Locals have given three areas the name Three Sisters. The colors mean nothing to me."

"That has something to do with late afternoon light." Tom offered. "Coffee George?"

George looked at Tom with an odd eye. Tom just smiled and poured from a thermos.

George took the cup looked in it, tasted it and smiled.

"Your welcome George. Its Guatemalan, your favorite, I don’t like it as much as other roasts. I got the Precinct to go with a good Colombian."

"Is there a hostage?" The pilot asked.

"Me!" George said while looking out the window.

"The guy wants George. George wins no one else dies. If the bastard wins then the killing goes on and, I guess, Special Agent Silvers has bequest me the honor of succeeding him."

"Shit …how bad is this guy?"

" …Bad or good doesn’t apply to Monsters…There! To the right …see the cuts brown, red and yellow?"

The pilot banked and came around. The late day sun just as depicted colored three distinct vertical faces. The river raged here crashing and throwing spray high into the air. In the center of the ‘sisters’ was a large rock jutting out into the river.

"Find a place to land pilot. Tom call in Petre. This is it."

"This is not one of the locations." The pilot hovered roughly looking for a place to set down. "I don’t see a place to set down…I’ve got a lot of draft …the canyons pretty narrow."

"Look… Deputy! There’s a good-sized sand bar down stream about a quarter mile. Set us down there." Tom reached into his holster and checked his pistol.

"Damn!" The pilot reacted to the modified 357 he had pulled from his holster.

"Some guns leave a message, Deputy!"

"Yes sir!"

The pilot swung the craft around and quickly found the sand bar and landed. George and Tom climbed out, waved the pilot off and waited for the Assault Team.

"I appreciated the coffee!" George slapped Tom on his big back. Tom flinched in spite of the friendly nature of the gesture.

"What is this thing?" Tom asked as they both sat in a shaded area up against the cliff face. George didn’t respond.

"No foot prints in or out…bloody mess…sandy gully…guys a genius or he’s a fucking freak."

"Maybe both…I’ve been doing this 23 years and this I have never seen. Except in dreams. I sometimes drink coffee at night then take a cold pill to agitate my brain… then this bastard or someone like him shows up."

"Damn George… who wins?"

"I don’t know. I always wake up. Let’s go…we got a hike. We don’t really know if this is the place. He could be fucking with us or we just plain missed."

Both men hauled themselves upright and headed up river.

***

Tom and George reached the rock and began looking for anything that would give them a clue to the killer’s whereabouts. The troop ‘copter came in over head and the team dropped down on ropes. George told them to fan out and look for anything out of the ordinary.

It was Tom who yelled first. A small cave opening was at the back of a side canyon. The canyon it self was narrow, no more than six feet wide.

He yelled over to Petre to call in to the ranger station if there had been any purpose flooding recently. She checked and yelled back "…They two months ago…For ecological reasons."

"Why is that important…George? Why is that important? Tom insisted.

"This cave opening was uncovered by the river. Tom, get a big gun from the team and wait here for me."

"Bullshit …you’re not going in alone. You got to have backup."

"No …he wants me. I’m here …you know how fast he is. If anyone goes in with me they die. I think there is some talking involved…give me that cannon of yours. You and Petre stay close…hide. He’ll have to come out one way or the other."

Tom handed George his gun, reluctantly. "You know I have an idea about this guy don’t you?"

"Yes…But that idea doesn’t help us. A lot of people died so this fucker could get my attention. There’s an ethic to it…one I don’t understand and I want to find out what it is."

"He’s going to kill you."

"We’ll see."

Agent Petre strode over to the two men. "Did I just hear you say that you were going in alone?"

"Look…we don’t know what ‘s in there. It may be a wild goose chase. I’ll go in and call out to you …Fan you’re men out behind cover." George asked Petre for a flashlight from her vest. She handed it to him.

"This is against protocol…your rules boss."

George was already in the opening. "I wrote them… I can change them." He yelled back.

He turned on the flashlight and crept along a long tunnel no more than three feet wide at any point. He couldn’t help visualizing, in trepidation, the tons of earth above him. A small explosive would end Special Agent Silvers chase for good. He forced himself to relax by deepening his breath. It made no difference, he started to panic again. ‘Why am I attributing sanity to this situation’ He thought just as he tumbled out of the tunnel, down a fairly steep incline and crashing into a rock. He stood and dusted himself off in the low light provided by the flashlight. He suddenly, ironically, and insanely, cared about the way he looked.

