Character Creation Contest #125: Marked For Deathstroke

Deathstroke the Terminator and Red Tool are owned by DC Comics

Death-Stroke and Deadpool are owned by Marvel Comics

Soko and Danika Sedova: Bounty Hunter Babe was created for the Patronverse by Impurest Cheese and is currently owned by cbishop

Pyrosome is a character created by Impurest Cheese for 5^th Column Comics. The other mercenaries Vinegarroon and Dynamite are original characters created by Sundown89.

Jennifer Bryan is an original character created by Mr. Monster

Batman vs Darth Vader is a fan-fic created by Batkevin 74

“Hold.” said Sensei Parker, or as I usually called him, Dad. “You’re stopping halfway into your reverse. You need to reverse and kick in one motion.”

I practiced in the air a few times, before turning to the other students in and saying “Permission to break board, sir?”

“Permission granted.” The senior student said as he braced himself for my kick.

“KYAAAAA!” I shouted as my foot split the board in half.

“Very good.” My father said. “Now, sparring gear on!”

“Yes, sensei!” We all said in unison.

My father was the owner of a very successful dojo in Star City. He taught karate four nights a week, and guess who was there all four nights, both as a student and an assistant instructor?

My first round was against Dale. Dale was a 6’2 retired Marine, and the second best fighter in the class. Take a guess who the first was?

Not that it was easy; he landed a few good blows against me. But he just couldn’t compete with my speed. I must’ve landed at least five strikes on him in just a one minute sparring round.

After we were done, my father said “Good job today, students. Next week, we will begin testing prep. That’s all the time we have left for today, so time to bow out.”

_______

As usual, I helped my dad clean up and close the dojo, then he drove me home. Normally, the rest of the evening would’ve involved having a quick dinner, doing my homework, and going to bed.

But not this time.

From the moment my dad stepped inside, I could tell just by the look on his face that he knew something was off. I don’t know what he noticed, but he must’ve seen or heard something that threw him off.

“GET OUT!” He shouted to me as he reached into a drawer on his bookshelf and pulled out a handgun.

And then, bullets started flying from down the hallway, and out came a man I’d only seen on the news but never dreamed I’d see in real life.

“Deathstroke.” I said to myself. I could tell just by his trademark mask that it was him.

“LEAVE!” My father ordered, and I dashed outside.

I looked from a window to see that the moment Deathstroke had to stop to reload, my father ran up to him and landed a jump sidekick so powerful that it broke his chest armor. And then, he turned and ran.

“IN THE CAR!” He shouted as both ran into his car to drive away.

_________

As he drove, he ordered “Text your Mom. Tell her to meet us at the safe place.”

“What’s the safe place?” I asked.

“Trust me, she’ll know.” He said.

“Dad, I need to call the police.” I said.

“NO!” He barked. “No need for the police, I can handle this.”

“Dad, how are you going to…”

“Tyler, have you ever heard of The Maca que?”

“That low level superhero who used to run around Star City back before Green Arrow took over? Why?”

“You’re looking at him.” My father said.

___________

We eventually reached a cabin a few miles outside Star City. He said “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but for ten years, I worked as a vigilante stopping low level crime.”

“I got on the bad side of a mob boss, one I knew I couldn’t beat. I decided to play it safe, get out while I was still ahead.”

“He must’ve found me.” He continued. “I don’t know how, but he found me, and he’s hired Slade Wilson to kill me.”

We entered his safe house, where Mom had already beaten us. It was a lot less, I don’t know, super, than I imagined. Instead of his super suits on a glorious display in a bulletproof glass case, they were hanging from plastic coat hangers in a closet.

“I had macaroni & cheese if you’re hungry.” My mom said.

“You have food here?”

“We have up to eight days worth of non-perishable emergency food.” My dad explained. “I hope you like macaroni & cheese, oatmeal, potato soup, and oatmeal because those are the cheapest emergency foods we could find at Wal-Mart.”

“Tyler, I truly am sorry you had to find out this way.” My father explained. “But I will protect you and your Mom, that’s a promise. Now that attacking me at home was a bust, Deathstroke will probably go for the dojo next. What he may not expect is that I’ll be there waiting for him.”

“What about yourself?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. “Stay here. If all goes well, I’ll contact you when this is over.”

“If it doesn’t…well, you’ll probably see it on the news if it doesn’t.”

