Licensed to Kill by Robert Young Pelton

Author:Robert Young Pelton
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307345455
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2006-08-28T16:00:00+00:00

The Cut

Saturday begins with a downpour. The sun has not yet risen when the men begin trickling down to the breakfast area. They sit together in clusters, trying to make a decent meal of the motel’s tiny buffet-sized muffins, cereal, and junk food. By 7:00 A.M. they have gathered outside the classroom, standing around the closed door in a huddle that emanates the smell of soap and drugstore aftershave. An instructor opens the door and beckons Poor, a bald SWAT team leader from Orange County, California, to come inside the motel meeting room. Minutes later, Poor reappears to read from a list of candidates. “The following will go in for counseling, the rest will wait in their rooms until called.”

As Poor calls out the numbers, each of those asked to stay behind react as if punched. When he hears his number, Don Stout winces and drops his head. All the bravado of yesterday has vanished. When the rest of the group heads off to begin another day of training, they leave behind four very nervous and dejected men.

First, the instructors call in Summer, an SF retiree in his early thirties. The other men all look at Summer, shake their heads, and wish him luck. As the door closes, a tangible, almost theatrical, tension settles over the remaining three as they wait to find what their future holds. When the classroom door opens, the men meet Summer’s eyes with hopeful, imploring looks. Summer makes a cutting motion across his neck. The rest know for sure they are out. Stout starts chain-smoking Marlboro Reds.

The ritual repeats itself as the next two go in looking nervous and come out looking depressed. Only Stout remains. He can’t stand the pressure. He turns to me and a torrent of almost panicked words seem to just fall out of his mouth: “I have to provide for my family. How can I provide for my family? There is not much in the Smokey Mountains.” He pauses for a moment, clenching his jaw to fight back the tears. “I am a Medal of Valor recipient. My mother was dying of cancer, so I turned down Blackwater, turned down a couple of offers. I need this job. You know how much I spent on this gear and getting here?” It is all crashing down. He stops blabbering, appearing to become resigned to his fate. “I have never met a better bunch of guys. It’s poetry to watch them work. I have seen some Feds do this, but they don’t match what these guys do.”

As he shuffles through the doorway, Stout carries himself with the air of a defeated man. When he comes out ten minutes later, he looks like a man transformed. They’ve granted him a reprieve; he only got a warning about his performance level and pointers on how he needs to improve. “Man, that was an ass puckerer,” he tells me. “First thing I said when I sat down was, ‘Permission to release bowels, sir.’” He chuckles at his good fortune, but then he snaps back into his recalcitrant mode.

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