What Goes Around Comes Around

Stanley Silkwood storms into his son’s room.

“Why aren’t you packed?”

Holding a stack of comics, his ten-year-old son, Shawn, looks up innocently, saying, “I can’t decide which ones to take.”

Stanley snatches the comic books from his son’s grasp, tossing them across the room.

“None of them! Don’t you understand? I’ve got a target on my back!”

His wife, Sylvia, enters the boy’s bedroom.

“Of course, he doesn’t understand. He’s just a child.”

Stanley runs his fingers through his thick thatch of fair hair. “And a rather naive kid he is. I shouldn’t have let you baby him.”

Stanley grimaces at the sight of his seventeen-year-old daughter, Sharon, who enters the room holding her baby, Stewart.

Sylvia crooks her thumb in Sharon’s direction. “And this is what happens when you’re too hard on a child.”

Stewart begins to wail.

“You still haven’t learned how to keep that boy quiet, Sharon?”

“Screaming at him won’t help, Dad.”

“Are you packed?”

“Almost.”

“I’ll watch Stewart, you finish up,” Sylvia offers, taking the six-month-old baby from her daughter.

“You’re letting the moment get to you, Stan. You’re making everyone nervous. More than ever, we need you to be the kind, reasonable man that you really are,” Sylvia says as she and Sharon depart.

“Why do we have to leave Riverdale, Dad? Why do we have to leave New York? I like it here.”

“I hope you’ll understand someday, Shawn. Do you believe the things I’ve taught you have helped make you a better person?”

“I think so, Dad.”

“And do you understand that good people have to stand up against what’s wrong, even if it costs them everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t ever compromise your beliefs, son.”

***

An unmarked Dodge with tinted windows sits across the street from the Silkwood’s home. The three middle-aged men dressed in black watch the family hurriedly load their car.

They are part of Liquidator, Inc., a government-sponsored hit squad so secretive that they only know each other by their code names – Hawk, Raven, and Falcon.

Hawk’s aim with a variety of weapons is as sharp as his hooked nose. Raven’s bronzed Mediterranean features work hand in hand with his sunny disposition, making him the most congenial of the trio. Falcon’s amusing obsession with five alarm burritos masks his unwavering belief that the government is always right.

Falcon stuffs the remnants of a burrito in his mouth, hiccupping.

“You shouldn’t be eating that garbage at your age,” Raven says. “Aren’t you Norwegian? You’re supposed to be dedicated to following a healthy lifestyle.”

Falcon hiccups. “My parents were from Trondheim. We ate cooked fish, raw fish, boiled fish, until I thought I’d grow scales. There was nothing this tasty in my house growing up. And me and my old lady are lousy cooks. We burn water. To me, fast food is manna from heaven… So, whose turn is it?”

“Hawk lost.”

“Again? You gotta stop taking rock every time you play the rock, paper, scissors game, Hawk. It makes you pretty predictable.”

“You realize you might have to kill all four of them,” Raven notes.

“My gun’s got six bullets. This guy’s got it coming. He was going to write an article about Liquidator, Inc. for Our World Magazine. Can you imagine having the activities of a government-financed hit squad exposed to the world? Luckily, a jealous snitch contacted us, and we convinced his editor to squash the story. But now the snitch told us he plans to publish the article on the dark web.”

Falcon burps. “You’re just mad because he spelled your name wrong.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to have him blackballed?” Raven asks.

“Too obvious,” Hawk replies. “The far left and conspiracy nut jobs would rally around this guy and make him a martyr. Besides, I don’t want to be a scapegoat, spending my golden years in some Federal prison. Liquidator Inc. has been around for forty years, and we’ll be here for forty more. I won’t cry when I see the light in this subversive’s eyes go out.”

Nervously checking the streets, Stanley puts a suitcase in the car's trunk.

“Trunk’s up. He won’t see you coming,” Raven observes.

Twisting the silencer onto his weapon, Hawk darts from the vehicle, crossing the street.

