Johnny Vegas: The Death of Innocence

By Terry Huston

When you witness the execution of your parents at the age of seven, the impact of that one defining moment can be devestating and life altering. The life of hit man Johnny Vegas is a prime example. Fueled by the images of that night so long ago, Johnny’s lifelong pursuit of his vow of vengeance has left him cold and heartless. Feelings of rage and revenge have replaced normal emotions, like love and kindness...until a chance encounter with Jennifer Ashton ignites the flames of a hidden passion that he didn't know existed.

Jennifer Ashton is an award winning Investigative Reporter closing in on her next blockbuster story. Jenny is convinced there is some kind of secret organization taking out society’s trash. It seems really bad men are turning up dead in major cities across the U. S. Maybe that alone wouldn’t be so unusual, but these dead men all have one thing in common. Each one of them somehow evaded justice for their crime. They literally got away with murder.

Jenny's investigation has caught the eye of the Organization. Now, Colonel Jake and the Organization have a problem, a really big problem! Jenny's story, if it's printed, will send them all to prison for the rest of their lives. That’s bad, but that’s only part of the problem. To make matters worse, his top hit man had a romantic encounter with this reporter and he may be in cahoots with her.

That’s a situation the Organization can’t allow to continue. Jenny and Johnny have become a threat to the Organization.

The Organization deals with threats in the same manner it deals with violent criminals who get away with their crimes. They send in a team of assassins to eliminate them. Johnny should know. He has been their top hit man and has personally sent many unsuspecting men to the depths of hell where they belong. Now that he and Jenny are the targets of the Organization Johnny will have to find a way to defeat the Organization and save the life of the woman he has fallen in love with.
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• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry Huston
• Release date: Jan 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465985279

Terry Huston

I have experienced the highs and lows of being in business for myself for most of my adult life. I have to say though, nothing can compare with the range of emotions encountered in writing and finally publishing my first book, Johnny Vegas - "The Death of Innocence." I grew up in the Ohio Valley, about 50 miles east of Cincinnati. My first business enterprise was selling worms and minnows to fishermen. I was 12. I guess I knew at that point I would continue to persue a career in self employment. I served a four year stint in the U.S. Navy and attended St. Petersburg College for two years. When I attended it was called St. Pete Jr. College. I have two wonderful kids and six of the best grandkids you'll ever meet. No matter what else I do in life, nothing will ever top that achievement, and nothing will give me as much pleasure. I'm married to Kathy (Linehan) Huston, who is the most patient and understanding woman I've ever met, which would explain the longivity of our marriage. We connect on a level that makes everyday with her a pleasure to experience. I look forward to sharing the "soon to be published" sequels of Johnny Vegas. By the way, the book is a fictional account of a troubled man. The setting in the Ohio Valley, and some of the exploits of Johnny's youth, are accurate representations of my life in the Ohio Valley.

Book preview

Johnny Vegas

The Death of Innocence

By

T L HUSTON

. Smashwords Edition

Copyrighted 2011 T L Huston

Johnny Vegas - The Death of Innocence is a fictional novel about the life and times of a fictional character, and the fictional organization he works for. The events depicted in this book are not real and are completely fabricated for entertainment purposes. The character portrayed in this book is a fictional representation in its entirety. Any similarity to the existence of such a person is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible if not for the support and encouragement of my wife, Kathy. I have to admit, I continuously tested that support by subjecting Kathy to countless numbers of rewrites and changes. Her honest feedback was sometimes painful, but definitely necessary. In the end, she loved the story and the writing. Thank you Kathy! We did it!

My Editor, Amy Sims, was instrumental in shaping the story within these pages. She tirelessly reviewed and corrected the mistakes. As a first time author, her guidance was priceless.

Table of Contents

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1.

Charlie Bravo Six to base, the target is in sight. I have a shot. Are we good to go?

Roger that, Charlie Bravo Six, you are cleared to engage.

The muffled sound of the silenced, high powered rifle is nearly inaudible as I squeeze off one round. In an instant the back of the general’s head explodes. Brain matter and pieces of his skull splatter the officers standing around him. The soft point fifty caliber shell, designed to splinter into a thousand tiny fragments at impact, has worked to perfection.

