“Then one day they asked me to become a trapeze artist, swinging back and forth on a thick rope swing about fifty feet above the crowd. I had a Russian female partner who was of normal size and sexy as fuck. We both wore sequin-covered jumpsuits which sparkled under the bright lights of the big top. I had a wicked crush on her, but I never told her because of that whole Chihuahua and Great Dane situation.
“But one day I was swinging high above the crowd during a show and heard screams from down below. I looked down to see what appeared to be hysteria, screaming audience members running for the exits in masses. Zombies had found their way into the circus tent and were feasting on crowd members. One of the creatures had a pink puffy poodle in his mouth and was snacking on his appetizer as he was making his way over to a crowd fighting for the exits.
“I swung down and landed on the back of the pony that I used to stand upon in the old act. I rode that young horse out of the tent, staying just ahead of them and luring away the hideous monsters. The audience and other circus members then were ableto flee to safety.”
Duy was impressed. “Damn, man, that’s crazy. You’re a real hero. “
“Yeah …. umm, no. I made all that shit up about the circus. You see that? Most people think the only job or life a little person can be successful at is in the circus or some sort of freak show.
“Do you not know that little people can lead normal lives in society? We work bullshit 8- to-5 jobs too, you know. We pay bills and taxes, beaten down by THE MAN daily, just like you. But you guys probably wouldn’t know about all that, would you?”
Anthony apologized and continued. “Anyways, ever since I started to get tats at eighteen, I had this dream to one day own my own tattoo place. Wanted to make a name for myself as a tattoo artist. My dream was finally realized, and then these sons of bitches’ zombies destroyed them all. Along with just about everyone else’s, I suppose.”
Undoubtedly, there wasn’t a single human being alive in the contamina ted areas of the United States whose life wasn’t going to be affected by this ruinous outbreak, if they hadn’t already.
But like many other noxious plights that occur throughout different parts of the world, regularly there are some people somewhere who find themselves in situations that will ultimately make or break them. Those who can adapt and overcome will survive and the others fall along the wayside.
The people of Lansdowne House learned from the start that they were in this deep doo-doo together. They all had grown to depend upon each other and help each other survive this wicked plight. As a result of this teamwork, some great friendships were born, and alliances created. One such bond, for instance, was the one formed between Anthony and Bandit.
Although they were ten years apart in age, these two were nearly inseparable. Perhaps they felt some type of brother-like affinity, or possibly it was merely because they were about the same height. Nonetheless, they enjoyed going on supply runs together, avoiding the Dead and crawling through smashed fences and doors and unlocked windows to get into abandoned residences and/or businesses in search of food and other essential goods.
However, each of them displayed their own unique individual style in their choice of apparel and weaponry. Bandit was fond of his black cowboy hat and dual leather cowboy holsters which strapped a pair of .22-caliber Smith & Wesson revolvers (Anthony found these at a pawn shop a few months back and taught Bandit how to shoot and exercise gun safety).
Anthony looked more like an angry heavy metal construction worker type of guy in his Dickie shorts and his light blue work shirt with customized ‘Anthony’ patch sewn on the right breast. The sleeves had been cut off in Belichikian fashion to reveal his full-sleeve tattooed arms. His weapons of choice were the battery-charged drill with a zombie skull-piercing drill bit attached and his favorite Makita nail gun.
“Southie”, Boston Mass Meanwhile, on the other side of town where the “Dirty Water” could be found, Jake (now using the alias “Sal Armano”) was wearing his regular work attire of black or grey Ermenegildo Zegna and other high-dollar suits. He has been working as a bodyguard/driver for his old friend Vinny DeAngelo. For the last couple of weeks, this new lifestyle had gone smoothly and seemingly without anyone having recognized him. That had not even been suspicious of him. At least not to his knowledge.
Everything seemed to be going swimmingly in this partnership between Jake and Vinny. Jake’s identity was being protected and at the same time, he was protecting Vinny’s ass from his living enemies as well as from the DEAD. Jake would clear those THINGS out of his path, allowing Vinny to be able to continue his family practice without the threat of being gnawed on by the flesh mongers.
