The Finisher Series: Ezra

By Bert Marshall

I've heard all my life that big things come in small packages and that is probably because I was almost a midget until the 10th grade. Over the next two years I went from 5-4 to what I like to think is 5-10, but is probably a bit shy of it. Hell, with cowboy boots on, I'm okay and taller than most of the girls and women I've been with. Anyway, they didn't complain and I more than make up for it below the belt, or so I've been told.

I took to boxing like some people take to fishing and soon Pedro began giving me private lessons. One of his stipulations is every one of his students had to make straight A's in school and between his classes and school, I hardly had time for the ladies. "The ladies" as I called them found ways to fill in the blanks and the fights continued, but after only 6 months with Pedro, I began to get a reputation that if you came after me, you better bring a stick or a friend.

I began competing and winning and by the time I graduated, I was state ranked number two in my weight class. The number one guy was from Brownsville and I simply could not out-box this quick guy and we became friends. Years later I heard he was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. Hell, the same thing almost happened to me over a dozen times while serving in the Marine Corps.

How this came about was I received a full scholarship to Texas A&M to train in Judo. I earned a 2nd degree black belt after 4 hard years of training, which was almost a record advancement, but due to my superior athletic ability and great health, I managed to get nationally ranked and ultimately recruited by the Marines after a national crisis in the Middle East.

All my combat experience led up to one event. I was destined to be a Finisher where I operated in the shadows to rid Houston Texas of the earth's scum.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bert Marshall
• Release date: Jul 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370612321

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 - Ezra

By Bert Marshall

Published by Bert Marshall at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Bert Marshall

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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I've heard all my life that big things come in small packages and that is probably because I other boys called me a midget until the tenth grade. Over the next two years I went from five-four to what I like to think is five-ten, but is probably a bit shy of it. Hell, with cowboy boots on, I'm okay and taller than most of the girls and women I've been with. Anyway, they didn't complain and I more than make up for it below the belt, or so I've been told.

Another thing I've heard since I first became aware of the opposite sex is size doesn't matter. That may or may not be true, but my experience has been just the opposite. While I am no porn star, more than one woman has objected, at least initially to my best friend. I've always had to convince him to go slow and then things have worked out. While other guys got obsessed with guns, fishing, sports and what not, from somewhere around the tenth grade when I began to grow, I became obsessed with getting head or getting laid and guns.

This was all fine and dandy until the girl's boyfriends decided to strum my head and after about the third time, my Grams, who is my only caretaker, enrolled me in Pedro's Golden Glove gym. It’s on Commerce Street in what at one time was Goose Creek, but is now Baytown, Texas.

I do not remember my parents. Grams has had me since I was eight years old and in deference to my mom and her daughter, she has always taught me I was her grandson, not her real mom. To me, she's my mother. Her husband, who would be my grandfather died when I was four and I barely recall him. Grams never remarried and has devoted her whole life to raising me and working at the VA as a nurse.

In my teen years beginning again when I was fifteen, I had sex with every single babysitter she hired all the way until I turned seventeen and she stopped hiring them. The youngest was eighteen and the oldest was twenty-six and married. She was my first married woman, but surely not my last.

I took to boxing like some people take to fishing and soon Pedro began giving me private lessons. One of his stipulations is every one of his students had to make straight A's in school and between his classes and school, I hardly had time for the ladies. The ladies as I called them found ways to fill in the blanks and the fights continued, but after only six months with Pedro, I began to get a reputation that if you came after me, you better bring a stick and a friend.

I began competing and winning and by the time I graduated, I was state ranked number two in my weight class. The number one guy was from Brownsville and I simply could not out-box this quick guy and we became friends. Years later I heard he was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. Hell, the same thing almost happened to me over a dozen times while serving in the Marine Corps.

How this came about was I received a full scholarship to Texas A&M to train in Judo. I earned a second degree black belt after four hard years of training, which was almost a record advancement, but due to my superior athletic ability and great health, I managed to get nationally ranked and ultimately recruited by the marines after a national crisis in the Middle East.

