Moon Base One: Tyr4nt: A Prequel Story

by Patrick Rivers

  “That’s my ride. I have business to attend to. Here, Ash, a small present for your victory,” Nos said and placed two vials of Blue Drillamine in her palm, making his way out the front door.

  “Thank you, Nos!” she called to him. He gave a wave and he was in the car and gone.

  Joey was howling, “Now the real party can begin!”

  * * * * *

  Drunkenly, Ash’s laughter filled the small hallway as she pulled Zeek toward the bedroom. They were kissing and groping, nearly tripping over each other as they staggered down the hall. Zeek could feel her nipples getting hard under her shirt as he squeezed her small breasts and pushed his tongue inside her mouth.

  They kicked open his door and were stripping each other’s clothes off like teenagers, almost falling over with laughter.

  Ash pushed Zeek onto the bed and got on top of him, she started writhing and moaning. The pleasure was almost too intense and Zeek couldn’t believe how perfect her breasts were as they bounced up and down.

  * * * * *

  Ash lay next to him; he could barely see her face in the moonlight that clawed its way through the blinds and made lines of light between the shadows. “I have an idea,” she said. “I know what we should do with our winnings.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Nos was serious about what he said earlier. He knows I wouldn’t have won without you.”

  A smile played on Zeek’s lips.

  She punched him in the arm, saying, “Don’t let it go to your head. We should take him up on his offer, though, and do the Drillamine deal. I have it all worked out in my head.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea… Joey says you just end up getting into deeper and deeper debt with those people. He says—”

  She cut him off, “Who cares what Joey says! What is he, your father?” She sat up and the covers slid down exposing her pink nipples.

  Zeek sat up too and crossed his arms. “No, but he has a point. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill drug dealers. It’s the fuckin’ mafia, Ash. Break-your-legs mafia. I don’t know how you got involved with them, but…and I’ve been thinking lately that I should take my winnings and pay back Joey. The rest I want to use to check into rehab. Get sober, like I should have done a long time ago,” he whispered the last sentence.

  Ash laughed mockingly. He saw something in her eyes but couldn’t quite decipher the emotion. Sometimes she was hard to read. Was it fear, anger, both? Was she afraid of being left behind, angry at him for trying to move on with his life?

  “Everyone has their own little fantasy about getting sober. Ask Amber, ask Joey. He talks about going to Florida and opening a surf shop on the beach. It’s just talk. He wouldn’t last twenty-four hours sober.”

  “I’m serious…” Zeek said and shifted his gaze to his hands, not meeting her eyes.

  She growled and lifted her leg from under the light blue covers. “This is what sobriety gets you!”

  “I’m so sorry, Ash…I…” He studied the scars on her inner thigh. Cuts from a razor blade. He tried to wrap his arm around her, but she pushed him away.

  “Fuck you,” she said.

  “You cut yourself? You tried to kill yourself?”

  She pulled the covers back over her naked body and slouched down. She took off her glasses and wiped at her eyes.

  This time she let Zeek console her, he wrapped his arm around her and pressed his face against her auburn hair.

  “You have no idea what it’s like. None of you do,” she said. “It’s the worst detox ever, the withdrawal is excruciatingly painful.”

  “Is that why you did it? Cut yourself?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh and put back on her glasses. “IF you make it through the first seventy-two hours, you’re golden. It gets easier after that. The withdrawal.

  “I was still in school at the time, so my parents freaked out when they found out I was using. They sent me to rehab, and it wasn’t the withdrawal. It was the weeks after that drove me to the edge. Blue Drillamine is the most powerful amphetamine ever created, but it is also the most stable. It’s not like meth, or coke…you never really build up a tolerance. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that about it. It’s engineered that way. Every time you do the drug, it’s like your first time.”

  “Huh…” Zeek touched his chin.

  “Yeah, but guess what, there’s a huge price to pay. The drug permanently damages the pleasure center of your brain. They say it takes years for it to return to somewhat normal function. I felt like a zombie. Nothing brought me joy, not food, TV, coffee…nothing. Not even masturbation. I couldn’t get off anymore, and that was the last straw.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s awful, I had no idea.”

