Chapter Fourteen

THE GRYPHON

 

The Gryphon had found the ad posted on a dark web secret bulletin board meant for people to hire individuals with certain specialized skills. Of Aboriginal descent with long black hair, dark brown eyes, and tall with broad shoulders, Gifford Longfield was used to being admired. Born during the Great Depression on a small reservation, Gif grew up hungry and abused. He wanted more from his life than starvation and degradation. He yearned for the life of privilege afforded to non-indigenous people.

As soon as he was old enough, he joined the military in 1943, trained, became an expert marksman, and was shipped to Europe. The next year, he was mortally wounded in an ambush. He staggered from the field to find a quiet place to die when a Frenchman happened upon him. The man told Gif he was “too pretty to die.”

Gif only recalled bits from the week that followed. Pleasure and pain beyond imagining and being told of his new life before the man took his leave, abandoning Gif to find his own way. He took on a new identity, the Gryphon, and made his way to the United States to build a new life. He found purpose in righting the wrongs of those who suffered, especially children brought up in poverty, or those who were unjustly persecuted. Gryphon built a fortune off his victims but gave as much as he took.

This particular post, a search and rescue mission, called to Gryphon. Obviously placed by a civilian. Pfft, meeting at a coffee shop? He wandered downtown San Francisco. He loathed cities, with their pollution and rude people. It was well after midnight and he was supposed to be meeting a group of three: two men and a woman at the overpriced coffee shop. The streets were still busy with late night bar hoppers, people visiting the feminist sex-toy shop, and others vying for space at a few local twenty-four-hour diners in the area. Last movies of the night were letting out and people poured from the Metreon and wandered around eating mochi from the small dessert shop, also strategically open at this time of night. Gryphon scowled at those of privilege, people who obviously never knew true suffering.

Fashionably dressed in a black, custom-fit, club-worthy suit, hiking boots, and a black cap, Gryphon also wore a couture long coat that hid his firearms. It was a crisp, clear October night and a sliver of moon was high in the sky. Gryphon observed as people filed in and out of the shop, apparently needing that last cup of java to top off the night.

Watching through the window, Gryphon waited until the woman and two men sat near the door. Shrugging, he made his way into the shop and slid into the seat next to the woman.