No one heard a thing. His officers were standing there conversing with him, and then, BAM, the general’s head explodes, splattering them with what’s left of his brain. Now, it’s time to get the hell out of here, and fast. The diversionary explosions send the startled officers running in all directions. The ensuing confusion will provide us with just enough time to reach the extraction point where the chopper is waiting.

Running double time through the forest, I called our operations base to confirm a successful mission.

Charlie Bravo Six to base, mission accomplished. The target is down.

Say again, Charlie Bravo Six.

The target is down. The mission is confirmed.

Roger that Charlie Bravo Six. Your extraction co-ordinates are confirmed. The bird is waiting.

My target was a mass murdering Serbian General, an indiscriminate, cold blooded killer of men, women, and children. The evil this man embraced delivered him to a righteous vengeance.

My partner and I reported for our debriefing at 0600 the following morning. As we entered the debriefing room our company commander, Colonel Jake Jackson, shouted out through a thick cloud of cigar smoke, Outstanding job sergeant, you’ll get a God damn medal for this one. My intelligence officer tells me the Serbian’s think someone from his staff killed the general. A God damn thing of beauty Vegas, you’re a fucking killing genius son. You did a great service for humanity today. To God damn bad no one will know about it.

Yes sir, colonel.

Lighten up Vegas, and stand at ease. I’ve got some news I’m sure you’re going to be thrilled with.

What news colonel, I asked, not sure what to expect.

We’re standing down son, and leaving for the states tomorrow. Can you believe that shit! We’ll be back in Florida within forty eight hours. How do you like that Vegas? After six years the war’s over, at least for me and you. I’ll conduct your exit interview back at the base. So, hot shot, what are your plans after you leave the Special Forces?

Not sure sir, I guess I haven’t thought much about it. I do have some unfinished business to take care of, but other than that I’m not sure.

The sudden revelation that I was going home caught me off guard. I was being truthful with the colonel. I hadn’t really given my discharge much thought. I realized I was near the end of my six year enlistment, but I never really sat down and considered what I would be doing afterwards. I don’t really have a home, so where would I go? I’m not going back to the farm. I appreciate everything my aunt and uncle did for me after the death of my parent’s, but farm life is not for me.

The Special Forces has been my home for six years. I’m comfortable here. I like the environment, and the discipline of a military life. However, the military has made it clear, re-enlistment isn’t an option. They aren’t really interested in long term Special Forces members. I need to figure out what’s next, and where I’m going. The long flight back will give me some time to think about it. Maybe it’s time to make good on the vow I made at mom and dad’s gravesite.

Exit interviews for soon to be discharged Special Forces members normally take place on the base, not in an upscale restaurant like Ocean Prime on Tampa Bay’s waterfront. I was curious why the colonel chose this location.

Vegas, over here, the colonel shouted out from across the crowded restaurant.

Surprisingly, the colonel was in his dress uniform. A multitude of medals, including the Distinguished Service Medal, dominated the perfectly pressed, tailored jacket. I thought to myself, why would the colonel wear that uniform? It’s normally reserved for special occasions, like inspections or official visits by dignitaries.

Have a seat Vegas, the colonel barked after taking a hefty drag on his cigar.

Yes sir, colonel, I responded.

Look Vegas, you can cut the sir crap now. We’re both going to be civilians soon, so it really isn’t necessary.

Yes sir, colonel, I responded again. Old habits are hard to break.

Colonel Jake, slightly annoyed by my disregard of his request, slowly looked around the room to make sure no one was eaves dropping. Resting his elbows on the table, the colonel leaned over to begin his pitch.

In a low, barely audible voice, the colonel says, Johnny, I’m part of an organization that is very much like the military in that it protects the rights and freedoms of the citizens of our country. My code name in this organization is Jericho. Our country is in a crisis, son. Violent criminals are literally getting away with murder by manipulating our justice system. Innocent civilians are dying, and too many times the criminals responsible are evading justice.

"I know about your back ground Johnny. You have experienced what I’m talking about on a very personal level. Based on that experience, I’m sure you’ll agree we have to do something to bring these criminals to justice. That’s why I invited you here tonight.

Please, continue colonel. You definitely have my attention.

Johnny, I’m here to tell you that something is being done, and I’d like you to be a part of it. To fight this travesty of justice, a group of well connected, dedicated men created an organization to catch and eliminate these violent criminals. Our organization, on behalf of the victims and their families, indentifies these despicable individuals and administers the punishment the system failed to deliver.