  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Will you just listen to my plan? Let me lay it all out for you, then you can say no. But just hear me out?”

  He nodded. “OK.”

  Ch. 12: Head Honcho

  Ash passed him a glass pipe. He sparked the lighter and leaned it into the bowl igniting the blue crystals on top of the green leaves. “What do they call this, crazy hippie?” Zeek asked.

  “Yes.”

  The mixture of marijuana and Drillamine intertwined in the smoke and filled Zeek’s lungs. As he breathed out and coughed, the room began to spin a little.

  There was a knock on the door, he shifted and sat down the pipe on the coffee table. He went to get up from the couch, but Ash touched his arm.

  “Relax, it’s my apartment. I’ll get it,” she said.

  Zeek admired her long legs as he watched her move with the grace of a dancer to the door. What the hell am I doing here? he thought. He sighed and shook his head.

  Ash stepped aside and Nos entered, sitting in the chair opposite him.

  “Hello, Zeek the Geek,” he said with a smile. Zeek didn’t like that smile, but it was too late to turn back now. “Ash’s filled me in on the plan, on what you guys want. Here’s the thing, this is no small favor you’re asking.” Nos crossed his legs and weaved his finger together.

  I can’t believe how business-like he’s being about this, then again, that’s exactly what this is to him. Business.

  “We’re gonna have to clear this with the big man upstairs,” Nos went on. “Grab your stuff, a car is waiting outside.”

  They stood up, Zeek’s head was swimming; he asked, “The big man upstairs? Are you talking about God?”

  Nos and Ash traded a look and let out a raucous bout of laughter.

  “No, sweetie,” Ash said. “He’s talking about his boss, Cordoné.”

  * * * * *

  Zeek looked through the tinted window of the big black car as they pulled up in front of the building. He read the letters of the blinking neon sign above the door: Leoni’s.

  Hesitantly, he reached for the door handle, but before he could get his fingers around it, the door opened. The driver was standing there, gesturing at the club.

  They were led through the club where half naked women were serving men drinks and food at their tables. At the back, they climbed a set of stairs. An ape of a man with broad shoulders and slicked back hair put his hand on Zeek’s chest before he could follow Ash and Nos through a doorway.

  “Gotta frisk ya,” the Italian man said.

  Zeek nodded.

  Inside, Zeek whispered, “He took my phone.”

  Ash smiled. “You’ll get it back.”

  They were following Nos through the massive room when he stopped halfway. “Shit,” he said as they came up beside him. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s playing dominos.”

  Zeek looked toward the poker table at the back, Italian men were smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and setting down domino pieces onto the center of the table. A larger man with graying brown hair and a rug of a mustache had a nice size pile of poker chips next to him. He saw the man hold up his hairy hand, a gold ring caught the light as he did. The way he held his hand to Nos told Zeek he was telling him to wait. Nos nodd
ed to the man and led them to a rust-brown leather sofa off to the side. They plopped down and a butler-looking man in a nice suit asked if they wanted something to drink.

  Zeek didn’t know which way was up at this point, so he just shook his head. “What’s he like?” he asked Ash. On the other side of her, he saw Nos lean his elbow on the arm of the couch and cover up a grin with his hand.

  “Well…” Ash said. “He’s old school. So if he asks if we’re living together or anything like that, say no. Just stick to the pitch, everything will be fine.”

  “Why would he ask about that?” Zeek frowned.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you. I should have told you—”

  “Son of a bitch!” they heard a man yell at the table and the sound of chips falling from his fist slamming down on the table.

  “That’s game, now give the room, boys,” the Italian man with the mustache said.

  The big mob boss lit up when he saw Ash. “Ashley! Darling.” He embraced her and kissed both her cheeks.

  That’s odd, Zeek thought, maybe it’s an Italian thing?

