Asunder

by Tonnie Johnson

  Woman: "I should turn you in for this. You know I could."

  "Elena." Michael muttered recognizing the grating voice from anywhere.

  Dunham: "You do not understand who these people are and what they would do to you, they have their fingers in everything. You think anything will happen to them? No. It would be your word against theirs. They would kill me and you and just keep doing their own thing. I decided I might as well get paid to turn a blind eye than to have to turn a blind eye and watch someone else get it."

  Elena: "You're sending our people in there to die and I won't allow that! Consider yourself finished."

  The recording stopped with a static then continued again.

  Dunham: "Ah, so let me guess, you fucking snitched? You're a fool Elena."

  Elena: "I want to speak to your guy."

  Dunham: "You must really wanna die."

  Elena: "No, I want something else."

  [Inaudible]

  Dunham: "I'm sorry for bothering you sir, but I have a bit of a problem..."

  Elena: "No, he doesn't, what he's bringing you is someone who can add to your success."

  Reiniger: "I'm listening."

  Shane groaned. "That's him, the doctor. That arrogant British accent of his."

  Elena: I know you're probably some secret underground research group or whatever the hell you are, I really don't care. But I'm sure you're not setting off this bomb with people inside because you love bombs so much."

  Reiniger: "Get to the point."

  Elena: "Have you ever... tested... whatever you're doing... on pregnant women? I'm sure the odds of a pregnant woman disposing a bomb is minimal to nonexistent."

  Reiniger: "No we haven't."

  Elena: "If you're interested. Jona Mercer Dantes.... she works in SABT. She's pregnant..."

  Reiniger: "Is she competent?"

  Dunham: "Sh... she's one of the best, sir..."

  Reiniger: "Then replace this George with her."

  Dunham: "But sir... if she's pregnant then she must go on leave."

  Reiniger: "Make it happen. And you, what is your name?"

  Elena: "Elena Fletcher."

  Reiniger: "I could use someone like you. I will find you and contact you soon."

  Dunham: "You're one cold bitch."

  *End of recording*

  Luc stood up, he felt his lungs constricting, unable to breathe or right himself. He thought of the last conversation he had with Jona.

  "Why don't you just quit now? we can lay in bed all day and do nothing."

  "I'm not showing, it's just one more job, and that's it."

  Luc turned about looking for Elena, there will be no deal! Michael and Shane were already searching the bank and looking outside, she left.

  "That fucking bitch must have escaped during the shootout!" Michael kicked a nearby table.

  Luc packed his laptop, he was burning white hot with anger which threatened to spill from all sides. He turned over a table in his rage as he walked out the door. He almost didn't answer his phone, but it ranged again and again and once he was in Michael's car he answered.

  "Thank goodness you answered, I was getting worried." Six said. "I got the info on Kaiser Reiniger and you're not gonna believe this."

  "Go ahead." Luc's voice was hoarse.

  "I had to shift through a shit ton of aliases, I mean no one can put together these many--."

  "Please get to the point."

  "I finally hit pay dirt and his date of birth is 1910 and he was a member of the Nazi Party."

  "1910?" Luc squeezed his eyes. "Out of all the aliases, that's the one you think has merit."

  "Luc, when have you known me to make a mistake. I have pictures of his man in 1945! I swear it!"

  She flashed the camera on the black and white pictures. Luc's breath hitched.

  Michael peeked at the picture. "That's him!"

  "Let me see." Shane reached for the phone. "That's him. Dr. Reiniger, the man who was talking to Jonathan."

  "How can he be born in 1910 and still look the same?" Luc asked dumbfounded.

  "I don't know. Six said feeling the same. "I had to pull more people on this, the only thing we have is that perhaps this virus is an old Nazi experiment. Gene therapy or some such. But he is unlike any of those things out there. He looks human. We need to get samples of his blood or find any others like him."

  "You'll have a bucket load of his blood to work with cause we're on our way to Canada to kill him." Michael said stepping on the petal.

  Chapter Eleven

  Varick & Hazel

  She was twenty-four years old, five feet in height, and her black short hair blew wildly in the wind. Her creamy coffee skin and thick set lips amplified her beauty. The nighttime streets of lit up in artificial light and the drag queens prowled with the gays and the young couples kissed against a tagged building. Solicitors begged for patrons to come visit their comedy shows, and the woman who soaked it in was Hazel Star Baudelaire, though not in the most positive manner. A man passed out simple little leaflets advertising a comedy show in a gaudy red building with no name. She snatched the stack of papers out of his hands and flung it to the filthy ground.

  "Bitch what the fuck you doin?!" The man shouted as she passed.

  She stood her ground ready, hoping, and waiting for him to make a violent move against her. Nothing happened—much to her disappointment. She continued on, itching for a fight, her rage exploding inside, she had to vent, to use someone’s flesh as a punching bag. To feel her fist pound against someone, to hear them scream!

  But she had no biters; everyone ignored her, cursed her out, and walked by shaking their heads at the 'crazy woman starting shit'. She walked in front of a rowdy biker bar, a devilish plan had struck her. A row of Harley motorcycles were lined outside; two sported swastikas on the tank. She grabbed one quick. She couldn't ride but the goal wasn’t to do so.

