The Mystic Saga Omnibus (Books 1 - 5)

by Scott McElhaney

  He rose from the sidewalk and finally took notice of the several people watching from all around. One person was staring from behind a lamppost, while two other people were peeking out at an open door of a nearby building. Someone else was watching from a vehicle parked right beside him. The man had his arm hanging from the open window, gesturing Braxton over.

  “Get in before the police come,” the man said.

  Braxton stared at him a moment, then quickly examined all the people who were still enthralled by the horrible scene. He wiped the rivers from his cheeks with the back of his hand, then looked at the man in the vehicle.

  “You don’t have much time, Bud. Get in the car,” he said.

  Braxton sauntered over to the vehicle, opened the back door and tossed his bag in. He ducked in and even before he had a chance to close the door, the vehicle was speeding away.

  “You got blood on your cheeks, Bud,” the man said, tossing him a white square of fabric, “The name is Benson, but my friends call me Jack.”

  Braxton wiped his face, bringing dark shade of red to the fabric. He fought another sob, then hid his face from the driver as he struggled to regain control of himself.

  “She your girl?” Jack asked.

  Braxton wasn’t in the mood for talking, but he realized he wasn’t going to be left with much of an option. He cleared his throat and lifted his head, examining the driver for the first time.

  “Yeah, I’d say she was mine,” Braxton muttered, finally catching a visual of himself in the mirror.

  He wiped the remaining blood from his face while the driver continued to watch him in the same mirror.

  “I saw what you did back there,” Jack said, “That was some crazy, magical stuff.”

  Braxton nodded, “Thank you for offering me a ride. Won’t you get in trouble for helping me though?”

  The driver laughed, then drew something out of his shirt pocket. It was a crinkled pack of Lucky Strikes similar to the ones they discovered in the other car. He shook the pack, then held it over his shoulder offering one to Braxton. Braxton took one of the seasoning tubes, then watched as the man perched the cottony end between his lips. Braxton followed suit.

  “Will I get in trouble, you ask? I couldn’t be in anymore trouble if I had Al Capone himself on my tail,” he said with a chuckle.

  He flicked open a small silver device, then brought forth a fair-sized flame with just a small spark. Braxton leaned away, confused about the device until he saw that Jack was lighting the spice tube. That confused him even further as he watched the man breathe smoke from his nose while igniting the tube. Jack held the flaming device over his shoulder, apparently offering it to Braxton.

  “You know what? I just remembered that these things made me ill the last time I… uh, last time I used one.” Braxton said.

  Jack flipped the device closed, cutting off the flame. He simply nodded and continued to blow smoke from his mouth and nose while the tube slowly burned. Braxton watched the city speed by them outside the many windows of their vehicle.

  “So, what’s your name, kid?” he asked.

  “Braxton,” he replied, “I’m sort of new to the area.”

  “Yeah?” he asked with a laugh, “Well Braxton, I could show you around the neighborhood since you and I are going to be close friends.”

  “Do you know where the Lynn Theater is?” Braxton asked.

  “The Lynn? Sure. Why, you suddenly feel up for a movie after all that killing?”

  Braxton shifted in his seat, finding it a little more uncomfortable to breathe with all the grey smoke building up in the vehicle. Jack’s eyes met Braxton’s again in the mirror.

  “I’m just supposed to meet someone there,” Braxton said.

  “I’ll take you to the Lynn, but we’ve got a couple stops to make along the way,” Jack said.

  Upperlands

  At the Legacy/Foothold Outpost in the continent of Blaze – a world referred to as the Upperlands by the citizens of the Underworld – Lieutenant Steven Oxnard had taken responsibility of the Mountain Ghost. The Mountain Ghost was the name they gave to the glowing creature they found high in the Mystic Mountains.

