Honorable Assassin by Jason Lord Case

New South Wales. Their reputations were such
that anyone reaching mid-level criminal status was required to pay
a tribute to them. They administered the large shipments of drugs
and other forms of contraband. They had their fingers in the legal
businesses as well. Protection was afforded to those who
contributed to their coffers and accidents occurred when one did
not. The Australian businessmen were a hard-bitten lot but the Troy
Brother’s methods were savage enough to convince even the most hard
core individualist to come around. All the houses of manly pleasure
paid for their protection, and the protection of their ladies. Any
drug dealers above street level needed permission to operate. It
was almost as if they bought a license and renewed it monthly.
    There were things the research did not
uncover. Much of the constabulary was making extra money by
ignoring some things, and acting on others that may have been
ignored otherwise. Many of the judges and politicians were on the
Troy payroll. Rumor had it that even Colby Carmichael, the
Commissioner of Australia’s Taxation Office, was a recipient of the
brothers’ largesse.
    It would be extremely difficult and
dangerous to even ask too many questions about the brothers’
affairs. To get close enough to ask them the kinds of questions
Terry Kingston wanted answered would be suicide for most men.
Ginger made sure Terry understood that completely.
    Time went by, and Rough and Ready got old.
They were the finest of dogs and fantastic with the sheep but they
were reaching the age where they would need to be replaced. Ginger
bought their replacements as puppies, from the same man he had
bought his current canine assistants from. The puppies were
naturals. They needed little training, most of what they learned
was taught to them by their predecessors. Terry was aware that he
was going to need to put the older pair out of their misery soon.
Arthritis had set into the dogs’ hips and they were in constant
pain.
    When the day came, Terry took them out into
the fields one at a time and shot them in the heads with his own
.38 revolver. He dug a separate grave for each of them, said a
prayer over each of them and went home to clean his gun. It was
much more difficult for him to dispatch Pincher, the Doberman.
Pincher had been his from the first day they spent together.
Pincher also hated every other man on Earth. He was not so
unfriendly to women, but Terry was the only man the creature loved.
It abided Ginger, but did not like him. It never bit Ginger, but
Ginger never turned his back on Pincher. When the day came for
Terry to pull his best friend out into the field and put one in his
brain he took it very personally. He moped about for days
afterward, but he never cried. He had not cried since he was eight
years old.
    Terry’s grades had improved substantially by
the time he graduated, but he never aspired to a university
education. He had effectively distanced himself from the rest of
the graduating class. The farmers’ daughters were amenable to his
affections, but he could not see being with one of them for long.
Romance was not a large component of his personality. He enjoyed
sex at any opportunity but traditional love was something that
eluded him.
    The one thing that drove Terry was revenge.
The question of why his parents had been killed was always there,
but it was secondary now. He had not developed a taste for killing;
it was not something he enjoyed. He just saw it as a necessity.
Everything dies in its time, he reasoned, hastening that demise is
sometimes a critical function of a small segment of society.
    1997 was an eventful year, at least the end
of that year was. Terry turned 17 December 1st and it was like a
Christmas present. The proceeds of The Kingston Agency were turned
over to him as well as ownership of said subsidiary. Most
17-year-old boys would have gone mad with a sudden influx of money
such as that but Terry was not that sort. He invested much of