Hell on Earth

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “I’m done. I believe you! I’ll confess the moment they list the charges.”

  “That’s good thinking,” Lynn replied. “We’re going to put you in a TV episode and let you act it all out for the cameras. It’s called-”

  “Hollywood Bounty Hunters! I love that show! You’re Lynn Dostiene… the director! I’ll do it. I can learn anything you want me to do.” Audrey’s enthusiasm simmered for a moment. “Do…do you torture me if I get my lines wrong during practice?”

  “Nope. We’ll make everything as simple as possible. Rehearsals will be tedious. We’ll stage the scene where you’re taken at the docks. Once that’s done, we’ll make sure your transfer to FBI hands goes smoothly, probably a dark of night shot. I only ask that you don’t lose concentration. A director gets unhappy when that happens.”

  “I won’t… honest to God… I won’t! I…I just don’t ever want to be connected to this equipment ever again! I’d rather shoot myself in the head.”

  “I think we’re good to go then. We’ll put you in our luxury cell for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll work on a plot with my staff down in Pacific Grove and my crew in LA. Lie still a moment. I’ll get my minions to take you to your quarters.”

  “Thank you!”

  Outside the room, Lynn put her arm around Lucas. “I think she’s reformed, Pappy.”

  “I think you’re right. We’ve seen some great performances in there, but I’d gamble she’ll do as she promised. I grew up hard. The only thing I wanted to do was be a Marine and get the hell out of my house. The Marine Corps saved my ass. I hate to think I would have ever done what she did.”

  “I don’t believe you would have,” Lynn replied. “I couldn’t ever imagine you as a terrorist mole, working to destroy America. Something’s gone wrong in these kids’ minds. All they see ahead are entitlements. They shit on every opportunity. If they can’t be Kardashians or Michael Jordon, they think everything else is a suck-fest.”

  “I wish I could say you were wrong,” Lucas said. “My kids take advantage of their opportunities, but I wonder sometimes what they’d be like without me in their lives. One parent families in the hood is an escape hatch to failure and death. We’ve pulled a couple kids out of the death cycle. The service can do that for either young men or women, especially the ones who served in that hellhole Middle East sandpit. They’ve seen Islam’s Death Cult in action over there and what it’s done to the people, turning them into mutant zombies. They return to America with a different vision. Enough preaching. Did you settle our debt with ‘Rattler’, Recon?”

  “I did. I slipped him his check the moment he showed on the docks. He left after the takedown.”

  “I saw his face when you shot the one munchkin in the head,” Lucas said. “I doubt that boy ever comes stomping into the Warehouse again to screw with you.”

  “Speaking of the Warehouse. We’ve had a long day. Why don’t we take the gang over to the Warehouse for some refreshments and food? We were shortchanged with Eugene’s appearance last time.”

  “I know you need to call Dead Boy. I’m in for the Warehouse, but I don’t want to be in the same room when you call ‘Delta Dawn’.”

  Lynn and I enjoyed Lucas’s label with enthusiasm. “We’ll deliver that for you, Pappy,” Lynn promised.

  “Thanks. I could kick myself for not thinking of it earlier. He got me good.”

  “He’s got a tough one in DC. Nick will need something amusing to send him on his way,” I replied. “Call our limo service. We’ll ride around in style and pick up anyone who wants to go, including wives and kids.”

  “I’ll handle that,” Lucas said. “I know the Snow Whites want to go do something together. I don’t know how the hell you lucked out drawing those three into your circle, Recon, but they’re a pleasure to be around.”

  “I admit it was simply luck. I hooked up with Jafar in jail. You already know Jess and Dev quit street fighting after losing to me. We always stayed friends. When I had a chance to hire them in with me, it was a no brainer. It was a relief when I was allowed to level with Tommy about what I did with you guys and Denny. We have a hell of a family now.”

  “Amen to that,” Lucas agreed.

  “With the crap happening on a daily basis, thanks to idiot politicos handing over the nation to illegal aliens and Sharia Law mutants, we need a family of killers,” Lynn added.

