Johnny hustled him away, gesturing for Cala to come along. They took Nick’s Ford with prisoner, not bothering with a blindfold. Seorgelas would never return anywhere.
“Where are you taking me? I…I was viciously attacked by a dog. I need a hospital! I am a United States citizen! You have no right to arrest me!”
Johnny snorted in disgust as he drove toward the Carmel Valley. “I cannot stand the sound of this guy’s voice, my love. Make him quit bleating like a sheered sheep.”
Cala stun-gunned the horrified Seorgelas into coma like compliance, sparing no moment until he literally vibrated in the Ford. “Did Muerto say to prep him?”
“Yes,” Johnny answered from his driving. “We need some answers. We don’t know one way or another if they will be helpful. Lon will answer them anyway.”
“I will tell you nothing!”
Johnny sighed, remembering Muerto’s interrogation technique, one on one, for guys who thought they would tell him nothing. He extracted his iPad from the bag near him. Cala road in the rear passenger seat with 9mm Glock pointed at Lon’s head. He passed it to Cala, who cued the Muerto deep-cleaning, intestinal video stream to play for Lon. He threw up five minutes into the video. Cala held the bag she was ready with, and then explained to him how he could avoid many things from the video if he cooperated. Johnny noticed Seorgelas looked unconvinced, even with Cala prepping the recalcitrant Lon for interrogation with video aids. Seorgelas, despite the stun-gun and video lesson, still believed he was being tricked. Cala and her prisoner exchanged eyeball glares.
Cala decided to intensify her first approach when she hushed Lon with the stun-gun at Johnny’s request. “I think I know a way to shed Lon’s reluctance. I need to do what Lynn and Muerto do first: stick to the basics.”
“Yes. If he is alive for Muerto to talk with, that will be sufficient. We are ten minutes from home.”
Cala stun-gunned Lon in brutal cycles, finally convincing the man in the aftermath, he would indeed plead to tell them things. Lon became light years more helpful. “I… I snuck into the country from Mexico. I had my old passport. They could not have cared less.”
“They didn’t detain you for further action,” Johnny asked. “They would have traded you off if the authorities had recognized you. We are lucky you stupidly fell into our hands. Did you have anything to do with this Antifa riot?”
“I…I helped organize it. How did your… Marshals learn of it? The police would have done nothing to stop us. The mayor sent word they would not interfere. He tried to bargain with us, hoping to avoid a confrontation. We naturally agreed.”
“Why in the world would you rush us with a knife? You obviously hid in the background after we confronted the thugs.”
“I have been out of the news. I was thought to be an Isis leader. I became a joke overseas until Tark Ruban sent an emissary asking if I would like to serve him in the United States. Now, I have heard one of the brethren did a suicide bombing, killing Ruban and a host of others. The Antifa mob decided to do the protest anyway, hoping to distract attention while others toppled the Santa Rosalia statue. When the Marshals confronted us before I could lead some of our group to the statue… I lost it… and attacked. I should have brought a gun, but we were told not to. Ruban left word I was to stay out of jail. He is gone now anyway.”
Cala called Nick without direction from Johnny. “They are planning to topple the statue while people are distracted at the Wharf, Muerto.”
“Thanks, Reaper. Heading there now. Did he have anything else of interest?”
“No. He missed his fifteen minutes of fame being a traitorous scumbag, so he took an offer from Tark Ruban to cause chaos here in the USA.”
“Good work. Tell the traitor what really happened to his buddy, Tark. I’ll be over when I can. You saved me. Rachel would have made me put it back in place or remake it myself if there was a single flaw.”
“Understood, Muerto.” Cala turned to Seorgelas. “I have permission to explain what happened to Tark Ruban and his associates. We blew them to hell, and set up one of Tark’s employees as the suicide bomber.”
Seorgelas began sobbing openly.
“I think Lon understands his future is limited,” Johnny said.
Cala smiled. “I believe Muerto wanted him to know about Tark for just that reason. Let’s get over there now, my love. I feel a new YouTube classic forming.”
“Yes… oh my God… I will finally be rid of the leaf eating giraffe competition.”
