by C. S. De Mel
Akira smiled coldly. “No amount of protection can prevent us from destroying him.” Zamir was both elated and troubled by this response. Akira casually flicked off a piece of lint from his grey suit jacket. “What about the weapons stockpile?”
“Bruce Kasparov and his men confiscated the weapons.”
“All of them?”
Zamir hesitated. “I—well...no, not all of them. There is a private holding that was accumulated during the war. A cold room that was used to house some of the organs that were harvested from the Serbians for trafficking. There were several different types of organs—”
“I—don’t—care—about organs. How many weapons?”
Zamir immediately stopped his rambling. “My apologies. There’s enough firepower for a small army, I’d imagine. Assault rifles, grenades, M80 Zoljas, and several high-end explosives.”
“Good. The Master needs access to them.”
Zamir felt an icy grip clutching at his heart. He knew this was coming, but he wasn’t ready to lie to a man who could kill him dead on the spot if he found reason to. Maybe he could still reason with him though—he had to try. “Mr. Luong, I am not questioning your authority, but those weapons are desperately needed to continue the rebellion to secure Kosovo’s freedom.”
“It’s over, Ristani. It was over when your army was broken and you landed yourself in prison.” Zamir’s palms turned white as his hands clenched around his cell bars. Akira surveyed Zamir with grim satisfaction. “If it’s any consolation, this does present you the opportunity for revenge. The weapons will be sent overseas, to the United States. To destabilize everything Bruce Kasparov holds dear.”
Zamir looked down at his feet. He didn’t know what to say. What good was revenge? Nothing but futile gestures from one that’s already lost. All the years he fought for his country... He knew it was a mistake to ally himself with the type of people he did. They would not shed a tear, even if Kosovo destroyed itself. They used him to secure weapons for their own agenda, nothing more. He slowly raised his eyes from the floor, to face Akira. “Take them. Do with them as you wish. Contact Mr. Jashard to collect the package.”
Akira nodded, then began to walk. Zamir pressed up against his cell bars. “Akira!” he shouted. Akira stopped. “How long am I going to be in here?”
“We’ll arrange your escape when you are needed.”
“When will that be?”
“Don’t hold your breath.” And on that note, Akira left the prison wing. Zamir immediately sought the support of his bed, for his legs were shaking uncontrollably.
***
Friday, October 8th, 1999
Manhattan, New York, 8:15 a.m.
Bruce opened one eye and leaned across his bed to read the alarm clock on his dresser. Time to get up. Bruce jumped out of bed and proceeded to do his morning stretches. Bruce could be considered a morning person—he had a lot more energy than most, without fixing on coffee. Then again, he was just as wired at night and into the graveyard hours. Sleep simply wasn’t on his ‘to do’ list.
Bruce pulled back the curtains of his window to let in the sunlight. His room was relatively small compared to the other rooms, but it was more than enough for his belongings. There were roughly twelve or so rooms in the manor, give or take a study. Despite having the option to claim a bigger room for himself, he found his room cozy, as far as cozy rooms in mansions go.
Bruce walked downstairs and entered the kitchen. He looked puzzled to see his son Alex seated at the breakfast table with Santos. “What are you doing here, Alex? Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Alex put down his fork, annoyed. “No classes today. I told you like a week ago that they’re having some sort of electrical maintenance today.”
Bruce scratched his head. “Right…electrical maintenance. And they couldn’t schedule this over the weekend?”
Alex shrugged. “Guess not.” Alex was sixteen and looked a lot like his father, except packaged into a tinier frame.
Santos cleaned off his plate, looking satisfied. “You want some breakfast, Bruce? There’s still some scramble in the pan.”
“Yeah, sure.” Bruce grabbed the frying pan and dumped the rest of the eggs onto his plate. “Varick around?”
“Nope, left early. Roy picked up a lead.”
“Really? Roy’s up and about at this time?”
“Apparently. Must be something big for it to cut into his sleep.” Santos pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. “Varick left you the address—he said he might need backup.”
Bruce pocketed the paper and smirked. “You didn’t want to back him up?”
