The whiskey was hitting a little harder today than it normally would. Detective James Pederson sat at the sticky bar that had decades of names carved into its top. However, at this particular bar, people knew Detective Pederson as "Atlas". Atlas was a gun-for-hire from Dumas, Texas. It had taken 8 months of hanging around "The Dusty Bottle" for Atlas to be invited into the Viktus Evropen crime group. Viktus Evropen (pronounced vick-tuss your-open) or VE for short was a group of skinheads from the Kansas City suburbs. Normally, the Lafayette County Sheriff's Office wouldn't concern themselves with such a group. But, VE had proved itself capable of moving large quantities of 3D-printed guns. They were also suspected of using those guns to clear their way into new cities.
Atlas was meeting with a lieutenant of the gang to discuss his appointed role: "enforcer". Atlas would be responsible for making sure that group members did not stray far outside the lines. Leadership had the final say, and Atlas was to ensure that their orders were followed. Detective Pederson was hoping for an assignment that would allow him to collect a bit more intel. But, he'd take what he could get. He was already 8 months in and so far had only reported his bar tabs.
Paul finally showed up and sat next to Atlas. His appearance was surprising. Yes, he was a bald skinhead. But he was also wearing thick Buddy Holly glasses, skinny jeans, and a graphic tee. If you passed him in the mall and didn't know any better, you would assume that he was a normal, if not attractive, 34-year-old. Detective Pederson knew that Paul was getting tired of this life. He wanted out. The only folks that had gotten out of VE were promptly loaded into a pine box and placed underground. Atlas knew that he could flip him. But he'd have to be careful. Blowing his cover in VE could destroy the case that he had built. It could also get him killed.
"Paul, do you know why my name is Atlas?"
"I imagine because you travel and have a thing for maps?"
"Atlas is a Titan. In Greek mythology. After the Gods took over, they punished him by making him hold up the sky. He stands there and with all of his might, he holds up the sky so that it doesn't come crashing down onto all of the people on Earth."
"Alright. So, you're holding something heavy?" asked Paul with a raised eyebrow
"Yeah. My chosen punishment in life is to keep people like VE away from those on Earth. Away from society. Paul, I'm a cop. And I can get you out."
Paul stood up to leave.
"Paul, don't walk out that door without hearing me out."
"I hear you, but I ain't listening. "
Atlas threw a 20 at the bar and followed him out the door. "Paul, I'll only offer you once."
"Yep, and I only get to die once. I don't see no reason for it to be soon." Paul turned towards his truck.
A shot rang out. Paul held onto his truck mirror before collapsing onto the gravel.
Detective Pederson looked at his hand. It was holding a 3D-printed gun. A wisp of smoke came from its barrel. This was what it meant to be Atlas. Keeping the sky up. Keeping it away from the ground. This was his eternal punishment.
Atlas tossed the gun on the ground next to Paul. Another dead Nazi. There's something to drink to. Atlas got in his truck to head home. He'd have to answer some questions in the morning. But for now, he could go home and be himself. Whoever that was.
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Note: I had the idea to try this whole "two characters into one character". I don't think I like how it turned out in this story. I don't really like this story. But I wrote it, so I posted it.