___________

I should’ve obeyed my father, but I didn’t. I waited for my mom to fall asleep, and then I stole her car. Even if I did wake her up leaving the cabin, it would’ve been too late for her to stop me.

I drove all the way to my dad’s dojo. My dad rushed out from his office, only to say “Tyler, have you lost your mind? I thought you were Deathstroke.”

My father was wearing his super suit. As The Macaque, he had steel gloves for punching, steel toe boots for kicking, and was covered in lightweight body armor.

“Dad, I’m sorry.” I said. “But I can’t let you do this alone.”

“Tyler, that’s very brave of you.” He reassured me. “But also very dumb. This isn’t a sparring match, you could really…”

And then, there was a laser sight on his chest.

“GET DOWN!” I shouted before hitting the deck.

My father ducked moments before he would’ve gotten shot. Granted his armor would’ve stopped the bullet, but it still would’ve hurt like Hell.

Moments later, Deathstroke entered the dojo. I ran up to him and tried to punch him. He just evaded my punch, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me so hard I tripped and fell on my face.

“Stay outta this, kid.” He said. “I don’t like killing children, but I don’t like failing a contract even more.”

I didn’t listen. I got up and tried to kick him, but this time, Deathstroke punched me in the chest so hard I couldn’t stand and could barely breathe.

“DON’T YOU HURT MY SON!” My father shouted before running up to Deathstroke and delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to his head. Deathstroke stumbled back, and my father followed up with a flurry of punches.

Once Deathstroke regained his footing, he drew a knife and began slashing. My father evaded most of the strikes, and the few he didn’t weren’t strong enough to cut through his armor.

Finally, Deathstroke delivered a powerful snap kick that made my father’s knee buckle, and while my father was struggling just to get back up, Slade ripped off a piece of his neck armor, and sliced his jugular vein wide open.

“NO!” I shouted.

And then, Deathstroke simply left.

I crawled over to my dad and said “Dad, I’m sorry, I should’ve saved you.”

“Tyler, do not blame yourself for even a second.” He said. “This is on me. Take the suit; it’s yours now.”

_______

It was a long, hard journey from there. I spend years at other dojos and boxing gyms throughout the city, becoming the best fighter I could be.

It also took years to finally track down the mob boss who ordered the hit on my dad. But I wasn’t going to do it alone; if I did, there was a good chance I’d end up like my father. So I had to get help.

“You wanted to see me?” The Green Arrow asked.

“Yeah.” I said. “I know where Star City mob boss Charles Meloni is hiding. Think we can take him out together?”

“I think we definitely can.” Green Arrow replied.

"So you're new here, tell me about yourself." said Sally to Joseph.

"Well for most of my life I have traveled back and forth between Haiti and New Orleans. Since I was child I practiced the Hoodoo." answered Joseph.

"Magic?" asked Sally

"Yeah that's kind of how I ended up here." said Joseph. "My sister had joined the gangs who were making all the aunties and uncles pay. I pleaded with her to leave those gangs, but when she stopped hanging with them, they killed her."

Joseph sat beside Sally on top of a tall building in Nanda Parbat. He wore a trench coat and army boots. He hung his dread-lock covered head, trying not to weep. Sally put a hand on his shoulder and patiently waited for him to continue.

"In my rage I traveled all over the Islands and all over South America to learn all the worst curses from all the evil teachers. I murdered who they asked me to murder. I cursed villages for them. I brought human sacrifices to them. I succeeded in all their challenges even when they were designed to send me to my death. All for the learning of their craft. By the time my learning was over I had surpassed them all in the Hoodoo. ".

Sally witnessed Joseph grow in size, carried way in his own story. She watched his reddening eyes sink back into their sockets and an evil frightening scowl develop in the features of his face. She could see the potential of the dark power that Joseph had acquired.

"And you took revenge on the gangs?" Sally inquired.

Joseph took a moment to calm himself before he answered. "Yes. First I found the woman who murdered my sister. I cursed her with stabbing menstrual pain and with each wave of pain, the memory of murdering her. That was my second mistake. My first mistake was being too open in my search for my sister's killer."

Sally studied the scars that had been inscribed into Joseph's dark skinned face. "Probably more scar tissue that facial skin." she thought. The scar patterns followed the contours of his face for the most part but there were also symbols here and there. She figured they must be significant. In a few places she could make out that new scars had been etched over old ones.