I don't want to go into the details of college, but suffice it to say, instead of partying my ass off with alcohol and pot, any spare time I had was between the legs of a willing female partner or on the mats grappling. Women are my drug of choice and like I said, I learned at an early age what women like and I am more than willing to give it to them.

Before I signed to go to officer candidate school, I was given a psychiatric evaluation which revealed a peculiar disorder I never realized. I am a victim of social dissociative disorder, most likely caused by head trauma in the tenth grade. In my case, what this means is I have no problem breaking off or creating relationships and this is one reason why I never had a steady girlfriend even though dozens of girls sincerely tried.

I guess I was a heart-breaker in a sense, but it took maturity and years of experience to understand my way of thinking wasn't normal. I thought everyone thought like me and when I left for college and the Marines, I never thought how it broke my Gram's heart to see me leave. I just went. I never even looked back.

She is long gone now and I only visited her occasionally. Yes, I now understand what a mistake that was.

----

Lieutenant Raymond Cadd Jr. step forward! I hear my name and am living the proudest moment of my life. After only four years on the Houston Police force, I have been promoted to management. The ceremony is attended by all sixteen councilmen, the Mayor, the chief of police, Harris County DA, and many reporters and others with me and the two female cops who are also are being honored.

After I shake hands with all the wheels, the assistant district attorney shakes mine and I know this man, as he lost a leg in Afghanistan. Miles Conroy is a retired army colonel with three tours in the Middle East and we've been friends from the day I met him three years ago. RC, after all this dies down and you've screwed three or four more women, drop by my office - say Tuesday at noon when everyone is at lunch? he raises his eyebrows and smiles and I know an order when I hear one.

Yes sir. It would be my pleasure. Over his shoulder on the far side of the room is a cute reporter I spotted an hour ago and she's not hanging around for a story. Miles looks over his shoulder at her and chuckles. Tuesday, my office, 1400

O orah, Colonel. He is all but forgotten as I move across the room shaking first this hand and then that, but almost all of my attention is on the Houston Chronicle's star reporter, Trina Weatherly. She is maybe three years older than my thirty and that pants suit combination does precious little to hide what it’s covering.

Congratulations, Lieutenant! she says and offers her hand.

My friends call me RC, I say and her hand is soft, but acceptably professional with maybe a hit of something else.

I would like to do a story on you, if I may.

Why just me? There were three of us, I say and finally let go of her hand. With heels, she is only a couple inches shorter than me and I take in her subtle perfume by raising my nose and sniffing.

She knows what I am implying and giggles. The other two have been on the force for ten years; they're women; and it looks good for the department. You on the other hand, have only been with the department four years. You are special, RC. That's why.

I laugh and decide to have a little fun. I'm glad you noticed. My main specialty is appearing to be special to attractive women.

Whoa, sailor, you move fast! she laughs and I remind her I was a marine.

If I were a sailor, I'd spend fifteen minutes trying to impress you will all the places I've been and then maybe ask you to lunch.

What would a marine do?

Want to have lunch with me Trina? I say and reaching out slowly, I touch her elbow.

Trina knows many men find her attractive and she works our regularly. On top of that, she's very good at giving them the brush-off without it appearing to be that and she's just about to answer when from across the room, the chief of police hails RC.

Excuse me a moment? I say and directly walk across the room.

The chief is maybe fifty-five and ripe for retirement and also a marine and he took me in the day I signed up. We've been buds since then and he pulls me into his office and closes the door. RC, something big is about to happen. A buddy of mine at Langley told me a number of years ago about a clandestine project that operates around the country and specifically in Houston.

The Finisher program, I say and he continues.

They are going to try and recruit you son.

No shit. Who runs the program?

I can't say for sure, but I believe it's the DA's office.

Miles Conroy! So that's it! What is your advice, boss?