  She pushed the vehicle across the street and sure enough the owner, a short male with his bald head spilled out the door with fire in his eyes. Hazel smiled and let the bike go allowing it to drop to the ground, she ran, making sure he and his friend saw which direction she took—an alley not too far from the bar.

  "You bitch!" The Nazi raged.

  'This is perfect.' she thought.

  Dark and dirty the alley provided the perfect back drop for her plan. "Nigger cunt!"

  She swept the leg of the first to come after her, planting several fast fists to his face. The other grabbed her from behind using his brute force to keep her locked. She used her lower body to lift herself locking her legs around the back of his neck. The first man grabbed her tossing her hard to the ground.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch!" He kicked her hard in the stomach causing her to tumble back.

  "Let’s fuck her…" The other said, proud of having the upper hand.

  Before he could laugh a piece of a nail attached to plywood popped in his calf and he screamed and fell to the ground. The first approached fast and Hazel jumped just as fast and readying her body she swung the weapon with great force causing the first to step back laughing. He knew if he could get the piece of wood away from her it would be game over. He grabbed the wood yanking it away. His body twisted and stepped back pulling her forward which helped her launch a high kick slamming into the side of his face knocking him to the ground. She grabbed the plywood and before he could recover she slammed it into his head over and over again.

  Walking over to the other who struggled to lift himself; she kicked him hard in the face before working the wood piece to his dome. She went from one to the other beating and raging, beating, and venting everything, beating and crying. How scared she was, how much she hated her life, how nothing turned out the way she believed it should. The blood coated the weapon, she dropped it and watched the two men writhe on the ground in pain.

  Struck by guilt. "I’m sorry." She stuffed the bike owner’s pocket with two hundred dollars and headed off into the night.

 
; Varick was handsome save for the deep scar across his right cheek, an injury that could have taken his eye out if the blade was higher. He sported a dark greenish open granddad V shirt displaying the swastika tat on the center of his toned chest. He was second in command of their gang, second to a man named Eurich, their tall charismatic leader. Once they reached the bar, their typical watering hole. It didn’t take long for the old man with the thick beard who owned the place to step out warning them of the potential trouble.

  "Dave and Tommy may need a little help with that thief who trashed his ride." He yelled.

  "What thief?" Varick's brow furrowed.

  A large man—his arrogance as big as his gut, the truck lifted once he exited the driver’s seat. "Dave’s bike is out here. It must be Tommy’s."

  "Damn niggers." Eurich sighed stepping out of the passenger's seat.

  "It could be the niggers or the spics, take your pick around here." Varick chimed in exiting the back seat. "Where did they go?"

  "Through the alley there, but that’s all I saw." The bar owner pointed ahead.

  "Oh yeah, you’re a big help." Eurich said full of sarcasm.

  "Hey—" Varick felt his body bumped into as the rude girl glanced back at him only once before continuing her trek through the streets. He couldn’t tell if she was black or Indian or mixed with whatever and he only cared for just a moment before he was back on task. The goal was to find Dave and Tommy and take care of the motherfuckers who would dare steal from the Brotherhood.

  They found them unconscious on the ground.

  "Tommy, you okay?" Varick looked over the other half amused but not showing it.

  "Yeah… it was that nigger Riddick and his gang of monkeys." Tommy said hesitant. "They fucking dropped my bike and caught us off guard."

  "Ah! Yeah it was them, those fucking bastards." Dave agreed.

  "Fucking niggers." Varick mumbled. "Can you stand…?"

  "Yeah." Tommy replied.

  The rustling of bills in his pocket drew Tommy’s attention. He pulled the paper wads out before stuffing them back in. 'That girl must have been some sort of fucking whack job,' but it’s not like he was going to turn down the money.

  "What’s wrong?" Varick asked, noticing the bills.

  "Nothing. They robbed me. Fucking assholes." Tommy chuckled.

  They gathered near a warehouse rumored to be the headquarters of the notorious gang led by a hulk of a man named Riddick. The Aryans and this gang had been operating within this location for years; and just as long, the two had racked up several violent crimes against one another and society at large. Eurich stood up on the hood of one of the many trucks to address the fifteen men and women waiting for him.

  "This country is dying! Dying at the hands of niggers and fags at the order of their kike masters. We can’t even go to decent clean schools because they fuck it up with their gangs, selling drugs, and shit. Now they’re fucking with the brotherhood! I’m so sick of that nigger Riddick thinking he can rule our streets and do whatever the fuck he wants. Tonight, we’re gonna send'em a little message."

  They kicked open the doors ready to fight yet meeting the empty rooms inside. The missing gang members didn’t matter as they still tore through the place, smashing windows, and trashing their items.

  "Well, look what we have here." Eurich smirked at the sight of a skinny dark-skinned kid, only sixteen, he must have been sleeping on the couch in the office. Now he cowered in a corner hoping to ride out the assault on the place.

