The Wraith- Welcome Home

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  “That depends…”

  “On what?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Are you willing to work for no pay and less benefits?”

  She laughed. “Are you kidding me? I’m a reporter, I don’t think I’ve ever had benefits. As for pay, well, I’ll take a cut of whatever you get off the bad guys.”

  “Alright then, welcome aboard.”

  “Like I told you before, I’m not really great with no,” she reminded me.

  I laughed. When I first met her, she had asked if she could tell my story and I had said no… and here I was agreeing to let her tell my story.

  “I guess you are a good negotiator.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Vaas leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the hotel room overlooking the city. From here he could see for miles. Normally it was a view he loved; now it meant nothing to him. Billions. With a B. That was how much money he had lost. Despite his best efforts. No one could fault him for the safeguards he had put in place, but the money was still lost. Not just the last two week’s profits, but the previous two weeks returns as well. Along with the boats, trucks, men, and their hidden meeting spot.

  There was no hiding it, either. Even if he could somehow manage to square the books, it was all over the news. The Coast Guard was calling it the biggest win in US history.

  Fifteen years. Fifteen years of struggling to the top and this was what it all came down to. Some faceless entity ripping apart his organization and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. He’d sent 50 armed combatants to the beach, three with superpowers, not to mention the eight pro’s on the boats, and almost all of them were dead. Was he fighting a damn army?

  “Vaas,” Miguel said quietly from the doorway.

  “Not now,” he replied. He tapped the barrel of his Desert Eagle .357 against his leg, debating whether he should just shoot himself now and save the Council the trouble. They would be sending someone; when words got back to Belize they would replace him immediately.

  Well good luck with that. It’s not like I’m incompetent. Whoever is doing this to us holds all the cards.

  On the eve of his greatest victory he had experienced his greatest defeat.

  “Is the C4 in place?” he asked. At least if everything else went to hell he could still finish his job.

  “Yeah, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you—”

  “Go away Miguel, I’m contemplating the lack of our future.” Vaas shook his pistol in the air as he spoke to emphasize exactly what he meant.

  “Boss, I think I know where the people who are doing this are staying.”

  That got Vaas’s attention. He spun around, looking at his lieutenant and waiting.

  “I’ve had the boys shaking down the streets. Like I said earlier, no one’s talking. So I told them to ask harder.”

  Vaas smiled; he knew what that meant. “And?”

  “A couple of nights ago the Fieros were shaking down a restaurant in Kenner, a Peruvian joint.”

  “Peruvian? No…”

  Miguel nodded. “The very same one. They said they ran into a black woman who beat three of them to a pulp in a half second then threw them out,” Miguel said.

  “Do you believe them?”

  Miguel nodded. “It took three hours to convince them to talk. They were more terrified of her than us. At least until the end,” he said with a smile.

  Vaas ran his hand over his scalp. Could it be just one person doing all this damage? It didn’t seem possible. He knew about Detroit and the crap-show up there. It had cost him one of his best assassins. The other, El Fuego, was in Columbia at the moment, dealing with a few problems. How was it then, that whoever was killing his men and taking apart his organization just happened to be staying in the apartment above that crazy flaming wench’s parents restaurant?

  “Did you call Columbia?”

  “Yes, first thing. El Fuego is down there; she’s alive and in contact with our local people. Whoever this is, they’ve done their homework.”

  Vaas smiled. For the first time this week he felt like he had the upper hand. This was how it was supposed to be, the law of the jungle, only the strong survive. He hadn’t dragged Peter up from the streets of Mexico City on luck.

  “Okay, make sure the truck is primed, I want it going off at midnight exactly. That gives us—” he checked his phone “—four hours to make sure the Saints and this person are gone forever. Task everyone you can, everyone who’s left, and get them to that restaurant. We’re going to set a trap, and this time we will win.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  On our way home from the cemetery I reached into my pocket and handed Krisan fifty grand in hundred-dollar bills. “I have a name and location for an arms dealer out of the middle east. He competes with ISO-1. I had planned on just killing him and taking all his stuff, but at the moment I have my hands full. When we get back to where I’m staying let’s get some food, then I’ll give you a list of all the weapons and gear I need.”

  Her eyes went big at the stack of hundreds she took from me. “Where did you get this?”

  “You know all that money I blew up on the beach?”

  Krisan nodded.

  “I took some first. I’ve taken guns, money, this car,” I said with a smile. “Just about everything I need. But I’m running out of weapons. I don’t have any guns right now—just a couple of knives.”

  “What happens to it all?”

  “I destroy it. One of the things Joseph, the original Wraith, taught me was to never leave a trace. If I use the same guns or wear the same clothes then get caught, all of this could be attached to me. It would put a face to the justice, and I want to stay enigmatic.”

  “But the—” she waved her hands in front of her face, “—scarf you wear?”

  I shrugged. “After we escaped the coffee shop back in Detroit it grew on me. I like it, so it’s my one thing, I guess.”

  “If we’re going to build your legend, you’ll need a costume…”

  “Nooo. Just no. Bulletproof vests and leather jackets will have to do. I’m not putting on tights,” I told her, glancing at her as I spoke. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m not great with no’ line. No.”

