Blood of the Dogs_Book I_Annihilation

by Richard Cosme

  “Yuk,” I said. A smile came unbeckoned. I wiped it quickly. They were watching closely. “All right,” I continued. “We don’t have much time. Listen up. I’m going to give you the condensed version of tomorrow’s plan. You have a key part in the proceedings.”

  I took less than two minutes to detail the operation for her. It had taken Weasel and Stevie hours to work it out, and much more time than that to set up the necessary equipment. And we still weren’t finished. But with Sarah, two minutes was all I could afford to take. While I talked, I made a show of inspecting her wounds, checking her mouth and teeth, looking for contusions on her body. I inspected her ribs, and breasts, and butt. It was what I would have done had she been my property. Our onlookers would understand an inspection of the merchandise.

  When I finished, I slowly circled her, as if furthering my inspection. “You’ll have to go back now,” I said, my hands gently probing her back and shoulders. “I’m sorry for that. But we’ll be back together tomorrow. I promise.”

  She nodded.

  “I love you,” I continued. “This all boils down to that. None of us will let them take that away.”

  She nodded again.

  We both turned, and I escorted her back to her guards, shoving her toward them on the last couple of steps. As they took her back up the hill, I forced myself to ignore her departure. Turning to The Babe, who had eased his massive bulk down to a fallen oak branch, I said, “That’s fucked up. You beat that woman all to hell. I can’t tell what she’s going to look like when she heals. Might be uglier than a two headed possum.”

  “It’s just a fuckin’ cunt, McCall,” he replied. “Ain’t like a warrior or a good assault rifle.”

  “Bullshit,” I replied. “Before she got beat to shit, she had the potential to be the best goddam whore in all of old Chicago. After she heals, she could end up looking like a walrus. You got no respect for property, no sense of value. How you like it if I do a little damage on the truck to even things out? I’m not thinking we’ve got an even trade here.”

  “Listen, McCall,” he replied, back on familiar ground, feeling in charge, negotiating a deal he had no intention of honoring, “I did everything I could to keep my men off the cunt. It wasn’t easy. These are tough men. They get a little Bad Boy in them and they want to fuck anything that’s breathing. I saved that woman a couple of times.”

  “You didn’t do a good enough job,” I said.

  “What is it you’re looking for here, McCall?” he asked.

  “Either you sweeten the deal, or I modify the truck so its in the same shape the woman is,” I said.

  I wanted to appear greedy, interested only in profit. It was what he would expect from an adversary, what he had seen his whole life. If we appeared greedy, small, petty, there was less chance that he would consider we had the same objective he did—no prisoners, no quarter, no mercy. Men who haggled over small details were nitpickers, not visionaries. That’s how I wanted him to see me. Just another trader trying to sweeten his pot. He would be the only visionary at the table.

  He reverted to form, responded in the parlance of power.

  “Tell you what, McCall,” he said, heaving his bulk off of the downed oak limb to stand face to face with me, working on physical intimidation, “you fuck with that truck and I’m gonna strap that slit to a tree stump face down and let my boys have at her. By the time they’re done with that fun hole, you’ll be able to park that truck up her ass.”

  I backed off a step, letting him think I was cautious. In actuality, I was simply disgusted by the proximity of such a monstrosity. I was filled with revulsion.

  “Let’s summarize a bit,” I said, staring into the eyes of nearly a quarter ton of evil. “You lost…what?…One, maybe two hundred men in the last couple of weeks between the fiasco down in the city and the attack on our compound.”

  He didn’t respond. Close to a hundred and fifty was my guess. He was weakened to the point that two or three clans could possibly take him down if they joined together. An unlikely event in our political climate. But he was now weaker than he had been for over a year. And it would take him another year to build back up again. He wouldn’t be able to hold his coalition together that long. Without our truck he would never rule.

  “You’re willing to queer this deal because I want even exchange for damaged merchandise?” I continued. “How long you think this band of psychopaths is going to stay with you when they find out it will be another year before you can get back to strength without the truck on your side?”