Joseph continued "I went on to curse every member of the gangs that I saw in the streets. I bought their drugs and touched their bellies with my spirit. I wakened the serpent that lives in them so that their lives would be cursed with chaos. Every few weeks a new dealer would come to replace the old and I would do the same to them."

"I regularly put the guilt curse on all the cash in all the registers of all the businesses that those gangs were stealing from so that when they feel guilty for stealing the money or worried about being busted, the anxiety grows within them without limit until they become sick or go mad."

"I was enjoying this process for a good year before I decided to go up the chain of command and start cursing the bigger fish. But they were already onto me. I went to a warehouse to curse the doorways but the guards there shot at me on sight because the gang leaders had worked out who I was and what I was doing. I had to become immaterial so that I would not be hit by the bullets. This juju does not come easy and if you do it, you must pay with sickness. I was sick with fever for days."

"After that I had to be more incognito and more stealthy. I sent packages in the mail containing cursed sacrifices. I infiltrated the kitchens of the restaurants where the warehouse bosses ate. I cursed their food. I shriveled their stomachs and soured their bellies. I planned my escapes every time and I dodged all of their attacks on me."

"Then one day they just seemed to stop coming after me. For two days I roamed freely, until my suspicions led me to ask the dead what was going on. In a vision I saw an assassin in a mask that was orange on one side and black on the other. He was holding a picture of me. I saw him defeat twenty men with his sword and I saw him breaking stone with his hands. I saw him meditating and I knew a man with mental strength such as this would not succumb easily to simple curses. "Deathstroke" said a voice to me and I knew I was marked for death. ".

"I decided that with my remaining time I would go straight to the top of the chain of command and curse the head of the gangs, Senator Cad Cuckold. I cursed his car, I cursed all the doorways he walks through. I cursed his staff. I made it so that the senator would retch and gag every time he tells a lie. As I was leaving the offices of the Senator, a blade came out of my stomach. I was being killed by the assassin. "

"Around my neck was a string and hanging from the string were two little dolls I made, they were bound together. One of the dolls had an orange and black mask. It had eyes that I had taken from a cat and ears that I had taken from a bat. The other doll had dreads and a trench coat. I ripped them from my neck and soaked them in my blood. I pulled out a white silk cloth and bound the dolls together with it. It was my final curse, a death tag curse. It gave the assassin the ability to see and hear my ghost and it binds us together so that I can haunt him as much as I like."

And with that, Sally watched Joseph rise up from their bench seat and glide after a man in a black and orange mask who was walking the streets below.

The Reverend Doctor Contract

Richmond, Virginia, home of the client:

"...So, the guy that did our wedding showed up in a hearse! Can you believe it?" laughed Oliver Money, his jowls shaking. "Maybe he was trying to tell us something? I don't know. But yeah, three years later she left me, took half of everything, and donated it to a thrift store out of spite." He still looked irritated about that as he drummed his fingers on the desk a couple of times.

"Well, I can be spiteful too. That's the hearse over there. He calls it 'The Jazz Funeral.' Can you believe it? I hired the Wildebeest Society, and they sent a guy named Murder Hornet to steal it, and run the witch down."

Standing behind the two chairs that were in front of the desk, a patch covering his right eye, Slade Wilson scoffed. "Are you serious? Murder Hornet?"

Munny threw his hands in the air. "I know, right? Then he took it mudding like it's a four-by-four! Can you believe it? Just out in Powhatan driving a danged murder weapon around!"

Deathstroke shook his head. "Yeah, I can believe it. It's Murder Hornet." His exposed eye closed, and he muttered to himself, "I knew I was going to regret this. Murder Hornet?"

Oliver shrugged, and folded his hands over his ample gut. "Well, anyway, Wildebeest reined the jackanape in, had the hearse towed back here, and it's been sitting there ever since."

"If your ex-wife is dead, why am I here?" asked Deathstroke, sounding a bit annoyed.

Munny sniffed. "I want the man who performed our marriage ceremony dead too." He tossed a picture onto the desk, and said, "Lee Britt. Also known as The Reverend Doctor."

"Is that it?" asked Wilson.

"No," said Munny, holding up an index finger. "Also: bring me the Silver Lady."