Stanley closes the trunk. His eyes widen when he sees Hawk rushing toward them.

A bullet between the eyes cuts off Sylvia’s scream. She falls over backward, still clutching Stewart.

Stanley holds his hand up to protect his face.

“NOOO!”

A bullet tears into his gut, forcing him to drop his hands. A second bullet passes through his cheek and out the top of his skull.

Stewart screeches, kicking in his dead grandmother's arms.

Hawk points his gun at Stewart.

Raven rushes up behind him.

“We have to get out of here! Just do it!”

Raven pulls out his gun. His hand trembles as he aims his weapon at Stewart.

Pushing both men aside, Falcon draws his pistol, pumping two shells into the baby.

Looking out the living room window, Sharon faints.

Shawn revives her. No matter how much he shakes Sharon and pleads with her to speak, she only stares blankly ahead.

***

Hawk passes twitching patients wearing dribble cups, patients wearing helmets banging their heads off the wall, and patients speaking in tongues to themselves.

He sits across from a thirty-two-year-old woman sitting perfectly still in a lounge chair, staring blankly ahead at nothing.

“How are you today? Are they treating you all right?”

She continues to stare straight ahead.

“I put flowers on their graves…Please talk to me, Sharon. You don’t have to forgive me, but I want you to understand. What I did was for the good of the country. Most of all, I want you to know I’m sorry.”

***

Sitting casually at a table in Starbucks, Hawk and Raven look like two seasoned businesspeople discussing a merger.

“Where have you been?” Raven asks.

“Hilldale Sanatorium.”

“Jesus, Hawk. It’s been fifteen years. You’ve carried that weight long enough. You paid for the Silkwood’s funeral. You pay for their daughter’s care. We’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to us. If that bird hasn’t sung by now, she never will.”

“Aren’t you the guy who struggled with the moral dilemma of killing a baby?”

“Then, but not now. Not after the things we’ve done since then.”

“She’s a marshmallow, Raven.”

“She can be whatever snack food you feel fits the moment. It’s the boy I’m concerned about.”

“Last I heard, he was living with his aunt and uncle in Canada,” Hawk says.

“Great. That takes care of his teenage years. He’s an adult now and still a potential threat.”

“If he wanted to do something, he would have done it years ago…So, who’s next?”

Raven shows Hawk his phone.

Hawk looks at the target’s picture, reading his background information.

“By the way, we’ve got a new wheel man,” Raven says.

“Where’s Falcon?”

“Mount Sinai Hospital.”

“I knew all those burritos would tear a hole in his stomach.”

***

Hawk eyes their strapping new associate. Their baby-faced, blonde-haired, twenty-five-year-old partner looks like a refrigerator with arms in his tight-fitting suit.

“You got a family, rookie?” Hawk asks.

Sparrow’s bright blue eyes peer into the rearview mirror, focusing on Hawk in the back seat.

“No, sir.”

“If you’re smart, you’ll keep it that way,” Raven says. “Hawk and I have sacrificed our blood and guts for our families, and for what? It didn’t make a bit of difference. I’ve got one girl strung out on drugs, and the other is on her third marriage with three kids in foster care.”

“And I’m on my fourth marriage,” Hawk adds. “My daughter wants nothing to do with me, and my son is anti-government, so he lives off the grid in some commune in Montana. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up as our next assignment.”

“This job is so consuming that you’ll never be able to spend time with your girlfriend or kids,” Raven notes. “And when you do, they resent you. It’s like they purposely live their lives to embarrass you.”

“I’ll try and remember that, thanks. I don’t want to rock the boat, but could I ask the Director for a new code name? I mean, do I look like a sparrow to you?”

“He gave that name to you because you look so young,” Raven answers. “You’ll thank him when you're fifty and falling apart like us. He could have given you an awful name, like sapsucker or magpie.”

“I guess. But imagine going through life as Elrod Fudrucker and then ending up being called Sparrow.”

