Exit Zero (Book 2): Nuke Jersey

by Neil A. Cohen

  “You came to the right guy, as right now, looks like I’m the last man standing,” Dominic said to Ragu. “No need for you to go to the Pine Barrens, nothing left of those guys other than a mess on the floor resembling beefaroni. When the bosses didn’t return, we assumed the worst. Maybe it was an FBI sting. Or one of the bosses pulled a power play. Seen it before, call for a sit-down as a set-up to whack the other bosses. We went up there to find out what was going on, and the place looked like the killing floor of a slaughterhouse. What a horror show.”

  “Anyone make it out alive?” Ragu asked.

  “Don’t know. It was such a mess up there, who knows if they were in the pile or not. Our guys torched the cabin and we left.”

  “Have you heard from out of state?”

  “I have,” Dominic proclaimed. “Words come down. For now, I’m in charge and you’re number two.”

  Ragu threw a white box of pharmaceuticals onto the desk and plopped down into the leather chair in front of Dom’s desk. “A tribute,” he said.

  Dom picked up the package and began opening it.

  Ragu explained his gift. “Twenty-two blister packets of Adderall, something to help ease the mind of he who wears the crown.”

  Dominic physically cringed. “Please, don’t say that word.”

  “Adderall?” Ragu asked.

  “No, blister. God, I hate that word,” Dom said, still uncomfortable while working a couple pills from their packets.

  “I hear ya,” Ragu commiserated. “I hate the word aluminum. I can never say that friggin word. Al...oom...a...num,” Ragu said sounding out the word phonetically.

  “It’s not that I can’t say it, it’s just when I hear that word, I think of little white blisters that appear on your dick.” Dom crossed his legs.

  “Um. Do... Do you have blisters on your dick?”

  “No!” Dominic said defensively. “Just makes me think of that. Shit.”

  Ragu had an endless parade of ball-busting comments lined up in his mind, but as this moron in front of him was now the boss, he kept them to himself. He would be sure to share with Vito and Vitamin Mike later.

  “So listen, Ragu, you and I both know I don’t want this honor that has befallen to me. I’m not interested in running this family. I know you are. I can’t just give it to you though, even we have rules, and there are people above me, people from out of state, that would not look too kindly on my handing the reigns to you. It could be perceived as a sign of weakness. Weakness creates challengers.”

  “I understand,” Ragu said.

  Dom arched his eyebrows. “But if you could prove yourself...”

  “What the fuck you want me to do, pull a sword from a stone or something?”

  “No, I need you to kill your old boss. Big V.”

  Ragu sat forward in the chair. “I thought he was dead, or out of state, under witness protection or something?”

  “Nope, he’s alive, and he’s right here in South Jersey. He was spotted in Cape May this morning. Find him, kill him, bring me indisputable proof he’s dead, and the crown is yours. You would be the sole Don running Jersey, at least till we rebuild the family.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Daniel left his meeting with Patrick and proceeded on down the hallway for his meeting with Maxwell.

  7322 followed closely behind.

  Men and women walked hurriedly down the halls, papers and binders in hand, some barked into cell phones.

  They approached a door about five rooms down from Patrick’s Oval Office. It had two guards in black uniforms standing on either side, one a tough looking man, the other a tough looking yet thoroughly attractive woman.

  7322 seemed to know her. She wore the identifier of 9104.

  “He’s been expecting you, to go right in,” 9104 said with an ominous tone.

  While reaching for the door, 7322 hesitated. A subconscious action that was noticed by both Daniel and 9104.

  “Don’t worry.” 9104 smirked. “We fed him already.”

  7322 gave her a “Go fuck yourself” glance, but he was clearly embarrassed by his own subconscious hesitation. He opened the door, let Daniel walk in first, followed him inside, and closed the door behind them.

  Daniel scanned the room. It probably was the office of hotel management less than two weeks ago. It was unimpressive, with a single desk, phone, fax machine, and some file boxes. Any personal items from the previous occupant had been removed. There was no opulence in the room now serving as the seat of power of the country. It had the tools for function, nothing more. There were no guards standing inside this office to protect or monitor Gold.