But one day, just as Jake was beginning to feel comfortable in his new role, a new wise guy rolled into town. His name was Frederick Szharko. He was a short and petite runt of a cocky fuck with a blonde buzz cut on top of his head. Szharko had what some people call the little man syndrome, always trying to talk and act big to make up for his other shortcomings. Perhaps this was the reason Frederick demanded that everyone call him “the Shark.” A big tough name for a little sawed-off jerk.
This guy had been doing business for the DeAngelo family in Hartford for several years. But now he had been promoted to the Boston job to partner up with Vinny. And this meant that he would be also dealing with ‘Sal’ on a regular basis.
Shark never messed bothered ‘Sal’ when Vinny was around to keep the Shark preoccupied. But the day finally came when Shark showed up and Vinny was nowhere to be found. Bright and early one Friday Massachusetts morning, Frederick Szharko made his way onto Vinny’s fishing schooner and found Jake reading the Globe. “Hey douchebag,” Szharko instigated, “let’s go for a drive. I need your help with a job.”
“Sorry, man, I don’t work for you. I work for Vinny. I need to stick around he re. If he shows up needing his driver, he’ll be really pissed off if I’m not around.”
“He’ll be even more hacked off if I tell him that I think you’re a filthy pig ass cop,” Shark threatened.
“Shut the fuck up, Shark. He knows for damn sure that I ain’t no cop” Jake said.
“Yeah? We’ll see. Now let’s go for a ride. You’re driving….” Shark dictated.
Jake and the Shark headed out in the Shark’s black Escalade with Connecticut plates.
“Jump on the 95 until I tell you to exit. We gotta go pay our competition a visit and explain the rules of interstate commerce.”
About thirty minutes later, the black Cadillac SUV pulled onto the long Foxborough, Massachusetts, driveway of a rival family member, Mr. Giovanni Portelli. Portelli was an overweight, balding 55-year-old Italian man known for his love of Hawaiian shirts and all things golf related.
Jake parked in front of the massive two-story raised ranch. Jake and Shark exited the car to instantly hear a golf club meeting ball. The sound was coming from the driving range behind the house.
Jake and the Shark walked around the house and toward the driving range. They caught Giovanni off guard, to say the least. As soon as “Gio” saw the two rivals approaching, he turned toward his golf cart and attempted to reach for something below the seat.
“No, you don’t, Portelli,” Shark said as he lunged at Gio and pushed him away from the golf cart. “Sal, go look and see what our friend here was reaching for on that cart.”
Sal (Jake) located a Sig Sauer .45 on the floorboard of the golf cart, holding it up to show Shark. “I bet he was looking for this beauty.”
“Now Gio, that’s not very nice of you.” Shark said. “So, where’s your boy Benny at? I never seen you out when he wasn’t by your side to protect your plump ass.”
“He’s gonna be here any second. After that, you guys will be wishing you never came here.”
“Actually,” Shark responded, “I remember now. I ran into Benny down at the Dunk earlier this morning. He was getting his cup of black coffee and blueberry muffin breakfast, like he does every single morning. He said to tell you h
e’s not gonna make it to work today. Actually, he’s never coming back to work.”
Giovanni began to struggle with the puny Shark. Shark was losing the struggle and pulled his ‘piece’ out of his waistband. He pointed the muzzle at Gio’s head. “If you know what’s good for ya, you’ll quit fighting and take it like a man. You know you’ve had this coming for a while now. Vinny warned you weeks ago not to be operating on his turf.”
“Now walk over here and sit down. Take a load off. Make yourself comfortable and put your back up against that tree.”
Szharko said, “Sally-boy, watch him closely. I gotta get something outta the car.”
Shark walked over to the Escalade and returned moments later with a large roll of silver duct tape. He placed Giovanni’s arms behind Gio’s body and had one on each side of the elm tree’s trunk. Then he ducttaped Gio’s wrists together so that Gio couldn’t pull away from the tree.
