Mission Earth Volume 7: Voyage of Vengeance

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “And top of the morning to you both,” said Bang-Bang. He had come out on the terrace. He was carrying a burden of books. “Every dictionary I could locate in the stores.”

  The Countess Krak grabbed them.

  The butler got a chair for him, a waiter handed him coffee and Bang-Bang sat and watched the Countess tearing through the dictionaries.

  “FFA,” said the Countess Krak. “Future Farmers of America. FFV. First Families of Virginia.”

  Heller said, “I shouldn’t think the First Families of Virginia were paying anyone to become a notorious outlaw.”

  Bang-Bang said, “You never know, Jet. My people were some of the first Sicilians in New York, and look at me!”

  The Countess put the last dictionary aside. “Oh, dear. It isn’t in any of them. What could FFBO stand for?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Heller. “I just remembered something. Last fall I was summoned down to the docks by Babe Corleone.”

  “Who is that?” said the Countess.

  “Babe Corleone is the head of the Corleone mob.”

  “Oh, Jettero,” said the Countess Krak. “Another woman! I’ve got to get you off this planet before they eat you alive. Women are dangerous, Jettero. I know you don’t believe me, but after all you have been through lately, I should think . . .”

  “All thrusts reverse!” said Heller. “Listen! Babe Corleone is really a great lady. She runs a whole mob single-handed. She controls the unions and all steamship lines. She’s the only threat Faustino Narcotici has.”

  “Oh, dear,” said the Countess Krak.

  “No, no,” said Heller. “She’s Earth middle-aged. She was like a mother to me. And I’ve been very sad that she thought I had turned traditore. She thought of me as a son. But that’s neither here nor there. What I just remembered was something I saw on a screen.

  “She was selecting executive personnel for the Punard line she had just taken over and this fellow stepped up. I recall it now. His name was J. P. Flagrant and the screen said that he was a former employee of FFBO.”

  “Oh!” said the Countess Krak. “Then if I called the Punard line . . .”

  “No, no,” said Heller. “They didn’t hire him. That’s why all this stuck in my memory. She said he was a traditore and had him thrown in the river. She didn’t employ him.”

  “Then he’s out of a job,” said Bang-Bang. “When Babe fires them, they stay fired.”

  “J. P. Flagrant,” said the Countess. “Bang-Bang, how do you find somebody who is out of a job in New York?”

  “New York Employment Office,” said Bang-Bang promptly. “They have to be registered there or they can’t go on welfare. I’ll call.”

  “I think we’re on to something,” said the Countess Krak.

  And, I thought, I could feel my time running out. Sort of like a river of blood spilling from a pumping artery.

  Bang-Bang came back. Cheerily, he said, “Hey, what do you know? They had him. J. P. Flagrant, former executive of FFBO. But that isn’t what’s amazing. They found him a job. They were awful proud of it, as it almost never happens. They placed him as a garbage man in Yonkers! There’s lots of garbage up there.”

  “Well, call Yonkers!” said the Countess Krak.

  “Oh, I did,” said Bang-Bang. “They got him all right. He’s driving Garbage Truck 2183 and it’s out on rounds.”

  “I’ll have the Rolls run out,” said Heller.

  “No, not the Rolls,” said the Countess Krak. “You have no idea how many guns there were around those women. This is a shooting war we’re in. We need something bulletproof. Much as I despise it, I think we should take the old cab.”

  “That’s better,” said Bang-Bang. “I can’t imagine calling on a garbage truck in a chauffeured limousine. It just don’t seem fitting.”

  Yonkers! I grabbed a map. It was at least fourteen miles through traffic from where they were.

  J. P. Flagrant, when they found him, would spill his guts. He would put them straight on to Madison and Madison would connect with me.

  For them, fourteen miles there. Fifteen or twenty miles back to Madison’s area. How much time would they consume?

  I had had it!

  If I hurried and luck was with me, I could escape.

  The PLAN must go into effect at once.

  I had an awful lot to get done FAST!

  My time had run out forever in New York.

  PART FIFTY-FIVE

  Chapter 1

  I wasted precious seconds trying to reach J. Walter Madison at his 42 Mess Street office. They hedged in telling me where he was but I knew already. He would be at his mother’s house.

  His mother answered the phone, “Is this the Mafia?”

  “No, no,” I said. “This is Madison’s boss, Smith.”

  “Oh, Mr. Smith,” she said. “I’m so worried about Walter. He’s been despondent the last day or two. He keeps saying he may let Mr. Bury down again. Walter’s an awfully sensitive boy, you know ‘has been so since he was a child. Terrified of hurting people’s feelings. And so conscientious. He says he’d give his right arm to succeed for Mr. Bury. He must be absolutely killing himself with work, for just this morning he was saying he would be no good to Mr. Bury dead. I’ve been trying and trying to persuade Walter that he should take a nice vacation. I do hope you can see your way clear to suggesting it.” She evidently turned her head away from the phone and called in a melodious voice, “Walter dear, it’s that nice Mr. Smith on the phone.” Then, more quietly, “No, it’s not the Mafia. It’s Mr. Smith. . . . Yes. I recognized his voice.”

