Soul Patrol Tales
Page 1
Soul Patrol Tales
(Dream Seeker Short Story Collection -- Vol. 1, Part 4)
by
Tony Vahl
and
Damian Hospital
Velvet Mask Short Story Collection Series:
Part 1 -- Origin of the Dream Seeker
Part 2 -- Dream Seeker Tales
Part 3 -- Nihilist Tales
Part 4 -- Soul Patrol Tales
Part 5 -- Shadow Gentleman Tales
Part 6 -- Realtor Tales
Velvet Mask (Dream Seeker Short Story Collection: Vol. 1, Parts 1 - 6)
Other Dream Seeker Collections:
Return of Joshua (Dream Seeker Novel)
Parabola (Dream Seeker Short Story Collection: Vol. 2)
Copyright 2010 © Tony Vahl and Damian Hospital
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at numbersix@dailyskew.com.
Published in the United States of America.
Cover design: Tony Vahl
Cover Art: Michel Finegold
Edited by: Damian Hospital and Tony Vahl
damianhospital.com
twitter.com/vahl
Published by: The DailySkew
dailyskew.com
realdreamseeker.com
Version 2012.1.20
Table of Contents:
Introduction
Who’s Who in the Dream Seeker Universe
Part IV – Soul Patrol Tales
Chapter 1: Soul Patrol
Chapter 2: The Green Room
Chapter 3: THREE MINUTES!
Chapter 4: Turning the Tables
Chapter 5: One More Chance
Introduction
You ever watch the movie, The Fighter, with Christian Bale? The one where he plays a crack-addicted former Welterweight boxer named Dick Ecklund, who knocked down Sugar Ray Leonard? Well, if that was a Soul Patrol story, Richard Wright and his team of operatives would have captured Dick Ecklund, cleaned him up, and reintroduced him into society a changed man, within a matter of days. He could have skipped the part about being in jail, the pain he was causing his family, and been there for his brother sooner. That’s a good thing, right?
What if I told you that cleaning someone up like Ecklund comes with a price? What if I told you his soul, his life, his time, his very existence is auctioned off to the highest bidder? What if I told you that, in exchange for giving up his freedom, he is forced to become a functioning member of society? Would you still say this is a good thing?
What about if you were in the Soul Patrol? Would you quit if forced to capture people like the boxer described in the first story? Or a psychiatric ward patient? Or a young guy living in the suburbs, minding his own business?
The members of the Soul Patrol are blood-bound to their duty. They are cursed to carry on their duties until they are killed. If they walk away from the Soul Patrol, they die. The curse kills them. So, if you had to choose between doing something you hated or dying, what would you choose?
The team members of the Soul Patrol struggle with these questions. They feel guilt over what they are doing. They are trapped. And they are looking for escape.
Read about their journey. Get to know them. And wonder what you would do if you were in their shoes.
Who’s Who in the Dream Seeker Universe
DACE SENOIT, AKA, “The Dream Seeker”: During his teenage years, Dace Senoit discovered that he has the uncanny ability to say an exact word or phrase which unlocks the memory of a person’s long lost dream. The person becomes inspired to act upon the dream that would have been forgotten in the mists of time. If the person is confused or troubled, Dace does his best to help steer him or her in the right direction. Dace travels around the world, helping as many people as he can.
THE REALTOR: Some people make a living buying, selling, and trading stocks and bonds; the Realtor buys, sells, and trades realities. He deals in ideas, technology, and ideologies. The villain will stop at nothing to achieve his ambitious goals. He is the arch-nemesis of the Dream Seeker.
THE AUCTIONEER: He runs a unique auction that peddles those who have lost “it”- people who were once “somebodies,” but are now are mere shells of their former selves. They are finished. They have lost “it”. The Auctioneer funds the Soul Patrol, and relies on them to deliver potential “merchandise”.
THE SOUL PATROL: Combining innovative technology with ancient mysticism, the group known as the Soul Patrol seeks out and apprehends those who have lost hope and will, and deliver them to the Auctioneer for a price. The Soul Patrol is a group bound by a bloodline, and is cursed to do this for the Auctioneer. Since they cannot fight fate, they have accepted their role.
Soul Patrol Roll Call
Ï Richard Wright- the English super intelligent field leader creates technological wonders to apprehend people.
Ï Maria-Antonia de Jesus- the beautiful Brasilian tactician, who designs plans to capture the goods.
Ï Sean Brown- the Jamaican strongman, who specializes in armor and weaponry.
Ï Eva Reichensteiner- the young German spunky trickster.
Ï Mohammed Al-Hassan- the Middle-Eastern master of sabotage and misinformation.
THE GAMBLER: What are the odds? Who’s the underdog? What’s the spread? The Gambler knows. He could be found all around the United States having fun, and always ready to make a bet with anyone on anything, without fail. Of course, if things don’t go his way, he may intervene to push the odds in his favor.
THE NIHILIST: Neil Haney was a respected physicist before the Realtor took away everything he held dear. Now he believes in nothing, but is driven by vengeance to take down “The Realty”, the mysterious organization led by its CTO and CEO the Realtor. There are rumors that this organization is as old as the first civilizations. The Nihilist is now a hacker traveling from city to city, always looking over his shoulder, but always having time to debate someone about religion or philosophy.
