Collateral Damage

“Wakey, wakey, Mr. Estrada! It’s time for us to have a little conversation.”

“There you are, back from the brink of oblivion. Boy, that Naloxone is really powerful stuff, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, sorry. I guess it’s rather difficult to answer me with that sock stuffed in your mouth and your jaws Duc-taped shut. It’s okay, you can just nod yes or no to my questions.”

“I’m sure you’re wondering where all your guards are, right? Well, no one is going to administer Naloxone to them. It wouldn’t have worked anyway because I sprayed them with Ricin. So, by now they’re dead. Collateral damage is the correct term, I think. That fentanyl you manufacture is really potent stuff, don’t you agree?”

“Thinking back, the first time I remember hearing the phrase “collateral damage” was watching the 6 o’clock news. Chet Huntley was describing a battle during the Vietnam War in which our troops had killed and wounded several civilians. It was unfortunate, but our side did what it had to do to win. The civilians were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those people were now referred to as collateral damage. Napalm Girl was the poster child for the term back then.

I never gave the phrase much thought until just recently. War is violent and messy and innocent people will die. Time keeps moving forward, and wars continue to change locations. What remains the same is the unintentional damage it causes. We have the technology necessary to place a cruise missile through the kitchen window of a terrorist leader. But in doing so, his wife and two children will also die. We have rid the world of an evil person, but we’ve made several new enemies because the houses on either side of the one targeted have been destroyed as well.

To secure a victory over Ukraine, Russia is destroying millions of tons of grain. Putin and his generals feel this will cause the world governments to pressure Ukraine to surrender. Unfortunately, the collateral damage created by this military action are hundreds of children living in Africa. They have no idea why their parents cannot provide them with food. All they want is enough sustenance to live and grow into adults.”

“So why am I blathering on about war and history and collateral damage while you are bound to a chair and gagged? Please let me explain. Actually, your only choice is to sit and listen, so just relax.”

“My son was a great kid with a promising future. He graduated with honors from high school and won an athletic scholarship to college. Everything was great until he woke up with a headache one morning. He went to the medicine cabinet opened a fresh bottle of Tylenol and took two. He was dead in a matter of hours. The Tylenol bottle, your Tylenol bottle, somehow got placed on the store shelf with the regular bottles. The police speculate a mule placed it there for one of the local distributors to pick up. We bought it first.”

“You and your organization killed my son and made me and my wife collateral damage. She passed away several months later from a heart attack. In a way, that was a good thing. Her death allowed me to find you so we could have this little chat.”

“Unfortunately for you, our time together is at an end. I’ve brought along this razor-sharp knife to send you on your way to oblivion. I’m not going to stab you with it. That would be too quick. No, I’m going to use it to nick your Femoral artery just enough for you to watch as your heart pumps out your blood. Okay, you’re going to feel a little pinch. I lie, this will hurt like hell! Unlike Napalm Girl, you won’t be recovering from your injuries. Goodbye and good riddance!”