  “We’re on the right coast to be in place with Nick’s crew south of us. This damn state is looney-tunes. Nick’s stopped incursions all the way to the Canadian border. Luckily, we can use our resources as a strike team to jet anywhere we’re needed in hours.”

  “Exactly right, Recon,” Lucas replied. “Are you telling Muerto the terrorists think he really is Dead Boy?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Ten

  DC Dolts

  Eric Strickland and Pamela Stallings spoke in hushed tones as they entered The Avenue, plush living quarters for many short and long term visitors to Washington DC, either on assignment or in political office.

  “Did you have the new guy checked out? I don’t want anyone right next door to us, we’ll have to hide from like children.”

  “He’s an Army Major with Delta Force credentials named Alvin Gibbons. CIA assigned him as a consultant in some overseas mockup they want his input on. He’s late thirties, probably been passed over for Colonel, hoping to step up his game with a CIA gig. I couldn’t get in any tighter on his file because of his Delta connections and service. He’s done black ops, I’m sure. He won’t give a damn about us. Gibbons sure won’t be doing FBI field work. Relax, Pam. He’s regular army. The only assignments he can be proactive on are ones overseas. It’s illegal for US military forces or CIA to work cases in the states.”

  “I guess you’re right. Leila is in unknown territory with this new entry Worthum’s working with. Belcium Breech owns half the politicos in DC. This new game, Breech recruited Ray to join him in on the West Coast, is dangerous as hell. We shouldn’t be meddling in any aspect of it. Leila doesn’t have a brain in her head. No way should she be involving staffers on a black ops murder plot.”

  “She believes we’re as compromised as she is,” Eric replied. “The dumbbell doesn’t know we’ve been tracking every illegal move she’s made. If she ever tries a double cross on us, she’s going down. I really think she knows that too. Leila realizes how careless she is. How many times have we saved her ass when she’s left classified material from the committee lying around everywhere.”

  “She’s a traitor. We are too. Leila thinks if you start selling secrets to the country’s enemies, and getting away with it, then leaving a few classified documents lying around means nothing in Rackson-Gree land.”

  “We’re not traitors,” Eric insisted, stopping in the hall. “This is all bullshit. People sell each other out in DC like chocolate mints. Our country is a racist Mecca. We deserve to be taken down a few pegs. If we make a few bucks helping Gree level the playing field, so much the better.”

  “You really are a treasonous bastard. You’re like those ‘bring it all down, man’ hippies from the sixties, and the young nitwits they call snowflakes today. You don’t care about anything else but yourself.”

  “Hey… I care about you. We entered this partnership with eyes wide open.”

  “I know. Getting caught is the only problem I have,” Pam admitted. “No one seems to get caught in this place. DC is the most corrupt political hellhole of all time. We make the historical political corruption places like ‘Tammany Hall’ look like pikers. They didn’t sell the country out. We’re in the right party for corruption. Our people from Presidents on down the line can do and say anything, pay for play with enemy nations, blackmail and extortion, nobody cares. I’m jaded now. The country’s okay and we’re rich. Unknowns like this Major moving in next to us worries the shit out of me. Hey… here he comes now, fancy uniform and all.”

  The man walking toward them with Gibbons on his nametag in the dress uniform of an
army major with beret, stopped and smiled at the couple. “Hi, I’m Al Gibbons. Are you two living here?”

  Eric smirked, but held out a hand which was grasped in a frighteningly bone-crushing grip for a split second, and then released. “I…I’m Eric Strickland. This is my friend Pam Stallings. We’re staffers with Congresswoman Leila Rackson-Gree.”

  Pam didn’t offer her hand. She smiled and nodded. “Nice meeting you, Al. Are you on duty today?”

  “Just a meeting. I’d hoped to have today for unpacking a few things… but such is life. I have the place-”

  “We heard,” Eric interrupted. “We like to know who our neighbors are. These days, with the witch-hunts going on for imaginary enemies, we need to know if our new neighbors are political spies or FBI plants, or-”

  “Just neighbors,” the major interrupted Eric. “I do consulting work with different agencies where combat ops are being considered. This trip I’m consulting with CIA. The consulting job will be taking me overseas. It’s nice meeting you both.”

