The Systemic Series - Box Set

by K. W. Callahan

  I took a deep breath, recognizing that I didn’t have much of a negotiating stance.

  “The boat and everything on it is yours as of today,” Bushy continued. “You can take it and sail away to wherever. We won’t ask for your continued assistance if that’s what you choose to do. “However…” he paused and nodded to several small boxes stacked between the two brutes, “…that’s two years worth of diabetic supplies in those boxes. You want it, and you’re going to have to do one last thing for us.”

  I took another deep breath as I waited for the other boot to drop.

  Bushy went on. “You see, Ava’s my boss. And Ava’s planning on running things here in Miami. She had a plan in place to do just that until Friday. As you know, since you were trailing Jake that day, events took an unexpected turn. What you may not realize though was that after the attempt on Jake’s life, he took his revenge by hitting Little Havana. Little Havana was on our side…Ava’s side that is. Jake didn’t know it. And Little Havana was a key component in the plan to get ride of Jake. Now that they’re gone, we’re a little shorthanded.”

  “We’re not hired guns,” I said.

  “Everyone’s a hired gun these days,” Rambo growled.

  “You may not even have to kill anybody,” Mad Dog added.

  “Well that’s a plus,” Will said, the sarcasm lost on his audience.

  “It’s your call,” said Rambo. “The hit takes place later this afternoon, and since you know about it, you either help us or you stay locked in this engine room until it’s over…that or we kill you. It’s up to you. You don’t help us though, and those supplies go with us.”

  I took another deep breath, “Not really much of a choice,” I said. “We don’t do it and you kill my wife…indirectly, but the result’s largely the same.”

  “Sorry,” Bushy said. “But that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  I looked at Will. He didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it,” he nodded. “But we’re done after this,” he said matter-of-factly, and making sure he made direct eye contact with Bushy.

  Bushy nodded, “Good, now here’s what we need you to do.”

  * * *

  Ray looked at the picture Gordon had given him as they drove. It made him sick to his stomach. He hadn’t even known the young man, but his eyes welled up with tears as he stared down at the Polaroid.

  The picture of the man they called “Jake” standing there – a foot proudly upon Gordon’s young son – left Ray feeling deeply saddened one minute, intensely angry the next.

  “So this is what that dude with the beard gave you?” asked Ray.

  Gordon nodded, his eyes fix firmly on the road. “Bushy…yeah. He had a couple of them.”

  “How do you know he’s not involved with this guy, that it’s not just a trick or something?” Ray asked, his FBI training and sense of distrust getting the better of him.

  “Guess I don’t,” Gordon said. “But I don’t really care. He told me his boss could promise me this guy’s head with our help. I’m willin’ to take the chance.”

  “How did he know to contact you?” Ray said. “And how did his boss know you’d be willing to help?” It was instinctual for Ray to question such things. “His boss must have been there when your convoy was hit to put all the pieces together and know where to find you,” Ray went on.

  “Must have,” Gordon said. “But again, I don’t care. This bastard owes me…and I owe him…BIG TIME!” he gritted his teeth while pounding the steering wheel hard with his palm. He waited, and then said, “But he don’t owe you nothin’, Ray. You don’t have to do this you know. You ain’t family, and this has nothin’ to do with you. You got a wife, and pretty soon a kid to think about.”

  Ray shook his head. “Even more reason to be here with you. Your family has suffered enough, Gordon. You and yours are as much family to us now as anyone. You all have been so good to us. You’ve given me and Pam a new life and I owe you this.”

  “You don’t owe me shit,” Gordon scoffed.

  “Well, maybe you don’t think so,” said Ray. “But I do. And I want to help you with this because I know that if this was my boy, I’d want somebody there to help me avenge his loss…especially with a scumbag piece of shit like this guy,” he held the photo of Jake up, wiggling it back and forth between his thumb and index finger and then putting it back in the center console.