  Lieutenant Oxnard had taken measures to get the screaming creature sedated and strapped securely to a bed. Then he sent word to the Armory, requesting advice on how to handle the situation. It took two full lunes before he got word back from Captain Driggs, which arrived, in the form of a handwritten letter:

  “Lt. Oxnard,

  I’m first going to relay my understanding of the situation so you can correct me if I’m wrong. My reply is based on this understanding; so if I’m wrong in my understanding, belay my directive. I received word that you discovered a bipedal species similar in form to that of a human who also stands within a foot of our height. Your evaluation is that the creature is intelligent though you haven’t found a way to communicate with it. It’s also believed that there are many more of these creatures based on the “ghost sightings” that have continually happened at the mountain range.

  If this creature is indeed intelligent, sentient, and is found to live in a communal society with its kind, then we may have to leave this planet or at the very least, this continent. All colonial establishment directives state that we cannot interfere in an established sentient society and we most certainly cannot force them from their homes.

  We can delay long enough to investigate these beings, but it sounds like the USSC is going to find itself forced to back away from the planet or at least from Blaze. My recommendation based on all this is to send the creature to our medical facility on the Green continent. Our people there would be qualified enough to determine if this creature is indeed a sentient, intelligent, and communal citizen of Legacy. If they determine this to be so, we must return the being unharmed and leave them in peace.

  My final order then is to send the creature to USSC Embassy in Green for further evaluation. If your Jump Drive shuttle is coming along as planned, and since you have two crew members to pick up in Green, you may just want to use that shuttle as a method of transport.

  Captain Driggs”

  It would take another day after receiving the letter to get the Mountain Ghost back up the side of the mountain and to the location of the shuttle. All the while though, Lieutenant Oxnard made sure to keep the being sedated and secured. He had a mission now to find out if the USSC would be permanently or temporarily residing in the land of Blaze.

  Eight

  Braxton wandered around the store, doing his best to avoid the curious glances of the other shoppers. Jack had said he needed to talk to someone in the back of the store, so Braxton pretended to browse the vendor’s wares.

  Most of the items in the store seemed to be geared toward children. He located many bins of small candies toward the area where one would pay. Nearly half the store was filled with toys and models of all sorts of vehicles. After spending a good portion of time examining these miniature flying machines, he moved over toward the colorful racks of thin booklets.

  He spun the rack, amazed by the colorful artwork on the covers. The booklets covered a variety of unusual topics: Captain America, Marvel Mysteries, Wonder Woman, Mighty Mouse, Two-Gun Kid, Human Torch, and Superman. The things that stood out most to him was the fact that the people on the covers of these booklets wore odd uniforms, sometimes with gloves, and each of the protagonists had some form of freaky ability that was made to appear awesome in a way.

  He leafed through the booklets, discovering an invented world where the “super” people were good, revered, and loved. The people with odd abilities weren’t stared at or mocked, but rather they were admired. Sometimes they had secret identities. Best of all, no one ever questioned them about their gloves or their alien features.

  “Catching up on your reading?” Jack startled him.

  Braxton nodded and smiled at him, holding the booklet open so Jack could see Superman lifting a vehicle out of the way of an oncoming train.

  “This guy’s not c
onsidered a freak,” Braxton said with a chuckle, “Actually, he’s kind of cool.”

  Jack reached out and closed the booklet. He took it from Braxton and held it up toward the man who was working at the main counter.

  “We’ll be taking one of these,” Jack said, handing it back to Braxton.

  Then he took a couple other booklets from the rack and handed them to Braxton.

  “Come on, let’s get outta here,” Jack said, nudging Braxton on.

  “We’re allowed to take these without paying?”

  “After you just single-handedly rescued the spics from the dagos, I’d say they owe you a bit more than a few comic books,” he replied, nodding toward his vehicle, “And you can sit up front if you want, Brax.”

  “Wait, what happened? What are you talking about?” Braxton asked, stopping a few paces from the car, “Who are the spics or dagos?”

  Jack pushed Braxton in the shoulder, gesturing toward the car with his other hand.

  “We don’t want to be discussing this out here in the open. I’ll tell you on the way to the Lynn.”

