Meteor Mags: Omnibus Edition

by Matthew Howard

  The radar detector on the dashboard flashed its lights, but the speedometer hovered right at fifty-five miles per hour. When she hit Carlsbad, Mags pulled into a parking lot with a similar van. She parked in the empty space between the van and a large truck. Unseen, she stepped out and quickly switched her plates with the other van. She planned to do it again in San Clemente.

  The tape deck kept playing the album over and over.

  She made it through Los Angeles singing the verses to Why Go at the top of her lungs. Mags turned onto the 101 Highway and continued along the coast. She loved the scent of the ocean and the glorious views.

  By the time she reached San Francisco, the setting sun looked like angels lit on fire. Mags was starving. She found the restaurant where she planned to meet her contact. But as she drove by, she glimpsed a man in the front window. A mask covered his face.

  She circled the block and turned into an alley on the opposite side. She killed the van’s engine and coasted to a silent stop. She took the stolen shotgun from under its towel and stepped into the alley. As she approached the small service door to the side of the restaurant, she heard a gunshot from inside.

  Mags silently pulled open the side door. A small wall about a meter and a half tall extended from the doorway into the interior, providing her some cover. In a crouch, Mags made her way to the edge of the wall and looked in.

  The shooter had his back to her. He stood at the cash register, waving his pistol and shouting. Two men in ski masks, pistols drawn, backed him up. One of them looked out the windows of the storefront into the street. The other brandished his weapon at the few customers who cowered in their booths. Mags decided he would be the first to die.

  She stood, bringing the shotgun to her shoulder in one smooth motion. Two deafening blasts shook the restaurant. Before the man hit the ground, Mags swept the barrel to the lookout. Three more blasts rocked the restaurant in less than a second. People screamed, but their cries sounded faint and distant. Mags’ ears rang.

  The lookout had taken two slugs to the chest and one to the gut. Mags ducked behind the wall. The lookout smashed into tables and collapsed. The shooter at the register, in a panic, emptied his clip in Mags’ direction. He reached for another, but she was too fast for him. She stood and put two slugs in his torso. He fell backwards into the counter. She put one more into him just to be sure.

  “Police,” Mags shouted at the terrified customers. “Stay where you are! Don’t panic! SFPD!”

  She stepped over the shooter’s lifeless body to look behind the counter. A chubby sixteen-year-old boy sprawled on the floor with his back against the shelves on the wall. His left shoulder and chest were covered with blood. The stain on his shirt was spreading. “You’re going to be okay,” Mags told him, clicking the safety into place. “You speak English, kid?”

  He nodded, eyes wide.

  She stepped around the counter and squatted next to him. “Let me see how bad it is.” She tore open his shirt from the bullet hole. “Today’s your lucky day. Looks like your bone stopped the slug. Are you hit anywhere else?”

  “No, no, officer,” he stammered. “They—they came in—they tell me to—”

  Mags bent down closer to his ear. “Listen, kid,” she whispered. “I ain’t no fuckin’ cop. I got business here, okay? But let’s keep that our little secret for now.”

  She could see in his eyes he understood.

  In the clutter on the shelves behind the counter, she found a pair of pliers. “Fucking little pimp gun. Trying to hold you up with a .25? I’d have punched them in the face.” She took a clean dish towel from the shelf and rolled it up. “Okay, bite down on this. Got it?”

  The boy clamped his teeth on the towel. She grabbed a second one from the shelf and folded it twice.

  “This will sting a little bit.” Mags took the pliers and guided them into the hole just under his clavicle, where the slug sat lodged against an upper rib.

  “Rrrrr,” he growled, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Mags grabbed the slug and pulled it out of his body. She pressed the second towel onto the wound. “Okay, you need to press this here. Keep pressure on it! You’re not going to die, but we can’t have you bleeding out.”

  The young man reached across his chest to press the towel against him. His jaws clenched. He growled in pain, but he pressed anyway. He spit out the towel.