It's been rumored for years, but I believe it exists. There have been way too many unexplained or unsolved murders and almost every one of them was of people we couldn't legally touch. My CIA contact told me he believes the program is shelled out under a faux FBI directive and handled locally between the DA's office and whoever the current Finisher is. Oh, one more thing. He said they've lost a couple of them in Houston and other cities and it is dangerous as hell. You do remember the number of high level city officials who have been killed over the last ten years, right?

Yes and this sounds like its right up my alley.

"Semper fi, marine. Beach landings! Oorah!

Trina waits twenty minutes and heads back to the office. Her time will come to have a chat with this Mike guy.

----

Assistant District Attorney Miles Conroy is sitting at his desk in an over-stuffed chair and to his right is an attractive woman of about thirty-five or forty. It is difficult to tell, as she appears to be in excellent shape. She's blond and I recognize her no nonsense bearing as law enforcement on some higher level. Come in and have a seat Lieutenant Cadd. I understand your friends call you RC and today, this is an off the record meeting and informal. This is FBI special agent Barbi Boswell. You may address me as Miles and her as Barbi.

I shake her hand, already being well acquainted with the Colonel. To fill you in on Barbi's qualifications, She is an ex-air force captain working with the Office of Special Investigation and has been active in her current role for almost four years as the director of a clandestine program, we call the Finisher project. Each iteration is named after one of the books of the Bible and the next one will be Ezra. Use of this word is restricted.

At this point, Barbi takes over. RC, we believe you are the next candidate in our program.

Why me, ma'am? She's a looker and I have no doubt she couldn't put a bullet in a bad guy's head if she saw it necessary.

Your psychological profile fits in every way, as far as we can tell. You are honest almost to a fault, direct, pragmatic, and have the ability to shut things off. The last attribute is essential for this kind of work.

Explain please.

You will operate as an FBI agent working loosely as a Houston Detective. You will have both ID's, but in reality, you will be a contract killer of people who live above the law and are considered by authorities as untouchable. Do you know who I am talking about, RC?

People who have politicians, judges and cops in their pockets.

Exactly. Powerful cartel members, Mafioso, and extortionists. Human traffickers and faux philanthropists. Men and women and there will be women on your list.

How long is the contract and is there remuneration of some sort and while I'm asking that, what about protection, medical, and supplies?

Funding for the project is absolute and extravagant. We ask that you stay at least one year and the reason for this is historically the Finisher is ready to stop. Psychologically, it is a good place to cease. We will provide you with a secure base of operations that each Finisher before you found satisfactory and it is fully stocked with the tools of your trade including a maid service to keep the place tidy. In the event you need medical assistance and I'll be honest and tell you this is a very dangerous job, we have historically been on scene within twenty minutes or shorter. This is when the code word Ezra comes into play.

When do I start?

There are forms to sign and you can have a tour of the facility today. To be candid, we have a back log of work and can use you immediately. Welcome aboard, marine. With that, she turns and walks out and both Miles and I stare at her tight skirt-covered ass. He looks at me and laughs.

I would do a beach landing on that ass in front of you. He mutters and I laugh, because I feel the same sentiment.

----

That's pretty much it. It's an old World War II bunker used for about ten years to store hazardous material - mainly bombs and stuff. Let me know if you need anything, he says and drives off in his black Crown Victoria. The compound has a high industrial chain link fence around it a bulldozer would have trouble pushing through. About fifty meters inside the heavy gate are four bays and Miles tells me the Chinese mafia shot four RPG rockets at them and we can't tell where they hit.

What I did wonder though, is how they knew about this place and if they still do. Inside is a kitchen, table and chairs and a reefer stocked with a knock-off beer called Natural Ice. I pop open one and it has bite. The label reads five point nine per cent alcohol and it tastes like a lager should. The commo room looks like a control center with six large screens, five of which monitor the surrounding area with CCTV. The center one is for surfing the Internet or watching streaming movies, etc.

There are three bedrooms and the fourth has five huge gun safes.