“Oofa! With a name like that, being called Sparrow is a blessing,” Raven comments.

Hawk twists a silencer onto his weapon. “Fill me in on Louis Mobutu.”

“He was a high-ranking General for the Congo Army,” Raven replies. “The U.S. believed in his desire to head a democratic government, so we covertly backed his coup. We trained his men. We even quietly removed some of the opposition. Things went south when he demanded tanks for protection. We couldn’t give them to him because it would have exposed our role in coming to power. So, he went to the Russians and told them he would turn the Congo into a stronghold for them if they backed him…So, today, when he goes to the La Scala restaurant to meet with Russian agents for lunch, we’re going to bring dessert.”

“That explains the trench coats and Russian fur hats,” Sparrow notes. “Are you sure a frontal assault is a good idea? His bodyguards are bound to be heavily armed.”

Raven smiles slyly. “I have it on good authority that their Russian-made machine guns may not work.”

“Just remember, Sparrow, you’re our backup. You only have to act if the mission goes haywire,” Hawk adds.

Sparrow parks the car at the end of the block.

Mobutu’s limousine docks in front of La Scala. Two steely-eyed men wearing the elaborate uniforms of the Congolese Army exit the limousine. Holding mini-machine guns at the ready, they scan the street.

Mobutu slowly pulls his girth out of the limousine’s back seat. A third soldier holding a whisk broom steps out, brushing Mobutu’s uniform.

Mobutu’s men don’t hear the pitter-pat of sneakers behind them as Hawk and Raven run toward them.

The soldier holding the whisk broom steps away, raising his hands.

Mobutu’s two bodyguards aim their machine guns at the onrushing assailants, their expressions registering shock when they don’t work.

Mobuto runs off, displaying surprising speed for a big man.

Hawk takes out one soldier with a blast from his gun, as Raven dispatches the other.

The third soldier drops his whisk broom. Pulling out an American issue .45, he fires it at the fleeing General.

“Relax, Macaw! You’ve done your part! We’ve got this!” Hawk shouts as they streak past him.

Macaw conceals his weapon, walking away.

General Mobutu takes a two-block lead on Hawk and Raven.

“Who knew that orca was a track star?” Raven gasps as they struggle to gain ground.

“I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with him being thirty and us being in our fifties,” Hawk returns, sucking for air.

“I thought it was the trench coats.”

Mobutu looks back at them, waving goodbye.

A car jumps the sidewalk. Mobutu bounces off the hood and into the street.

Sparrow exits the car, pumping three bullets into the unconscious General.

He smokes the tires as he backs the car up, picking up Hawk and Raven.

Gasping for air, Hawk says, “Welcome to the team, Sparrow.”

***

Nurse Gail Knight enters Falcon’s room holding a large bag.

“Special delivery! The card says it’s from ‘the Boys.’”

“Ah, my co-workers to the rescue,” Falcon happily replies.

Digging into the bag, he pulls out a fragrant-smelling box.

“It can only be one thing.”

He opens the box, cooing with the satisfaction of a little boy opening his gifts on Christmas day.

“Burritos?” Nurse Knight questions. “You know you shouldn’t eat those.”

“I’ll suffer later,” Falcon replies, taking a hefty bite.

***

Raven takes a pizza out of the oven, disappointed that he’s burned yet another meal.

His cell phone chimes. The word PRIORITY flashes on the screen.

“That you, Hawk?”

“…Yeah… I’ve got some bad news. Knute Halvorson, the Falcon, is dead.”

“Aw, man. I hope he had a few burritos before he passed.”

“…Funny you should mention that. That’s what the doctors thought killed him. Someone sent him a stack of burritos, saying they were from us. They were laced with cyanide.”

“Who’d do a thing like that?” Raven asks.

“The cops are looking at his ex-wife. He owed her a boatload of alimony.”

“Well, she’s not going to get it now.”

Raven’s doorbell rings.

“Gotta go. Somebody’s at the door. We’ll pick out some flowers for Falcon tomorrow, okay?”