* * *
Before Nick could leave with his remaining family and friends, the veteran in the wheel chair with VFW flop hat in place, called out to him as he pushed Quinn in the baby carrier. Nick transferred control of Quinn’s carriage to Rachel and went over to shake hands with the man.
“What you Marshals did was incredible. No one has the balls to face down these punks. They spit on the flag, on the military, and on their nation. How did we ever get to this?”
“I don’t know, Sir, but we plan to correct it one body slam at a time. Thank you for your service and facing down the goon squad, Sir.”
Nick left him laughing.
“Oh God, Nick,” Rachel said as Nick rejoined her and took over pushing Quinn again. “Can’t you run ahead and make sure Santa Rosalia is okay?”
“Bless your little statue loving heart. No… I’m not leaving anyone behind. I’ll speed my feet a bit if you promise not to whine about the pace.”
“I’ll give you a pace!” Rachel batted at Nick’s head but he was already outdistancing her.
* * *
Six furtive figures in black masks approached the statue of Santa Rosalia. They brought heavy duty rope and a camera man. Nick watched with Deke next to him in a sitting position, all senses perked toward the invaders. Nick saw Deke struggle to remain silent, but a nearly inaudible growl from deep within the dog’s soul seeped outward into the light breeze. Smiling, Nick observed as the group hushed each other, trying to detect where the ominous sound originated. He stepped around the statue into the lighting, dressed completely in black, including Muerto mask and cape. Deke trailed after him slightly to his right.
“What the fuck do you think you are, asshole,” one of the Antifa thugs asked, straightening from his cringing stance cowering at Nick’s appearance.
“I am El Muerto. I heard a bunch of little Snowflake freaks thought they could bring down Santa Rosalia. I have come to make sure that never happens.” Nick’s device altered voice halted the group. “Go away, and never return, or I will avenge Santa Rosalia by gutting each and every one of you.”
“Take your fuckin’ puppy dog and get the hell out of here before we beat the shit out of you.” The leader puffed out, thinking Nick was alone and bluffing. “We’ll spray the shit out of you and your dog.”
“No… you won’t.”
The leader jutted forward, pulling what looked to be a larger bear spray can of juice. The shot from the darkness pierced his wrist. He screamed in a most unlike thug way, dancing around while gripping his hand, bleating curses and nonsensical threats of retribution he would never be able to make come true.
“Did you think I came alone, punk? I brought my crew, the Unholy Trio, Dark Dragon, and Reaper with me.”
“You… you shot me!”
Payaso, Dark Dragon, and the resplendent in red, Reaper, encircled the thugs. They carried stun-gun nightsticks, each of them firing an arc periodically.
“I didn’t shoot you. Viper did. She’s only ten. We’ve decided since your ilk train your spawn to kill us, we needed an example showing you we are just as committed. Viper? Let Cracker take a shot. Same target – knee.”
“Wait! No… don’t-”
The small caliber .22 caliber slug passed through the leader’s left knee. Screams and writhing on the cement kept interaction at the minimum for a time.
“Cracker’s only ten too. See… we can train our young just like you train yours,” Nick advised. “Let’s complete this lesson.”
> Nick attacked without warning or hesitation. He used his nightstick in concert with his cohorts to reduce the half dozen thugs to pleading piles of surrendering nothingness. Reaper ripped off every mask with a flourish. They were all Middle Eastern young males. Gus took photos while Jian gathered digital fingerprints. Gus noticed Nick’s face as they worked. Once past a turning point, Gus knew nothing would stop Nick. Gus edged into the space between the captives and Nick.
“Use your imagination to leave these punks for the authorities, all wrapped for incarceration. C’mon, brother, you included the kids on this op. Don’t let it end in extermination.”
Nick hesitated before gripping his partner’s arm. “Thank you. Reality and beyond are messing with my mind. This op will make a great video for Kabong. I’m good, brother. They grovel now… but turn into murderous obscenities of nature the moment we turn our backs.”
Jian rushed over to physically block Nick’s return to the prisoners. “You will spoil this exceptional YouTube video with the Unholy Trio, Dark Dragon, and Reaper.”