I asked you to meet me here tonight because I think your particular set of skills would be very useful in our organization.

The colonel’s eyes, narrowed now into a piercing glare, searched for a clue to my response as the thick smoke from his cigar swirled up to the ceiling fan. His face was tense and reddened. His statement hit home, and his assessment was absolutely dead on. Just the mention of my background immediately flooded my body with feelings of anger and frustration over the injustice of my parent’s murder. The man in the hooded sweatshirt, the man who gunned down my parent’s, got away with murder.

Colonel Jake, I said. I do want to know more. However, I want to be perfectly clear sir; I’m not interested in working for the CIA or the NSA. Working for those agencies would interfere with the personal business I need to take care of.

Of course, I realized my skills would be well suited for those agencies, but they’re not for me. They have too many rules and guidelines to abide by. I respect the people who work in these agencies, but they simply don’t fit into my plans. If I don’t join the organization I’ll have to go it alone.

The colonel smiled and said, Johnny, based on what you just told me you’re going to appreciate what I’m about to share with you tonight.

First, we had a nice steak dinner and a decent bottle of wine. After dinner, we chatted for awhile about some of our missions, shared some laughs over some of the things that inevitably go wrong in the military, and traded stories of our backgrounds.

I was surprised to discover that the colonel knew all the details of my parent’s murder. I had shared my story with a few of my closest buddies, but I didn’t think it was common knowledge, especially to my C.O. Apparently, my story had made its way to Colonel Jake.

Once the waiter cleared our table, the colonel lit up another stogie and got down to business. Right away you know it’s serious when someone starts with, This conversation is off the record.

He began the discussion with, Johnny, what I’m about to share with you is known only to a few dozen people. If you like what you hear we’ll get together this weekend and I’ll fill you in on the details. If you pass, well, this conversation never happened, and I’ll need your word that you’ll never speak of this again.

I do want to know more, colonel. If I pass you have my word that I’ll never speak of it.

I knew I could count on you Vegas, the colonel said with a look of relief on his face.

It was more than apparent that the colonel was proud to be a member of this organization.

Colonel, based on what I’m hearing so far, I’m interested in your organization. However, I do have one condition.

What’s the condition, Vegas? The expression on the colonel’s face indicated he knew what was coming.

Colonel, if the organization will promise to find the man responsible for my parent’s murder, and let me administer the punishment, I will gladly accept your invitation. I will dedicate myself to the goals of the organization and do everything in my power to bring these criminals to justice.

As long as the goals of the organization don’t go beyond what you’ve described, I will carry out my missions to the best of my ability. You have my word on that.

Johnny, I had an idea you might bring that up. Before our meeting, I spoke with the chairman of our organization and I mentioned you might want our help along those lines. The chairman assured me they will spare no expense to find this man. If we do, you will have the opportunity to punish him.

Outstanding colonel, I’m ready to go, let’s get started.

I’ll pick you up at 0800 tomorrow morning. Now, go back to your barracks, pack some civilian clothes for the weekend and get some rest. We have a lot to go over.

My mind was racing and sleep was hard to come by that night. Just the thought of catching this man brought up emotions that can surface in a moments notice. What would I say to him? How savage would I be with him? Would I be able to control my emotions? Honestly, I really can’t predict how I will react at that exact moment.

The weekend went by quickly. In the end, after all the conversation, the organization did indeed seem to be a perfect fit for me and the vow I made to my parent’s. Maybe the organization would present the perfect opportunity to find this man. As far as the killing goes, I didn’t see much difference between this and what I’ve been doing for the last six years.

The biggest difference of course, was obvious. I would be hunting down American citizens, not enemies of the state. What I’d be doing would also be illegal. That means I’ll be risking not only my life but also my freedom. An arrest would mean the end of my life as I know it. No one would come to my aid, or even acknowledge my existence. The colonel made that perfectly clear in our discussions. However, I really didn’t have a problem with any of that. Evil men, whether they’re citizens of our country or someone else’s, are still evil men. They have forfeited the protections of the society they victimized. I would be willing to risk my life, and my freedom, to bring them to justice.

