2 Brooklyn James

by James, Brooklyn

  Tony huffs looking at him. “Yep, you belong to her, alright,” he references Gina, uncertain how much Max does or does not know. “That’s exactly what she would say.”

  “Gina?” Max inquires. Tony nods. The comparison causing Max to beam proudly.

  “I agree with Max,” Aubrey concludes. “Contain whoever we can. Annihilate only those who give us no other option.” She elbows Emily trekking along beside her. “You got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Emily dismisses.

  The sun now setting early in the evening as wintertime is in full swing, the infamous Blues Bar is set for a full night of entertainment. Vinny Gambini and his Rat Pack refuse to heed New Orleans Police Department’s warning. After all, they own the city. No one, certainly not some four-eyed, white coat-wearing scientists can take them down. The place hums with a live blues band and the same scantily-clad dancers abound as if it is any other night in the Big Easy. By Vinny’s request, the establishment is full of his biggest, boldest Guidos, heavily armed should the need arise. Vinny headquarters his usual post at the Blackjack table, accompanied by his irrepressible entourage. The Zeuses stand behind him, readying themselves as a familiar face appears from the crowd making a beeline for Vinny.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” the man to Vinny’s right comments, eyeing Manny Briggs who arrives with his own flagrant posse, five of ETNA’s finest garbed in bright, white lab coats. Three of the five wear spectacles, all of them sporting pocket protectors, making for a less than intimidating presence. The men of mediocre stature certainly do not appear the least bit militant with the exception of their coordinated cadence and lack of individuality. They stand behind Manny straight-faced and patient, not a single defiant soul in the bunch, true drones.

  “Just like a cat to drag in a rat,” Vinny comments. Refusing to give Manny the respect of his attention, he continues puffing from his cigar looking down at his cards.

  “I may be many things, Gambini, but I’m not a narc,” Manny fires back.

  “That’s Mr. Gambini to you, punk!” the man to Vinny’s right slams his fist down on the card table, standing challengingly.

  Manny laughs, his aim to entice the man to follow through with his altercation. Vinny taps his friend on the forearm coaxing him back down in his chair.

  “You still owe me ten-grand,” Vinny reprimands, focused on his cards, his lack of eye contact a message to Manny that he is not even worth a glance. With the wave of his hand, the Zeuses move from behind him towering over Manny. Simultaneously, they tap billy clubs in the palms of their hands. “Leave it on the table or get it beat out of you,” Vinny says, calling his Blackjack hand. “What do you figure a pair of legs go for these days?” he asks the man to the right of him.

  Grinning smugly at Manny, the man replies, “I’d say about ten-large.”

  Manny returns the smug smirk, his eyes suddenly ablaze, the violent red cast heating up the entire corner. He unleashes on the Zeuses, apprehending their billy clubs, slinging their large bodies against the wall as if they are nothing but ragdolls. He inhales deeply, his skin beginning to burn crimson red. With one effortless exhale aimed at the Zeuses, their bodies disintegrate to ash from the massive fireball. Vinny finally looks at him, his confident eyes now growing fearful.

  “Now that I’ve got your attention,” Manny’s voice is fully distorted convincing Vinny he is in the presence of the devil himself. He lunges across the table grabbing the mob boss by his tie. Vinny turns his head away from Manny, his stench nauseating. A plethora of gun shots fire off into the middle of the white coats, a slew of bodyguards surrounding them. With their blood comes the release of their Vigilare pedigree. Vinny and his friends watch in disbelief as the mundane-looking scientists morph before their eyes, a synthesized glare of hungry red light emanates from behind their spectacles shattering the lenses and everything in their direct line of sight. Bodyguards fall off one by one as the drones release fireball after fireball. A few scattered orbs contacting beams holding the building upright set the wood ablaze. The music stops, dancers and patrons alike flee toward the exit, their frantic voices shrilling about. Manny laughs, his tone demonic. His raw tongue darting from his mouth, he runs it the length of Vinny Gambini’s neck, causing him to pull away with nowhere to go as his tie chokes around him.

  “Manny Briggs!” a voice shouts through the chaos causing the beast to whip his head in the direction, his fiery eyes scoping. With the image of Detective Tony Gronkowski and his crew, Hell Hound releases his grip on Vinny.