"Don’t worry about your visage Silver. I would have indicated formal attire if the ceremony called for it."

The voice was low-pitched and had a sinister lisp to it. The lower harmonics vibrated his testicles. George began to think that none of this was a good idea.

"Nonsense George, this is a wonderful idea." The voiced came from a different direction.

George jumped for the flashlight and managed to pull out the pistol at the same time.

"Now …Special Agent? Yes I can hear your thoughts but only if I’m close."

George ran the flashlight around. He was in a large cavern. Large stony columns supported the ceiling. The whole had about it a man made quality.

"No George not Pueblo… not Anasasi…Much - much older." The voice came from another direction causing George to spin and search the dark.

"Normally, I wouldn’t let anyone this close to me …and live. But this is a special day indeed. I have wanted to meet you for some time. Of that, we’ll talk in a minute. Your friends are getting anxious and we will need some time."

George was knocked over, face down, by a blast of wind, as he hit the floor a cascade of dirt hit his back. He struggled to his feet choking the dirt out of his mouth.

"I didn’t mean to be so dramatic. Are you all right?" the voice seemed too near.

"My people?" George worried.

"Tom and Petre, I rendered unconscious… the rest, I sadly had to kill. We don’t need fire works George."

"Jesus!"

"I hope He’s caring for them right now. Religion is another days conversation - should we have that day. But, for now, let’s get down to our business. You have deduced that I’m not human. That early deception of mine was necessary. It is against my ethics to deceive. So you can see, I am not the devil or a demon. It was just old fashion duplicity. If I had exposed myself to soon, tradition would have required a fair contest."

"I don’t understand any of this." George sank to the ground. "Just kill me."

"George, I’m about to be a mother. I need you to help me with our young."

All of George’s training fell away. He collapsed in terrible remorse. So many died and he has not done his job. This was more than he had ever encountered. Tears fell and splattered on the floor. His arrogance had destroyed him. Here was a being so different than any human that had come before and he had helped create it. God help him. His arrogance and sense of making the wrong right was shattered.

"Oh nooooo!" The voice sounded as sorrowful has George Felt. "I am not human, you have no reason to feel such failure. I am so sorry. It is our children of which I care - Your kind and mine. Sleep awhile and I will finish my transformation and then all will make sense once again."

George felt his eyes close and he laid his head upon his arm and slept. When he awoke he felt at peace, he had a dream that he flew over green hills and vales. He dreamt of a different time, a slower time. Then he realized where he was and the danger he was in.

"You are in no danger Dear George." The voice was different, still low, but feminine somehow. "Good …you hear my voice in your mind. I am, now, unable to speak aloud. I have become …but I am still young."

George arose and looked around, there was orange glow to everything in the cavern.

"Listen well, my George. We are family you and I. But not like you’re human families…much more intimate. We have souls both of us …you have lost your ability to know yours other than as a concept. My people have ours with us; therefore we remember down long corridors of time. I started as a male, born just a few months ago. I was the only one of my people. At first I was desolate … like you. Then I felt you. The George lived in this time and I knew I had to find a way to have my people live again. So I dug out. I fed on the live things that were in this canyon, till I gained strength. When I was strong enough - I started on my duty to task you. You see… when the George is tasked he thinks the thoughts that have me grow …and you become who you are born to be. It is how it has always been. I was overjoyed that the link still existed and all would be well once more. I have seen the ruin of this world."

"You’re speaking in riddles and I don’t get it!" George screamed.

"Oh dear…I told you we start as males. Each male, one at a time, must task the George, a George - one of yours - to earn the right to mate with a female. It is our highest honor to die on the lance of The George. The longer the game the higher the honor. You see we, my kind, all share memories, no battle is ever forgotten. We sing the tales to the very stars. It is like your…Super Bowl." The laughter sounded odd in George's head. "The male who escapes you, breeds and dies to feed the female while she waits in her nest inside a mountain. Do you understand?"

"I’m hearing you." George stared at the point in the cavern that was the brightest.

"There were no females…there is the rub. You humans have become cleverer in our long sleep. There was a time when we lived in a balanced world your people and mine, then the stone from the sky, a small stone that carried a very tiny life form in it’s center. I am the only survivor of my species. Most of your people died but fought back and thrived with deadened brains from the trauma. Gods look at the mess you have made of the world. Thank those same gods that I used your human cleverness to find a way to impregnate myself and invoke the change. It felt kind of perverse. I lived through it and it worked. I am pregnant."