THE MARTYR: This psychotic and deranged madman was just trying to make a living before he was fired. Unable to face his wife and child, and with no benefits, he snapped after bouncing from job to job. He became an unstable criminal and hostage-taker, creatively killing people and destroying corporations. He is one of the most dangerous and unpredictable men in the world. He would have taken over Miami several times if it wasn’t for his archrival Shadow Gentleman.
SHADOW GENTLEMAN: Miami’s lone defender of justice, the Shadow Gentleman stops the Martyr’s insidious plans of murder and mayhem. He drives the Britishmobile, and has many devices and weapons to aid his crusade against evil.
Part IV – Soul Patrol Tales
Those who have lost "It" have forfeited their souls in this lifetime, and the Soul Patrol detects, captures, and brings them to the Auctioneer, who then sells them off to the highest bidder. It’s pathetic that the Auctioneer can survive in this day and age.
-- The Traveller
Chapter 1: Soul Patrol
Jimmy Santini entered the Te-Amo tobacco store on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, New York. The smell of old newspapers, cheap cigars, and bad body odor hung in the stale air. Santini, a brute of a man, was unfazed. Every day Santini would buy his morning Post, a pack of Camels, and five-dollars worth of lottery tickets.
Te-Amo is a very cramped store. Officially, it was a tobacco store or newsstand; in reality it was a front for
playing numbers in the back. The owner, Abi Nehrun, has owned the storefront since 1988, when he first came into this country from Pakistan. His cousins and uncle were bookies who ran the lines -- taking bets on all American pastimes.
Abi had no idea who Jimmy is -- actually, who Jimmy was. If the year was 1983 instead of 2002, the Nehrun family would have been taking bets featuring Santini.
Jimmy Santini, World Champion.
If you followed boxing in the seventies and early eighties, before Don King killed the sport, you would know Santini. Some of the best boxing matches during this time period had Jimmy Santini on the bill. He fought the likes of Spinks, Holmes, Tate, and Weaver. On May 29, 1983 he defeated Coetzee for the World Boxing Heavyweight Championship. Madison Square Garden was packed that night. Santini’s career was by no means another clichéd “Italian Stallion” gimmick.
“The Bull” was like other boxers during this era; he was born in Jersey, was a natural street fighter, worked construction, and finally got a break into boxing through his brother-in-law. Most of the Bull’s skill was learned on the streets as a teenager, and he established a reputation for his toughness at Tony’s Professional Gymnasium in Jersey City.
He didn’t have the best record, never had a big winning streak, and didn’t win all of his bouts by way of knock out. Yet, Santini was a tenacious brawler and had a method that worked. First of all, he absorbed punishment second to only Ali. When he first came up in 1977, no one could knock him out cold. A couple of his opponents beat him in 12-round decisions or by technical knockouts, but never by a straight knockout.
With each bout, the Bull got stronger. When 1983 came around, the experts knew he was the best. He gave 100% effort each and every time he stepped through those ropes. American Boxing Revue rated him as “Best All-Around Boxer”. The Daily Star-and-Record ranked him #3 in the world.
But that was then.
The Bull died December 13, 1983. That’s when the World Boxing Committee stripped him of the title after he failed a drug test- remnants of cocaine were found in his urine. The big December 23 fight against Witherspoon was cancelled, and Santini never fought in a professional boxing match ever again.
There were other reasons why Santini was kicked out of pro boxing; the cocaine was the last straw. Rumors had persisted that he may have been involved in an accidental death of a stripper down in Miami. His messy divorce made headlines two months after he became king of the ring. His wife of ten years never pressed charges against him, even though the police responded to two calls of domestic violence. In addition, there were some allegations of working with a big-time gambler out of Vegas. The urine test was the only solid thing the commissioner had on Jimmy, so that was that.
The fact that the media and sportswriters loved the Bull so much at the beginning of his career made his fall from grace harder. Anyone who has ever dealt with the New York media, or who has ever worked on the inside, knows that they can make you and break you. The media loves to build up superstars and then tear them down when their expectations were not met. With Jimmy, they always had a different set of standards for him. It may have been a race issue -- the white journalists and television personalities loved the fact that the heavyweight champion was an Italian; it brought them back to the good old days. So when the great white hope blew it big -- with a load of personal problems and run-ins with the police, they turned on him.
After four years out of the squared circle, the burly prizefighter tried making a comeback in 1987. Unfortunately, he was out of shape; he lost two amateur fights in Kansas City and Cincinnati -- both via knockout. The combination of the drugs, the divorce, strippers, police encounters, gambling, and the fall from grace took a toll on Jimmy’s body and spirit.
Full of shame and defeat, he had no choice but to give up. After losing his home in Jersey, and making poor financial decisions, he was forced to get an old apartment in Brooklyn with what little savings he had left. A shell of his former self, Santini managed to get a job at the loading docks by the piers. Once in a while, a patron at a bar recognized him, and if the person was a fan, Jimmy would talk about the good old days. However, this was rare because he had aged poorly, and didn’t even look like his prime self.