  “I’ll see you around,” Manny warns the mob boss slapping his hand aggressively off the side of his face, taking flight for the back exit.

  The white coats turn on Tony and his Vigilares, their red eyes beaming, zoning in with their crosshairs. Tony employs his shield, a sequence of fireballs pelting off of the armor. Max catches the ricocheting spheres, canceling them out with his ice cold, blue hue. The balls shatter, crumbling to the floor below, shards of ice cascading over the Blackjack table. Vinny and his friends hunch their shoulders. Aubrey releases a curtain of emerald green over the white coats affecting their minds through her telepathy, as Emily stands rigid, forcing the drones to do the same. Max takes off for the back exit, his primary interest reserved for Hell Hound.

  Tony slaps his hand down on the Blackjack table in front of Vinny drawing his dazed attention. “Thought PD told you to take shelter,” he yells over the commotion, making a quick assessment of Aubrey and Emily still holding their own. The building creaks, its foundation giving in to the onslaught of fireballs.

  Vinny nods, his expression hypnotized. Tony smiles assured Vinny Gambini would agree to almost anything at the moment. “Get us out of here. Can you get us out of here?” Vinny pleads, still disbelieving.

  “Sure can,” Tony affirms. “On one condition.”

  “Anything,” Vinny agrees.

  “Your books,” Tony lays it on the line. “New Orleans PD gets your books...payroll, bank accounts, everything.”

  “Fuck you,” Vinny rebukes.

  Tony shrugs. “Let ’em go ladies,” he shouts to Emily and Aubrey who are happy to relieve their powers. Both of them stand nearly drained, their respiratory and heart rates labored, their bodies fighting for recuperation.

  The white coats turn on Vinny’s table. Tony ducks, knowing what’s to come.

  “Ah shit!” the man to Vinny’s right yells, scurrying from the table.

  “Alright! Alright! You can have the goddamned books. Just get me the hell out of here!” Vinny brays clutching the table, attempting to turn it over, hiding behind it.

  Tony centers his energy releasing his shield. Before it can fully expand, a fireball whizzes past slamming into the up-turned table, splitting it down the middle and lighting it up in flames. Vinny howls in pain, his hands clutching its smoldering edge. The rest of the fireballs ping off the invisible metal shield flying through the air. Aubrey grabs a few with her emerald green glare, winging them harmlessly off the mirror behind the bar. The mirror cracks and pops. The remaining fireballs light up among the room, singeing any wood upon contact into flames.

  “Gronkowski!” Emily reprimands, engaging her telekinesis yet again, holding the white coats at bay.

  A fire engine sounds outside as the heat from the flames inside grows excruciating. A horde of brawny firefighters work their way through the front door assessing the scene. Behind them appears a shuffling familiar form, sans his usual white lab coat. The round-faced, bespectacled hematologist bears bulky yellow fire gear, nearly swallowing his small frame, and a matching yellow helmet twice the size of his head. “Good job, my dear.” He pats Emily on the back, her posture staunch and inflexible, still holding ETNA hostage. “Give me a quick minute, and we’ll have you out of this bind.”

  Aubrey hustles toward him eager to help. He digs through his black leather medica
l bag, assembling needles on the end of syringes filled with a clear tranquilizing agent. Handing Aubrey a few syringes, he demonstrates, sticking the needle into the paralyzed backside of one of the white coats, pushing the serum into his gluteus maximus. Within seconds, the scientist falls to the floor, Thump!

  Aubrey winces. “Ooh, right in the tuchas, huh?” Dr. Godfrey chuckles at her infectiously elevated spirit even in a time of crisis. She follows his lead, taking great pleasure in literally giving the members of ETNA a swift kick in the keister. One by one, they drop, their bodies giving in to the tranquilizers. Tony heaves Vinny Gambini over his back, employing the ever appropriate fireman’s carry, escorting him to an awaiting ambulance.

  “Aubrey?” Emily calls her voice shaky.

