The Finisher Series: Chronicles

By Bert Marshall

Later in my life before my mom passed away, she told me she was proud of me. Growing up in old Pelly Texas, she was a hellion and spent three years in Huntsville State Prison for heroin possession. I came along when she was 35 years old and never knew who my real daddy was. She later admitted the only reason she didn't abort me was she got money from the government.

I think I was 13 when I came home from school and mom was lying in the kitchen and had been dead since about 9 that morning. She basically drank herself into the grave and for that reason, I do not normally touch alcohol. I was a bright kid and avoided being turned over to the state by creating a fictitious aunt who became my guardian. It was actually one of my mom's prostitute friends who would appear when I needed her to satisfy CPS and in exchange, I would run errands for her.

It took me a while to figure out she was running gambling money to the local bookie and if worse came to worse, she would take the fall for him. It never happened though and I picked up little jobs for a couple of local thugs and was able to pay the bills and taxes and pretty much ran my own house like an adult. She had plenty of women friends who gladly taught me the joys of the female body.

By the time I was 15, I had three working girls in my stable and the youngest was 22. The reason for this was I could fight and my ability to take on all comers was noted by an Asian man that lived on the corner. At his request, I came to visit him and this lone visitation made a turning point in my life that eventually straightened me out and brought me to become the man I am today...

A man with a license to kill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bert Marshall
• Release date: Jun 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370010646

Bert Marshall

Bert Marshall lives in Baytown, Texas and is a Baytown Sun Columnist, Blogger, martial artist, geocacher, PC repair specialist, Jeeper, hiker, indoor cycling instructor, past Texas State Emergency Care Attendant, Hunter education instructor, and a USAF Vietnam Veteran with two tours (651 days in-country).

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The Finisher series - Chronicles

By Bert Marshall

Published by Bert Marshall at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Bert Marshall

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Later in my life before my mom passed away, she told me she was proud of me. Growing up in old Pelly, Texas, she was a hellion and spent three years in the Texas State women’s penitentiary in Huntsville for heroin possession. I came along when she was thirty-five years old and I never knew who my real daddy was. She later admitted the only reason she didn't abort me was she got money from the government.

I think I was thirteen when I came home from school and mom was lying in the kitchen and apparently had been dead for hours. I later learned she died about nine that morning. She basically drank herself into the grave and for that reason; I do not normally touch alcohol. I was a bright kid and avoided being turned over to the state by creating a fictitious aunt who became my guardian. It was actually one of my mom's prostitute friends who would appear when I needed her to satisfy CPS and in exchange, I would run errands for her and give her a little money.

It took me a while to figure out she was running gambling money to the local bookie and if worse came to worse; she would take the fall for him. It never happened though and I picked up little jobs for a couple of local thugs and was able to pay the bills and taxes and pretty much ran my own house like an adult. She had plenty of women friends who gladly taught me the joys of the female body too.

By the time I was fifteen, I had three working girls in my stable and the youngest was twenty-two. The reason for this was I could fight and my ability to take on all comers was noted by an Asian man that lived on the corner. At his request, I came to visit him and this lone visitation made a turning point in my life that eventually straightened me out and brought me to become the man I am today.

I knew him initially only as Master Kagawa and he was the head master of a Goju-Ryu karate school on Defee Street in what was old Goose Creek, before it to become part of Baytown. He liked me and soon I became his favorite student. I needed a role model and most of the kids didn't. By the time I was seventeen, I was his top student and a first degree black belt in this great hard knuckle style of karate.

I had given up my pimping days at his request and he paid me to help him instruct and paid me well, as he was in his seventy's and had many past injury aches. Whatever I learned in the dojo, I tried out on the street and soon became a force to be reckoned with. I played sports too and was on the varsity basketball and football team and no one wanted a part of me if it got physical. Off the court, b-ball can get pretty violent and more than once I put someone down with my fighting skills until it got to the place that badass thugs began to seek me out.