The man they called the Bull was around 6’5”, with broad shoulders. Like most Italian guys, he was a hairy ape. His face did not look 51 years old; his nose had been broken so many times, it stayed crooked. Wrinkles and bumps dominated his cheeks and forehead. His left ear looked like a cauliflower. Every morning Jimmy took care of the “three s’s”: shit, shave, and shower. Therefore, his black mustache was full and trimmed. If you saw his fingers, you would cringe. The right ring finger bends permanently sideways; the rest were slightly crooked. Calluses covered both of his hands. His skin was tan; sometimes he went to Coney Island and watched the women pass by. If there was one indication that he was out of shape, it would be his gut. Yes, his beer belly was quite large now.
So Jimmy was in the Te-Amo store on a Saturday morning. He wanted to pick up the usual before eating breakfast at Sandy’s. The sound of bells was heard as the door opened and a short blonde girl walked in. Jimmy was reading the headlines of the newspaper, but he did glance up to see the youth. She was wearing earth-toned clothes -- brown khakis and a green blouse, almost European. Her skin was pale, and her face was pretty. She brushed past Jimmy and asked Abi if she could have a pack of Marlboros.
“What you age?” he asked. “You have ID?”
“No, I do not haf ID,” she responded in a German accent.
“Then I can’t sell, okay? No ID, no sell,” Abi said.
The young girl looked dejected, but Jimmy saw her expression and tried to help.
“What, you wanted Marlboros? I’ll get them for you. Hey Abi, lemme get a pack of Marlboros.”
Then he glanced back at the lass and asked, “Regular, right?”
“Yes, thank you, sir.”
“No problem,” Jimmy said, as Abi had no problem selling him the pack of smokes.
Jimmy handed the pack to the girl. She went to put her hand into her pocket to give him the three bucks, but he waved her off and told her not to worry about it.
Jimmy held the door open for her as they both left.
“Thanks again,” she smiled.
“No problem. Anytime,” Jimmy returned a smile.
They both parted ways, with Jimmy going to Sandy’s for breakfast.
The blonde girl with neat short hair stood at the curb looking at the traffic, either waiting to cross the huge intersection or looking to hail a cabbie. She glanced in Jimmy’s direction, making sure that he was far away but still in her sight. The petite German with red lips and blue eyes took a cell phone from her pants pocket and pressed a number.
“Yes, Richard. This is Eva. Our first goal is completed. I took his keys.”
“Excellent,” the voice said. “We will proceed with goal number two. Maria will be in Sandy’s. In four minutes, Mohammed will pick you up right where you are.”
“Great. I think the Auctioneer will be happy with this one,” Eva said.
“Doesn’t matter either way, as long as everything goes as planned and the target is apprehended,” Richard matter-of-factly answered.
“Do you think we’ll have to use Sean for our target or will Maria’s ‘methods’ work?” Eva asked.
“Doesn’t matter either way, as long as everything goes as planned and the target is apprehended,” Richard repeated, almost like a computer.
“Oh, silly you. See you later. Bye,” Eva said as he closed the connection.
Chapter 2: The Green Room
“And now here’s a real winner, especially for the ladies we have here tonight,” the Auctioneer smiled standing in front of the podium while holding the microphone in the Green Room.
“Yes, ladies, allow me to introduce to you a young man with a heart of gold and unlimited love for you. Take a look at “Mr. Romance” Timmy O’Toole!”
A techno dance song by Terra
Skye blasted on the speakers as the spotlight hit the green curtain.
“Is this love?
’Cause I don’t feel the same today
Will it be enough… to take away the pain?
Is this love?
Because something is pulling my heart.
I’ve been alone so long
I wouldn’t know where to start
Oh my God!!!
Will this feeling ever end??
The middle of the curtain finally opened, and Timmy walked on towards the runway and showcased himself for the buyers. Although the Green Room was located at a prestigious and well-known building in Manhattan, only those who had received a special invitation from the Auctioneer knew its location.
All of the potential buyers were in a tax bracket not even defined by code. Some were celebrities or athletes; others were reclusive moguls. Some owned South Pacific Islands; others ruled governments from the now-defunct Soviet Union. Some controlled drug cartels from South America; others ran Filipino child prostitution rings. Some were well-respected, high profile figures; others were wanted by authorities from 56 nations.
This unique auction peddled those who have lost “it”- people who were once somebody, those who had rewarding lives, decent people that once gave something to other people or society. Although some used to be known to the public, they were now a distant memory. Most people sold in the auctions were average Joes and Janes, like you or I. Now they were mere shells of their former selves, with no will or desire to improve their lives or triumph over adversity. The gleam in their eyes was gone; the enthusiasm had left them. They were done. They were finished. They had lost “it”.
Combining innovative technology with ancient mysticism, the group known as the Soul Patrol sought out and apprehended these “wastes of flesh” (as member Sean Brown liked to call them) and deliver them to the Auctioneer for a price. The Soul Patrol was a group bound by a bloodline, and was cursed to do this for the Auctioneer. Since they couldn’t fight fate, they had accepted their role.