  She smirked. “We’ll see. Is this you?”

  Kenner on a Friday night was furiously busy. Couples were out celebrating, music played from half a dozen different restaurants and pubs, cars filled the streets; it was chaos. Infective chaos. I slowed down, letting the growl of the engine fill the air as I turned the last corner to the Peruvian restaurant I was temporarily calling home.

  “Something’s wrong,” Sara said from the back seat. She leaned forward, nodding toward the eatery. The lights were low; if it weren’t for the open sign I would have missed it

  “Thanks,” I said out loud.

  “For what?” Krisan asked.

  “Not you. Scrunch down in the seat, I don’t want anyone seeing you.” Instead, she leaned forward, trying to look out the sides of the windshield. “Are you deaf? Get down.” I pushed her head down and she took the hint. Once I parked, I pulled out my phone and called hers. She answered without putting it to her ear. I slipped the Bluetooth earpiece into mine and tested the connection. She gave me a thumbs up.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, though. Stay here. Don’t get out. Keep the doors locked. Understand?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “This isn’t a game, Krisan. I heal, you don’t. Do not get out of this car.”

  With a little more conviction, she nodded. “I’ll stay put. Promise.”

  I opened the door, resisting the urge to check my knives. I just had two; the one on my hip and one in my boot. I’d love a gun about now, but if I need one, I’m just going to have to take it.

  With my cell in my left hand, I opened the door and stepped in, immediately tossing the phone into the trash bin. The Bluetooth was good for thirty feet or so. But if I was search
ed they’d shut the phone off and that would interfere with my plans to ambush them.

  “That’s a lot of phones,” Krisan said.

  “Focus on addresses; I want to know where each one belongs.”

  “Can you give me five minutes?” she asked.

  “I’ll try,” I whispered as the door shut behind me.

  The lights came up, disrupting my vision. Two sets of strong hands grabbed either arm and a right cross caught me in the jaw, snapping my head to the side. If I were a normal person I’d have dropped like a stone from that. So I feigned it, letting my body fall; the men beside me lifted me up.

  “Wake up,” a man said as he slapped me across the face. Not hard enough to damage me, but hard enough to hurt.

  He was in his thirties, with a shaved head and the brown skin of an immigrant from across the southern border. His accent said Mexico but it was hard to tell sometimes.

  I groaned and he slapped me again. I snapped my eyes open and glared at him. I held my powers back, not wanting to manifest anything—yet.

  “Is this her?” he asked someone as he stepped back from me. I opened my eyes and saw who.

  Alessandro. I so wasn’t surprised. His wife was kind, but he was too much like his daughter; uncaring and selfish. Of course he betrayed me.

  “Yes. She is the one,” he said. “Can I go?”

  The man with the shaved head, who, based on his appearance was probably Vaas, Peter’s older brother, nodded. Alessandro gave an awkward bow before turning and walking up the little stairs behind the dining room.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked me.

  I let out a sigh, trying to play into the idea and build the notion in their minds that they had me. I wasn’t struggling or acting smug. Even though I felt that way on the inside. “No,” I lied.

  “Good. So you are not all-knowing. Look here boys, we were afraid of this hombra?” Nervous laughter betrayed their true feelings. They were still afraid. “Tell me who helped you?”

  I shook my head no. His predictable response was to rapid punch me in the stomach three times. The man was strong, I’d give him that. The third punch broke something inside and I let myself scream. The men holding me let go and I dropped to my knees holding my ribs.

  “Hang in there, just a few more minutes. Do you want me to call Bill?” Krisan asked over the phone.

  “No,” I gasped between breaths.

  “You are stubborn, but everyone has a limit. Even tough girls who think they’re as strong as men.” He brought his foot up and kicked me in the side of the face. The blow snapped me around, sending me into the ground face first. I used my shoulder to hit but I still ended up seeing stars and tasting blood.

  Sara stood behind Vaas as he walked over to me. “I’m sorry I ever doubted your commitment,” she said. Her voice was full of anticipation. Well, she wasn’t wrong.

  “Get up,” he said, grabbing my dreads and pulling me to my knees. I winced for real; it hurt. “You’re going to tell me who helped you. How did you know about the mansion? Who told you about the money exchange? How did you know the Regulators were coming in yesterday? How did you kill them?” he asked, spittle flying in my face while his questions turned into a shout. He didn’t wait for me to answer, just started rabbit punching me in the gut with one hand while he held me up with the other.

  “Madisun?” Krisan called, her voice crackling in my ear from her fear.

  “I’ll talk,” I said. “Just don’t hit me again.” I let a few tears roll down my face, deserving a damn Oscar for the performance. He let go of my head and I fell to my knees, clutching my aching ribs.

  “That’s more like it. Now who?” he asked again.

  I took a breath and waited for a heartbeat.

  “Madisun, you have to get out of there. They’re planning on blowing up the Saints HQ with all the C4 you found. It’s going down right now!”

  Oh crap.