  In less than a minute, they were on their way toward the theater. Jack lit up another one of the spice tubes, blowing a stream of smoke at the windshield.

  “The spics have been taking ten percent of every teamster who braves this part of Jersey, which oddly enough, is a lot of trucks,” Jack started, “And during this-”

  “Wait, I understood absolutely nothing of what you just said. I don’t even understand what a spic is.”

  Jack laughed, coughing out a cloud of grey smoke. He hacked out a few more coughs, then shaking his head, he chuckled again.

  “You really aren’t from around here, are you?” Jack said, gesturing a lot with his hand as he talked, “The spics are the Spanish people – mostly Puerto Ricans actually who claim a certain portion of our nice little town here. They call themselves the “Joisey Boys” and yes, that’s Joisey like the dagos call it – not Jersey. The dagos are the Italians whose mob claims half of New York and New Jersey as well as the teamsters. You with me so far.”

  “Sort of,” Braxton said with a shrug.

  “Well, the spics have been robbing the trucks that come through here. The dagos own those trucks for all intents and purposes, so the two have become natural enemies. The spics made a big mistake last week when they killed a mob boss’s son. The dago boss vowed the death of all the Joisey Boys and even started by blowing up a spic warehouse downtown where they kept a lot of their smuggled wares. Can you guess who that mob boss was?”

  Braxton shrugged again, wishing he could keep up.

  “Sonny the Mechanic!” he replied, nodding at Braxton, “Come on! Everyone knows Sonny the Mechanic! Front page last week? The Roxbury Ferry bombing?”

  Braxton shook his head.

  “The man you just killed back there at Sonny’s Garage?”

  “Wait, the Italian’s boss? I killed the dago leader?”

  “One of them. They have so many of them, but yes, you just killed the man who single-handedly swore the death of all the Joisey Boys.”

  “Oh no,” Braxton said, “That’s got to be a huge violation of causality.”

  Jack cocked an eyebrow as he peered over at him.

  “A violation of what?”

  “Caus… I just didn’t want to change a whole lot by being here,” Braxton replied, “I was supposed to just slip in, kill three people, and slip out unnoticed.”

  “So you are an assassin. I thought so. But the spics just claimed they never met you before,” Jack said, “And you had every right to kill the man. Let’s not forget – Sonny killed your lady.”

  Braxton looked out the window, watching the buildings pass by. He nodded.

  “Well, you’ve got the Joisey Boys in your pocket right now. They owe you big. I may have tossed in a tiny lie though back at The Treasure Trove,” Jack said, patting Braxton on the leg, “I’m into the spics for nearly five grand. I told them you were working for me. I told them I had you take out Sonny to cancel my debt with the Joisey Boys.”

  Braxton breathed out a loud sigh, shaking his head. His mind was getting knotted up in the story Jack was weaving.

  “I hope that’s okay, Brax,” Jack said.

  “If it helped you, then that’s okay with me. One way or another, Sonny is dead, so you might as well benefit however you can,” Braxton said, turning to Jack, “But it sounds like you’re indebted to me now for clearing your debt. I may need a little help from you.”

  Jack glanced at him, then nodded. He brought the car to a stop in front of a long row of low buildings.

  “So, you need me to pop someone in there?” Jack asked, eyeballing the brick building over Braxton’s shoulder.

  Braxton turned and saw a glass double-door surrounded by dozens of yellow-tinted bulbs that would probably glow beautifully in the evening. A giant white sign hung above the double door which was lettered unevenly to spell out “Twelve O’clock High starring Gregory Peck” and beneath that it had “12:00, 3:00, 6:00, 9:00.”

  It took a moment before he noticed the enormous red letters rising upward toward the sky. A giant “N” was nestled just above the white sign, with another “N” stacked directly above that one. Then a “Y” rose up above the actual height of the building with an “L” right above that letter. Reading the word from the sun down to the doors, it beamed the word “Lynn.”

  “We’re here already?” Braxton asked.

  “The very theater you asked for,” Jack stated.