  Madison’s voice was cautious. “Hello?”

  “Oh, thank Gods, I reached you in time!” I said. “I have a fink in the Narcotici mob. The word is out. Razza recognized your voice. But he’s a clever snake. He did not want to offend Rockecenter, so he hired the Corleone mob to hunt you down and knock you off.”

  “Walter,” came his mother’s voice in the background, “sit down in this chair. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is it bad news?”

  Hoarsely to me, Madison said, “What do you think I should do?”

  “Look,” I said. “I am your friend. Usually when somebody gets on a spot like you’re on, we just write them off. But I’ll stand by you. I have a place to hide you nobody will suspect. Now listen carefully. There are snipers everywhere. I don’t want you to be seen on the street. Be on the roof of your apartment building. I’ll pick you off with a helicopter.”

  “Oh, thank God you warned me,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up. My luck was holding. And in the emergency of the moment my accustomed brilliance had asserted itself. In the flash, I had added the touch about the Corleone mob, remembering that that old hack had “Corleone Cab Company” on its door. But there was no time to gloat.

  I glanced at the viewers. Bang-Bang’s voice.

  “We’ll make better time if you go up the Hudson River Parkway, get off at Broadway just south of 254th Street and then turn off Broadway into Nepperhan Avenue in Yonkers. They said he’d be on that or Ashburton or Lake Avenue, somewhere in that district.”

  I looked at it closely. The old cab seemed to be roaring since its rebuild. (Bleep) it all, Heller was driving! And he drove like the wind! I must hurry.

  I picked up the two-way-response radio and buzzed it. Raht answered at once.

  “Get over to the 34th Street East Heliport on the East River,” I said. “Rent a helicopter and make sure it has a ladder. We’re going to do a roof pickup.”

  “Wait a minute, Officer Gris,” said Raht. “I don’t have money for that. You better come into the office and give us a formal on-lines requisition and stamp. It would come under the unusual-expense regulation, number . . .”

  For a moment my plans suffered a threatened shift. It would be much cheaper just to take a rifle and when Madison appeared on the roof, shoot him. But no, he was far too valuable a man just to sacrifice because one had to follow the Apparatus textbook. Madison ha
d the whole procedure of PR under his belt. He was well trained. He could wreck anyone’s life at will. I made the crucial decision, no matter how painful it was.

  “I’ll pay for it myself,” I said. “Get right over there and rent it and stand by. I will join you.”

  “You sure you’re not going to bomb something?” said Raht.

  “Swallow that impudence and do as you’re told or I’ll bomb you!” I snarled. What riffraff I had to deal with!

  I clicked off.

  The next part of my plan was to write a note to the girls. I glanced nervously at the viewer. I dug up pen and paper and an envelope. I wrote:

  Dear Mrss. Beys,

  I realize I cannot live up to your high opinion of me. I am going to commit suicide for the benefit of our children.

  Goodbye cruel world.

  Your husband

  I put it in an envelope, wrote “Farewell” on the face of it and propped it under a statue of Aphrodite in the front room so it looked like a human sacrifice.

  I glanced at the viewer. They were in Yonkers already! Oh, I must hurry!

  I began to pack, stuffing everything I had into cardboard grocery cartons, wishing I had remembered to buy some suitcases. This was taking time and I did not have enough string. Somehow I must make time because, before I went to that skyport, I had to grab Teenie. I thought she would be at the school and I left a gas bomb out. I cursed having accumulated all this gear.

  I was lifting a viewer so it would sit face up in a carton and I could watch it simply by lifting the box flap, when suddenly a voice was heard. “Well, hurray, hurray for me!” I thought it was coming from the viewer. It confused me. What was THAT voice doing in Heller’s speeding cab?

  “Look what I got!”

  I whirled and peered through the bandages. It was Teenie! Oh, my luck was in! She’d walked right into the net.

  She was standing there in her flat oxfords and a plaid skirt, her ponytail thrusting out of the back of her head. “I just graduated,” she said with her too-big smile. “And they gave me presents! Look! A genuine Hong Kong dildo. A whole dozen lace condoms. A package of joss sticks for luck. And behold!”

  She was unrolling a diploma. It said she was a Certified Professional and that she had graduated Magna Come Loud.

  “At last,” she crowed, “I have completed my education!”

  I didn’t say anything. She started looking around at all the boxes. “Hey, are you blowing or something?”

  I was caught in the middle of indecision. I had intended to just hit her with a gas bomb, dump her in a sack and put her with the other baggage. On the other hand, maybe I could talk her into carrying some of this heavy stuff.