  The rowdy crowd set up near a lone house in the clearing of a densely wooded area, a place they had gone many times before to party. Hateful music raged against the changes of the world, the young kid's arms were chained high. His face bloody from the blows. He would've fallen to his knees if not for the chains holding him up. The music played, a thrown together mix of erratic drums and guitar riffs to the hateful speech of death and murder. They partied, they drank, they clashed together in a dance.

  Stacey, a beauty, a long legged ‘Valkyrie’ with long brown hair, smoky eyes, and lush lips. She donned her leather jacket and low-rise jeans displaying her Reichsadler tat on her left hip. She lies in Varick’s warm embrace and guzzled down a bottle of beer watching the rampant festivities.

  Joe, a man in his early thirties with long blond stringy hair grabbed a bottle and toasted to Varick before taking a sip. He wore a shirt displaying White Pride Worldwide. Although he wasn’t a part of the gang, he was a supporter who regularly hung out with them; in truth, he only hung around Varick and was rarely seen with the others without him. "Going to the party at Dixon’s tonight?" He asked Varick.

  "I suppose. I gotta head home to check up on my mother first so I’ll get there late."

  A high school kid marched toward Varick, slamming his book on the hood of a car. "This is bullshit." he sighed. "Look, I need advice."

  The kid watched Varick in awe; he looked up to him, the quiet stoic lieutenant. Varick was neither rowdy nor spoke often and had an aura of silent intensity. A mystery to most; why he wasn’t the leader of their group, many would have followed him if he had wanted the job. But he and Eurich ran around together since they were children, perhaps he didn’t want to ruin the friendship over the leadership position? At least that’s what many had gathered from the rumors.

  "On?" Varick asked ready to hear him out.

  The kid held up the novel, the Afro centric book ‘Harlem Hustle’ by Janet McDonald.

  "This shit. It’s about some nigger’s street life or something. I don’t want to read it and I’m thinking of just letting my grades fall, if I have to." The kid ranted.

  "Right on little man." Joe cheered him on. "They can’t force you to learn that shit if you don’t want to."

  "Read the damn book." Varick said dismissively.

  "What?! Why?" Joe protested.

  "Cause it’s a requirement to pass and get good grades." Varick’s eyes trailed the sweaty bodies moshing against one another with a sense of sudden apathy, not that he ever had much care for the activity. "Don’t end up like most of these assholes. Your mind has to be strong and if you don’t want to feel guilty, then don’t. No book can have that power over you if you don’t let it."

  Cobalt eyes watched from across the room, burning into Varick who sat almost oblivious to her gaze. "I need a refill." Stacey sat up and headed off toward the cooler.

  Eurich followed once she disappeared out of Varick’s sight. He grabbed her from behind pulling her hips into his pelvis.

  "My, my aren’t we getting bolder?" She said, her voice low and sultry.

  "I don’t give a shit." Each kiss was as fervent as the next. "I’m sick of pretending."

  "Varick will kill us both."

  He replied full of insolent rebellion. "Or I’ll kill him."

  She turned fast smashing her lips against his.

  'Big' Chuck, filmed the dark-skinned boy swaying helplessly as the teens took turns pounding on him. Varick kept his eyes and attentions focused on Joe. "Where’s Christi?"

  "Out of the whole thing." He sprinkled the ashes of his thin cigar on the ground.

  "You’ve got to be fucking shittin me." Varick cocked a brow.

  "I’m serious. She said she was done."

  "And you?"

  "I’m still here, man." Joe replied with pleasure.

  "Maybe I should talk to her?"

  "You know how she is, I doubt she’ll listen. If anything, Meg had a lot to do with it. She didn’t want her to be a Nazi in the first place."

  "She doesn’t want you to be one too."

  "Yeah well, fuck that."

  "Oh well, she’s gotta do what she’s gotta do." Varick shrugged almost without interest yet curiosity remained, he liked Christi, not romantically but there was a certain calmness in her he appreciated, and a part of him wasn't all that surprised by the news, she never seemed to be very present when around the group.

  Eurich and Stacey continued their heavy petting. "I love you. We can make it work
." Eurich said rubbing against her.

  "If Varick finds out we are both dead so keep your mouth shut."

  One man nursed his bloody knuckles as he called for Eurich causing the secret lovers to break away. "Jump in at this nigger." The other called him over.

  "With pleasure." He said walking over the bloody boy who remained composed but in pain, resigned to his fate. He slammed his fist hard against the boy’s mouth taking a few teeth to the roar of the crowd. Eurich looked to Varick sending his rival a clear message.

  Varick jumped off the hood and sat down his drink, his long legs striding over to the boy, meeting Eurich's challenge head on. All it took was one punch, just one to the chest. The boy coughed up blood and fell still. The crowd went wild with amazement and Varick kept his eyes focused on his challenger. He had felt the tension for a while and although he could partially gauge the reason, he had hoped it would blow over with minimum conflict. Varick walked away. While another checked the condition of the victim.

  "Oh shit! He’s dead!"

  Varick stopped and turned, the music stopped, the crowd hushed. A small group exited at once, one girl cried. "I want to go home." The unsteady and hesitant crowd left behind worked its way toward a cheer as the rowdiest of the bunch shouted Varick's praises.