  The Saints HQ was a massive dome in the center of the city. It was built to withstand a bomb—but not one placed on the inside.

  “The Saints?” I asked.

  “What?” Vaas said, leaning close to me. “What did you say?”

  “You’re planning on blowing up the Saints? Are you insane? Not even ISO could get away with something that brazen,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  He was close enough and I was tired of the act. I put one hand down on the ground and braced myself. “Your brother told me a lot before I burned him alive.”

  His eyes went wide, and I struck. I hit him like a linebacker, slamming my shoulder in his chest and lifting him high in the air before I let him go. He flew right into the power box on the wall of the old building. It shattered and exploded as circuits were interrupted suddenly, plunging the restaurant into darkness. Sadly, the electricity didn’t kill him, he simply slumped against the wall, dazed.

  Normally I’d kill everyone here, but them blowing up the Saints HQ was slightly more pressing than this. I shadow stepped to the nearest man, letting my light shine as kicked him in the back of the knees and snapped his neck like a twig. Power flowed through me as he died. I picked up his body, took one step forward and swung him like a shot-put and let him go, flying toward the picture window with the restaurant’s logo on it.

  The glass exploded in a million pieces as the body flew through it. I ran at the next guy, dropping into a slide and catching his gut on my boot. He folded over my foot and I divested him of his phone and firearm. A ubiquitous Glock 17. At least it was a forty-five. I shot him twice, threw the body behind me with a jerk of my knees, then kip-upped.

  Sometimes even I forget how fast I can move. They were still processing what had happened to Vaas, the fastest of them drawing their guns as I watched. I sprinted for the window as the bullets started flying after me. I dove out , hitting the concrete with my shoulder, rolling and then back on my feet, running for the Hellcat. I leaped, sliding over the hood to get to the other side. I was in the driver’s seat an instant later, the engine roaring to life as I jammed down the button.

  “They’re still alive?” Krisan asked from where she was huddled on the passenger floor.

  “For now,” I said. I threw the car into reverse and gunned it. The tires squealed as I spun the wheel, kicking it into a J-turn, slammed it in drive, and floored it. The big rear tires screamed in protest as they spun for a second before finding grip. It was like riding a rocket; the car flew down the street. Even with my enhanced reflexes, it was hard to control.

  I checked the rear-view mirror, only to see several vehicles spring to life and follow me out onto the main street a few seconds later.

  “You boys want to race, let’s race,” I said.

  “That’s the spirit, Madi,” Sara said, cheering from the backseat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Madi?” Krisan asked. I ignored her for the moment, focusing on the road. The Hellcat was awesomely fast, but nimble it wasn’t. I slammed on the breaks, locking the wheels and causing the ABS to kick in to avoid sliding as a Smart car pulled out in front of me, heedless of their insignificant size.

  “Madi?”

  “What?”

  “You’re bleeding. Were you shot?”

  I looked down and sure enough, blood dripped from a wound in my shoulder. In all the excitement I hadn’t felt it. Within a second the wound closed and the blood stopped. “I’m fine.”

  I don’t heal instantly, but I do heal. Could I survive a shot to the head? Maybe. I sure didn’t want to find out.

  I floored it past the Smart car, clipping their mirror and sending them flying off the road in a flurry of honking horns. A moment later the rear window exploded and the sound of automatic gunfire reached me a half second after the bullets.

  Man, what I wouldn’t have given for a grenade right about then. I reached back with my borrowed Glock and put two rounds in the radiator of the expensive BMW SUV. My thinking was that if I fired back maybe they would back off a lit
tle. I couldn’t really take my attention off the road long enough to aim properly.

  Or could I?

  I took another corner in a shroud of smoking tires as I pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor. When you punch the gas while you’re turning, it causes a spin; don’t do it unless that is the goal. I did a one-eighty before coming to a stop. I leaned out the window and held the gun on the spot where I thought they would come into sight. Sure enough, a few seconds later the SUV smoked her tires as the back end lost some grip taking the corner faster than they should have. I lined up the sights with the driver, using my Wraith vision to nullify the shadows. With my amped reflexes time slowed to a crawl. The windshield drifted over my sights, I saw the passenger, then the center seat followed by the driver. That’s when I squeezed the trigger, twice.

  The first round caught the driver in the chest, the second in the throat. He instantly let go of the wheel. In response, the back end broke loose and swung around even farther until it hit the curb, which made the whole vehicle flip up into the air and roll into the corner coffee shop.

  Oops.

  I only felt the surge of a single death, which I guess made me feel better? At least no one in the coffee shop died. I tucked the gun between my thigh and the seat, threw the car into reverse and repeated my j-turn from earlier. Once I was facing the right way I floored it, leaving a trail of melted rubber for a hundred feet down the road. I was in third gear in five seconds.

  “Drive fast much?” Krisan asked from the floorboard.

  “Nope. Never really drove much before, to be honest.” I glided around the much slower traffic, sliding from side to side in my seat, hitting the molded leather with my butt each time.

  “I change my mind; I don’t want to go with you,” she said, clutching the chair and pressing herself against the underside of the dash.