"Wildebeest asked me to take care of this one contract," said Deathstroke. "Kidnapping will cost you extra."

Oliver waved his hands in front of him. "No, no, no. 'Silver Lady' is not a person. It's his saxophone. He's very proud of it- had it shipped all the way from Italy." He sneered, and added, "I think I'll put it next to the car over there."

Wilson flicked his eye towards the hearse for a moment, then looked back to Munny. "No."

"'No?'" growled Munny. "What do you mean, 'No?' I am the client!"

"You are Wildebeest's client," corrected Wilson, "not mine. Wildebeest contracted me to finish this, and he didn't say anything about a saxophone. I don't do trophy hunting anymore."

The man leaned back in his chair. "I see. Anything else?"

"Yes. If I hadn't already accepted this contract, I'd walk away now. You're an idiot, and I don't like dealing with idiots. But my word is my bond."

Leaning forward again, face reddening, Oliver's jowls shook a bit as he fumed, "How dare you?"

"Mister Munny, I can't believe you were stupid enough to keep the murder weapon. You need to get rid of that immediately," he said, pointing to the car. "Contact Wintergreen, ask him to send the Chop Shoppers out here. They will dismantle it, and get it all scrapped. When that's done, Wintergreen will let me know, and I'll take down the Reverend Doctor."

The man balked. "Why would I do that? That's my trophy to replace my 'trophy wife!' And I want the Silver Lady! I'll pay you good for it! I may not have Lotta Munny anymore, but I got a lotta money, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"How wonderful for you," Deathstroke said blandly. Then he pulled his sword from the sheath slung over his back, and rested the tip on the floor, his hands resting on the pommel. "You'd 'do that' because it's the murder weapon. It looks like a carnival ride. Someone had to have seen it, and identified it to the police.

"Murder Hornet likes to brag. So, someone somewhere has heard him running his mouth, and the police surely know who they're looking for. They just don't have the hard evidence yet. If they find you with the car, they'll have the evidence that can tie you to Murder Hornet, and him to the murder.

"Despite his armor's abilities, they will bring him in, because he's a moron who only sometimes manages to do his job. When they bring him in, he will talk, and he will roll over on Wildebeest and you," he said, pointing the sword at Munny's head.

"Then the police will make you talk, and you will roll over on me. If you roll over on me, I will kill you, and I don't get paid to kill you. So, that will aggravate me, and I will make sure you suffer before you die."

Oliver gulped.

"So, I repeat," Wilson said as he sheathed the sword, "Mister Munny, get... rid... of... the car."

The rotund man screwed his face up in a dour grimace, trying to hide his fear. Lifting his chin a bit, he said, "And if I don't?"

"Then the only other way to keep that car from eventually coming back to me is to kill you," said Deathstroke, "and as I said, I don't get paid to kill you."

"You--" he started before clearing his throat slightly. "You wouldn't do that."

Slade drew his sidearm. "Do I strike you as a man who likes to leave evidence, Mister Munny?"

Oliver's eyes flicked to the weapon involuntarily, and he laughed nervously. "No... no, you would not do that. You kill Britt, and bring me Silver Lady. I'll pay."

Wilson's eye closed again, and he sighed deeply before pulling on his mask. He raised the gun, and pointed it towards Munny's head. "I lied. I don't have time to make you suffer."

Leaning back reflexively, Oliver said, "You... you would do that?"

Deathstroke's dry reply was, "Can you believe it?" Then he pulled the trigger.

***

Richmond Coliseum, a few days later:

A stage hand wearing a slim mic running from an earpiece came hustling behind the curtain, and said, "Mister Britt, it's time."

"Thank you, Conrad," said Lee as he stuck his notes in his pocket.

"You ready?" asked his friend, Cassandra, smiling and straightening his jacket's collar.

Lee smiled back. "I have to admit: I'm a little nervous. I've never done a wedding this big before. Certainly not at the Coliseum."

"You'll do fine," she assured him. "Just another wedding. What number is this now?"

"Yeah, you'll do great," said Conrad, not giving Lee time to answer. "Time to Reverend Doctor. Go go go," he urged, pushing him towards the curtain.

Britt looked annoyed, but put on his wedding smile as he emerged from behind the curtain to face the arena. There was a low roar of excitement that climbed as he stepped out, the crowd anticipating the appearance of the celebrities they came to see get married- Lady Nana and Marion Mason.