  Ray – infuriated by the photos Bushy had presented them – let his head fall back upon the pickup truck’s passenger-seat headrest. Gordon’s brother Don sat in the backseat as they drove onward – armed to the teeth – south to Miami where they planned to exact their vengeance in reprisal for Jake’s cruelty.

  CHAPTER 18

  The day had finally arrived.

  Ava knew she had to time everything perfectly. Making her plan even more difficult to execute was the fact that she could only divulge the most pertinent portions of her plot to a few trusted individuals within the organization and a few more who were far enough outside the operation that their knowledge wouldn’t risk compromising her arrangements.

  Adding to the complexity of managing her arrangements was the fact that she now had to split her already meager force into two parts.

  The first portion of this force she sent to the warehouse where she had organized a meeting of Jake’s generals. After the attack on Little Havana, and the loss of Steel Will and the Kill King, Jake had handpicked their replacements from men strictly loyal to him. This decision certainly didn’t help Ava’s plans, but it didn’t necessarily hurt them either. She was almost positive that Steel Will and the Kill King would have sided with Jake if it came down to it, although she had hopes of converting the King. Ever since the final fight with the Three Families back in Atlanta, Ava felt they had formed a kind of bond; but now he was dead, so it didn’t matter.

  The man Jake had picked for the King’s replacement was one of the King’s fellow snipers. He wasn’t as good a shot as the King, but he was fast. The man replacing Steel Will was someone Ava didn’t really know. He was a guy that Jake had hired at one of the area markets, having him run odds jobs for him and such. His name was Edgar, and he was overweight, slow-witted, and balding. Ava thought this a poor replacement for one of their top generals, but he fit the type of person Jake would select for such a role. Jake knew there wouldn’t be any opposition or competition from such a man and that he’d be easy to control. To Jake, this was the type of person he liked in his organization. To Ava, while such people groveled for their supper, they were also liabilities, made lots of mistakes, and could be easily manipulated. And while younger, hungrier candidates could also be more dangerous, if you were smart about things, held your cards close to the vest, treated such people with some level of dignity and respect, and compensated them well, she found that life tended to be much easier on the whole and there were a lot fewer dumb mistakes.

  For the warehouse meeting, Ava sent Mad Dog to organize things, and since he was himself a general, it would have looked strange if he wasn’t there. Rambo would be absent from the meeting since Ava needed him with her. One missing general wouldn’t be that odd, but two top generals missing from such a meeting would definitely have raised some eyebrows and could complicate matters.

  Mad Dog took along several of his most trusted men, only telling them what was going down and what the plan was en route to the warehouse. To help him, Ava sent Bushy and the two men who Bushy had been working with lately, the brothers, John and Will. Since Ava didn’t know the abilities of the brothers well enough to fully count on them in a tight situation, she chose to have them fill secondary roles, being there more to bolster their numbers and act as a reserve force if necessary. The generals tended to travel with several bodyguards each, which meant that Ava’s handpicked men would likely be outnumbered, but she was counting on the element of surprise to offset this disadvantage.

  * * *

  Will and I met with Bushy who drove us from our apartment building to a warehouse rendezvous
point where the rest of Ava’s men were to meet us. We got there an hour ahead of the planned meeting time, parked several blocks away, and walked the short distance to the warehouse.

  We entered the massive structure though a side entrance, then we waited while Bushy fumbled in the darkness for a couple seconds before finding the light switches to illuminate the enormous space.

  “Wow,” I said, gawking around us as long lines of florescent ceiling lights flickered to life, illuminating row upon row of stacked boxes, barrels, crates, and more. “Are all these containers full?” I breathed.

  “Yup,” Bushy replied.

  “Wow,” I said again, as we began to walk around, inspecting the place.

  There were rows and rows of plastic-wrapped pallets piled high with boxes containing cereal, deodorant, crackers, potato chips, razors, soap, shaving cream, dry-roasted peanuts, beef jerky, microwave popcorn, coffee, and much, much more, often stacked higher than I could reach. There were pallets of canned goods, diapers, soda, powdered milk, and juice mix. There were crates of folded towels, shirts, pants, socks, bras, and underwear – all brand new. And there was just enough room left between the rows of goods for a forklift – of which there were several parked haphazardly around the space – to navigate while safely carrying a pallet of goods.