Mr. Chairman, this is Jericho. I have some great news. We have successfully recruited Johnny Vegas. The expertise and cold, emotionless precision he brings to the table is exactly what we need. He’s the best I’ve ever been around. In Serbia, he executed every mission with professionalism and precision. We didn’t experience a single complication. He’s a natural killer if he believes in what he’s doing. The organization is a perfect fit for the skills he perfected in the Special Forces. He did have one condition however.

What was that, colonel?

He wants the organization to find the man responsible for the murder of his parent’s. He also wants to be the one to administer the punishment when we find him. I told him that wouldn’t be a problem.

Colonel, like I stated to you before your meeting, Mr. Vegas will have the full support and cooperation of the organization. I give you my word on that.

I appreciate that Mr. Chairman, but I feel I must warn you about the consequences if, for some reason, we are unable to follow up on that pledge. I know Johnny Vegas better than anyone. If this man is on your side he will do whatever it takes to succeed and complete his missions.

On the other hand, if you betray him, or lie to him, or take advantage of him, he will turn out to be your worst nightmare. If the organization makes the commitment to find the man who murdered his parent’s, we better follow through with it. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of Johnny Vegas. I thought you should know this before you make your decision.

Colonel, I understand your concerns. We want Mr. Vegas in our organization. Assure him that we have every intention of holding up our end of the bargain. We’ll keep you posted on the progress we make so you can keep him up to speed. Now, go and welcome Mr. Vegas to his new family.

Ten Years Later

The cold October wind was stinging like a crisp slap to my face. As we gathered around the charred campfire barrel, it was eerily quiet. The only sound was the crackling embers from the fire as they swirled into the sky, and then slowly disappeared into the moonless night. Word about the most recent murder had spread throughout the camp, but no one was talking about it.

As I glanced around, I wondered what could have gone so terribly wrong to bring all these men together in this lonely, inhospitable place. Was it one gigantically poor decision that ruined their life, or the culmination of a tragedy of errors? Maybe their demise was genetically inevitable. It seems most of the men are here because of a weakness, or an addiction they can’t seem to shake.

As the men settle in for the night, a thin layer of cardboard was all that separated them from the cold hard ground. Their only defense from the plunging temperatures was the smelly, soiled rags they were wearing and a filthy, flea ridden blanket. Some were fortunate enough to have tents. Even more fortunate were those who found open beds at the local homeless shelter.

For the rest of us, it was going to be a cold, miserable night fending off a seemingly endless assault of bugs and rodents. This is the life of the homeless. This night isn’t going to be any different than the previous night, or the next night, or the one after that.

This is a hard, hopeless life, and it’s dangerous, but it isn’t the bugs, or rodents, or even the cold that has these men fearing for their lives. Someone has been sneaking into the homeless camps in the middle of the night, and beating the men to death with a baseball bat. That’s why I’m here. I have to stop this maniac before he kills again.

I’ve been living this miserable existence for two months now, and so far, no luck. The conditions are brutal and I can feel my mental state slipping. I smell, I ache, and I’m constantly hungry. At this moment in time, I am homeless, and I fit in perfectly with the other residents of the camp.

The murderer has already struck once since I started this mission. This monster beat another homeless man to death in a camp not too far from this one. If I don’t catch this man soon, he is sure to escalate his pattern of violence. I feel a tremendous sense of urgency.

It’s 2AM. The rustling of leaves in the distance interrupts the quiet of the night. Someone is approaching the camp. The only sound is the muted groans and snoring of the men in their near comatose state. They’re oblivious to the approaching danger, having earlier surrendered to their addiction. I can see the shadowy figure of a man emerging from the shadows. He has something in his hand, it’s a bat. This has to be the guy.

As I lay motionless on the ground, my heart is pounding, and I’m sure he can hear it thumping against my chest. I can feel the intoxicating effect of the adrenaline racing through my body.

Fueled by the adrenaline, my senses heighten, and I know my reflexes will become cat-like. My eyes have fully dilated now and my vision is perfect. I know from previous missions that I’ll have more strength at this moment than at any other time in my life.

Quietly working his way through the camp, stepping over one passed out bum after another, the intruder has stopped. He’s randomly selected his next victim. I immediately recognize who it is. Jesus, it’s Two Coats Willie, the founder of our camp. He’s about to become the next victim of the homeless killer. Willie got his camp name Two Coats from wearing two coats at all times, even in the summer. Like most nights, Willie has been under the spell of his bottle of Muscatel for a few hours. He has no idea what’s happening.