“Well, he specifically asked for you and told me not to dare follow him if I know what’s good for me—so, no.”
Bruce laughed. “Right.” He sat down at the table with his plate. “So, big plans for your day off, Alex?”
“I was thinking about tagging along with you for the day; a take your son to work sort of thing, you know?”
Bruce shook his head. “Yeah, nice try. You know the deal—no exposure to any of this until you’re old enough.”
“And when is that again?”
“When I see fit. Maybe a year, maybe several. Frankly, I don’t want to put any of this on you until your mind has matured enough to make well-informed decisions.”
“Well, I was talking to Mr. Santos, and he thought it was a good idea for me to get a little hands-on experience.”
Bruce looked at Santos. “Oh, really? Mr. Santos said that? What else did Mr. Santos say?”
Santos went wide-eyed. “Hey-hey, all I said was that I wouldn’t mind if Alex tagged along, but run it by Bruce. And I guess we have the answer to that, now don’t we?”
Alex shrugged. “Oh well, if you guys don’t want to tell me about the Legion, I can just get the information from our informative media.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that mean?”
Alex looked at Bruce in disbelief. “You haven’t heard? This stuff has blown up all over the news and radio—Shock Talk in particular. That Jerry Stiltson who pretended to be all buddy-buddy is really ripping into you and the organization.”
“Stiltson?” Bruce chuckled. “That two-face; I should’ve known... What’s he saying?”
“Nothing I don’t already know. All of his ‘breaking news’ is a bunch of conspiracy theories about you and the Legion trying to overthrow the government.”
Bruce gave Alex a coy smile. “You don’t believe him, do you?”
Alex shrugged. “The way you want to keep it all under wraps—who knows what to believe?”
Bruce finished wolfing down his breakfast. “Alright, I’ll tell you what—since you’re so eager to jump on the bandwagon, you can tag along with me for the day, just this once. How does that sound?”
Alex exchanged glances from Bruce to Santos. He was thoroughly overjoyed but didn’t want them to know that. “Cool.” Alex did his best to conceal the excitement from his face. After all, he didn’t want to come off like a hyperactive child.
“Are you sure that it’s safe to bring Alex on this?” Santos inquired. “By the way Varick was talking, it sounded like things could get dicey.”
Bruce flashed a devious smile. “Well, me and Alex won’t have to worry, we’ll be on soup kitchen duty, helping to serve out the grub. You, Santos, will be assisting Varick.”
“Wait, what?” Santos and Alex said in unison.
Alex’s bubble of joy suddenly burst. “A soup kitchen? Really?”
“Varick won’t let me help him. He wanted you there, not me.”
Bruce put his hands up innocently. “Hey, you guys wanted this. Alex, here’s your chance to see the ins and outs, and charity is a big part of it, Santos will vouch for that. And, Santos—you should embrace this. This will be some good bonding time for you and Varick to smooth out those rough edges.” Santos sighed. “Alright, so it’s settled.” Bruce handed back the address to Santos. “Get over there ASAP; who knows what Varick’s
up against. Alex, get ready, we’ll leave in ten. I want to get there early so I can show you proper ladling techniques and whatnot.” Bruce hastily left the kitchen on that note so they wouldn’t see him laughing.
Santos turned to Alex, who was still in shock. “You know…all the bad fish your father deals with—I think their stink is starting to rub off on him.”
***
Queens, New York, 10:00 a.m.
“What’s the situation?” Varick asked.
“You wanted to be kept in the loop, so we’ve got you a little something.” Henry fought back a smug smile.
Roy, on the other hand, shook his head, unable to contain his excitement. “Don’t be modest. This isn’t a little something, this is the whole pizza pie, right here!”
“Shhh!” a female officer hissed at Roy, while pinching her nose.
Varick and the three police officers were outside a warehouse distribution center, speculated to be an illegal weapons holding. They were crouched down behind a dumpster, several meters from the entrance. Varick glanced at the female officer. “And who might this be?”
