Chapter 11

The outline of the trees glowed in the moonlight. The barely visible branches swayed back and forth in the breeze. It was a cold night, and the road was mostly barren. Edward Brandt drove with the windows down while chill from the night’s air brushed over him. His icy stare solely focused on the road ahead of him. The headlights of the occasional trucker on the opposite side of the road were blinding to him, but he neither squinted nor adverted his eyes from the path before him. He either didn’t care or didn’t notice that his hands and face were tingling from the bombardment of the cold wind. The stereo remained off; he relied on the rumble of the engine and the sound of the wind to keep him company.

Brandt had kept his mind clear for most of the journey. The path he needed to take had finally made sense to him. All those years trying to protect people while watching the system fail had given him purpose. He felt transformed, renewed, and invincible. He would no longer stand idle when evil was given all the freedom. He just needed to ensure that he took this path one step at a time. Fearing that he may not be able to return from this journey, he felt compelled to spend what time he could with his wife. It was purely wishful thinking that she would understand in the end.

The red light indicating the fuel level barely caught his attention as it illuminated his hand on the steering wheel. He had been in such a trance that he neglected to pay attention to the gauges in the dashboard. There was no need for him to panic; he knew from the many trips along this road that a twenty-four-hour gas station was just a few miles ahead.

At this hour of the night, the gas station was almost completely devoid of patrons. When Brandt had pulled up to the pump, the only other vehicle was just leaving. He got out of his Corvette and quickly glanced at the pump’s price. Six dollars and eleven cents per gallon. This time, the price had less effect on him. He had more important business to take care of than worrying about a few dollars right now. Inside the store, the attendant was taking advantage of the slow burn of the night and stocking the shelves.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, sir.”

“Take your time.”

Brandt began looking at the merchandise while he waited. A gas can may come in handy if I forget about fuel again. He picked it up from the bottom shelf and returned to the counter just as the attendant had completed his duties.

“Is that all, sir?”

A rumbling noise came from outside the store. Brandt turned around to notice that a black Honda Civic had pulled up to the pump opposite him. Kids and their exhausts. He looked back at the cashier.

“Seventy on pump four as well.”

After paying for the items, he returned to his car. He filled up the one-gallon container with fuel and then used the remainder of the seventy dollars’ worth in his gas tank. Two young males dressed in all black clothing approached him from the Honda side of the pump.

“Hey man, that’s an amazing car.”

Brandt remained alert while accepting the compliment. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, all I have is this old clunker. I’d love to have something like that. What year is it?”

“It’s an eighty-seven C4.”

“Wow, would you be willing to part with her?”

“It’s not for sale, man.”

“That’s a shame. Still, what a beautiful ride.”

“Yep, thanks again. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

The pair didn’t say anything further. They walked away and entered the store while Brandt put the gas can into the trunk of his car. His guard was up, and while the conversation seemed suspicious, he shrugged and entered the vehicle. With the twist of his wrist, the engine started right up, and he continued his journey down the cold, dark road.

He had driven almost ten miles since the gas station. The darkness had consumed nearly everything along the road. The moon no longer embraced the tree line anymore. He looked in his rear-view mirror to see a set of headlights rapidly catching up to him. The lights began to flash, and he heard the familiar sound of the Honda Civic exhaust.

To the thugs back at the gas station, Brandt must have looked like your average businessman on his way home from a late night at the office. The bureau attire can sometimes give that impression. They were wrong, and they were about to get a stern education on how wrong they were.

Brandt calmly pulled off of the road. He was expecting this, almost wanting it to happen. He was ready back at the gas station, but this deserted section of road was definitely a better place for what he was about to do. He rolled down the windows, turned off the ignition and waited.

He glanced into the mirror from the corner of his eyes to see the two men get out of their car and approach him. He could tell by the way the two thugs walked and wore their clothing that only one of them had a weapon. The man approaching the passenger side looked to be more reliant on his size rather than the use of a weapon. The other coming up on the driver’s side had a very obvious object in his hand.

Brandt let his right-hand rest on the steering wheel while his left hand gripped the door handle.

“Hey man, I think you dropped something back there.”

Before Brandt could reply, the man had already stuck his hand through the window, pointing the Glock 17 directly at Brandt’s face.

“Like I said, I really love this car. How about you get out of it and let me take it for a test drive.”

Brandt sat there silently, mentally evaluating the situation.

“Come on man, do you want to die for this car?”

Brandt slowly began turning his head and gazed into the would-be car thief’s eyes. “No, do you?” With lightning-fast reflexes, he yanked his right hand from the steering wheel and pushed the weapon upward into the ceiling while using both his left hand and foot to kick the door out toward his threat.