Nick took a deep breath, watching Johnny pleading silently with Reaper keeping the broken thugs in hand. “I hope my decision doesn’t lead to more innocent deaths on my head because we didn’t fix these imbeciles permanently. I’ll lead.”
Nick swaggered on camera, kicking and bludgeoning the downed captives. They cried like babies, begging for mercy, blaming everything from their childhood to global warming for their actions. Nick zapped them all with quick shunts of pain.
“Shut up! I am El Muerto, with my avenging crew of the Unholy Trio – Payaso!”
Gus moved with nightstick clubbing in stretching type mode to stand near the captives with jolting feints, eliciting more screams.
“And El Kabong… the terrible!”
Johnny dashed into the captives with flailing strikes employing a razor sharp blade, further enhancing the cries of horror. To make sure no one viewing the video thought it was a game, he cut with slicing expertise, producing scars never to be erased. The video, blanketed with screams, halted production for a moment.
“Dark Dragon!”
Jian slithered amongst the captives with physical full power chops and strikes, ending in perfect small jolts of agony, his audible soundings enhancing his attacks.
“Reaper!
Cala strolled in red, luxurious perfection amidst the captives with killer eyes, Nick did not notice until it was nearly too late. Cala moved. Nick raced to catch her wrist after realizing she would cut all of the captives’ throats.
“Reaper! Stand down!”
Cala exchanged glances with Nick. “Maybe… until the next time.” Cala flashed the knife to each late-night participant’s throat before backing off.
“I think that concludes the physical threat here. As you idiots can see, we will act on behalf of our nation. There are no take-backs at this level. If we discover anything out of the ordinary you have not told us, we will hunt your asses down. Believe me, you don’t want that. Look on this statue of Santa Rosalia as sacred. We have your names and fingerprints. Guard this gentle lady with your lives. Whatever happens to her will happen to you. I think it’s time for the wrap-up, Muerto.”
“I think you’re right, Reaper,” Nick replied. He took out a sap, tapping the leather wrapped billy-club against his side. “This conclusion to the evening involves pain. Pain teaches us a lot. It can teach young imbeciles and terrorists that in America, you idiots will find final pain if you ever cross paths with us again. This little beauty is a sap. It’s an oldy but a goody.”
Nick then went to work on their captives. He cut no corners, nor did he leave any part on the captives unbruised, making fractures with the rib strikes. After only seconds, it became obvious Nick was an expert with the leather wrapped tool of violence. His crew struggled mightily to keep the six in place for their dose of learning. Nick proceeded through them with expertise. At the end, as he walked away, Gus grasped his arm.
“Sorry, Payaso… it was a mission enabling moment.”
“Indeed - it was. You handled it to perfection.”
“This Unholy Trio cartoon adventure will finally bury that giraffe eating a leaf, haunting Kabong on YouTube. With all the police and interest at Fisherman’s Wharf, the mutants were right – the distraction worked perfectly.”
“How do you want to end it?”
“We’ll restrain these guys ankles and wrists behind them and together in a nice hogtied bundle. With the rope wound around the base of Santa Rosalia and then through the hogtied opening in each guy, they’ll present a nice picture of good Antifa goons.”
Gus chuckled. “Kabong will love that ending.”
Fifteen minutes later, Cala set their camera on tripod to take the final section of video with all of them in it, posing with the six roped and hogtied Antifa thugs. Nick urged Johnny and Cala to complete the scene with their own speeches for the wrap-up.
“Lon’s not going anywhere. Let’s go to Crabby Jim’s at the Wharf and get something to eat. Although they won’t like it, I want the references to the kids edited out of the video.”
“Absolutely, Muerto,” Cala acknowledged. “I hope Rachel understands. The Sharia Law Mutants train their kids to kill. Our kids, like Jean and Sonny, with the passion and commitment to defend the nation, must be trained for the possibility of civil war in the streets.”
“They should be in the Ford by now. Rachel’s been on our network during the whole thing. Have you been listening, Rach?”
“I’m here. We’re staying well back from the crime scene and quiet. Cala’s right, but it doesn’t make a mom any more accepting of her role as an accomplice to making ten-year-old kids into soldiers. Strip off the masks and walk to your left.”
