Because this is a series, I'll keep this right here.  No werewolves... if you wanna read about those, go to my "A Man Named Stubbe" topic.  So, here begins the life of Warlock.  The deadliest man alive.



The Napper

North Carolina
8:30 P.M.

    All it was for the last hour was gently caressing rain, and Warlock was growing tired of it.  His dark narrow eyes scourged the rare clear swipes from his old wiper blades.  It was almost useless to try, but he was a fighter.  Based on the deep Irish roots, he wasn't going to stop until the rain died.  He glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught his glare.  It was numb yet stern, far more machine like than human.  Perhaps that was all he was, a lonely machine.  One beautiful hitchhiker, can I at least get that?

    The road taunted him, yet reminded him of himself.  It was severely blurred, passing through his vision like a ghost in seconds.  Warlock traveled the epitome of his life right now.  Society was almost devoid of acknowledgements to the fact that he even existed.  In a group he could walk away and no one would notice.  What gently caressing group?  You haven't been in a group since college.  He sighed deeply at the small voice in his head. 

    "Would you like it in a bag?" the cashier asked, sniffing with a brief expanding of dark nostrils. 

    "No thanks," he mumbled, looking down to find the hidden pocket of his leather jacket.  Warlock was trying for his wallet.

    "I beg pardon,"

    Warlock glanced up, annoyed.  It flashed away at further examination of the old black man.  The leathery, wrinkled face of someone who had gone through a lot in life.  His droopy eyes were almost muddy under the thick glasses.  Just a typical old man trying to get more than his retirement plan.  He was most likely bordering on deaf too.  So Warlock just shook his head with a louder, "No."

    Nodding curtly, the old man waited for Warlock to pull out a five.  "Were you in the army?" the cashier asked, taking the money and ringing it in the register.  He started counting for change.

    "Keep the change, and," he paused, "yes, I was in the army."

    "Take the change, don't make an old ass like me feel immoral," he frowned up at Warlock's tall frame.  No reference to the previous question. 

    "I don't care about an extra one sixty, keep it."

    The old man sighed, shook his head and reluctantly put the money back.  He knew he wasn't going to win.  "Sayin' no is all you can say isn't it boy?"

    "Pretty much,"

    "It leaves for a lonely life,"

    "I'm damn well aware of it,"

    "Then stop sayin' no, it's not good for you."

    Warlock's anger flared.  "Look old man, I came in here for a Coke and gummy bears.  Not a gently caressing life lesson,"

    "I'm just sayin'," the old man held out his palms.  "No doesn't get you anywhere.  I learned the hard way.  So just a small question, why do you always say no?"

    "Yes gets me killed,"