  “Good man.” Mags stood up and addressed the customers. “Okay, people. I need you all to clear out of here. This is a crime scene now. We need to seal it off. My backup will be here any minute.”

  They looked confused.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Clear out, people!”

  A man stood up, directing his wife and children out of the booth with him. “Shouldn’t we stay and make some kind of statement?”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir. We’ve been watching these punks for weeks, waiting for them to make a move. We’ve got everything we need now. But thank you for your concern. Come on people, let’s go, go, go! Dinner’s on the house tonight.”

  The restaurant was clear in less than ninety seconds. Mags locked the front doors and did the same to the side door. “You’re Ching’s kid? Your dad owns this place, right?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “Get him on the phone, and be quick about it! Tell him to meet me at his warehouse. We can’t meet here now. Tell him he’s got three bodies. And tell him to bring some hair dye, red or black, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What if police come?”

  “Hopefully those witnesses will be long gone, so they can’t give a description of me. If the cops show up, you tell them I was a black man. Got it? A black man. About six two. This tall.” She held her palm flat above her head to show him. “And you saw him making this sign with his hands.” Mags showed him a gang sign. “Got that? Just like this.”

  “Uh, like this?”

  “Perfect! That’ll keep them busy for a while. This whole thing will look like a gang shoot-out. So glad I wore this turtleneck today. No identifying marks.” Her eyes fell on the shelves again. “Christ, I could eat the arse end out of a low-flying duck.” She grabbed a couple cans of soup. “Alright, kid. I got a hot van and possible hostiles incoming. Time for me to bounce.”

  The boy was already on the phone.

  ★ ○•♥•○ ★

  Two hours later, Mags watched the lights pull up outside the warehouse. She had let herself in with a code and parked the van inside. Six men stepped out of a pair of black cars. The last one, shorter and chubbier than the rest, held a hand to his chest. Mags slid the door open and waved.

  An older gentleman in a dark suit led the procession. No one had guns drawn, but Mags knew everyone was carrying. “Meteor Mags,” said the older man, smiling. “How are you, my friend?”

  “Just glad we’re still friends, Ching. Hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble earlier.”

  “Trouble? You saved my son’s life today.” The entourage entered the warehouse. Mags slid the door shut behind them and latched it.

  “Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Piddly little round. How’s it feeling, kid?”

  The portly boy smiled happily. He gave her the thumbs up.

  “Did you have to talk to the cops?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “Black man in ski mask, very tall. He come and kill gang members. Take all my money.” His grin grew even larger as he proudly flashed the gang sign Mags had taught him.

  Mags laughed. “Do me a favor, Slim. Don’t go flashing that sign anywhere. You’ll get yourself killed in some places, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Brave little man you got there, Ching.” Mags nodded respectfully to his father.

  “And a smart one, too.” Ching put his hand on the boy’s uninjured shoulder. “He does quite well in school, especially at math. But I don’t mean you saved his life from the bullet, Mags. Those men were there to execute him. Publicly. Because he is my son.”

  “They sure fucked that
up, didn’t they? What’s their beef?”

  “They’re from one of the younger gangs. Chinese, but from Vietnam. They are unhappy with my efforts to keep heroin out of our community. So they aim to take, by force, a piece of my gambling business and weaken my territory.”

  “Ain’t that a crock. Nothing good about heroin, Ching.”

  “Just look what opiates have done to my country in the past.”

  Mags nodded in agreement. “And now we got viruses spreading everywhere through dirty needles. The whole scene is fucked.”

  “Agreed. But this is why we have moved into imports and exports.” Ching raised his hand and beckoned one of his men. “Before I forget, here is the hair dye you asked for.” The bodyguard stepped up to Mags with a box of dye and a box of latex gloves.

  “Ching, you are a doll! Oh, and jet black, too. Good choice. Mind if I use your sink?”

  “Go right ahead. Are these our guns?” He gestured towards the crates she had unloaded from the back of the van.