“This is Detective Laura Bennett, one of the best,” Henry introduced. “Laura, meet John Varick; a Legion member and former cop.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Laura whispered, shaking Varick’s hand. She had shoulder-length dark hair that was tied back in a tight ponytail.
“So, how’d you find this place, Roy?”
Roy fidgeted uncomfortably. “To be honest, Laura’s the one that did it. She tracked down the guns that Solly’s employees had in their trunk to this place.”
“So, why didn’t I partner up with her in the first place instead of you two?” Varick muttered to Henry and Roy.
“Engaged, I’m afraid; sorry to disappoint.” Laura held up her hand, wiggling her finger that had a diamond ring wrapped around it. “But I’m sure whatever love triangle you three have going will work itself out.”
Varick scoffed. “Cute.”
“Hey, but don’t sell them short; they’re real catches these two—smart. Having the stakeout behind this putrid dumpster? Who do you think came up with that idea, John?” Laura smiled, nodding her head in Roy and Henry’s direction.”
“Call me Varick.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we weren’t on a first name basis,” Laura said, taken aback.
“He prefers Varick—he’s a weirdo like that. It’s nothing personal,” Roy explained.
“Alright, now that we’re all acquainted, how about we get this over with,” Varick suggested sharply.
“Fine by me,” Laura replied, standing up and stretching her legs. Varick and the three officers edged towards the nearest warehouse window and peered inside. They couldn’t see much; the window was caked with dust.
“So, what are we expecting to find here?” Varick asked.
“Well, from the cross-referencing and profiling I did with Solly’s known associates, the man I believe to be the gunrunner here is a—” Laura pulled out a photograph with a name scribbled over it. “Joshua Wyler. The ownership of this warehouse is in his name. Six foot four, 280 pounds—he’s a big boy.”
Roy chuckled. “Fat guy?”
Laura shook her head. “Muscle guy.”
“Damn.”
Varick’s eyes narrowed at Laura. “But you’re not sure if he’s actually the one responsible for Solly’s gun supply?”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Hey…guys!” Henry croaked in a hoarse whisper. He was peering into another window. “I see a body...”
Laura, Roy, and Varick joined Henry at the next window. A silhouette of a large man was made visible by whatever sunlight was seeping in through the dusty window. He was sprawled across the floor, limbs spread. “Looks dead,” Roy whispered.
“I can’t hear anything inside,” Henry informed. “Who knows if there’s anyone else in there.”
“Well, let’s take a look, then,” Laura instructed. “On alert, people.” The officers drew their weapons and, with Varick, slipped inside through the warehouse side door. Henry turned on his flashlight.
“You need a piece, Varick?” Laura asked.
“Nah,” Varick replied absentmindedly, while he scanned the warehouse. It was eerily quiet inside. “With you three packing, I feel plenty safe.”
The group walked through the warehouse to where they had seen the body. Upon reaching the spot, Henry pointed his flashlight at the large figure on the floor. It was clear the man was dead—he was lying in a pool of blood.
Varick looked him over. “Severe blunt trauma to the side of his head. His skull seems to be caved in.”
“Well, that’s inviting,” Roy muttered, tightening his grip on his pistol.
Laura pulled out the photograph from her pocket. She studied it, then eyed the corpse. “It’s Wyler.”
“Jeez. I’d hate to meet the guy who could take out a 280-pound meathead with brute force,” Roy remarked. Suddenly, noises could be heard from a small office room at the north-east corner of the warehouse—a loud scraping sound.
“You just had to open your big mouth, didn’t you, Roy?” Henry muttered.
Roy smiled, despite himself. “It’s what I do.”
The door to the office creaked opened. Varick and the three officers watched in anticipation. The frame of the doorway was barely able to contain the figure that emerged from it. This figure was so massive that he was forced to duck his head and exit the office sideways to fit through. Henry instinctively pointed the flashlight towards the office, and a bright emerald reflection nearly blinded the four of them with its sheer brilliance.
“Well-well-well, what do we have here? Some rodents scurrying around in the dark...”
“Oh hell,” Varick muttered.