  “All this stuff yours?” Will asked Bushy as we gathered in the center of the room that was cleared of supplies and where a long row of folding tables sat to be used for what I assumed was a “sorting” area.

  “Not mine, but it belongs to our organization,” Bushy clarified.

  “Holy crap,” Will said. “You guys are set up.”

  “We’ve got eight more warehouses just like this or bigger around town,” Bushy said, a hint of pride in his words. “Now that Ava has begun getting the area’s economy straightened out, market traders come here to buy the supplies they need or sell stuff they don’t want or have too much of. Before this, things were a mess. People couldn’t barter the way they needed to and there was no set currency for them to buy and sell things like they did in the old days. Some traders took gold and silver. Some would only take food, booze, cigarettes, weapons, and bullets. Just about every trader was different, and it was a real pain in the ass for everyone involved. Created a lot of confusion and problems, and a lot of those problems were settled with guns rather than words. With a set system in place though, things are starting to settle down.”

  “Sounds like Ava knows her shit,” I said.

  “She’s a pretty bright gal,” Bushy nodded. “Glad I linked up with her. Hell of a lot smarter and more reasonable than Jake…at least from what I hear. I’ve never actually met him.”

  “I think you’re pretty spot on with your assessment,” I agreed.

  Bushy led us around and showed us two big empty wood crates. “Here’s where I need you to be,” he said. “One of you in each crate. I’ll set other boxes on top of them just in case any of the bodyguards start nosing around. When you hear the first shots, you come out ready. Just don’t get trigger happy and start shooting the wrong people or go off half cocked too early. Mad Dog and his men ought to be able to handle everything, but you all be ready, just in case. Got it?”

  We nodded that we did.

  “Any questions?” Bushy asked.

  “Nope,” we said in unison.

  We’d already been over the plan several times with Bushy on the way to the warehouse, so we felt reasonably comfortable – as comfortable as we could be in such a situation.

  “We’ve got about half an hour,” Bushy said. “It’s going to be a long wait, but you’d better get inside your boxes now in case somebody shows up early.”

  We nervously obeyed, each of us armed with assault rifles and a backup piece. This sort of thing was definitely not our style, and while we had become accustomed to using guns, and even shooting at people in the post-flu world, it was typically in self-defense, not in some sort of planned takeover like this.

  I hunkered down inside my crate, thinking about the future, hoping and praying that I would live to see my own plans come to fruition.

  A small hole in my crate allowed me to see out across the floor to where the tables were lined up. Bushy had set up some folding chairs around one table in particular set directly in front of my box about 40 feet away.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I heard other voices in the warehouse, and after about 15 minutes of greetings and some story telling about the Little Havana assault the other day, the generals began to settle in around the table Bushy had set up.

  I watched as their bodyguards milled about the area. I counted 11 of them in total, but three were Mad Dog’s. That left eight for us to potentially deal with.

  After several more minutes, and as the pre-set time for the meeting with Jake came and went, I could hear some of the men grumbling about their boss, commenting about his lack of timeliness and deliberating as to whether he’d gotten drunk and passed out or decided to hop in the sack with some broad at the last minute.

  Knowing the plan, I found it interesting to watch what went down next.

  First, I noticed Bushy amble over to one of the bodyguards of Kill King’s sniper replacement and offer him a cold beer, after which, he hovered close by, making some small talk with the man.

  Next, one of Mad Dog’s men casually wandered over to the other sniper general’s bodyguard to bum a smoke.

  Another of Mad Dog’s men positioned himself between the two bodyguards of the other newly appointed general – Edgar – who had replaced Steel Will.

  Mad Dog’s third man moved to ensure that he had a good angle on Fallback and Switchblade’s men.