  Something else was missing, too: James.

  For as long as Daniel could remember, he had never seen Maxwell without his brother James being right at the old man’s side.

  Daniel walked towards Maxwell’s desk. He felt none of the hesitancy that his escort 7322 had felt. After all, he had known Maxwell for his entire life. He thought he knew him, anyway.

  Daniel sat down in the chair in front of the desk. 7322 stayed behind with his back to the closed door.

  “So, first I met with the president,” Daniel said, “and now I meet with you. Whose office do I go into next, Jesus Christ’s?”

  Maxwell’s eyebrows bounced on his brow. “Oh, come on, Daniel, you don’t believe stories about people who have risen from the dead, do you?”

  Maxwell turned his head to look at 7322 and craned his neck as if he is attempting to read the label on his chest.

  7322 stepped forward quickly. “Yes, sir, um, 7322.” He pointed at his nametag.

  “7322, could you please excuse us.” It wasn’t a question.

  7322’s face sunk a little. Like he did not know if he should feel rejection or relief. “Uh, sir?”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Sullivan and I have some catching up to do.”

  Daniel turned in his seat and gave 7322 a smirk to rub some extra salt in the dismissed man’s wounds.

  7322 turned and left.

  Daniel refocused on Maxwell. “Patrick said you want me to go fetch Ivan for you.”

  “That’s what I wanted him to think you’re doing, and that is what he will continue to believe until there is a need for him to know otherwise. Daniel, it’s time you were brought in from the dark. I need someone I can trust. I need a new Sullivan.”

  “So that’s it? You get one brother killed, you turn the other into a basket case, and you think I’ll just step in and fill the gap.”

  “I’m sorry about your brothers, but this is the life we have chosen.”

  Daniel pointed an accusatory finger at Maxwell. “Bullshit. I did not choose it. It chose me. You chose me. I have not had freedom of choice for my entire life.”

  Maxwell sighed. “You always had a choice. You can choose to walk out that door right now. This is not a prison. It’s still a free country, and will remain so as long as I have a say.”

  “You? I thought Patrick was the new leader of the free world?”

  “Daniel, are you in or out,” Maxwell demanded.

  “I’m out.” Daniel stood up and walked towards the door.

  “Daniel, wait.” The old man’s voice seemed surprisingly consolatory, almost fatherly. “No more lies, no more obfuscation. It is time you were brought in. If you stay, if you help me, I will tell you everything.”

  Daniel stopped.

  Maxwell rose from his seat. “This is bigger than you, bigger than New Jersey. This is the beginning of a new nation. There’s no going back now. We have set off a chain of events that can only move forward. But I need you more than ever before. I need your help now. And I promise, I will tell you everything.”

  Daniel turned and walked back to the chair and sat down.

  “Everything,” he said.

  CHAPTER 20

  Daniel left Maxwell’s office to find 7322 waiting just outside the door. The soldier had been chatting with 9104, but they both ceased mid conversation the second the door opened.

&
nbsp; Daniel gave each a “what’s up with you two” glance. He turned towards 7322. “Max is sending us out on a search and recover mission to find some damn truck. He said you would fill me in.”

  When 7322 didn’t answer, Daniel pushed. “So, why the hell is he sending us out to pick up a goddamn truck?”

  7322 crossed his arms. “Your friend Virgil was working for the feds.”

  Daniel shot back, “Bullshit.”

  “He was good at covering his tracks. Even Max was unaware of his arrangements. He was working as an informant and was looking to secure a good deal for himself and his family. Here is what we know: He was given the order by his FBI handlers to hijack a PCRC truck containing proprietary materials. We don’t believe he knew or cared what was in them.”

  Daniel cocked an eye. “What was in there?”