  “They sure are. I hope you don’t plan on selling them anywhere near here, though. The MPs on the base in San Diego are probably looking for them already.”

  “No, they have another destination. As I said, imports and exports. But thank you.” Ching gestured again. One of his bodyguards presented Mags with a briefcase.

  “Another day, another dollar. Always a pleasure, Ching.”

  “Indeed. But I have something else which may interest you. Come.” He walked to a corner of the warehouse to pull back a tarp from a stack of boxes on pallets.

  “Oh, be still my beating heart.” Mags grinned. “You mind if I take a pack?”

  “Be my guest.”

  She opened a box and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. She took out a pack, smacked it sharply against the palm of her hand three times, then peeled it open. “You got a light?”

  Ching snapped his fingers. A bodyguard lit her cigarette.

  “Such a gentleman.” She exhaled a puff into the musty air of the warehouse. Tendrils of smoke rose above her head. “Damn, that’s good. You got plans for all these?”

  “I’m confident we have a buyer in Canada, if we can get them up there. But my expertise is shipping from the docks, and in much larger quantities. I thought you might have ideas for a land route for a cargo this size, since you got here with no problems.”

  “Ching, I like your style. Assuming you haven’t paid off the inspection stations all the way up the coast, you don’t want to ship them by semi. You want a smaller vehicle, one to two-person crew, max. Could be a work truck, or a van, but you don’t want it to look like construction trades. The locals tell me those get pulled over all the time by cops with a hard-on for unregistered immigrants. Make it something that can handle the back roads without looking suspicious, and a driver who knows how to stay cool and avoid trouble with the highway patrol. What you don’t want, however, is that fucking van right there.” She pointed her cigarette at it. “That thing is so hot right now, you’d be better off scrapping it for parts.”

  Ching smiled. He knew she had a rough way of talking. But underneath her bluster, Mags had a capable mind. If only she were Chinese, he thought, she would make an excellent General in his operation.

  “So I think getting them to the border is a cinch,” Mags continued. “A leisurely two-day run, maybe three if you stop to see the sights. One day if you got some decent coffee and do it non-stop. But what about the border crossing? What’s the destination?”

  “My son has an idea or two about that.”

  “Does he, now?” She could not imagine what ideas a sixteen-year-old boy could have that Ching had not already thought of, but she also knew he was no fool. “Did he cry when you stitched him up?”

  “Not a tear,” Ching said proudly.

  “Okay, then.” She waved the boy over. “Heya, Slim. Come help your auntie Mags dye her hair.”

  She stubbed out her cigarette on her boot heel, then flicked the butt into the nearest rubbish bin. “Oh, and Ching? I don’t mean to impose on our friendship, but those Benellis are masterful shotguns. Do you mind if I keep a couple?”

  PART TWO: THE CANADA CONNECTION

  “Wow,” said Plutonian. “You and Slim really do go way back.”

  “We sure do. We been through some shit, yo!”

  “And you really held on to these Benellis all that time?”

  “They got a history! Dude, I have stuff in my armory you would not even believe. You want the grand tour?”

  “I’d love it.”

  They boarded the transport. Plutonian rested his empty shotgun beside him, safety on, to the other side from Mags. She steered the transport away from the club to her private hangar.

  “So, what happened with the cigarettes? Did Slim really have a brilliant idea?”

  “It was brilliant in its simplicity. See, Ching wasn’t kidding when he said the boy was good in school. Turns out he had been on a field trip up to Washington to compete in some math tournament. And while he was there, he scouted around, took a little trip to Canada, and got the lay of the land. You gotta realize this was years before the Internet became a thing on Earth, and way before any idiot with a tablet could pull up satellite maps. Back then, it took a little more effort to figure things out. But Slim was nothing if not observant, and he was always thinking.”

  “Sounds like a good kid.”

  “He was. Ha! He still is. Just a big, happy kid. You know, Tarzi reminds me a little of him at that age. Well, not with the goofy smile all the time! And Slim would never mouth off to me like my nephew does.” Mags laughed. “Not that I mind at all. But I tell you, that boy’s mind is sharp as a razor. He’s got big things in store for him, as soon as he gets this whole being-a-teenage-boy trip sorted.”