They were not the only ones to want a demonstration of my skills and I had sex with as many as four girls or more a month. Of course this didn't go unnoticed in the thug world and more than once I fought my way through three or more guys before I was able to get away to a safe place. Most of the girls were Latina, as Baytown's demography was such and these Latino's don't take kindly to an Anglo humping their women.

A week after my eighteenth birthday, I accidentally killed a known thug from Cloverleaf and was arrested. The guy pulled a knife on me and I ran it through his chest, but still went to jail for six months before the case was finally no-billed. While in Harris County, I was in at least one good fight a week, but always remained just out of trouble with the guards, probably because they were white and so was I.

Master Kagawa became sick and I had earned my 3rd degree black belt the month before and was basically running the school. His sudden death and the fact that he willed everything to me changed my life. The school was wildly successful and netting the man about two hundred thousand dollars a year after all expenses and with nearly two hundred students, it had became the largest martial arts school in the Houston area.

I poured my heart into the dojo and began pushing both body combat classes and mixed martial arts competition. Under my master’s tutelage, I began managing the dojo and hired five semi-pro instructors and added onto the school making it even larger. That is when I met Linda Wong and within a week, we were a couple.

Linda was tall for a Chinese woman and very thin and very fast. She was also very skilled and the first female fighter to ever best me in point martial arts. Time and time again she scored on me with near perfect form and it wasn't until I took her to the mats that I could best her. In our bed we were straight up equals.

Linda was born in Hong Kong and came to the USA when she was eighteen. She was a Wushu champion there and began selling her skills to the various kwans in Houston when she heard about our/my dojo. I am all of six feet and one hundred and eighty pounds and she is five-six and maybe one hundred and forty pounds, but she is so fast, I could only punch and kick at her shadow.

We fell immediately in love, or thought we were and that lasted three years until it gradually became painfully obvious it was a mistake. The last I heard she was in California and doing well. Our parting was cordial, but the flame was gone. The truth was I couldn’t stay faithful and she wouldn’t tolerate it.

When I was twenty-five, I started training the Houston Police department in hand to hand combat, using a lot of grappling techniques to subdue an opponent. At night, I would attend Lee College and later University of Houston and eventually earned my bachelors degree is criminal justice, following the advice of the many cops I befriended.

The only logical step was to join Houston PD and at thirty years of age, I sold my martial arts school for a whopping one million five to a franchise outfit called Black Belt - the Way of Life. I later learned they were training a lot of shady characters and my destiny with their cadre was inevitable.

I spent two years on the beat earning respect from my peers and if there was trouble, I was the guy they called on. I was then directed into the slot of combat instructor superintendent with a rank of Lieutenant. Our program became very successful and with the help of Mr. Black at the College of the Mainland in Texas City, we would provide continuing education classes for his graduates.

The man known only as Mr. Black is an ex-Secret Service agent who runs a school and trains LEO's – law enforcement officers of all skill levels, but specializes in CQB or Close Quarter Battle drills. Two weeks of training at his school turns good officers into SWAT team members in most cases and his reputation is known across the country as the best of the best. At any given time, he will have twenty to forty students staying in the dorms doing forty to sixty hour a week classes. He has a staff of ten part time LEO's who are ex-students and his school is ran military style with no nonsense.

Along the way and I lost count, I slept with numerous available women, but never had a deep relationship. Oh, I had a few who desired more, but I was always on the go and just couldn't commit. It even came up on my yearly psychological evaluation that I had social withdrawal symptoms. I guess they forgot how I was raised, or rather how I raised myself. There was never anyone there for me. How in the hell could I develop a relationship with a woman, when my own mom didn't give a fuck about me? Hell, in some ways, I am barely housebroken.

Lt. Strongmeyer? Roderick Strongmeyer? I hear my name called out and I stand and wave at the buxom female sergeant holding a clip board.

This way sir, she says and turns away and I swear, every swinging dick in the hallway turns and watches her walk. It is obvious to all not all women are created equal.

She points at an office door and walks away without looking back. I resist the temptation to watch her and going to the door, I open it and step inside.