"OK show yourself. This is to weird and all I want to do is put a bullet in your insane fucking head." George started walking toward the glow. " I hear you just fine…telepathy…fuck you!"

"You use that word in a negative way. So, without us, you bear so many children that the act of creation is now used as a curse. Fine then… look upon me"

Out of the glow came a terrible scream and an enormous form rose winged and monstrous till it was full above George. A long neck towered over him. A great fiery majesty, wings forty feet from tip to tip, golden scales covered the great body … a Dragon. George fell back in fear he looked at his gun and threw it away as a peace offering. He couldn’t make a sound.

"Calm your fear I will not hurt you. I’m going to give you back your soul, please relax. It will overwhelm"

George could not feel his body, then like a dream descending over him he could see all the days of his family. From his own memories, to those in the distant past…Beyond the time of the Romans and back to the great death. Then there… when the Drakon females flew in the skies above us. He was a Geu orge. He sought males, the Murdia er. He sought them and slew them, as was the ancient agreement. The immature male Drakon slew and devoured the people till they were found and killed. People bonded against their selfish nature and made cities, found a way to get along for their mutual defense, tasking further the males and making the game even better. Thus allowing for a balance between the two peoples of the Earth. The Drakon revealed to the people water sources and fertile valleys. The fires started by the Drakon provided nesting areas and thinned jungle and forests allowing for leas and grazing areas keeping the earth healthy and thriving. It worked well. George came out of the vision knowing it to be true. The male that had been baiting George, smelled his genes, and had come looking for him to lead him to this meeting. The killing was what they did, he and the Drakon. He would devour the males he slew or he would be devoured, thus sharing the genes. It was a sacred bond of deep honor and tradition. This male Drakon took a huge risk for his kind. If he had died at the Agent’s hand their race would be finally extinct. George looked up at the Drakon with no idea what to do.

"George or should I call you Saint George … at least they remembered the importance of your vocation. Don’t look for me …you won’t find me. It will be generations before the Drakon will again be full in the skies. But I have made scores of males and a half-dozen female in me. The males I will hatch in six regions of the Earth. One, in each three years, to start. The change will be slow but it will come. Both our peoples will save this hurt Earth. We will build slow. Get your Guild up and running. Train them and give them the long memory, give them back their souls. You now have that ability. While you’re at it give it to some of the nitwits, you elect, to run things for you. Farewell, Saint George."

George fell asleep in an instant. When he awoke, he climbed out of the now much wider tunnel opening. Tom and Lois Petre were just coming awake. Both looked at George and both said …

"You have got to be kidding…was that a dream. What the fuck just happened?"

All looked sadly at the bodies around them. A lot more will die. But if the vision was true the world will be a better place. There will the seeking and slaying of the famished and brutally cunning Murdia er and there will be Drakon one day soaring through the sky. And soon, there will be a covenant between both peoples. George did not share with his partners the total vision given to him in the Drakon made cave. If any attempt to find and kill this female monster should be undertaken, a truer horror would be visited on the human race. She will grow in short term to be larger and will fly faster than a 747. She will blow fire capable of melting whole cities. She will virtually be indestructible. A deal is a deal.

"Come on …we have a lot of work to do. We’ll need funding…"

George started walking upstream.

"The Vatican…" Tom suggested.

Both of his companions stopped to look at him. George turned around and scowled.

"What…You give the pope and a couple cardinals the Long Vision …we get an Order and we’re in business…Saint George and the order of …what…Irish Saints." Tom offered.

"Shut the…heck up."

"His mouth seems to be cleaned up. Do you think that we can get him to shave more than once a week." Petre grinned at Tom.

Tom looked at Petres red hair.

"On me mother's side."

Tom nodded. "I don’t know…he might look good in a beard."

"He can’t go in front of the Pope smelling like Brut." Petre wrinkled her nose.

"We’ll work on it."

"Are you two through?" George glowered at them both.

"Yes Sir!"

"Yes Sir!"

"Call in the ‘copter to meet us at that sand bar. While we are walking we’ll make up a good story about terrorists…or something."

"And when the Drakon start to fly?" Petre asked no longer smiling.

"Then we better be in business. I’m gonna need another overcoat."

"Another overcoat…" Tom questioned "It’s gotta be 95 degrees out here."

"It’s part of my look."

"You need a new look." Petre looked serious.

"Armor." Tom offered.

"And a horse and lance." Petre smirked.

"I paid a lot of money for that cologne." George barked.