Shark had another item with him as well. He held up a fifteen-pound bag of off-brand ant granules and said, “look what I found in the backyard. Looks like you got a problem with little pests just like we do. Maybe we can help each other get rid of some pests today.”
Shark pulled a switchblade knife out of his left sock and extended the blade. He began to slice open the top of the ant granule bag. He then lifted the bag and began to pour ant granules all over Portelli’s beet red, sweat covered face.
“Why don’t you open your mouth, you fucking piece of shit. I’m trying to feed you, you fat fuck. You know what, that’s fine. Keep your fuckin’ pie hole shut.” The scrawny, buzz-cut Szharko took the now-half empty bag of ant poison and placed it over Giovanni’s head. Then Shark told ‘Sal’ to hold the bag in place as Shark duct taped the bag opening tightly around Gio’s neck.
Shark took a step back to admire his work as Gio, with his head now inside the insect poison bag, began to gasp. Needing air, he involuntarily opened his mouth. And the more he struggled and squirmed to try and free himself from the duct tape, more ant granules poured down into his mouth.
“You watching this, ‘Sal’?” Shark was amused by his own actions. “Sometimes it’s more fun to snuff a guy out using random shit you got available to you rather than just blowing a guy’s brains out with a pistol in the mouth. You gotta mix it up, be fuckin’ creative.”
Gio continued sucking the small trace of O2 remaining inside the bag. But in the process his lungs were being filled with the poison granules. ‘Sal’ and Shark watched on as Portelli continued to struggle, his back against the tree and his wrists still bound. He was just minutes away from imminent suffocation.
Jake’s min d was racing. He was filled with thoughts and reflections on discussions many years earlier in the police academy about ethical dilemmas and challenges police officers would encounter. But this situation was far above and beyond the level of those talks about whether it was right to accept free cups of coffee at the 7-11.
This Gio guy was a very bad man. He was responsible for countless crimes against small business owners, financial institutions, the poor and the oppressed. Anyone this guy and his family could take advantage of to benefit themselves in any way, became a victim. And many who further tried to stand up to him or stop him found themselves taking a long walk on a short pier.
There were undoubtedly several law enforcement agencies and agents tracking and investigating this man. They had every intention of developing or uncovering any piece of evidence that could contribute to a meaningful prosecution and incarceration of this individual. And here he was, at Jake’s disposal. With no one other than Shark around to witness or judge what Jake did with him.
Jake had changed over the years. He was not the naïve rookie cop he once was. Nor was he that eighteen-year-old kid with no real-life experience to speak of as he entered the Marine Corps, wet behind the ears.
As a child, Jake had been reared by his parents with the understanding that there was a “right” and “wrong.” He also understood that sometimes there is a fine line between the two. At times the line is blurry, making it that much more difficult to distinguish exactly where in the sand that line should be drawn.
And although he was feeling less like a law enforcement officer as each day passed, he still had that guardian mindset instilled within him. The “Protect and Serve” mentality of a cop. But even more importantly, he was still a god-fearing Christian and believer in the Fifth Commandment “Thou shalt not kill.”
Jake was also not an animal. He was a human being. For the most part. His decision made now and with unknown consequences pending, Jake jogged toward the elm-strapped Giovanni Portelli. “This is bullshit, Shark. It’s too fuckin easy to do him this way,” ‘Sal’ yelled. This asshole doesn’t deserve to go out this easy, without any body damage or bloodshed. And he needs more time to think about us coming back for him later. Coming back to mess him up so bad that his family won’t be able to show him off in an open casket.”
Jake removed his cutlery from beneath his coat. He severed the duct tape binds that had attached the rival gangster to the large tree beside the driving range. Gio used his now-freed hands to rip the tape off his wrists and then pull the poison bag off his head.
Jake kicked Giovanni square in the back, saying, “here, let me help you spit that shit out, bitch.” Gio began coughing up ant pesticide granules through his mouth and nostrils.
Turning away from the freed mobster, ‘Sal’ resumed his strut toward the waiting Escalade while Shark targeted him with a longfrustrated stare. “Why’d you do that, you pussy?”