  “Frozen cuts of beef. It’s from cattle raised and fed in a proprietary process that PCRC had spent tens of millions of dollars on in research and development. A process that the company’s competitors would like to get a hold of. We believe a binder outlining the process was also in that truck. I don’t know if Virgil got spooked or just did not want his fingerprints on this particular job because it was too close to Mr. Gold, but for whatever reason, he farmed out the actual hijacking job to a couple of Dispensa’s guys. They grabbed the truck at a weigh station and scared off the driver.

  “PCRC also has some well-placed informants in Dispensa’s crew. The thugs that pulled off the heist did not know anything other than they were to steal a truck loaded with steaks and deliver it to a location in Maryland.” 7322 shrugged. “Our guess is the hijackers got greedy, as the truck was never delivered. No honor among thieves. Once they opened the back and saw all those frozen high-end cuts of beef, they must have decided they could make more money by selling those steaks off to restaurants and butcher shops up and down the Garden State Parkway. Just hours after the truck had been stolen, the meat was being served and consumed by dozens of restaurants, hotels, and housewives.

  “We need to find that truck and whatever contents are left in it. It represents tens of millions of dollars in corporate investment.”

  BMW walked up to join the group. He appeared freshly showered and shaved, and was wearing a brand new black tactical uniform matching the rest of the newly formed domestic security force. On his chest was the patch displaying his new moniker: 0808.

  Daniel pulled BMW aside. He motioned with his hand up and down the outfit in disbelief as to what he was viewing. “Christ, this place is like invasion of the body snatchers, now they got you?”

  BMW shook his head. “Nah man, but I’ve been wearing the same monkey suit from work for two days, I needed to change my drawers.”

  Daniel nodded towards the name, or rather number, tag. “That works out perfectly for you, 8080.”

  “Yeah, how’s that?”

  “8-0, looks like eight ball. The one black ball among all the other balls. Seems to be the story of your life.”

  BMW snarled “Man, fuck you, white boy.”

  Daniel smiled. Happy to lightly torment his friend. “Get it? Because eight balls are black, and you’re black. You do know you’re black right?”

  “If we survive this, I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Not my fault you’re black, not everyone can be blessed to be Irish.”

  The attractive 9104 approached them. “Mr. Sullivan, if you would like to follow me, we will get you fitted for your own uniform.”

  Daniel snorted. “Bullshit, I’m not wearing one of those.”

  BMW chimed in, “Oh, yes you are. You haven’t changed your clothes since this shit started. You smell like sweat and ass, and you are not getting into my chopper stinking like that.”

  “Why don’t you listen to your friend Mr. White,” 7322 gently chided. “Or, perhaps I could call you 8080 now?”

  Daniel corrected him. “You mean Eight Ball.”

  7322 was confused. “I thought you called him BMW?”

  Daniel doubled down. “He’s Eight Ball now.”

  7322 gave them both a perplexed look. “What the hell is it with you people and nicknames?”

  Daniel shrugged. “It’s a Jersey thing.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “What the fuck you looking at?”

  Hardly a pleasant greeting for a refugee. Or perhaps, that was exactly the greeting most refugees received. Eric Pinskey was adjusting to his refugee status. Being one of the many minors whose parents were either trapped in NJ or killed in NJ, and with no other relative outside Jersey, he was an unaccompanied minor being managed by the state.

  After escaping NJ and arriving on the shore of Delaware via mini-sub with Daniel Sullivan, along with Big V’s daughter Rita, Eric had been handed off to one of Maxwell Gold’s lackeys. Rita was turned over to the feds, as her father was a known mob boss and lesser-known FBI informant. Eric was shipped off to Virginia, which housed many of the orphaned and temporarily homeless children from the Garden State.

  Minors were given a quick physical and a twenty-four-hour quarantine to ensure they had not been infected, then they were assigned foster homes and enrolled in school. As Eric was the only known survivor of Holy Friends Catholic School, he was sent off to a comparable institution Saint Bernadette’s High School. His welcome there as a new sophomore was not much different than his welcome as a new freshman at Holy Friends.