  Jack leaned in front of Braxton and opened the little compartment by his knees. He then drew out a small metal pistol that bore a vague resemblance to an ion pistol.

  “I don’t like to be indebted to anyone, so just tell me who you want me to pop and I’ll pay off my debt before Gregory Peck even makes his first appearance,” Jack said, opening the side of the black pistol and spinning the barrel that dropped from the side.

  “No, that’s not what I expect from you. I’ll take care of the guy in here on my own. When I mentioned you owing me, I just wanted you to show me where to get cleaned up and maybe get me on my way to my next target after this.”

  Jack set the gun down and paid a curious glance at Braxton, “So where’s your next target?”

  Braxton reached into his pocket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He quickly unfolded it and scanned information on the one side of the paper, then flipped it over reviewed the names and locations listed there.

  “Looks like Manhattan is the next closest,” Braxton said, leaning away suddenly when he noticed Jack peering over his shoulder.

  Braxton folded the sheet quickly, concerned all of a sudden over Jack’s unwarranted curiosity.

  “Look, I’ve gotta ask. Who are you a hitter for?” he asked, “You’re killing three obscure people in three different states.”

  “I can’t say,” Braxton said, shoving the paper back into his pocket, “I can only tell you that getting rid of these three can save a whole planet.”

  Jack leaned back toward his door, his eyes widening. He placed the gun down in his lap and shook his head.

  “I think I know who you’re working for,” Jack said, “Saving a whole planet can only mean one thing, but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I read up on what would happen if the Russians got their hands on atomic weapons.”

  Braxton fought the grin that demanded his attention, recalling the paranoia of this generation. He simply nodded, placing a finger over his lips in a gesture of silence.

  “If you tell anyone what I’m doing and I end up failing in my mission, then these three people will ultimately cause a lot of devastation. And yes, the ‘bad guys’ can sometimes be obscure people.”

  “Wow, I’m working for the government!” Jack said.

  “Quiet,” Braxton reiterated, “You’re just the regular, ordinary ‘Jack’ who recently paid the spics off and got Braxton a bunch of colorful hero booklets.”

  Jack grinned, nodding toward the theater behi
nd Braxton. He turned, noticing that a young lady was currently unlocking the doors. She dragged a clapboard sign out onto the sidewalk, then returned to the dark building. A moment later, the lights came on inside, followed by a beautiful neon red glow of the enormous letters of “Lynn.”

  “Wow, how do they get lights to form in detailed shapes like that?” Braxton asked, opening his door and stepping out.

  Jack grabbed the pistol and slipped it into his pocket before opening his own car door. He followed Braxton’s gaze to the neon lights, then shrugged.

  “They just bend the glass, I guess. It’s neon lights,” Jack said, walking around the front of his Mercury, “Who are we looking for in here?”

  “George Richter,” Braxton said, examining the clapboard sign on the sidewalk, “Looks like some miniature women are coming tomorrow. I wonder why anyone would care about that?”

  Jack laughed as he looked down at the sign. Braxton’s deadpan expression made Jack think he really was ignorant of the world instead of just good at making jokes.

  “With Elizabeth Taylor in the movie, I’d watch it. But I could care less about all the other ‘Little Women’ in the film,” Jack said with a chuckle.

  Braxton grinned, also admiring the beauty on the sign. He opened the door to the theater and stepped inside. Immediately beyond the door, Braxton was faced with a majestic room fit for a king. The walls around him were hidden behind maroon curtains, except for the few areas where the curtains parted to show a colorful poster depicting another film of some sort.

  The domed ceiling above them was decoratively engraved. In the center of the dome, a gold chain dropped down, supporting a shimmering jeweled lighting fixture. All this decorative beauty gave Braxton a moment of pause, unaware of the fact that a woman was watching him nearby.

  “Is this your first time at the Lynn?” she asked.

  Braxton lowered his gaze from the ceiling fixture and met the eyes of the young lady who had unlocked the doors earlier.