Illegal King

by Mason Dakota

  “You like the hat that much?” he asked. I released Thomas's wrist and maintained my smile until a moment after he retracted his hand.

  “Yeah! Fedoras are cool.”

  He smirked and went back to loading his gear and I did the same. Lorre had yet to arrive and it made me nervous. My stomach twisted, but that came more from the constant flashes of nauseating pain exploding within me. Aspirin mixed with energy bars and sports drinks helped the symptoms, but I could do nothing to stop the virus from spreading.

  Suddenly I remembered how my father said that the more I struggled and pushed myself, the faster my heart beat, the quicker the virus spread through my body, and the sooner I died.

  I shuddered.

  I need a cure.

  “Who is this?” asked a voice behind me. I spun around, gun out and ready. Thomas was quicker on the draw and had his tranquilizer aimed with finger on the trigger. Jeremiah Lorre stood in the doorway. He wore a police-issued Kevlar tactical vest with smoke grenades attached to his chest. A stun gun hung from his left hip, a semi-automatic pistol on his right, and resting in his arms was a police-issued assault rifle.

  I glanced back at Thomas, suddenly grateful he had slipped on the mask before Lorre arrived. I smiled back at Thomas, holstered my weapon, and whispered to him, “Say hello to the cavalry.” I turned back to Lorre, lifted my hand toward Thomas, who lowered his weapon, and said, “This…is Shaman.”

  Lorre rubbed at his forehead. “Oh no. Two of you,” he muttered under his breath. I chuckled. I guess I had earned that reaction. But Lorre was no fool. I’m sure he put two and two together and understood why two Shamans stood before him. This was my retirement party.

  “He’s just a kid,” grumbled Lorre, looking Thomas up and down.

  “An you’re an old goat,” Thomas said.

  “Can you even handle a gun?” Lorre growled.

  “Best shot in Chicago. Like me to demonstrate?”

  “I can already tell you two will make a great team,” I said, getting between them.

  Lorre scoffed. “Some team. Tell me that you’ve got a plan.”

  “Of course,” I said as I smiled wolfishly and slipped on my own mask and fedora. “We plan to go right through the front door.”

  Sixty-Two

  I moved around a lot as a kid because of my father. Chicago was our final stop before my mother’s death, the fire, and his disappearance.

  Without other living relatives, I ended up in an orphanage until I aged out as a teenager where I then lived on the streets. Thankfully, that ended when I met Chamberlain and his step-father who took me in.

  But in the time between the fire and my new home in Chamberlain’s family, I became a survivalist. I lived day by day, stealing from Nobles to afford a bite to eat at night.

  Eventually I escalated to bigger heists. I got good at them, too, and even considered myself one of the best thieves in the city. Success and a full belly never altered the truth.

  Growing up was a nightmare.

  I might not be the strongest or the fastest, but I quickly learned that neither ensure survival. Being fast and tough helps in a fight or tight situation, but mental prowess is more valuable. Survival requires intellect and resourcefulness and I pride myself in those. I’m no fool. I’ve always been quick in figuring out how to get around a situation.

  This time things were different.

  There was only one way into that building. Every other angle was watched by Alexandra’s men. I could even see her high up on the top floor looking down. She watched for my arrival. Alexandra knew me. She expected some clever approach, like parachuting onto the roof or scaling the side of the building, or cutting through the sewer. She would have planned for those sorts of things because my reputation demanded it. What she didn’t expect me to do is resort to foolishness.

  Like walking straight through the front doors.

  I will admit there wasn’t genius at work, but sometimes the ordinary catches you off guard, and that’s what I was hoping for. It wasn’t my way of doings things, but I knew that within me rested something just crazy and dangerous enough to charge into a hive of mobsters. Besides, Alexandra’s forces were thinner here because she expected my arrival from somewhere else.

  I walked alone through the parking lot and straight toward the front doors of the Mayor’s office where two armed guards with machine guns stood. Lorre judge me incredibly stupid for doing this. Thomas agreed. Even I suspected that I was a little off my rocker. But I’m a professional.