  “I said, what the fuck you looking at dickless?” came the repeated taunt from the upper classman.

  “Nothing,” was Eric’s meek reply, not realizing he had just flung an insult.

  “Damn right nothing,” said the bully not realizing he had accepted the insult.

  Eric felt the pang of loss. Not so much for his mother and step dad. He had no idea if they were alive or dead. His real father had been dead for years. He felt the loss of his core group of pals from Holy Friends. He did not make friends easily. He entered Holy Family the way he had left eighth grade: timid and beaten down by a lifetime of rejection. He was afraid to show any attention to any of the girls he had a crush on in school, since most girls were not satisfied simply rebuffing his interest—they had to ensure that it was known among the entire student body that some gross nerd had hit on them. They then had to publicly insult the boy every chance they got to ensure no one in the school was under any misperception that they would consider dating such a dweeb.

  He craved popularity. He craved it like a Kardashian craved fame. Nothing else mattered. Academic achievements, straight A’s, or even the rare acknowledgement from his parents were meaningless. He needed to achieve popularity like he needed oxygen. Yet it eluded him.

  It was midway through the first year of high school when a new student entered the school. Eric got partnered with him for freshman biology.

  “Chris Corcio. You can call me CC,” he said, introducing himself to Eric.

  Eric felt ashamed that he initially avoided hanging out with CC. He was the new kid and immediately became a target. But the way CC handled it was completely opposite to how Eric dealt with bullying. Eric absorbed every insult, every slight, every social failure like a sponge that was never squeezed or rinsed out. He carried the filthy residue inside him, which just made him even more unappealing.

  CC was like a stone surface that shrugged it all off without anything sticking. He would try for girls way out of his league, and when they blew him off, he acted as if it was their loss. He seemed to relish their public taunts afterwards and gave it back twofold. When older or tougher kids tried to bully him, he busted their balls even worse, with no apparent fear of a courtyard beating after school.

  He had confidence. He was not a looker, not tough, not athletic and not even that smart—but he dripped with confidence and it drew Eric in to learn this stranger’s secret.

  The two started hanging out together and CC later introduced Eric to other kids from school, some of whom were also freshman, but who Eric had never even met or noticed before. They were all pretty much loners until CC
brought them together. He made Eric question why he desired to be accepted by those that he really did not like or care about. Why was it so important to him to be accepted and liked by jocks and mean girls at the school? He should, in fact, find self-assurance in the knowledge that he was not in the crowd of those who had everything: looks, popularity, athletic skill, but are such miserable assholes that they use their position to make those that have nothing feel even worse about their lives.

  It was a liberating “come to Jesus” moment. Unfortunately, before he really had the time to take this new world view forward, the Skell virus hit and his school turned into a human buffet.

  He heard a crash from down the hall and jumped. He was still shell-shocked from his last brush with death in NJ. He looked down the hall and two larger kids had thrown a freshman against some lockers. The kid was scooping up some cartoons he had drawn when Eric approached.

  “Hey, here comes your girlfriend.” The larger of the two said to the freshman.

  “How would you even know what a girlfriend looked like?” Eric responded, not realizing he said it aloud till the words were out there.

  “Hey pussy, I am going to kick your ass.”

  “How would you know what a pussy looked like if you never had a girlfriend?” Eric said, again, the words coming from somewhere beyond his capacity for bravery.

  “You are dead. I am beating the shit out of you once school’s over.”

  “I’ll be done at three o’clock.” Eric rocked on his heels. “What time does it end for you in special education?”

  The freshman laughed.

  “Y-y-y-your friggin dead!” the bully stammered before he and his friend walked off quickly.

  Eric realized he was not dead. It was the first time he realized that since he left New Jersey. He helped the freshman up. “My name’s Eric,” he told the kid. “You can call me E.”

  CHAPTER 22

  As Daniel was taken off by 9104 to shower and change, BMW and 7322 sat down in the cafeteria and chowed on breakfast. BMW had a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage. 7322 carried a mug of piping hot coffee.