  “One more,” Aubrey warns, skillfully sticking the needle deep into the last member of ETNA. “Okay!” she releases Emily. The white coat not yet fully tranquil, a fireball escapes him headed straight for Emily. Already exhausted, she lets her body slump to the floor, dodging the big ball of flames. The gnarly sphere takes out another beam, causing the roof to give further. Firefighters herd people from the Blues Bar, dragging the unconscious white coats to safety. Dr. Godfrey’s first grade memory serves him as he stops, drops and rolls to Emily. Wrapping his arms underneath her shoulders as he witnessed the firefighters do, he drags her to the exit. Tony returns searching for Aubrey, as he has yet to see her come out of the building. The place ablaze and dark from smoke, he drops to his knees crawling on all fours. There in the rubble, he sees Aubrey’s blonde locks peeking out from under a large wooden beam. Flanked by two of New Orleans finest, they heave on the beam lifting it off of her lifeless form.

  “Aw Jesus,” Tony laments grabbing her up. “Aubrey!” he shouts, her head and limbs hanging feebly from her body. “Goddammit,” he sputters, his mind shifting to Officer Sam Marks. The two firefighters grab him, one at each arm, running for the door as the entire building collapses on their heels.

  “Oh...no, no, no,” Dr. Godfrey cries seeing the blonde one in Tony’s arms. An ambulance crew races toward them loading her onto a stretcher.

  “You got her?” Emily asks. Tony nods, freeing her to find Max. She hops on his motorcycle, peeling off down the street.

  As Aubrey is being loaded into the ambulance, Tony turns to Dr. Godfrey. “ETNA? Can you manage them?”

  “My laboratory is not far. Not to worry, Detective. I’ll take good care of them,” Dr. Godfrey vows, the first time Tony has ever witnessed the gentle man speak vehemently.

  “One more thing.” Tony grabs him forcefully by his collar. “Don’t think this releases you from your part in deceiving Gina. About her dead husband.” Tony grits his teeth. “You deceive me about your intentions with ETNA, and I’ll string you up. You and your sidekick,” he refers to Dr. Ryan. “I swear I will.”

  “I believe we’re all searching for atonement, Detective. My intentions are good, you will see,” Dr. Godfrey replies, guilt ever-present in his expression. Tony lets go of him with an understanding nod. “Here.” Dr. Godfrey hands him his medical bag full of tranquilizers, in both syringe and dart form. “Godspeed,” he says knowing Tony has nearly fifteen more white coats to collar.

  The ambulance holding Aubrey pulls away. Tony grabs his cell phone.

  “Marks,” the voice on the other end identifies himself.

  “You need to get down to New Orleans General Hospital,” Tony prefaces. “It’s Aubrey.” The line goes dead as Marks has no words, no agenda other than getting to her. Tony hangs his head momentarily, gripping the bag Dr. Godfrey gave him. Kneeling on the concrete, he shuffles through the black leather case pulling from it two dart guns assembled with a plethora of sedative tipped darts. “That ought to even up the playing field,” he says with renewed spirit, jetting off in pursuit of the remaining white coats.

  CHAPTER 24

  Gina paces in her room. From Lon’s warehouse, due east of the French Quarter, she is able to hear the commotion of fire trucks and ambulances whizzing by and helicopters circling above the city.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  She hustles to the massive metal door, opening it. “I don’t know why you bother knocking when you have the key,” she reprimands the tall, lean, handsome man standing there.

  “I was in the basement below. I could hear your boots pacing on the floor.” He enters the room, now pacing himself in front of Gina. “I know you want to be with them. With him,” he speaks softly. “You’re free to go.”

  “Free to go?”

  “Yes. I won’t stop you.” He extends his arm toward the door. “I have another vial of your blood. Saved for a rainy day. I will return you to your former Vigilare self, and you can return to your life.” He clears his throat. “Untethered by me.”

  She steps to him, prompting him to stall his pacing and face her. Taking his hand in hers, she replies, “I’m not leaving you. You think I would leave you? Now that I know you’re alive?”

  He pulls his hand from her. “I see the way you look at me. After what I’ve done. You’ll never look at me the way you do him,” he references the great detective.

  Her eyes soften wishing she could take his pain. “I will look at you that way again. When you come back to me.”

  “How do you propose I come back to you when I can’t seem to find myself?” He turns from her, again pacing.

  “It may take some time. Trust me, I understand pissed off...angry...hurt.” She wrenches her hand into a fist over her abdomen. “It can eat you up inside. You’re a good man, Lon.”