While he’s standing over Willie, I work my way into position just a little behind him. I’m beyond the range of his sight. The murderer is a big man, made even bigger by the silhouette cast by the streetlights above the bridge. He’s young, probably less than thirty years old. I know I’ll have to take him down quickly. He slowly raises his bat, ready to strike. I move up behind him, and in one continuous motion, I grab the bat at its highest point, and deliver a powerful blow to the base of his skull.

He never saw it coming. He goes down, out cold before his body hits the ground. The brass knuckles have done their job. No one in the camp has noticed, not even Willie. My team rushes in and we drag his limp body to the van for the short ride to the warehouse we rented earlier.

Once we have him in the warehouse, we strap him to a chair and begin to revive him. His arms and legs are bound to the chair, and duct tape covers his mouth. A bucket of cold water, with a plastic cup floating inside, sits beside the chair. A bright light shinning in his face will make it impossible for him to see anything beyond it.

As he begins to regain consciousness, we dim the light and illuminate a wall with the pictures and personal effects of the men he’s killed. We’re standing in the darkness. He can’t see us. His heavy breathing is the only sound in the seemingly empty room. His eyes are darting from side to side as he tries to get a handle on what’s happening. A look of fear and confusion is on his face.

He’s still dazed from the blow to the head, but he’s beginning to realize the situation he’s in. He’s trying to speak, but the duct tape won’t allow it. Finally, I step forward out of the darkness and stand off to one side of him. I’m only a few feet away as I peer into the eyes of this cold blooded killer, who doesn’t look so menacing at this point.

I ask him, Do you know who these men are?

He shakes his head no. However, I can tell from his body language that he does recognize them. The transformation from a ruthless cold blooded killer to a confused, trembling coward is complete.

These are the faces of the men you’ve murdered in the last few months.

He tries to turn his head away, but he can’t. The head restraints on the chair force him to look straight ahead at the pictures of the lives he so brutally ended. The sight of their smashed heads and battered bodies is repulsive, and a subtle hint of what is to come his way.

I tell him, Your face was the last thing these men saw. Now, their faces are the last thing you’re going to see. Well, actually theirs and mine, but I’m sure you get the idea.

He’s struggling violently in a desperate, feeble attempt to break free. It’s no use. His strength is no match for the restraints. Sweat is in a free fall down his face. I’m standing directly in front of him now, just watching him. He can see that I have a bat in my left hand as I slowly tap it against the palm of my right hand. It’s the same bat he was going to use on Two Coats less than an hour ago. As I stand over him, I let him soak in what’s going to happen next. The tormenting realization of what awaits him is clearly evident on his contorted face.

It’s at moments like this that my feelings of rage and anger surface in an instant, fueled by the painful memories of the murder of my parent’s. A man, not unlike this one, killed two innocent, unarmed people for a few lousy bucks. The images of that terrible night fill me with resolve and take me to a place that is void of human compassion.

This coward of a human being, sitting in front of me, beat defenseless men to death, and for what, the thrill of it? Where was his compassion for humanity? I find it impossible to have sympathy for him. I ask him a question I know he can’t answer, even if he was able to speak.

How does someone get a thrill out of beating to death a defenseless, homeless man? Please, explain to me how that is possible? How can that be a thrill for you? It can’t be about their possessions. These men have no possessions. All they have is the air in their lungs, and the dirty, dingy clothes on their back. The only thing of value they have in this world is their pathetic, hopeless life, and you want to take that away from them. How does a man become that cold blooded?

It was more of a statement in the form of a question. Even if he had an answer, it wouldn’t have mattered at this point. I put the end of the bat right under his chin, lifting his head up slightly. A few blows to his head would be a merciful ending to his miserable life. He isn’t going to get off that easily.

His eyes, wide open with fear, and silently crying out for mercy, are fixated on every movement of the bat as I slowly wave it back and forth. The first few blows are to his upper torso in the same manner he beat his victims. The thud of the bat smashing into his ribs, and his muffled screams of agony, are the only sounds in the building.

I catch myself wondering what’s going through his mind at