  I weaved in and out through the large parking lot of abandoned cars making my way for the front doors. I showed confidence, not hiding among the vehicles as I walked tall and proud, but truthfully inside I screamed like a child. Both mobsters reacted exactly as expected. They startled at seeing me and raised their weapons.

  “Hold it right there,” said the smaller of the two. He was nervous. His partner was angry. I knew why. We were already acquainted with each other. The last time we met I knocked three of his teeth out and cracked a few of his ribs. I saw it on his face; he wanted another round in the ring. I smiled. This was going to be easier than I thought.

  “I’ve come for the Lady! Please, call the princess away from her porcelain throne to speak with me. She’s spent enough nights crying like a spoiled brat because of me. The flattery was appreciated but now it’s just plain sad, and I’m sorry but it’s about time someone told her,” I said as I approached the two guards, positioning myself to the side of the bigger one where his smaller buddy was blocked.

  “Uh…yeah,” said the big guy with a drawl to his voice. I don’t remember it being much like that. It was probably my fault. I guess I did more damage to his jaw than I remembered. “She said you’d come. She wants you alive. If it were up to me I’d shoot you now.”

  I looked straight up, all the way to the top floor. There, at the top, in the window, was the silhouette of a woman who could only be Lady Alexandra Carline. I lifted my hands and shouted into the quiet night air, “Really? These are the sorts of people I’ve got to get through to get to you? Should I be embarrassed or concerned my dear Lady?”

  Then I got closer to the big guy, close enough to feel the tension emanating from his body. People typically get angry and agitated when others get in their faces, which I intended. I can’t help but enjoy frustrating and irritating those around me.

  I blame it on my abandonment issues.

  “I remember you.” I whispered softly, “Last I recall you were lying on a street corner crying for your mommy. Quite embarrassing for a Noble, but then again, I guess performance issues are possible with your breed. Looking to have another round? It’ll be a good warm-up for me.”

  The big buffoon made some kind of growling noise in his throat and for a minute there I estimated he would shoot me. Instead he threw a massive punch with a one way ticket to my face. If I hadn’t been expecting it the blow might have knocked me out.

  But that’s just it, I expected it.

  It was all a part of the plan.

  I swiveled to the side out of the way. With a flash I struck the back of his neck right above the collar of his Kevlar vest with the hilt of my knife. He gasped and stumbled forward, his body stunned, his vision likely blinding, and his muscles tightening up. With my free arm I quickly spun the thug around, putting him in between me and his smaller partner as a human shield.

  The smaller thug screamed in shock and unloaded his small machine gun. Instead he unloaded too late to hit me and pumped a blaze of rounds into his partner’s chest. Blood dripped to the cobblestones and it took a half second of firing for his friend to realize what he’d done. By then it was too late. The smaller thug stared with shock at his dead partner lying at his feet, and he looked up at me just as I put a bullet through his skull.

  There was no mercy in any of it. I was done with mercy. I had come for vengeance. I didn’t lower the gun as I looked back up to Alexandra high above. I’m not sure, but I like to think we stared at each other,
frozen in time. Then finally she disappeared from sight.

  The war’s begun.

  I remained there panting, trying my best to ignore my racing heart and the stabbing pain in my side. Faster, the virus was spreading with the adrenaline now pumping through my veins. Drowning thoughts of guilt and shame distracted me. If I am honest, it hurt less to take a life now. Maybe dying made me not care. Maybe the risk to Evelyn’s life played a part. Or maybe something broken in me couldn’t wait to damage something else again.

  As I stood over their bodies, Lorre and Thomas came running. Thomas looked from me to the two dead guards, and even though he wore a mask, I saw shock in his body language. I didn’t blame him. He would be thinking about our words, how he could have stopped this—how he can still stop what else is to come.

  “It was self-defense,” I mumbled in apology.

  “You know any good cop is going to try to put you down for that,” said Lorre.

  “Do you have a problem with my actions?” I asked Lorre.