“Stay where you are!” Laura ordered. She had her gun trained on the hulking figure. Roy and Henry jarred out of their initial shock and followed Laura’s lead and aimed their guns.
“Go…leave now,” Varick instructed the three officers. “I’ll handle this.”
“Varick? Is that you, pipsqueak?” The unknown figure’s massive hand scoured the wall, hitting all the light switches in one swipe. The warehouse lights flickered on and provided a dimly lit ambiance.
Roy squinted. “Yeah...I think we were better off without the lights.” A shimmering emerald-green helmet adorned the yellow giant’s head, who stood well over eight feet. The police officers were taken aback by the bizarre appearance of their target.
Henry went slack-jawed as he stared at the giant, more confused than anything. “What—is he?”
“You know this monstrosity, Varick?” Laura questioned.
“Yeah. Gregory Pike, one of Scorcher’s grunts. I’ve tangled with him a few times.”
“Well, he is one big freakin’ grunt,” Roy muttered.
Gregory Pike began to laugh in loud bellowing heaves. “And you brought friends along.” He began to advance.
“I said stay where you are!” Laura ordered once more. “We’ll open fire!”
“Really?” Pike smiled. “Just met and already trying to dominate. You stupid girl.” He stepped forward.
“Get out now!” Varick yelled.
Laura fired. A single shot struck Pike’s lower abdomen. Pike staggered, taking two steps back. The bullet itself bounced off the flexible protective vest Pike was wearing. The dark-green vest glimmered for an instant where the bullet had struck. Gregory Pike looked directly at Laura and let out a low growl. He charged.
Pike shielded his face with his gauntlets as Roy and Henry shot at him. The bullets simply bounced off his chest while Pike closed in. Varick pushed all three officers to the ground as Pike swung his tree-like arm at the lot of them. Varick sprang to his feet. One punch. Two punches. Three solid punches to Pike’s gut, who grunted in pain. Pike aimed a boot at Varick and attempted to soccer kick him in the face. Varick jumped on Pike’s boot in mid strike, using the force of the kick as a springboard, which sent Varick straight
up to eye level with Pike. Another punch. This time, right through the open face in Pike’s helmet. “Argh! Little runt!” Varick’s fist had landed square on Pike’s nose. Pike held his face and eyed Varick with mounting anger.
“Why are you all still here?!” Varick demanded. “I can handle this!” Varick dropped to the ground to avoid a fist, then, locking both hands together, smashed Pike across the knee cap. The three officers exchanged glances, then cautiously backed away from the fight to spectate.
Varick continued to evade Pike’s attacks and follow up with counter-strikes. Pike snarled like a wild beast, quickly losing his patience. “I’m going to break you, Varick.”
“You’ll need to hit me first to do any breaking,” Varick gloated. “You may be strong, but you’re still as slow and stupid as ever.” In truth, Pike was quite fast for his size, but Varick was simply faster. He was faring well for the moment, but in the back of Varick’s mind, he was hoping Bruce would show up to lend a hand.
The three detectives were poised at the side door they came in from, a safe distance from the fight. Roy scratched his head. “So, what now?”
Laura watched in amazement while Varick continued to hold his own against the giant known as Gregory Pike. “We call for backup.”
***
10:20 a.m.
Santos stepped onto the warehouse lot. He pulled his coat tight around his neck as a gust of cold wind passed. Looks like this is the place. He surveyed the perimeter: it seemed deserted. On the alert for any activity, he cautiously approached the building and peered through a window. Santos’ eyes grew wide as he gazed upon the monstrous outline of a figure inside. He rushed to the side entrance and yanked the door open. He was greeted by two guns in his face. Santos immediately put both hands up.
“Hold it right there!” Laura ordered.
“Who are you?” Henry questioned.
Roy stepped in front of Henry and Laura. “Easy now, this is Santos. He’s a friend.”
Santos smiled. “Very nice to meet you both. You two seem like charming enough people…” He slowly placed his hands on Henry and Laura’s guns and gently directed the barrels away from his face.