  “You really like that kid, don’t you?”

  “I love that little anarchist. And he keeps me young. Plutonian, when you’ve been around as long as I have, things get pretty fucking boring sometimes. It’s sad. You see old friends and pets die. You outlive your family. Things you worked on and cared about just fall apart. But Tarzi makes me feel young again. Some of the shit we get into, man, it’s insane. But we’re having the time of our lives. I never laugh as hard as I do when we’re hanging out.”

  Plutonian smiled. Mags had never really opened up to him like this before. He enjoyed hearing her stories and her unique perspective on life. “So, tell me what happened on the run to Canada.”

  “Oh, god. I could talk your ear off. But I will tell you a little bit, because it’s got some more Benelli history in it. You’re gonna love this.”

  ★ ○•♥•○ ★

  She spread out the map on the table. A constant drizzle fell from the grey sky. Mags and Slim enjoyed the scenery from inside a sheltered picnic area in Washington. Evergreens surrounded the park, and in the distance lay the Pacific Ocean. “Okay. Here’s where we are now.” She tapped her finger on the map. Then she ran it along a thick line. “And here’s Highway 5, which we’ve been enjoying so far.”

  Slim chomped happily on his sandwich. He gulped down a mouthful and pointed to several spots on the map. “And these are all manned border stops. We don’t want those.”

  “That’s right. So, if what you are saying is true, my idea is to turn off the 5 here and head inland. That will take us to a bunch of smaller roads, like here, and here, and here. We might even find a few service roads that aren’t on the map.” She crunched on potato chips. “Now, tell me again how we figure out where to cross.”

  “All we need to do is scout the crossings between 4 p.m. and 8 a.m. We park out of sight and walk to a decent vantage point. We use our binoculars to see if the station is manned. If it isn’t, but it’s open, then it must be one of the electronic ones. I’m sorry I don’t have a specific one already, but that’s the best info I could get.” He took another bite.

  “Don’t sweat it, little man. You’re doing great.”

  Slim smiled as he chewed.

  “I still c
an’t believe you got the locals to turn you on to this little trick. You must just have a likeable face.”

  “It helps if you know French. Not as much as on the East Coast, but still. Are there any chips left?” Like his father, the boy spoke English fluently, along with French, Mandarin, and Cantonese. The night he dyed her hair black, Mags discovered his broken English was just a show he put on for police or anyone else he needed to think he was stupid and harmless.

  She passed him the bag of chips. “Help yourself. So, how long do you think we have to get clear of the area once we trip the electronic sensors? How long until the patrols are on our arse?”

  Slim shrugged. “That’s the tricky part. It could be less than a minute, if they’re already in the area. But let’s say their station is six miles away. If they can go at the drop of a hat and do, oh, sixty miles per hour on these roads, that would give us six minutes. Or it could be longer. Basically, we have no idea.”

  “That’s why I’ll be doing the driving, dear. Either way, we need to get the hell out of there fast, but not so fast we draw attention to ourselves.” She sighed. “Your old man won’t be happy if I get you in trouble up here. The whole point of this trip is to keep you out of trouble.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so. Listen. If some guys showed up at my restaurant to kill my son, I know what I’d do. I’d suit up for war. I would start killing motherfuckers until there wasn’t anyone left to kill, know what I mean?”

  Slim frowned. He hadn’t thought of that.

  “Your dad wants you out of harm’s way for a little bit. I mean, he didn’t tell me that in so many words. But why do you think he has us messing around with a small cargo like this? He isn’t doing it to get rich.”

  “He could be, though. Even if you’re right, we can establish an important relationship here. I think he wants to find out if it’s worth his time to set up major shipments from the Bay into a Canadian port. And he’s trusting me to lay the foundation.”

  “I know he trusts you. And I can tell he loves you.”