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lifetime or more of dogs that slept, cats that scratched, and kids. Kids that made forts of the cushions and teenagers that lounged as if the couch were a hammock.
    Long ago banished to the basement the couch was the place that he would comfortably set up his ideal home theater. The old TV in a cabinet that looked like a dresser, but wasn’t, also bore the scars of time and cats. This was the time when a quiet summer night felt magical.
    The ancient rounded glass screen crackled alive with the war of ants in the snow, until a picture appeared. Old Westerns, War movies, and a final home for the alien invaders that once could only be found in some dusty drive-in.
    No, it wasn’t like those old movies at all. He and his team had been furiously firing their weapons at the rebels, who were darting for cover and exchanging fire back. The sounds of more than one grenade’s explosion joined in the deadly symphony until his ears were deafened and every nerve was concentrated on delivering accurate fire.
    The bullets were simply invisible and when his arm and leg were grazed by them, it was as if some unseen diabolical spirit was cracking a whip of razor wire across his skin. Like a snowball fight, it was the unseen and unexpected ones that got you.
    Kidd was crouched in tall grass on the edge of a forest that hid red mud hills and it went on forever. Next to him were his three teammates and a woman of perhaps twenty-five years old. She was beautiful. Her shorts and khaki shirt were soaking wet and covered in mud. Her auburn ponytail was draped over her shoulder and her soft white face was streaked with sweat and bits of debris from the forest. Her ball cap was dark grey and had a single yellow “W” on the front. As she nervously made a slight smile to him, he wondered what the “W” stood for . Wisconsin? Washington? Maybe just “W” as in “What the hell just happened here?”   
    What happened was, the client who had come to Colombia to meet him had gotten herself kidnapped by a group of low level cartel thugs. What the hell is so hard about following simple instructions?
    Two sweaty men covered in mud broke through the thick brush toward them. Kidd reached for his shoulder holster and drew out an ivory handled, silver revolver. The instant the criminals spotted the weapon they seemed to know Kidd, at least by reputation. They lowered their weapons to their sides and shouted back into the forest to any of their remaining compatriots to cease fire. The two men yelled several apologies and then ran back into the dense brush.
    Kidd was operating under the understanding that the woman was Kurt’s wife, Kate and not Kurt’s sister-in-law. Kidd looked at her, curious to finally meet Kurt’s wife. So this is Kurt’s wife? A little young to be married to an old guy like him!
    She seemed awfully young for Kurt. His thoughts were broken up by the sound of rotors chopping away at the humid air, like a machete missing its mark. Two olive drab helicopters quickly appeared over the trees and gently landed on the grassy field. As if trying to escape the fury of a tornado the group made a crouching walk against the wind and into the helicopters.
    The girl and Kidd went in one helicopter, while the remaining three men climbed aboard the other. They were barely inside when the machines lifted up and back over the trees. Kidd reached into a small backpack and pulled out a small device. He punched in a few characters on the keys to announce that they were done and pulling away.
    He handed the grateful girl a water bottle and thought about the exorbitant amount that Kurt had kept on deposit with Kidd’s organization to be used as a retainer for any emergency. It was expensive to have the convenience and security of an armed and global 911-like response at your disposal.
    Kurt had once said to Kidd that he and his friends were nothing more than pirates, thieves, and smugglers, but when the chips were down, they were the ones he wanted on