One of my dream jobs was to be a trouble shooter. A person who “fixes” other peoples “problems”. I just wanted to be the anti-hero. Do the jobs that other peoples’ conscious couldnt handle.
And secretly I wanted to be able to “fix” the endings of every story I read, of every show I watched because I didnt like it!
I had no idea why this “career” was so fascinating to me.
Until the last couple of nights.
Either I was having a Past Life Memory Recall or I was suffering from severe mystery/crime withdrawal because in every dream I had the past of few nights I found myself working as a “trouble shooter”
The first night I dreamt I was working for the Bratva. I could speak and understand perfect russian. I was good with guns and close quarter fighting, but I was better with knives. my intellect was good.
My job that day was to make sure my boss’s lieutetant made it to one of their clubs with their money. Who knows. I was just there. We ate at a diner when it went to hell in a hand basket!
It had been the man with the overalls that got my attention. A tow trucker. His coveralls were too clean. His cap pulled low over his eyes, it too was too clean. He handled his cup of coffee, and I noticed that his hands were just a bit too soft, the nails werent caked with dirt or oil embedded under the nails. I glanced down at his feet. Even his shoes! What kind of tow truck operator wears shiny loafers? None!
“We have to go now” I muttered to my boss.
He protested of course, too busy filling his face with food.
“now!” I got up, hauled him up and shoved him up out of his chair. I reached for my gun, just as the tow truck operator turned to fire. My bullet got him in the forehead, his face registering surprise.
“How did you know?” my boss asked, as I got him into the car.
“He was too soft and clean.” I replied. I woke up.
I spoke perfect Russian! They say if you speak another language in your dream thats a past life!
So I have had a past life as a chinese girl. And now maybe as a russian? Cool.
Not so cool was the next dream!
I worked for the Cartels, mostly as a Coyote. Yet as a trouble shooter.
The smell of burned flesh was nauseating.
Bodies were lined in rows of an abandon field, crucified and burnt, leaving only their faces to be recognised. A horrible reminder to those who dared to cross the Cartel.
I stared at the blackened bodies for a moment, turned to walk towards the crying family that waited for me.
“We have to go now.” I told them to get their belongings. I would take them as far as the next town.
We travelled for a half a day before we got to the tiny town. There was a diner. I told them they could freshen up and order anything they want.
As we entered the diner, it got silent. I noticed the odd cold stares we got from the other patrons. They made fuss when we sat down. I told the family to sit down and ignore the townies.
It wasnt even a moment later, when the door to the diner opened, and three men walked in. The family resemblance made them to be father and sons. They walked over. “I am afraid the diner is closed.” the father said.
I ignored him, and continued to order for the family. There was something familiar about him, I couldnt tell what it was tho.
“Did ya hear me, I said the diner is closed.”
“We dont like outsiders!” said the son.
I closed the menu. “you keep yelling in my ear, boy we will have something to talk about.” I grumbled. I noticed the shifty nervous energy from other patrons. They were scared of these three.
The father slammed his hand on my menu, “You get those” he said a nasty racist word. “out of my diner. Out of my diner.”
The waitress began to protest, “please we dont want no trouble.”
The boys shoved her.”Shut your damn mouth, you stupid whore!” the boy shouted.
Ah yes, there it was. It finally clicked on who I was dealing with. These little buggers were on the run from my boss. And had set up shop in this town, and was terrorizing these poor people.
Before they realised what was happening, I had shoved my butter knife in the old man’s hand, grabbed the boy’s head and slammed it in to table, knocking him unconscious. Grabbing the coffeepot from the waitress I flung its hot contents into the other’s face. He screamed. I shoved my fist into his jaw knocking him out.
“You are going to say goodbye to these nice people.” I muttered to the screaming old man. “You are going to leave, and never come back. Because if you do, I will know about it, and leave your carcass in the field.”
the old man shouted an obscenity at me. Yet he managed to do as I say.
I killed two birds with one stone. Protect a town from these bastards. And save these bastards from my boss.
When i woke up this morning, I thought it was odd.
How could I have a memory recall about being in the cartel?
I do have russian and mexican ancestry tho.
Either I am having Past Life recall, or I am suffering from severe mystery/crime tv show/ book withdrawal.