  Pam and Eric barely had time to mumble a goodbye before Major Gibbons strode at a fast pace away from them. Eric snorted amusement while massaging his hand. “The prick only gripped my hand for a split second. I think he cracked a bone.”

  “It’s Friday night. We’re having Barb and Jack over, along with the office minions for a drink. We should invite him over. He’s not wearing a ring. I want to scope him out in a social situation. We can always tell the agency plants in a party gettogether.”

  Still rubbing his hand, Eric nodded in agreement. “You’re right. It’s best to be safe than sorry. If he turns us down this time, we’ll keep asking. He seemed friendly enough – regular army, tunnel vision on what he needed to do, and completely focused while interactive. He’s been around the block socially. I can tell.”

  “No doubt about that,” Pam agreed when they reached Eric’s place. “Lean, with hard high cheekbones, steel gray eyes that stare right through you, and a weird smile that never connects with the piercing stare. He’s the illustration of the old cliché about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  “Who asks him to come?”

  “Best let me do it,” Pam replied. “I’ll wear my party dress when I knock. If he turns us down, then he’s gay or impotent.”

  “One thing though, are you inviting Sue and Tony?”

  “I did,” Pam replied with hesitation. “Why?”

  “Tony drinks too much. Then, all it takes is one wrong word from Sue, and Tony goes postal on her.”

  “Tony’s funny at these things. He makes everyone laugh. He’s not a boring automaton like most people at parties in DC. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go overboard.”

  “You didn’t invite Leila, did you?”

  “Hell yes, I invited her,” Pam retorted. “Are you stupid. If she hears anything about us having a party and snubbing her, we will need to pull the secret files out to calm her down.”

  “You’re right… she never comes anyway. Sorry. I know better than to ask that. Something’s different about Ray. He’s been weird, conniving, and seemed to be looking for payback against someone.”

  “He’s high strung lately for sure,” Pam replied. “Someone burned him, of that I am certain. When you’ve blackmailed as many people as Ray, sooner or later, you get burned. I did not invite him.”

  “I did,” Eric admitted. “He won’t show either. I wanted to feel him out in a social setting too. We have to know when to take the money and run.”

  “That part I agree with. Let’s go take a shower, have a martini, and then I’ll get dressed to lure G.I. Joe to the party.”

  “Sounds like maybe I should tone you down a bit before you confront our militarist neighbor.” Eric began a familiar seduction routine which Pam slapped away.

  “No. We need to wind down before this thing with steady eyes on target. Maybe if you had wanted to service me a bit differently, all could have been yours, my lover.”

  Eric kissed her lightly on the mouth. “We’ll compare notes later while I service you in any way, shape, or form.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear, baby.”

  * * *

  “How’d we do, Johnny,” Nick asked, back from meeting with Paul Gilbrech, mostly for show, but also in friendship.

  “They spoke of being traitors and all aspects of this infamous plot. Breech is a clear factor, both as a worrisome addition, and a well-funded enemy. The woman’s coming to your place personally to invite you to their DC party. They wish to feel you out as a plant or an enemy to their aspirations.”

  “How in hell did you bug them, brother,” Gus asked.

  Nick smiled. “It was easy with those new tabs we purchased for an astronomical amount of money. We’re getting so high-tech, I should spend my off-time bugging all the Senate and Congressional members. In answer to your question, these dolts don’t see common people. They abhor them and any contact with them. If I bump into them with a hoodie on, they’re just glad they’re not being attacked. Like true liberals, the hoodie is sacred, except when coming into contact with them. So, they bought the package, huh?”

  “Hook, line, and sinker,” Johnny answered. “They’re suspicious, but not at all repulsed. They want to get to know you better. They’re more worried about inviting a couple of problem social drinkers, along with Worthum and Gree. It’s a good thing Worthum doesn’t know you on sight, brother.”