  He quickly walked away, beyond the earshot of his men, beckoned me to follow with a motion of his head. “You know, McCall,” he growled, “you look tough, you act mean, but when it comes down to it, you ain’t nothin’ but a dirt farmin’ little indie with nice clothes, combat boots, and a couple of fancy firearms. You know I could take your fucking head off them shoulders right now.”

  “And then you’d be picking that truck out of your teeth,” I said. “If I go down, that truck will cut through this camp like a dog pack through a rabbit den. And you’d be a fucking wet spot on the grass.”

  “Tell me what you want,” he said. The truck loomed large in his mind.

  “Give me a dozen M 16s, four semi-auto pistols, full clips for each and two hundred extra rounds, and we’ll call it a fair exchange, truck for the woman. And nobody touches the whore. I will check her again tomorrow.”

  “Make it a half dozen of the 16s, two semis and a hundred extra rounds,” he said.

  “Done,” I replied, smiling as though I had won something. “Tomorrow, same time. The truck will be outside Lord and Taylor at Fox Valley. Bring the woman, no more injuries, and the guns. She’ll take you to the key.”

  He smiled back and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. He had given up nothing. The exchange would be our annihilation, not the consummation of a business agreement. And I was just another greedy indie, looking to get the edge on a deal. I was what he expected me to be.

  Until tomorrow night.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  They came at night, liked we hoped they would. If they hadn’t, we would have waited them out, not giving them a glimpse until the blanket of darkness provided us with one of the edges we had built into the plan.

  At first, undaunted and impertinent because of their power of numbers and the drugs that lubricated their veins, they had flocked around the truck, climbing over, under and through it, like curious dogs on the scent. One of them had even blasted the horn, scaring the shit out of half his brothers in arms. Had one of them possessed the knowledge to start the vehicle, it would have done them no good. The only oil remaining in the engine’s interior was the few precious drops that clung to the cylinder walls. A couple of miles’ worth at the most. We had drained the oil upon our return from the negotiations with the Babe for Sarah’s exchange.

  He had at least a hundred and fifty men with him, double the contingent that had been defeated at the AON Building, more than was optimal for our operation, but a workable number for the twenty-three of us to deal with. It was our ground that they were about to enter. Twenty-three would get the job done as long as The Babe ultimately ended up at the location Sarah was to lead him to.

  Stevie and Weasel had been working on this site since April, when Weasel heard the story of my battle with the Cobras on Roosevelt Road. This gigantic mall was the shelter from the storm that he had spoken of. It was here that we would have our final meeting with The Babe. If we survived, it would become our home.

  If we counted Merlin and Duke, our numbers went up to twenty-three. Duke and Merlin were barely ambulatory. But as noncombatants they were still valuable. Neither of them would be excluded from our plan. Merlin’s brains and Duke’s heightened senses could work to our advantage.

  Weasel pictured our plan as an operation, surgery to eradicate a fat, black-blooded tumor from our lives. The scores of Messengers that accompanied The Babe may have to be excised with the tumor. So be it. If a hand were amp
utated, the warts living upon its flesh would die.

  I visualized our plan as a vehicle, not unlike the truck that served as the bait for the Messengers. It had multiple moving parts which all had to be in a state of well oiled synchronicity, whirling together, one dependent upon the other, a complex machine that could grind to a halt if one little wheel or sprocket didn’t flow with the others.

  • • • •

  When Weasel and Stevie had pulled me from the tunnel, I had been unconscious and remained in that state for another five hours. Knowing the Messengers had Sarah, Weasel and Stevie proceeded without me, would have initiated the entire rescue without my help had it been necessary.

  At first, they sat across from my body for two hours, talking back and forth while Merlin and Duke recuperated in the background. In the depths of the mall, the truck safely hidden inside a freight entrance, they began scheming to recover Sarah from the beast. When I awoke, my first sense memory was Weasel and Stevie discussing their plan. It took an hour or two before I could process the campaign they had created to save Sarah.

  Weapons were not a problem. We had them all. Everything from the compound. Nor was the location to which they wanted to lure The Babe. After months of intermittent labor from Stevie and Weasel, the mall was now an intricate labyrinth of hidden entrances and exits, large and small stores, storage rooms, booby traps, dead ends and changes in level from basement to the top.

  Fuel for the truck was not a problem. Stevie and Weasel had been cooking it for months in one of the delivery bays at the mall.