  He put his hand out and took Zeek’s in his vise grip crushing the small bones in his hand. Zeek grunted and smiled. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Uncle Cordoné, this is Zeek,” Ash said.

  Zeek was frozen, his eyes went wide like he just realized a bus was about to appear out of nowhere and smash into him. Uncle? He heard Nos snicker at the look on his face.

  Cordoné let go of his hand. “A pleasure,” he said and turned to Ash. “He’s a handsome guy. Got a Clark Kent thing going on. He better be treating you right.” He shook his fist at Zeek, who stepped back a little, smiling and tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’m kidding!” he added and patted Zeek on the shoulder. “Have a seat.” He pointed to the table. “Drink?”

  Zeek felt like he was in a dream, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have done a crazy hippie before coming here. “On second thought, yes, I’ll take a drink.” Maybe it would help take the edge off. A voice screaming in his head told him to run. Flee, get the hell out of there as fast as you can, you idiot.

  “What’ll you have?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking,” Zeek said with a shrug.

  Cordoné’s laugh sounded half growl half cough. “I like this guy, Ashley. Martin! Get Mr. Star, here, a scotch on the rocks! The good stuff!” he shouted to the man in the suit, who quickly brought everyone their drinks.

  Zeek took a big sip and coughed a little as Ash and Cordoné talked. Shit, he knows my last name. Was that a subtle way of saying we know who you are and who your family is?

  “I want to tell you something, Zeek,” Cordoné said, staring at him, the glass trembling a little as he sat it down. “Ashley means a great deal to me. See, she got out of rehab and her parents weren’t too happy with her dropping out of school and going back to using, they basically disowned her. That’s when she came to me and said she needed help, so I gave her a place to stay, some money, and she gets me involved with this tournament thing. Then you show up out of the blue…I just want you to know that she means more to me than anyone in this room. And that’s the only reason we’re having this meeting.” The big Italian man’s gaze fell on Ash and Zeek followed it. She was looking down at her hands, fidgeting. Cordoné interlaced his fingers on the table. “Alright, down to business. Nos, here, says you want me to front you a large amount of Blue Drillamine.”

  “I told him if he was talking a hundred vials, no problem, but what he’s asking for—” Nos said, but Cordoné held up a hand. When Nos stopped talking, Cordoné bored his eyes into Zeek.

  “Ahem.” Zeek shifted in his seat, his palms were sweating, so he wiped them on the rough fabric of his jeans. “We need one hundred gallons in a van…fronted to us. We’ll pay you when the deal on our end goes through.”

  Cordoné never took his eyes off Zeek. He felt like the silence would go on forever, not knowing what else to do, he took a sip of his scotch. It burned on the way down and left a fire in his belly. Quickly, he added, “We just won Sydney’s Underground hacking tournament. We’ve got half the money from our winnings.” He’s got dead eyes like a fish, he thought, he could kill me and finish his drink like nothing ever happened.

  The mob boss continued to stare at him. “See that sounds like a big risk to me,” he finally said. “You want us to front you one hundred gallons and we’ve never even seen your face before. I think I can agree with Nos on this one, if you wanted a hundred vials that would be one thing, but I don’t know you from Adam. For all I know you could be a cop, you don’t seem like a cop to me, but you never know.”

  “Uncle,” Ash interjected, and he held up his fingers, barely lifting his hand from the table. She sat back and crossed her arms with a sigh.

  “Why should I trust you? How do we know you’re good for the money? How do we know you’re not a rat? You see that’s a lot of unknowns, you’re supposed to be some kind of Harvard genius, you tell me what you would do in my shoes? What else do I have to go on other than my niece’s word?”

  “Transitive property,” Zeek replied, holding his gaze. Cordoné raised his eyebrows, Nos scratched his head. “If A equals B and B equals C, then A equals C. So if you trust Ash and she trusts me, then you should trust me.”

  The mob boss laughed. “I thought this guy was supposed to be smart?” he asked Nos. “I said give me a reason besides the fact that she trusts you. I can tell you’re not the criminal mastermind behind this operation. Gotta be my Ashley…that type of thinkin’ runs in the family.” He turned to her. “Why do you want this guy in on this? He doesn’t seem too savvy to me.”