  “I do,” Thomas answered. His words only proved what I assumed.

  “Then after tonight you can settle that debt. Try your luck.”

  Ironic that I once said similar words to Alexandra when asking for her help. Is this all I’m capable of?

  “I am done playing nice with these people,” I said. I had aimed to squelch any further discussion, but with Thomas the matter wasn’t over. He was far too quiet, too reserved, and too stoic to say anything, but even still I felt I needed to defend myself more. “Like I explained, you don’t spend your nights stopping monsters without becoming one yourself,” I whispered.

  Hoping to change the subject away from my crumbling morality, I asked, “Are the charges set?”

  Thomas had a long length of fuse wrapped around a reel with the fuse leading back out into the parking lot. He continued unrolling the fuse as he said, “Good to go.”

  “ALL CITIZENS REPORT TO YOUR HOMES IMMEDIATELY. THE CITY IS UNDER MARTIAL LAW. ANYONE CAUGHT OUTSIDE WILL BE ARRESTED.” The message was playing on a loop through loudspeakers mounted to Imperial trucks driving up and down the streets.

  “We’ve got to go!” said Lorre and he charged inside the NPFC Headquarters.

  “Wait! What about the bodies?” asked Thomas.

  “No time! Leave them,” I said. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Once the firefight started, every soldier would be heading straight here. They likely had already heard the gun shots and were in the way.

  This is about to get interesting.

  Sixty-Three

  I rushed after Lorre into the building. The man charged straight ahead and barged through the front door, firing his weapon at the first thing he saw moving.

  There was no hesitation in his charge, no careful approach to see if the door was rigged or guarded. It was like the man threw away countless years of infiltration training and restraint. I realized right then that Lorre might very well want to die in a blaze of glory.

  I came crashing inside behind Lorre, finding myself unneeded for the job. The first floor of the NPFC Headquarters was made up of a large lobby filled with cubicles, a waiting area, a security monitor, and a front desk before a set of stairs and elevator. One body slumped across the large welcome desk, another had fallen behind a cubicle, and one more lay on the floor before the stairs. Nobody else remained on the first floor. Lorre had gunned down all three men. He stood by one cubicle and reloaded his weapon, preparing for his next charge.

  Thomas slipped in beside me as I stood there in the doorway. He froze immediately when he saw the dead. His body became as rigid as stone. He was a man caught in his first glimpse of real carnage, of dead men freshly killed and still bleeding out, and the knowledge that he was permitting Lorre and I to do this. The stench air smells of copper. Breathing felt wrong in such an environment. The soul cries out for mercy, for justice, for anything to make sense of what was seen and to make it go away. But there’s no answered prayer here short of the common grace that you are still breathing.

  “I…don’t approve of this…Griffon,” whispered Thomas. There was no restraint for him to say my name. Lorre already knew it and everyone else in the room was dead.

  “Just do your job,” I growled.

  “Where do we go from here?” He asked.

  To hell where my cell awaits.

  I continued scanning the room as I thought that over. If I were stronger and healthier, I would have climbed up the elevator shaft to surprise Alexandra. It wouldn’t have been my first time. That was out of the question in my current state and I didn’t think Thomas or Lorre could do it. Plus, knowing Alexandra, she would likely have some surprise in store there for me.

  The only buildings in Chicago with power were the Mayor’s office, Erikson’s office, and the NPFC Headquarters. Though the floor rested in darkness, I had every confidence the elevators would work if I entered them. They likely led straight into a disastrous trap. That left only the stairs as our option to get to higher floors. There were two staircases in the lobby. If I knew Alexandra, both would be filled with her men.

  “We take the stairs.” I moved to west side staircase. Thomas and Lorre followed close behind me.

  I broke through the staircase door, prepared to gun down any mobsters that dared showed themselves. But no one stood on the other side. Nerve-wracking as the tension was, I felt grateful not to add another body to my kill count. Speed was of the essence; it was crucial that we got several floors between us and the coming soldiers on our tails. If I were Alexandra I would have split my forces into three groups, one per staircase and another to take the elevator down to the lobby. We would be squished between two groups of mobsters soon enough. We needed a defensible location, and a stairwell was not it.