“Because that’s not how a real man takes care of business. So, fuck you, Frederick.”
Szharko drove the Escalade back to the city, while Jake rode shotgun for the thirty-minute return trip to the harborside. The trip seemed never-ending to Jake, who had more than enough Shark for one day.
It was early evening when they arrived back at Vinny’s schooner. They soon discovered that the patriarch still had not returned from whatever business had kept him away all day. “Looks like your daddy’s not home, Sally. You’re lucky, because I was about to give him an earful about what happened today. Letting Portelli get away like you did. Tells me you’re either a cop or a pussy I’m not sure which. Either way, you’re not to be trusted. Vinny’s not gonna like this one bit. And neither are the other fellas.”
Shark shooed ‘Sal’ out of his car. “All right. Run along, bitch. Enjoy your last night here. I ‘m gonna go get my dick sucked.”
“Oh, nice. Dinner with mom?” Jake quipped, unable to resist swinging at the slow-pitch softball that had just been lobbed at him.
Jake climbed back aboard the makeshift fishing vessel, and he began to relish the fact that he was alone again. It was times like these that “Sal” could be Jake again.
Although, as time went by, he was feeling less like Jake and more like someone he really didn’t know or recognize. It had been nearly six years since United States Marine Captain Jake Hathaway began the first of many doses of the experimental Zeus Juice. Originally, he took the serum under the premise that he and his soldiers could be the best they could be, making them the ultimate military combat personnel. They were bearing super-human strength, able to endure pain like none other, tireless and full of energy 24-7.
It wasn’t long afterwards that the Corps captain was doubling down on the doses, as different priorities began to emerge in his thought processes. For the longer that chemical was raging inside his body, the more he found himself feeling the need to seek POWER. This longing for power has been inbred in biological organisms dating back to their origins of life on Earth. And this was exactly what the drug had been designed to create; the intensification of that desire - a hunger and need to be the most powerful being in the universe.
That coupled with a body that had morphed into one able to sustain and endure trauma, while dishing out much of the same to lesser beings.
The unfortunate side effect of the Zeus Juice was the way blood cells and tissues were dying.
This caused certain brain and bodily functions to be diminished at varying rates. As with any drug, every person’s body reacts differently to them. Some fail to react at all. But the way Jake had been feeling lately, he was quite certain that his body was reacting more rapidly than when he first began to take the serum.
Jake found his physical body to be stronger than ever, without having been exercising or weight training. He also found himself struggling more with cerebral activities such as decision making and poor long-term memory. He had already completely forgotten about his high school sweetheart, the name of some of the guys who he hung out with in the Corps, and some of the officers at DPD with whom he shared camaraderie.
Jake Hathaway’s soul was changing as well. He often found himself feeling alone, delusional, and expendable. He had been betrayed and blacklisted and left for dead by his beloved Corps and government who no longer had any use for him or his services. At times he felt like the one remaining human on this desolate, unfamiliar planet.
Several hours afte r the Shark dropped Jake off at Vinny ‘s ship, the Shark returned. He was alone, intoxicated and agitated. He stopped his Caddy alongside the docked fishing vessel and rolled down the windows. “Yo, Sally. You up there? Get the fuck out here! Now!!! Do you hear me?”
Jake walked up to the deck and looked over the side of the boat to see what the commotion was outside.
The obnoxious one below yelled up towards ‘Sal’, “Yeah, you heard me. Get your ass down here!”
Jake exited the vessel and met the sawed-off Shark by his car. “What’s the fucking problem, Frederick?”
“You think you’re so bold and clever calling me by my first name when you know I demand and deserve your respect. You can call me Shark like everyone else does, you pathetic go-fer. That’s all you are good for go get this for me, go get that for me. You’re just Vinny’s big bitch, his gofer. Nothing more.”
“And you’re nothing but a little prick always running off your big mouth. How about I call you ‘the Guppy’ instead. That’s more your speed.”
Wicked Awake Page 24