Raven answers the door.

“Oh, it’s you? It’s late. What do you want?”

Three bullets answer Raven’s question.

***

Hawk shakes his head.

“I didn’t expect to attend two funerals in the same week.”

“I can do this job on my own if you’re not up for it,” Sparrow says.

“Don’t insult me, rookie. We eighty-sixed Chu Chin’s brother, Jin, a few months ago. I’m pretty sure Raven’s murder was payback.”

“Why was Jin Chin a target?”

“He was into human trafficking. You can bring over a few women, and the government will look the other way, but he was bringing over a hundred at a time. He was warned. What did he do? He doubled his numbers.”

Sparrow stops the car in front of a three-story apartment building across the street from Chin’s Tiger Lily Restaurant.

“So, what did Chu Chin do to make the list?”

“He’s not happy just being a council member. He’s running for the State Senate for this district. He’s bribed, threatened, and lied his way toward winning the election. If he does, he’ll not only continue to run Chinatown with impunity, he’ll also have a stranglehold on a quarter of the City.”

Hawk takes the rifle case out of the trunk. Accessing the code to enter the building, the two men take the elevator to the roof.

The roof overlooks the Tiger Lily’s rooftop, where Chin and his men are having a casual outdoor lunch.

Hawk huffs as he looks into the rifle’s sight.

“What?”

“Chin and I smoke the same cigars. Davidoff Oro Blancos, six hundred bucks a pop.”

“That’s interesting, Hawk, but do you suppose you could shoot him now?”

“What’s the matter, rookie? Got a lunch date?”

Hawk squeezes the trigger.

The cigar falls from Chin’s mouth as what’s left of his head droops.

Chin’s men spill out into the street.

“We’ll never get downstairs in time,” Sparrow notes.

“Plan B then.”

Packing up the rifle, the two men jump from the roof onto the building next door.

They race across the roofs of two more buildings before slowing to catch their breath.

The door to the roof flings open. Three heavily armed men start firing at them, and they return fire.

Sparrow looks over the side of the building.

“Guess it’s time to see if we can fly.”

“What?” Hawk asks, as Sparrow pushes him over the side.

Hawk lands on the billowy awning of the Lucky Eight Variety Store. Rolling off, he lands on his feet on the sidewalk.

He hears the report of the guns above him. Seconds later, Sparrow falls onto the awning, quickly joining him on the sidewalk.

Chin’s men fire down at them from the roof, tearing up chunks of pavement as Hawk and Sparrow escape.

***

Hawk slaps Sparrow on his back as their car merges onto the West Side Highway.

“That was some trick, rookie. You saved my life.”

“No problem. Do you mind stopping at my house before returning to the office? It’s only about fifteen minutes away.”

***

Sparrow stops the car in front of a comfortable-looking two-story house in Riverdale.

Hawk’s expression sinks as he looks at the house.

“Do you recognize this place?”

“The Silkwood family owned it a long time ago.”

“That’s right. Do you remember slaughtering them and leaving their bodies in the driveway?”

“The father was a security risk.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Falcon killed a six-month-old baby.”

“It had to be done,” Hawk says grimly.

“Did it? Why not let them get away? Why not let them live out their lives somewhere else? You know what you did was wrong; otherwise, why would you pay for Sharon’s care? Why would you visit her?”

“You’re Shawn Silkwood, aren’t you? Raven was right. You spent years planning to kill us.”

“I joined Liquidator, Inc. to get my revenge.”

Shawn whips out his .45, jamming it between Hawk’s eyes.

“But why save my life?”

“To bring you here. What goes around comes around, Hawk.”

***

Shawn sits down in a chair across from his sister.

“I did it, Sharon. I made a few phone calls. Hundreds of murders by Liquidator, Inc., will be exposed. I avenged Dad, Mom, and Stewart. The men who murdered them are dead.”

Sharon looks up at Shawn. Smiling, she holds him closely.