Lee mused to himself, They won't last a year. He typically wouldn't perform a marriage he didn't think would work, but his fee was going to be much higher than usual, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be part of a spectacle that doesn't often happen in Richmond. Yet the decision wasn't made for the money or personal vanity. He simply liked having a good story to tell, and his friends were going to love this. It's too bad The Jazz Funeral was stolen, he thought. The crowd would have loved it.

Britt was wearing a lapel mic. He looked down to check its position, and noticed a red dot over his breast pocket, right in the center of the boutonniere. He managed to dodge left so that the bullet caught him in the right side of his bulletproof vest. He still went down hard.

As screams went up from the crowd, swelling into a full blown panic, a harpoon-like device slammed into the stage, attached to a cable coming from one of the Coliseum's upper tiers. Britt managed to lift his head in time to see Deathstroke ziplining towards him. He rolled with the kick to his face to keep from being knocked out, but it still hurt like blazes. Looking back to the metahuman who now had a rifle pointed at his head, he was only mildly relieved when Deathstroke snarled, "Chance! What are you doing here?"

"Protecting my client," said Britt. He rolled to his left as a bullet dug into the stage, and did a leg sweep that Deathstroke avoided.

"I don't have time for you, Chris," the assassin growled as he extended his staff. There was an incessant buzz over the screaming of the crowd, and it grew louder. Deathstroke suddenly whirled, jumped, and fired.

The shot clipped one of Murder Hornet's wing generators, and he went spiraling into the second tier balcony. "Amateur," said Slade. Looking back to Lee, he said, "Get out while you can, Chance. Some of us want the Human Target to keep in the game. Others want you dead. Murder Hornet's stupid enough to think he can take you."

"I'm not going anywhere while my client's life is at stake," said Chance, pulling a sidearm from his jacket and actually managing to put two shots in Deathstroke's chest armor.

Slade staggered back a couple of steps and dropped his staff, but didn't go down. His one eye narrowed towards Chance-disguised-as-Britt as he reached to his back, and drew both of his swords. "You don't have to worry about that now," he said, then attacked.

Chance managed to roll away from one strike, the sword chopping into the stage floor. He got his arm up in time for the concealed arm guard to catch the other blade. The second of surprise for the assassin allowed the bodyguard to kick Deathstroke in the side of the knee, sending him down for the three seconds he needed to get to his feet and run. He reached the curtain backdrop as Slade fired a couple of shots from his staff, just missing Chance, but blasting through the curtain.

The bodyguard ducked behind the curtain, and tackled Lee's friend to the floor, shouting, "Cassandra! Get down!" As soon as they hit the floor, he pointed to the stage's side door, and said, "Crawl that way, now!"

Cassandra nodded, and army crawled like a seasoned boot to the exit. She was exiting when Deathstroke reached the curtain. He would have shot her, but Chris clocked him in the chin with a mic stand. It might have knocked him out if the force hadn't been absorbed some by the heavy curtain that masked his swing.

A sword slashed the curtain, and halted right at Chris' neck. Chance halted abruptly, knowing the assassin had him. He held his hands up in surrender as Deathstroke stepped fully through the curtain. "Chance," he growled, "I told you I don't have time for you." Eyeing Conrad, he added, "And now, you don't have a reason to be here."

Wilson kicked Chance aside, simultaneously drawing a second sword, and throwing it to impale Conrad through the stomach. Charging as soon as the blade had left his hand, he was there in seconds, and made an overhand swing with his other sword that landed in the top of the stage hand's head. As it connected, the disguise peeled from his face, revealing the real Lee Britt.

Slade growled, "Reverend Doctor, I presume?" The final surprise was evident on what was left of Lee's face as Deathstroke pulled his sword away. Then with a final slice, he beheaded Britt. Taking a phone from his pocket, he snapped a picture of the head lying in the floor, and messaged it to Wildebeest. Behind it, he sent a talk-to-text of, "Now we're square."

Looking back, he squinted at Chance who was barely up on one elbow on the floor. Chris just held up a hand at him, and shook his head. Deathstroke nodded once, and walked out the stage door. The crowd was still stampeding for the exits, and security was barely managing that. He'd be gone before anyone could check backstage.

