A TALE OF TWO JARHEADS

Undisclosed location

U.S.A.

David Rossi loaded his .45 ACP Springfield Custom Professional 1911-A1 with an eight round magazine.

He steadied his breathing.

Rossi was several things.

An excellent cook. A New Yorker, born of Italian parents, who was a fan of the Chicago Cubs. A best-selling author. A Vietnam Veteran. A professional divorcee. And an FBI Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. His expertise was exploring the criminal minds that preyed on the innocent.

He valued things like loyalty. Justice. Order. Friendship. Family.

He also enjoyed the finer things in life. Good food, good wine. Designer suits, on occasion. He owned a very nice house in Washington D.C.

He was no longer a young man. On paper, he was even a senior citizen. He was an impeccably groomed ''silver fox'' with a perfectly trimmed goatee. And he has kept almost the same weight since he was 20. He was still slender and fit.

The same borderline OCD that made him a neat freak also made him an exemplary agent and an excellent shot.

He started to move. Stealthily. While crouching. Pistol in hand.

A target appeared on his left. Twenty feet away. Double tap in the chest. Another one on his right. A cop. He held his fire. Another one on his left. A woman with a bag of groceries. He held his fire.

Another on his right. A thug in a ski mask. Rossi put a round in the middle of his face.

Another on his left. Two more in front of him. All masked crooks. Two slugs in each face. But not from Rossi's gun. The FBI agent sighed.

''I had them, you know,'' he said.

''Yeah,'' a familiar voice answered.

''Two head shots? Overkill, maybe?''

''No such thing,'' the other voice said.

Rossi walked back to his starting point and deactivated the shooting range test. As he did, a man stepped out of the shadows. White. Tall. Large. Dressed in black. A smoking M1911 .45 pistol in hand.

And a white skull painted on body armor.

''Frank,'' Rossi said.

''Rossi,'' The Punisher answered.

''Didn't think you'd make it on time,'' Rossi said. ''Read some reports from New York. You've been busy.''

''Yeah.''

The vigilante handed Rossi a bottle of Scotch.

''Fifteen year old Macallan,'' Rossi said, ''Not bad, Frank. Good choice. You took this off a dead wise guy?''

''I bought it.''

''Appreciate it even more, thanks.''

Rossi and Frank Castle had served together in Vietnam. Both ''Big Apple Wops'', as Rossi once said back then, they bonded despite having very different personalities. Rossi was the quick witted jokester, more extroverted. Castle was quiet. A loner.

Back in the war, Castle took a bayonet that was meant for Rossi. Rossi felt like he owed Frank.

They went their separate ways. Rossi became a rising star in the FBI. Frank…lost his family in a shootout between rival mobsters in Central Park and became the Punisher. A vigilante who stalked and killed gangsters and other scum. Over 40 years. Doing a good job of it.

Rossi knew he should not approve. Part of him didn't. But he lost no sleep over it.

When he could, he gave Frank some tips. He lost no sleep over that either.

''Have you had dinner?'' Rossi said.

''Carbonara?''

''Yes, sir. And tiramisu for dessert.''

Castle nodded.

Rossi went over to a plastic cafeteria table near an old stove. He poured two glasses of Scotch. He knew Frank wasn't a drinker but he made exceptions.

''Absent friends,'' Rossi said.

Castle nodded.

They drank. Rossi said:

''I wouldn't be having this food, this drink, if-''

''Don't mention it,'' Castle said.

There was a silence and Castle said:

''You do good work, Rossi.''

''Thanks. I mean I know it's not how you handle things, but…I work with some of the finest people on Earth.''

''Yeah.''

''I think you could have made a fine agent, Frank. Even back then, I told you.''

Castle said nothing and took a piece of garlic bread.

''You and I aren't so different,'' Rossi said, ''Flip sides of a coin. You have good instincts. What you do…you have to understand your target. Anticipate their moves. Figure out weaknesses. It's basically what I do. Or, you could knock down doors with the tactical team.''

''You're a good man, Rossi,'' Castle said.

Rossi stood up and went to a pot on the stove. With two plates. He started serving Castle some pasta. He served himself some. He poured himself some red wine. Castle took water.

''You mean to tell me you're not?'' Rossi said.

Castle said nothing.

''Sure, Frank, my team and I are not full-time vigilantes. But we have bent the rules. When we thought it was necessary. We did it to save lives. We have sought vengeance. And found it. We uphold the law, most of the time. But. We have each other's backs and that matters even more to us than the law. And we have seen the system fail several times. Most of my team wouldn't approve of me being here with you, but all of us have had that moment where we wanted to just pop a sadistic son of a bitch and get it over with.''

''I do it so you don't have to, Rossi,'' Castle said.

It was Rossi's turn to pause.

''There is price to pay for what I do,'' Castle said.

''Yeah. I guess there is. I can still do this.''

Rossi handed Castle a flash drive.

''Human traffickers,'' Rossi said, ''Operating on the entire East Coast. Maybe even nationwide. My colleagues from different agencies have tried everything but…bribes and disappearing witnesses…''

Castle nodded.

''You do the dirty work, Frank, but I still get some blood on my hands.''

''You good with that?''

''If not…You brought me that Macallan. That usually helps.''

Castle said nothing.

''Almost forgot to get our usual playlist going. Elvis. Withers. Sinatra. Stones. Skynyrd…''

Castle nodded. Rossi knew that was enthusiasm for Frank Castle. When the music started.

''You wanna fire some rounds before dessert?'' Rossi said.

''Sure.''

''You know, there's another crusty old jarhead we should invite to our clandestine meetings. Swagger. He's pretty good at getting into trouble. Almost as good as you.''

''Maybe. Been a while.''

''Hey, by that way, didn't I hear you ran into Stan Reacher's kid? What was that about?''

''Thanks, Rossi.''

Rossi was almost startled.

''For what?''

Castle looked at Rossi and said nothing. Rossi nodded quietly and smiled.

''You're welcome, Frank. So, Stan Reacher's kid, how was he?''

THE END