  Bait was not an issue either. The fat man knew the power of the truck. Weasel had barely missed flattening him with it. The Babe had dived from the vehicle’s path at the last second, exhibiting amazing alacrity for a man so prodigious, avoiding the massive wheels that would have popped him like a fat tick. Then he had seen it again at his headquarters at Wheaton College. He would hold on to Sarah until he had the ignition key.

  The only issue for Stevie and Weasel was manpower. Even with me back in the game, they told me, there would only be three of us healthy enough to implement the plan for Sarah’s rescue. Expecting at least one hundred, maybe as many as two hundred Messengers, they knew we would need help.

  I was able to sit and stand and had started walking. Turning to Stevie and Weasel, I said, “We have a few friends, right?”

  Roberto and the Insane Cobra Nation were an hour away by bike. James and the Black Gangster Disciples were three hours out. We agreed to ask both clans for help. Weasel went to the Cobras to make the request. Stevie went to the city to see James and the BGD’s.

  Weasel looped around to the Cobra’s eastern border and stood unarmed, asking for Roberto, saying he had a message from McCall. Roberto came to him and Weasel told him the story of Sarah’s capture, my injury, said we needed help. Couldn’t do it alone anymore.

  Roberto listened, believed, didn’t hesitate. He offered Weasel two hundred men, fully armed, the best warriors the Cobras had to offer. Weasel said no, too many would die, we would all be bathed in blood. Give me five, Weasel said. The smartest, the most self-possessed. Then we can take on two hundred if need be.

  Roberto raised a skeptical eyebrow at that one and smiled. Said it figured McCall would associate with a man such as Weasel. Weasel grinned back at the huge man. Then he showed the floor plan of the mall to Roberto, told of the surprises awaiting the Messengers. It will work, he told Roberto. But if it doesn’t, the Cobras only lose five. We ask no more. Do not want the blood of friends on our hands.

  Roberto said no. But he would allow it if we would accept ten. He would be there too. I owe McCall, he said.

  Two more things, Weasel said. Small requests.

  Name it, the big man said.

  Dogs in heat. I need three or four.

  And the other?

  We’re bringing in five Black Gangster Disciples. They got chips in this pot.

  Roberto raised one eyebrow. Smiled. The enemy of my enemy…, he said.

  • • • •

  Two days before the swap of Sarah for the truck and one day before Weasel, Stevie and I negotiated for Sarah’s return at Wheaton College, Roberto arrived with his nine men. Three hours later, Stevie, James, and seven more BGD’s rolled in on touring bikes, assault rifles bristling off their packs and pistols on their belts.

  Weasel and I pulled Stevie aside. “You told them about Roberto?” I asked.

  “Yeah. James got a little prissy, but I told him the history. He knows who Roberto is. Said he could work with them if we went against The Babe. Wanted to give me a hundred soldiers. I said five. He said 15. We settled on seven. Plus him.”

  Weasel, Stevie, and I met Roberto and James outside the Macy’s store, where we had parked the truck. Weasel said I could do that much. Then I would have to go back and rest. Roberto took my hand and shook it, then pulled me to his massive chest, encircled me with his arms and heartily thumped my back with his beefy hands.

  “I am sorry to hear about your woman, McCall,” he said as he released his hold on me. “Jose’ tells me she has the beauty of poster queen and the eyes of a warrior. We will help you bring her back home. Your scrawny friend,” he turned to shake Weasel’s hand, “has persuaded me to play David against the Messenger’s Goliath.” He pulled me aside and nodded toward Weasel. “This is a man of great courage and ingenuity, McCall,” he whispered. “Ten minutes in his presence was all I needed to decide would throw in with you in this insane endeavor.”

  I thanked him.

  James shook my hand and said, “I have fought shoulder to shoulder with your men and your woman, McCall. She has the heart of a hundred warriors. I wasn’t sure if I decided to come for the respect we owe you or the punishment we owe the Messengers. But now I think I come to help a friend rather than punish an enemy.”

  “If we succeed,” I said, “you will have accomplished both.”

