A real life encounter with the one they call Durr and a worthy rival Steve the Deer. I can't take credit for this one. A tale straight from the horses, well in this case Deers, mouth. A few things to notice: Age is nothing but a the current year subtracted by the year you were born.
And a life can range over 40 years even if a man is only 20 years old due to past lives, and even worse dreams.
Without further ado, I give you the story.
It was a dark and stormy night in the early 70's. I had just taken a redeye flight in from Miami; back in San Francisco, and was in no mood to talk. As I left the tarmac though I was passed a folded up piece of paper from the attractive flight attendant. "The Hilton Lobby in 1 hour". Thinking I had stumbled into a date with a fetching young woman with little to no effort. My exhaustion was wiped away and the fact it was 2 a.m. seemed to be a thing of the past.
Stopping only to grab a large coffee from a rundown diner and a paper from the kiosk, I made my way over to the hotel with haste. Seeing as the time was only 2:40 now, I sauntered over to the bar and ordered a Scotch on the Rocks. The room was almost empty, as only the real nighthawks were sticking out the rest of the night. After a quick stop to the restroom to splash some water on myself, I set up shop in the corner of the room, giving myself a good vantage point of the entire room.
All of sudden someone I recognized stepped into the room; except this was no enchanting flight attendant. It was a man I hadn't seen in almost 7 years, and had no wish to see again for another 3. Memories of Rio came flooding back, and not exactly the pleasant "picnic with the family" type. The man was Dur, the most dangerous assassin west of Bangladash. With over 200 recorded killings under his belt and a vicious 3k PB, this was no man you wanted to mess with. Knocking back the remainder of my Scotch and steeling my nerves, I kicked back my chair and stood. Sensing my movement, he spun. A smirk formed on his normally cold expressionless face.
A stare-down not seen since the days of the cowboy had been started, and I wasn't sure of if I would survive to tell the tale. He pulled out his Colt as I matched with my Smith & Wesson. It had been a while since I had fired it and I had no doubts that Dur's was still warm from it's last shot. Raising my gun, his smirk only grew bigger. He had no fear of me or any mortal. Sweat dripped down my face, and from the corner of my eye I saw the bartender slowly back out of the room. I was on my own against Dur. The thought about running crossed my mind, but there was no way I could ever outrun him. My finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly time slowed to a crawl. He started to fire as I emptied my clip. Suddenly a bolt of pain ripped through my chest. I had been hit, and my only hope was that he had been too. I gasped for air, unable to locate Dur in the madness, but all I could do as I sunk into unconsciousness was hope that I had done enough...
I woke up in the hospital several days later, my world nothing but hurt. As I leaned over my bedside table I saw another note. "CIS XC 2013". Damn. Durr was still out there; training, racing, winning.
A humble beware message to all those who go looking for this man.
Steve the Deer and rj.
P.S. She is back!
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