***

Lewistown, Montana, one week later:

Deathstroke sat on the porch in a rocker, servicing his rifle. An old hound dog laid next to the chair. When the stranger arrived, the dog moved no more than raising a brow and flicking its eyes sideways, a quiet snuffle his only alarm.

Not moving, Slade said, "I hear him, Grant." Still working on the rifle, he asked, "How did you find me, Chance?"

Leaning against the cabin's outer wall, Chris said, "You don't have any secrets from me."

Wilson gave a slight chuckle. "There might come a day you regret that, you know. Sorry my contract had to cost you your fee," he said.

The bodyguard pursed his lips for a moment. "He paid in advance. Non-refundable."

Slade nodded. "Smart."

"Practical," said Chance. "I'm being a Human Target. I might not come back, and I have expeneses."

He finally glanced in Chance's direction. "What do you want?"

"What did you mean 'Some of us want the Human Target to keep in the game?'"

The assassin stopped cleaning his rifle, and laid it on his lap as he looked up at Christopher Chance. He nodded stiffly, and smiled. It looked forced, like he didn't really know how. "You're the 'get out of contract free' card," he said casually. "Sometimes a client isn't a client by the assassin's choice. They blackmail us into it, offer a trade of a hit for something else, or we feel forced into it to uphold our reputations."

He shrugged. "Smart assassins can find a 'loophole.' You are a great one. If I can shoot you instead of the target I don't want to take down, I can at least say I thought the target was down if it's revealed, and threaten the client with swift and brutal retribution if they try to make trouble about it. In most cases though, someone like you lets the 'death' seem real, and sends the target into a new life with a new identity. You make life easier in those situations, so it's convenient to keep you alive even in the situations where you make things harder."

Chris stared for a few seconds, then said, "Well... when you say it like that, I feel so dirty."

Slade said, "You asked," as he looked down the barrel again.

"Why did you bother with this one?" asked Chris. "Oliver Munny was dead- I assume that was your handiwork- there was no client left to please."

Slade looked up again, perturbed. "My word is my bond."

"That old chestnut," Chris said sarcastically. Deathstroke threw a knife at him, and Chris caught it casually before planting it next to his foot in the floorboard of the porch.

Deathstroke grunted at the move. "Nice. Anyway, Munny wasn't my client, Wildebeest was."

"Yeah. About that?" asked Chance. "Since when are you part of the Wildebeest Society?"

Wilson snapped the rifle shut, and leaned it against the wall. "Please. The Society is a bunch of low-rent hitmen, ninjas, and assassins who wish they were me or Dumas. The only competent one of the bunch is Wildebeest himself. I think he just likes the commission he charges the Society members."

"Then, why are you working for him?"

Slade sighed hard, and slid a hand through his white hair. "I owed him a favor. The only contract that has ever been truly difficult for me was the Teen Titans. Not long after that was done, I got another contract on two teen heroes in Fairfax, Virginia. When I discovered they could disguise themselves through magic, I didn't want the headache. So, I pawned the contract off on Wildebeest in exchange for a favor at a later date. Which led to your Reverend Doctor."

Chance was silent, lips pursed as he thought about the assassin's words.

"Anything else?" asked Slade.

"Yes, actually," said Chris. "How did you know I wasn't Lee Britt?"

Deathstroke stood and walked over to Chance. Almost nose-to-nose with him, he leaned to one side, and whispered in his ear, "You have a tell." He winked at Chris who was clearly shocked, and walked into his cabin, shutting the door behind him.

Chris walked back to his car, pulling his cell phone out as he went. He punched the contact, hit send, and put the phone on a hands-free holder when he got in. As he sped away from Slade's ranch, the phone picked up, and he heard, "Chase."

"Cameron, it's Christopher Chance. Listen, you've got a leak in the DEO!"

"What makes you say that?" she asked, concerned.

"Deathstroke said I had a tell. I definitely do not. So, that could only mean that someone told him I was going to be standing in for Lee Britt. Since it was the DEO that put me on this detail, it had to be DEO that leaked it to him!"

"Listen, Chance, that's not p--"

"--You need to clean house, Chase! Don't call me again until you do! Chance out!" he snapped, ending the call, and throwing the phone into the passenger side floorboard. He fumed for a few seconds, and slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. Then he screamed in rage, sighed hard, and headed for the nearest airport.

**********