  “He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Uncle. Watch. Zeek, what’s 364 times 568.”

  “206,752,” he said without hesitation.

  “See.” She showed him the equation worked out on her phone; it was correct.

  “Still,” Cordoné said.

  Nos laughed. “What does that prove? That he can multiply?”

  Cordoné frowned. “Nos, what’s forty-two times twenty-three?”

  “Don’t forget the zero place holder on the second line,” Ash said with a mocking laugh.

  “I don’t know…but I’m not the guy from Harvard,” Nos replied.

  “MIT,” Ash corrected. Zeek smirked and took a sip of his drink.

  “Multiplying three-digit numbers in your head like that is impressive, Nos,” Cordoné said, turning to Ash. “You sure about this? Once I give the OK, there’s no turning back. It’s outta my hands.”

  “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t sure,” Ash replied.

  “Yes, our plan should work, and everyone will be a lot richer after the deal is done. Including you, that’s why I would do it if I were in your shoes,” Zeek said.

  “Alright, but I tried to stop this for the record. Transitive properties and all.” His smile disappeared. “Nothing better happen to my Ashley, or I’m coming after you.” Cordoné was pointing at Zeek. He turned to Nos. “Make it happen.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, standing up and taking his phone out, wandering from the table.

  “When we’re done with our drinks, the van will be out front. Everything ready on your end?”

  “Yes,” Ash said, “we’re going straight from here to the drop.”

  Cordoné’s mouth twisted. “I don’t like you going without any muscle. Why don’t you take a couple enforcers with you?”

  “Definitely not. Our clientele will spook easy; it’ll be safer with just the two of us.”

  “We will take a blaster pistol, though,” Zeek said.

  Ash raised her eyebrows at him.

  Cordoné was nodding. “Here, take mine.” He slid a black pistol to Zeek across the table. Zeek handed it to Ash. Her expression turned to a frown.

  “Less likely to frisk her,” Zeek said to them.

  “Smart thinkin’, maybe I was wrong about you,” Cordoné said as he sipped his drink.

  * * * * *
>
  When they stepped outside the club onto the sidewalk, it was just as the mob boss said, there was a white hover van waiting for them.

  Nos handed him the keys and said, “Good luck. Anything goes wrong, you call me right away.”

  They jumped into the van, Zeek pulled out into traffic. “I can’t believe that actually worked, what a rush!” he said, both of them smiling ear to ear.

  “Stick with me kid, I’m goin’ places,” Ash said as they were giggling uncontrollably. “Blaster pistol, eh? Got some kinky fantasy goin’ on, or just…?” She held it up examining it.

  “Hopefully we won’t need it. I want you to keep it on you. If they find it, they’ll just chalk it up to you being the niece of a crime boss.”

  “Smart. What was all that stuff about transitive property?”

  Zeek laughed as he turned at a light. “I have no idea.”

  * * * * *

  “We’re pulling into that warehouse, right there,” Ash said, pointing to what looked like an abandoned brick building. Zeek turned in and idled in front of a garage door. A second later, it opened. “Remember, stick to the plan. Whatever you do, don’t mention Cordoné. And not that you would but don’t mention the word cops or police or anything like that,” she added.

  “But won’t they know, I mean, that it’s from Cordoné, since you’re his niece?”

  A Jamaican with a blaster machine gun waved them inside.

  “They probably assume, but as long as both sides stay ignorant, everything should be cool. They’re having a turf war, Jamaican gang and the Italian mafia. But the Jamaicans are desperate because they can’t make the stuff and everyone’s scared to sell to them because of my uncle. That’s why this is the perfect opportunity to come in and make a killing on the mark up. Cordoné’s going to make his money, but we’re going to make double that.”

  “Have I ever told you that your brilliance scares me sometimes?”

  Ash had a cat-like grin and pointed, telling him to park near the guy with the red dreadlocks.