  “Muerto… did you give Eric the beartrap handshake,” Gus asked.

  Silence for a moment. “I gave him a firm handshake, Payaso.”

  “Did he have any bones in one piece afterward?”

  “Of course. I didn’t hurt him… much.”

  “I advise you to tone down your handshake statements for the party if you get invited,” Gus replied. “Try to be kind, interested, and receptive to new ideas.”

  “Oh… barf! I’ll handle it in a military way. I’ll agree to go if Stallings insists, but only in full uniform. I’ll tell her it’s all I have at the moment until a lost bag of luggage arrives.”

  “Oh man, Muerto, I have to admit if you were searching for something to put them into an unknowing hissy fit, that would do it,” Gus replied. “All you’d have to do is act military then, and interact with the guests as a polite presence. Eric and Pam can suspect anything they want, but with you, I know you will deadpan this entire scene to perfection.”

  “Yep. I will be the toast of the party while getting a very close recon of their abode. I’m thinking I’ll do my research as the inebriated Alvin of Chipmunk fame.”

  “Don’t do it. You’re Alvin from the Chipmunks sucks,” Gus cautioned. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Muerto?”

  “Oh… calm down. I’ll play this out to the end as strict, Major Alvin Gibbons. It’s the only way they can trust anything happening at a party. If Pam agrees to my coming in uniform, I’ll do so with sober grace. I’m there to get the layout of the place in person rather than satellite pops from space. This will be the best, guys. Trust me.”

  “You do know how much I hate it when you say trust me, right Muerto.”

  “That’s just hurtful, Gus.”

  * * *

  Later, after his return to The Avenue, Nick showered and shaved. He put on jeans and a black t-shirt, awaiting his invitation. The knock on his door revealed a Pamela Stallings in a seductive black cocktail dress, hip length and off the shoulder, showing maximum cleavage. Nick grinned at her through his wide-angle peephole in the door, before adjusting his features to a solemn questioning appearance. Thus prepared, Nick opened the door.

  “Ah… Pam… isn’t it?”

  “Yes. May I call you Al, Major?”

  “Sure. Is something wrong?”

  “No… we’re having a small gathering of friends and co-workers at Eric’s place. We’d like you to come.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Pam,” Nick replied, “but my luggage lost its way and won’t be returned until tomorrow. These jeans and t-shirt in
my small carryon bag, and my uniform, are all I have right now to wear.”

  Pam patted his arm reassuringly. “Wear your uniform. I’m sure you’re proud to do so. We’d love to get to know you better. We also have an open bar. I’ll bet you haven’t had the opportunity to buy some adult refreshments for your place yet.”

  Nick grinned. “I believe you have deduced the situation perfectly. I wouldn’t mind a cold beer, and you’re right, I am proud of my uniform.”

  “Excellent. Get dressed. People are already arriving. We also have food.”

  “Even more tempting,” Nick replied. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  After Pam left, Nick dressed in his uniform, of which he had four, from his unpacked luggage he was never parted from. He put on his green beret too, deciding if they didn’t like it, they could lump it. “I’m on guys. How’s the audio and video?”

  “Loud and clear with picture perfect clarity,” Johnny answered. “We’ll have audio and facial recognition for identification of the bodies.”

  “That’s mean, Johnny. You’ve been hanging out with that rascal, Payaso, too long. I have no intention of harming any of the snowflakes.”

  “Sorry, Muerto, Payaso put me up to it.”

  “Heh…heh,” Gus added. “Guess where we’re sipping the good stuff at while monitoring your snowflake infiltration.”

  “Not funny! I’m calling Rachel and order you two louts thrown off my deck, right through the window if necessary.”

  “We’re all here watching, Muerto,” Rachel said. “I didn’t see any harm in allowing Viper and Cracker to observe your infiltration techniques.”

  “You’re going to hell. You know that, right Rachel?” Nick pictured the deck scene with acceptance he was now fully animated into a cartoon.