  “Teenie,” I said, “I have always been fond of you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Teenagers are hard to understand. Maybe I should be coy. “Teenie, how would you like to go for a ride?”

  “A ride?” she said. “You mean like the old movies? Gangster style?”

  I decided to be jocular. “Yeah, kid, you get the idea.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Teenie. “Is this on the level? You’re packing. Are you trying to get me to run away with you?”

  Well, well. Maybe I had made an appeal. “That’s right,” I said.

  “Oho!” she said. “I see it all now! That solves the mystery. You got me educated so you could get a good price selling me into white slavery!”

  I gaped.

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” said Teenie. “If you’ll split fifty-fifty any price you get for me, I’ll go with you.”

  I gaped wider.

  “All right,” she said. “Fair is fair and a bargain is a bargain.” She put out her hand. She evidently wanted to shake hands for some reason. I shook hands with her.

  My plans for Teenie had been a bit nebulous. They consisted solely of capturing her and holding her prisoner so that if at any time the court accused me of murdering her, as per the injunction, I could produce her and say, “See, she’s still alive.” That way she would not be around to lie about me or get me in trouble. It was an elementary and effective solution and part of my general plan. But I had not looked for this much cooperation.

  “There’s one condition to it,” she said. “And that is that you let me go home and pack.”

  I glanced nervously at the viewer. Was there time or did I use the gas bomb after all?

  Tudor City was en route to the skyport. She wouldn’t own very much.

  I gambled. “All right,” I said.

  She promptly went to work tying up boxes. “Hey,” she said, “I see you have TV-osis. I never watch it myself. I like the stern realities of life instead. But you left this portable set on.”

  “Leave it,” I said. “The switch is broken.”

  She shrugged and finished tying up the other boxes. She picked up a pad and pen and was about to pack it.

  “I think Adora might get worried if you disappeared,” I said. “Why don’t you leave her a note?”

  “Good thinking, Inky. She’d set the cops on the trail and blow your white-slavery ring to hell.” She picked up the pen. She gnawed it. “I could tell her I had been approached for the Miss America contest, but the truth is dangerous. I can’t think of anything to say.”

  “Just anything,” I said, glancing nervously at the viewer.

  Finally she got to writing, somewhat laboriously. Then she showed it to me. In badly formed letters, it said:

  Deer Pinchy,

  I am finne.

  How R U.

  I am dooinng well.

  Will C U.

  Teenie

  “That’s great,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “It isn’t warm enough.” She threw it aside.

  She tried again.

  Deer, deer Pinchy and Candy,

  I gradudated with honnors.

  Thay warded mee a bedpost gradadutaded coorss in Hung Cung.

  Keeep upp the gud wk.

  Teenie

  Hott Dogg!

  “That will do just great,” I said urgently. “We have a plane to catch.”

  “Is that hot dog part warm enough?” she said.

  “Yes, yes,” I said and grabbed the letter. Then, cunning, I also grabbed the first letter. I put them in my pocket. I would mail the last one and keep the other one to show she was still alive.

  I glanced at the viewer. The cab was running down a city street, probably searching along the route of the garbage truck. I had better get going!

  I called a cab and we got my boxes out front. Wonder of wonders, my luck was really holding! We didn’t have to wait more than a minute.

  We loaded up and sped away. I took no backward glance at that scene of pain and travail. I would not miss it.

  I peeked into the open flap of a box at the viewer. They were hunting for the garbage truck. It would be close but I felt that I might make my escape unscathed. If my luck continued to hold.

  PART FIFTY-FIVE

  Chapter 2

  Tudor City is not a city at all. It’s a collection of twelve brick buildings built in the 1920s in the Flamboyant or Tudor Gothic-English style of architecture. They are surrounded by green lawns and footpaths which were once kept up but which now seemed mainly devoted to growing marijuana. The buildings, according to the chattering Teenie, used to have three thousand apartments which housed twelve thousand people, but these numbers were now sort of blurred.

  We approached it on 41st Street East and as the cab drew up beside one of the big buildings the atmosphere was suddenly calm and quiet. Not so my nerves.

  “Hurry up and get your things,” I told Teenie.

  “You sit right there and wait,” she said. “I have to climb fourteen stories on the fire escape to get to the old garret I have at the top and I don’t want the landlady to see me leave.”

  She was off and up. The height would have made me dizzy. The cabby glanced at his ticking meter and opened his Daily Racing Form. I opened the carton anxiously to gaze at Heller
’s viewer.

  They had spotted the garbage truck! Oh, this was going to be nip and tuck, and I was the likely one to be nipped!

  As they drew near it on a narrow street, I was not crediting my ears. Was that a song I was hearing? Some kind of a ditty? It was not coming from Tudor City—it must be coming from my viewer!