  He looks at her, his expression agonized, unable to believe her declaration. His eyes well with tears at the memory of the man he used to be, desperately wishing he could give that to her now.

  “I never stopped loving you, Lon,” she chokes up, seeing the shame in the windows to his soul. “I simply had to move past you. Past our lives together. That’s what you do when you think the one you love is gone.”

  “Please,” he laments, moisture trickling down the sides of his face. “Let me give you back your pedigree, and you go. Leave! Before I change my mind.”

  “I don’t want my pedigree. You did me a favor taking it away. I never wanted it, Lon. You think you’re the only one who’s done bad things?” she divulges, attempting to make him feel less alone. “As Vigilare, I took the lives of men.”

  “Rapists and pedophiles,” he excuses.

  “I wish people would quit saying that!” she yells, quieting herself. “It doesn’t matter what they were. Their lives were not mine to take.” She walks to him, her hands prepped in front of her, wanting to lay them on him. She drops them to her side for fear of being pushed away. “Forgive yourself, Lon. Please. Set yourself free.”

  “Can you forgive me?” he asks, clenching his jaw willing his eyes dry.

  “I have nothing to forgive,” she says. “All you’ve done is kept me safe. Kept our son safe. Lon, you are that sweet, loving man I married years ago.” She places her hand over his heart. “You may be a little lost right now. But the heart never tells a lie. You’re in there, I know it.”

  He embraces her to his chest, holding on for dear life, swallowing the lump surfacing in the back of his throat. “I just don’t know where to start. How to undo it all. How do we go back to Brianna and Lon Castille...before the...” his voice trails off unable to utter the one-syllable word, rape. “What they did to you,” his anger resurfacing, he pulls away from her. “And I let them.” He pounds his chest. “I failed to protect you...my wife,” he sobs through gritted teeth, his emotions all over the map. “I wish they would’ve let me die,” he refers to Doctors Ryan and Godfrey. “What good is a man if he cannot keep his family safe? I deserved to die.” He backs away from Gina, his face distraught, his eyes beyond shame. “How can you even stand the sight of me?”

  With renewed understanding
of the origin of his loathing—not ETNA, nor Dr. Ryan, nor Dr. Godfrey, but himself—Gina moves with him to the wall behind them. His body near convulsions, his self-hatred so strong, he leans against the wall. Sliding down it, he mashes his head between his knees, intermittently striking the back of his neck with his fisted hand, his tears falling uninhibited as sobs of anger and despair wail from his lungs. Gina kneels in front of him, taking hold of his fist, urging it to his side. He looks up at her, his steel blue eyes swimming. “I am so sorry I failed you. I hate me,” he seethes, his jaw clenching vehemently.

  “But I’m okay. See for yourself,” she cries. Taking his hand, she runs it over the side of her face and down her neck. “You tried to talk me out of that case. I knew I was putting myself on the line. As well as you and Braydon. Did that stop me?” She reverts to his level of self-blame, her tears now falling over a clenched, angry jaw. “I should’ve listened to you, Lon. You were right. If I could go back and change it, I swear to God I would.” She clutches his hand over her heart. “If you must blame anyone, blame me. I did this. And through it all you stood by me. You did what you could. What any man in your position would have done. Lon, please, don’t do this to yourself. It’s going to be okay. We can get through this.”

  He looks at her defeated. “It will never be okay. As long as I live, no matter how many times I may save you, I will always remember the one time I didn’t. The one time I couldn’t. Don’t you get that!” his voice distorting. “Go. Leave! Go back to him. At least I’ll know you’re safe.”

  She latches onto the crucifix hanging from her neck, its heat searing into her flesh. “Hell Hound,” she expels. “Lon, he’s coming.”

  He looks at her, his eyes now ablaze, burning the trifecta. “Let him come. It’s time I do what I should’ve done a long time ago.” He stands, his body fully amped and morphing. Gina backs away from him, his skin burning crimson red, the heat from his flesh causing her entire body to bead with perspiration. With one breath, the pearl-snaps on his shirt pop open one by one, the sleeves tearing at his biceps. The veins in his arms visibly throbbing, the muscles in his neck flexing and hungry as he viciously consumes air.