  We raced upward, taking the stairs two at a time. It is difficult enough to run up a flight of stairs. It is near impossible to do so when an infection is eating away at your body. We made it up three floors (I was quite impressed we made it that far) before I collapsed in sweat and vomit. As painful as that moment was, it saved my life.

  The exact second I fell, I threw myself sideways against a wall for support. Lorre and Thomas came to a halt behind me. And just then a mobster suddenly leaned over the stairwell railing several floors above us with a light machine aimed right on our position. Bullets rained down on us like a dam releasing millions of gallons of water.

  “Down!” Lorre screamed as he shoved me. My face hit the stairs and I felt my teeth rattle in my skull. My vision swirled with flashes of light, and I was sure I had landed with my chest right where I had just vomited.

  Why must I always fall in my own vomit?

  Bullets sprayed everywhere, splashing back in a shower of sparks. The thundering of the machine gun amplified in the tiny stairwell so loud that I couldn’t hear myself scream. My eardrums ruptured and then sweet silence blanketed in the chaos. The spray of bullets tore away steps completely less than a foot from where I lay pressed against the wall. Bits and pieces of masonry flung up by the bullets slapped against my suit jacket and made tiny scrapes across any exposed flesh. Panic intensified the longer the firing continued. An eternity passed as we waited for the gunman to kill us.

  I wanted to flee, wanted to leap and run like a chicken with its head cut off, wanted to curl up in the fetal position and cry like a toddler whose favorite toy was snatched from him, wanted to do anything besides what I was doing. But the smarter part of my brain, the part still in control of my body, remembered a lesson Gabriel had taught me once. When you are tempted to panic, THINK.

  I had to do just that. I had to calm myself in the chaos to survive. In that hellish moment, I sucked in breath and let it out and thought through my situation. The mobster had us pinned down by superior firepower. His buddies would be on their way to circle in behind and eliminate us. While I knew I seemed to be in the perfect spot out of the gunner’s fire arc, I could not say the same about Thomas and Lorre, and I could not move to look behind me without getting shot.
It was a gut-wrenching, heart-breaking thought, but I knew I could soon be surrounded by a horde of mobsters coming from the stairs below.

  Then the gunner’s machine gun clicked empty.

  My thoughts and his bad luck combined to motivate me. I moved my hands quicker than they may have ever moved. I pulled the blaster pistol from behind me, rolled my body left—exposing me from a future hail of bullets—and fired. The pistol vibrated with warmth and the barrel burned red at the end like coal. The blast sounded like the twisted mixture of a motor’s hum and a tire’s screech. I cringed at the ear-piercing decibels.

  The red bolt of energy struck the stairwell beneath the gunner’s position. I thought I missed, but the bolt tore a tennis ball sized hole with a hot crimson outline. The bolt ripped through the mobster, striking him on his hip in an upward trajectory. The mobster screamed in agony and fell backwards against the far wall. A baseball-sized object dropped from his hands and bounced down the stairs closer toward us.

  Grenade!

  Lorre realized it first. He threw his shoulder into the third floor door and barged through it. I felt hands grab the back of my suit jacket and I was suddenly slung forward. I half-stumbled, half-fell upon a carpet floor, sliding my face along its scratchy surface. My mask did little to prevent the burning. Someone slammed the door behind me, and I crawled forward as fast as I could straight into the nearest cubicle wall.

  Then the grenade went off.

  In that small vacuum of space, the power of the explosion multiplied. I would have believed that the roaring thunder echoing through the building was a clap from God with how loud and overpowering it was. Even from the other side of the door, I felt the wave of its force slap me across the chest and strike my lungs. The door to the stairwell bulged out toward us as if hit by a battering ram and flames licked through hinges and cracks. Sheetrock around the door blew away to reveal cracked wooden studs beneath and visible gaps showing the burning stairwell beyond.