* * *
Seated at a large table near one of the firepits at Crabby Jim’s restaurant, Nick noted how quiet his young snipers stayed during the meal. “Are you two okay?”
“We’re more than okay, Dad,” Jean whispered fiercely. “We don’t want to screw up the trust you’ve shown in us by shooting our mouths off.”
“Jean’s right, Sir,” Sonny agreed. “You allowed us to do what we’ve been training to do. We didn’t want to miss when on target. We also don’t want to act like a couple kids. Jean and I are more than that.”
“You sure are,” Nick agreed. “Did you call your folks and tell them it’s probably safe for them to come home?”
“They’re staying one more day before coming home.” Sonny hesitated. “They wanted a guarantee it will be safe.”
Everyone laughed except for Rachel.
“Easy, babe. I know what you’re thinking,” Nick said.
“No, you don’t. If you did, I’d be in restraints already. Sonny? Please don’t talk about your parents when Ma is around, okay?”
“It won’t happen again, Ma.”
“On a lighter note, Jafar sent us the schedule for Al’s softball games. The Dark Lord coaches with assistants Cruella Deville and The Man from Nowhere. There’s a game this Saturday. I say let’s go visit our new home away from home, see the softball game, and I’ll entertain later.”
“Great change of subject, Muerto,” Rachel said. “I’m in. You did good tonight, Joan. Didn’t she, Tina.”
“Yep. She knows the score,” Tina said. “No matter where you go or what you do after tonight always remember the golden rule.”
“What happens in Gomez’s Addam’s Family, stays in Gomez’s Addam’s Family,” Joan replied. “I am in. Can I go with you all on Saturday?”
“You’re officially invited,” Nick stated. “You will need to obtain final permission from Dark Dragon.”
“Then it is a yes,” Joan replied with a pat of assurance on Jian’s hand.
“In that case then, you are welcome to accompany ‘Whipped Dragon’.”
Chapter Thirteen
Black Death
A huge guy took a seat behind the batting cage, with a six man entourage, glancing over at me and smiling. Jess joine
d me in the dugout. “That’s ‘Black Death’, John. Tommy’s been telling me he wanted to meet you, but ruled out the Warehouse, because he says it’s a cop bar. His name is Tolo Whitt. Tolo’s from Jamaica. He’s running over the UFC heavyweight division. He’s impressive as hell. Tolo’s manager ain’t here though. Dev’s with Maria and the kids at a school meeting. Don’t do anything that requires the Latin, brother.”
I grinned in appreciation of Jess’s reference. “I hear you. Go on and enjoy the game. Lucas is really into it today. Explain everything about Tolo to him or he’ll be in the dugout next. I need to concentrate on the game.”
“You right about that. Tight game, brother. The girls are tense as hell. Want to do some ‘Hammer’ with me?”
Oh my… that one got me. Just my loud appreciation of Jess’s suggestion elicited giggles from the girls. I pushed Jess toward the dugout opening. “Maybe later. Tell Nick that one.”
Jess smiled. “Will do. Brother entertaining later. Did you decide yet on his house or the piano bar?”
“Not yet. It’s still under discussion.”
“I voted for the bar,” Lynn said. “That Mojo Lounge sounds like a great place for Jess and Nick to do ‘Hammer’ together.”
“We’ll work it out, DL,” Clint said. “The Giants have their ace reliever in. Go give our batter a pep talk. Jenny looks about ready to pop a vein.”
Remembering where the hell I was, I called time and hurried out to the on-deck circle with little Jenny, our shortstop. This little girl could play shortstop… and I mean turn double plays, stop line drives… anything. Jenny believed she could stop anything on defense. On offense, she hated touching a bat. Lynn and I worked with her constantly to ease up and swing from a stance she felt comfortable with. Her batting average was zero for the season. That fact was not helping. I needed to call in the big guns.
“Hey, Jen, I called Dev. He had a school meeting, but right now, he’s doing a hit spell in Latin for you. He found an old text relating to success and bent it into a hit spell. I wanted you to know Dev’s bringing the Latin for you.”
Cold Blooded Assassin Book 8: Rule of Nightmare (Nick McCarty Assassin) Page 27