The Spider
Eventually, these guys wear out and come home. However, they
still retain a few marketable skills. Images: Department of Defense
My editors here at FMG let me indulge in a bit of fiction from time to time so long as I don’t grow overly accustomed to the space…
After all he had been through, after all he had seen and done, Matt Eastman never imagined that going to college could be so intimidating. Matt was the archetypal non-traditional student. He found himself utterly alone in an unfamiliar town, living off his GI bill, about to embark on Life 2.0.
Matt had discovered the crummy apartment online and dropped his deposit sight unseen. It turned out that the pictures on the website had been taken during the Clinton administration. This place was a dump, but the price was right. The actual unit he rented had peeling paint and smelled vaguely of cats. The carpet looked like some teenager’s High School science experiment. As Matt had moved his few possessions in, he humored himself. He had seen worse.
That first evening, around nine, there came a knock upon the door. Matt didn’t know a soul. He had literally no idea who this could be.
Matt was fit and lived alone. He also had very few material possessions. He had always been conservative with money. What he saved on this dump was going into his savings account to facilitate something better later, ideally something he might share with somebody a bit softer and less hairy than he. However, that was down the road a ways. For now, with literally nothing to fear, he just padded over to the door and swung it wide.
There were three rough-looking young men standing outside. Matt sized them up without conscious thought. He couldn’t help that. It was simply residual fallout from his former life. All three sported shaved heads, wife-beater t-shirts, and an excess of tats. They seemed vaguely surprised that Matt had actually opened his door without any extra cajoling.
The apparent alpha of this motley trio spoke first. He didn’t bother giving his name, “I am the leader of the local neighborhood watch, amigo. We come around every month to collect the neighborhood watch dues. They are fifty dollars due on the first.”
Matt did some quick mental math, multiplying his estimate of the number of apartments in this complex times fifty bucks each month. He was impressed. This was a pretty lucrative racket.
“What does that fifty bucks buy me, guys?” Matt asked amiably.
The leader spoke up again, “Fifty dollars a month guarantees you protection against the less savory members of the local community. My men and I patrol 24/7, making sure nobody messes with you or your stuff. However, fail to pay on time and bad stuff will happen to you. That’s predictable. Participation is not voluntary.”
The other two men just stood with their arms crossed and smiled.
Matt pondered for a moment before proceeding, “Well, I certainly appreciate your keeping our cozy little neighborhood safe, but I don’t have cash.
Something tells me you likely can’t process plastic. I don’t see how I can pay you for your service. That and today is the fifth of the month. I don’t have to pay for five days when I wasn’t here, do I?”
The leader continued, “Whatever, jefe. As today is the fifth, we’ll prorate it. That means you still owe us fifty bucks. We’ll give you until tomorrow to find an ATM. Don’t be late going forward. This is a dangerous neighborhood. We would hate for something bad to happen.”
“Why can’t I just call the cops?” Matt mused. “If this place is so rugged, surely the police could come up with some handy tips.”
“Listen, buddy,” the spokesman said. “Cops don’t come here. We own those that do. It’s just us in this place. Nobody else is coming to help you. Just dig up fifty bucks by the first of every month, and you’ll be fine.”
Matt answered, “I’m a brand new student, so I’ll be gone most of tomorrow. However, I will be back in time for supper. I’ll make a point to be ready then. I appreciate the selfless work that you neighborhood watch volunteers do on my behalf. Fifty dollars seems like a bargain.”
The three men stole a quick glance at each other. The only one who had spoken carefully lifted the edge of his shirt to expose the butt of a heavy magnum revolver stuffed into his low-slung britches. Matt seemed suitably impressed, and the three men departed.
Matt pored over the exchange much of the evening and into the following morning. The next day was a blur of offices and administrative minutiae. In some ways, that wasn’t altogether different from his old job. Before he knew it, the day’s school registration chores were done, he had a class schedule, and it was time to head home. He didn’t bother with the ATM.
Matt slipped into his austere apartment and bolted the flimsy door. In his entire world, he owned one single item of value. He spun the combination lock off of his heavy plastic case and swung the lid wide. Resting atop his hand-built rifle was his tan beret, carefully folded. This he set aside. He then hefted his Mk 18 and worked the action by rote, its familiar dimensions falling into his hands like a piece of his anatomy.
He had built the weapon up himself to reflect the gun he had used during his time in special operations. He gave the suppressor a quick twist to ensure that it was still locked tight and then replaced the batteries in both the Holosight as well as the tactical light. Scooping up four full P-Mags, he then placed everything on his rickety coffee table.
Matt judged the space with a discerning eye. He then dragged his battered recliner over until it faced the apartment’s only door squarely. Satisfied that the geometry was right, he flipped on the outside light before extinguishing everything inside. He then unlocked the door and cracked it open about two inches. Sickly yellow illumination streamed through the opening from the isolated bulb on the landing.
Satisfied, Matt dropped himself back into his chair, quietly charged his rifle, and rested the weapon across his lap. The only adornment in the apartment was a professionally framed scroll from his time in the 2-75 Rangers hanging lonely and alone on his living room wall. This he could just barely make out in the dim glow from outside. Glancing at the luminescent hands of his expensive dive watch, Matt allowed his vision to acclimate, steadied his breathing, and waited.