  “Meet my warriors, McCall,” he said, introducing his men while I in turn did the same for Stevie and Weasel, and James presented his Disciples

  Jose’, the man who had escorted me from Cobra country, and Flint, I knew. They were two of Roberto’s most trusted lieutenants. Angel and Windchill, James’ top lieutenants, I recognized from my meetings with the Disciples and our battle at the AON Center. Each of them had the aura of an experienced soldier. The other Cobra and Disciple soldiers had the same presence. And when Stevie and Weasel stood with them it was like gazing upon a craggy cliff face, a solid wall of rock that had survived for thousands of years and endured countless storms. Not one of the men had reached his thirtieth birthday, several were under twenty. But they were unequivocally hard, resolute and stern.

  I gazed upon a group as fierce as any clan warriors that had taken to battle. Enough scar tissue to start a plastic surgery clinic. None of them wore jewelry. There was no face paint. I knew there would be no drugs secreted in pockets. Their weapons were, for the most part, as good as ours. Roberto and James’ soldiers were given the best weapons that each clan had available. We would supplement them with our comm sets, NVG’s, flashlights for those without goggles, grenades and any of our rifles and pistols they wanted.

  The next part could have been tricky, but it wasn’t. I pulled Roberto and James aside. While Stevie continued the truck tour, Weasel and I introduced our two allies, men who ruled two territories, men who were supposed to be enemies based upon the clan system of Folks and People nations.

  They shook hands, the behemoth hispanic leader of the Cobras and the slender black leader of the Disciples. Neither spoke and from the corner of my eye I could see that both sets of their soldiers had stopped inspecting the truck and were silently observing the first subtle break in the post collapse social system. The would take their cues from their leaders.

  We formed a circle of sorts, the four of us—me, Weasel, Roberto, and James. Far enough from the truck that our words would not be heard by the men, but close enough for them to see our actions, reactions, and body language.


  “Thank you,” I said to Roberto and James. “We cannot do this without you.”

  Roberto said, “I owe you, McCall. You and your scraggly squad of misfits. Cobras are clean, thanks to you. The poison has been flushed from our system. And now we can contribute to the demise of the Messengers.”

  James looked perplexed, and like all good leaders, said nothing. He waited for more information.

  “Roberto,” I said. “James has had conflict with the Messengers. Can I speak freely of your problems with The Babe to James?”

  “No need,” Roberto said. “Word of the battle at the AON Center has spread to Cobra territory. The Black Gangster Disciples are spoken of with great reverence and the Battle for AON will be long in our memories. So, James,” Roberto continued, “let me tell you of the Cobras’ dealings with The Babe. It is not a story of great battles, but of internal struggle and sagacious leadership.”

  “Damn,” Weasel said, “shoulda brought my notebook.”

  “But, James,” Roberto continued, “the story will wait. We have battles to plan and fight and maidens to rescue.”

  “On point,” James said. “But Sarah’s no maiden. I’ve seen her work. Up close. She’s a terror.”

  “I have heard as much,” Roberto said. “And I thus offer you the best soldiers the Cobra Nation has to offer. What you see in them is the same thing I see in your two men, this Weasel and the boy, Stevie. Loyalty, a sense of purpose. Truthfully, McCall, in the last few years, I think many of us have tired of being warriors. We are becoming something else. I see it in your group as well. I like to think of us as…ah …architects.”

  He smiled at the thought.

  “While I listened to your friend, Weasel,” Roberto continued, “I watched his eyes. They are the eyes of a killer. None of his enemies will ever father a child. And yet, he would give his life to protect whoever is his friend. He is not a man I ever want to mess with.”

  “We see much more than that in him,” I told Roberto.

  “So did I,” Roberto said. “In his voice, behind the mask of his eyes. It is the reason I so readily believed him. Before me was a fierce, intense man, a soldier of great skill, an unarmed stranger in the middle of Cobra country, a man unable to grasp the concept of fear, asking for help. His words were not those of a killer. He was not asking for himself, was not beating his breast in the style of a warrior. He wanted me to help you, McCall…and your woman, this Sarah, the Amazon who mesmerized Jose’ and fought beside our new ally James and his Disciples. This woman obviously awakened something in Weasel’s heart. I am here because of what lay hidden behind the killer’s eyes.”