Sitting behind the desk is an attractive brunette and beside her a black man. Both are wearing suits and I get the distinct feeling they are lawyers. They both look familiar, but I can't immediately place them.

Lt. Strongmeyer, my mane is Megan Hazelwood and this is Cleveland Washington. I am the Harris County DA and Mr. Cleveland is my assistant.

Oh shit, what did I do now? Both of them laugh and this defuses the formal feel in the room usually used for interrogations.

We invited you to this meeting because of your spotless record and your unique psychological profile. There is another person I would like you to meet and they are running a little late, but let's get started. Just then the door opens and in walks a striking-looking woman of maybe thirty-five. She's blond and neat and wearing a suit that screams I work for the government and I notice under her coat is the telltale sign of a sidearm.

Special Agent Barbi Boswell, this is Lieutenant Roderick Strongmeyer. We shake hands and she smiles and she's dang tasty looking and has an alpha handshake without overdoing it. I'll let Barbi explain, she says and I note they are on a first name basis.

Lt. Strongmeyer, I understand your friends call you Strong. Is it okay if I do too?

Of course, I say as I learned a long time ago that I have very little control over what people call me.

She raises her eyebrows at my response and continues. For about ten years, the FBI and the Harris County DA's office have run a clandestine operation here and in other cities and we feel like you would make a perfect fit.

She is referring to the ghost Finisher program that all of us have heard of, but are not sure if it’s real or not. I am about to find out the truth and show zero emotion on my face.

It requires a person of extreme skill and judgment with a serious commitment to stop crime at any cost. This person will have the right to deny a mission without question and can leave the program at any time, but we do prefer one year's service.

What is the significance of one year?

At the end of a year, most all have decided they have had enough and retire.

You mean retire from this detail?

No sir, I mean financially retire as rich men.

Where does this money come from?

To be honest, it comes from illegal drugs, human trafficking, stolen property, embezzlements, almost any illegal source we confiscate.

What kind of support will I have? I don't realize that I am leaning forward in my chair, but they do.

Full medical if needed, secure accommodations, lavish pay, vehicles, weapons, explosives, and even a maid service.

I only have two questions then. Who do I work with and when do I start?

You work alone and your contact is Cleveland. I get my orders and hand them directly to him - if I approve them. He looks them over and makes the final call and they are delivered to you at your new residence, which Cleveland will explain if you take the job.

Sounds like I am your man. I deliberately do not stare at her ample chest and yawn for effect. None of this behavior is missed by the three people in the room and they nod. They’ve found their Finisher.

----

Cleveland is a likeable professional with an obviously high IQ, but doesn't flaunt it. He grew up in Oregon and has a law degree he earned in Texas and a criminology degree from University of Oregon. He's the whitest black person I've ever met and damned sharp and has worked hard to be a fit in the Houston crime scene. We pull up to an eight foot industrial chain link fence and he has a gate opener that looks complicated. The gate opens into a compound and we drive in. It's an old hazardous material bunker from World War II and he tells me it can take a direct hit from a dropped five hundred pound bomb and still function. There are four bays and he opens bay one with the device.

Inside bay two is a Ford Econoline three quarter ton van with wider than normal back tires. Cleveland points at a stack of magnetic signs and license plates and explains it’s my work vehicle and runs like a bat out of hell. Inside is a bed and provisions for up to two weeks.

Next is a kitchen dining area and off to the right, a commo room with six large thirty-two inch screens. Five are for the sixteen CCTV cameras set up to see three hundred and sixty degrees out from the compound and on the streets in front and behind. It is a heavily industrial area with no houses for as far as I can see.

It has one large walk in shower with six nozzles and is impressive as hell. Two bedrooms with queen beds and the usual furniture and the third bedroom have five mammoth gun safes. He gives me the combo and I open all five. In the first three are every kind of gun and pistol and accouterments I can imagine, including a Barrett .50 cal, numerous big game rifles and assault weapons and a lot of ammo for everything.

Safe four has Semtex-10, the kind