  None of the bodyguards seemed to be paying much attention to what was going on at the generals’ table. It appeared as though they expected a rather boring meeting, if a meeting was to take place at all, which seemed in doubt since Jake was an apparent no-show. The bodyguards all seemed more concerned with smoking, drinking, picking, scratching, spitting, and generally doing anything other than keeping an eye on the men they were paid to protect.

  “Where’s Jake?” I heard one of the men at the table finally ask. “I don’t have all day for this shit,” he huffed.

  “Yeah,” another piped up. “We got shit to do. Where’s the boss?”

  A moment later, Mad Dog rose from his position at the table.

  The table quieted.

  “Jake won’t be here today,” Mad Dog said, looking around him at the other generals.

  “Why the fuck we here then?” Kill King’s replacement asked.

  “You’re here for one reason,” Mad Dog said calmly. “And that’s for me to tell you this…Jake’s out…Ava’s in charge now.”

  As soon as Mad Dog had finished his brief statement, he pulled two handguns from behind him and shot the Kill King’s replacement – and most quick and dangerous opponent in the room – in the face. The man fell face – or what was left of his face – first onto the table as Mad Dog instantly swung his guns around and sent several bullets into Steel Will’s replacement, Edgar. The force of the shots, and his reaction to them, sent Edgar’s fat body reeling over backwards in his chair. I watched as Bushy and Mad Dog’s men took out the respective bodyguards attached to the two dead generals and then as Mad Dog trained one gun apiece upon Fallback and Switchblade. Mad Dog’s men, Bushy, and my brother Will, who had exited his crate, all took aim at the remaining men who had been caught completely off guard by the lightening quick slaughter of the two new generals and their bodyguards. The whole thing had taken place in probably three seconds, maybe four.

  For some reason, I hadn’t sprung from my box as planned. Instead, I had remained sheltered inside. It wasn’t that I was afraid, but something inside me just didn’t feel right. Maybe it was just the planner in me, but I didn’t think showing our cards all at once was the best move.

  Mad Dog addressed the two remaining generals. “Rambo and his men have joined Ava,” he said to Fallback and Switchblade
. “Now it’s time for you to make your decision.”

  Fallback nodded slowly, “I thought I saw this coming,” he said. “Just didn’t expect it quite so soon. But I’m with you. I think Ava’s on the right track. You can count on my support.”

  Mad Dog looked at Switchblade.

  Switchblade glanced side to side and then looked nervously around the room. Seeing weapons trained on his bodyguards, he said, “Yeah sure. I don’t really care who’s running the show as long as I get to handle my neighborhoods the way I want,” he shrugged.

  “We want more than that,” Mad Dog said. “You need to run your neighborhoods the way Ava wants.”

  Switchblade glared at him. “Okay,” he finally nodded. “I can do that.” But the way he said it didn’t inspire great confidence.

  But I guess it was enough for Mad Dog. He lowered his guns. “Good,” he said. “Then this meeting is adjourned. Ava will be in touch shortly and we’ll meet at her new home tomorrow to discuss how things will proceed from here.”

  I watched from my crate while the men stood and guns were lowered around the room as the meeting quietly began to break up.

  Mad Dog’s men worked busily to clear the warehouse of dead bodies while Mad Dog stood at the table, reloading his guns. I could see Bushy lighting up a cigarette, and Will walk up beside him. Bushy offered him a cigarette which he took. As he lit the smoke, I saw him look in my direction, probably wondering why the heck I hadn’t followed the plan and whether I’d fallen asleep in my crate.

  Fallback and his men made a quick exit, but Switchblade lingered, mumbling something to his bodyguards, lighting a cigarette, and then walking slowly over to stand behind Mad Dog. I watched his two guards move over toward where Bushy and Will were now smoking their cigarettes and I instantly knew what was happening.

  In the darkness, I touched the safety of my assault rifle – the same one Gordon had given me as a gift back in north Florida – just to ensure it was off. I kept my eyes trained on Switchblade, watching as he walked up behind Mad Dog who was still fiddling intently with his guns.