The sudden and unexpected actions from Brandt had worked. The Glock dropped onto the floorboard while its owner was thrown to the ground on his ass. The speed and ferocity at which he exited the car had alarmed the man looking through the passenger window.

The driver-side thug was caught completely off guard. Before he could scurry to his feet, Brandt was already standing over him, his eyes trained on him. Within nanoseconds, Brandt sent a powerful kick into the man’s ribs. The impact came with such force you could hear the crack of rib bone shattering within the man’s flesh. The man let out a groan as he tensed up with pain. Brandt remained stone-faced and silent as he used his heel to flip the thug onto his front side. Brandt immediately dug his right knee deep into the thugs’ thigh, sending a chilling scream echoing through the trees beside them. While grinding and twisting his knee as deep as possible, Brandt pulled back the thug’s head by his hair, then sent his right palm to the back of his head. The man’s face slammed hard into the cold, gritty asphalt. The thug was out.

To the larger-sized man that was once peering through the passenger window, the entire event happened in a matter of seconds. Brandt was back on his feet just as the larger thug hurdled towards him in an attempt at a right hook.

Now was the time to teach this one about Edward Brandt. Not only were they clueless to the fact that he was a federal agent, but they were also oblivious to another dangerous truth. Brandt had been a dedicated student of both Krav Maga and Kenpo martial arts ever since he was a teenager. The two disciplines of self-defense could wreak havoc on an attacker. Kenpo has the philosophy that every block would also be a strike against the attacker. Krav Maga is considered so practical and deadly it was made the official self-defense system of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Brandt blocked the incoming attack with a powerful swing of his forearm, almost immediately sending his foot’s full force into the man’s genitals. The intense sharp pain shot through the man’s body like a bolt of lightning. The thug barely had time to clutch in pain as Brandt chopped the thug’s neck with the edge of his hand. The man fell to the ground, writhing in agony, covering his genitalia. If something had existed down there before, it was likely ruptured by now.

Brandt finally broke his silence. “Get up!”

It took a few moments for the thug to finally regain his footing. Sweat and tears streaked down his face. “Try again,” Brandt instructed. The thug was just as dumb as he looked. Face to face with Brandt, the thug came in with an attempted kick to the groin. Brandt slammed the palm of his right hand down, blocking the kick from reaching its target. Sensing the next attack, Brandt countered the left hook by blocking it with his left forearm. Without delay, Brandt rose up his right knee and sent the heel of his foot into the thug’s right kneecap. The crunch of bone and cartilage was only masked by the scream as the joint inverted and sent the thug collapsing to the ground again. Brandt kneeled over the thug and sent a volley of fists into his face until he was passed out like his friend.

Brandt’s fists dripped with blood as he walked over to the trunk of his car and opened it. He pulled out two items, zip ties and the full gas can he had acquired earlier.

When the two thugs finally woke up, Brandt was standing there looking down at them. He had taken the opportunity to drag them over to the tree line, zip-tie their hands together and bind them to the trunk of a nearby tree. Realizing the position that they were in, both of the thugs started to panic.

“Hey man, please! Let us go. I’m sorry.”

Brandt knelt down in front of them. “Are you sorry? Are you really sorry?”

“Yes, man, we learned our lesson.”

“I’m not so sure yet.”

“Come on –” one of them sniffed the air. “What’s the smell, man?”

“Oh, that. That’s gasoline.” Brandt grinned.

The pair began wriggling frantically. “No, please, you crazy bastard. Don’t do this!”

“Don’t do what? Kill you? Nah, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not a cold murderer. I’m the reckoning!” Brandt stood back up, began to walk away, and stopped after five steps. “Hey, do any of you two happen to have a light?” Brandt had already pulled the lighter from one of their pockets while they were unconscious, but he felt it necessary to toy with them one more time.

“Sure, man, it’s in my pocket. Wait, what are you doing?”

“Just having a little campfire. It is a bit chilly out here, isn’t it?” Brandt withdrew the lighter from his pocket, knelt down where he had stopped, and ignited the trail of gasoline he had set moments earlier.

The two thugs screamed, but the trail of flames went around them and into their Honda Civic that Brandt had emptied the gas can into. The car erupted into huge flames; the heat radiated immensely against the side of their faces.

“You wanted a car before. Now you need a car.” Brandt turned back to his own car and resumed his walk. “Oh, and stay out of trouble, you crazy kids.” He got back into his 1987 Corvette, started it up, and calmly pulled out onto the road, leaving the flaming car and the two thugs far behind him.