by C. S. De Mel
Oswalt grinned. “Okay, Jack. Veal chops it is.”
After a delicious dinner and desert (freshly baked apple pie), Oswalt was ready to lie down on his bed and go to sleep. “You want anything else, Oswalt?”
“Oh no, I’m stuffed. I couldn’t imagine it.”
“Expand your imagination,” Jack coaxed. “Another slice of pie? It’s all on me—my treat.”
“Positive. But I can pay—you don’t need to foot my bill.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; I invited you here—I’m paying.”
Oswalt shrugged. “Alright, if you insist. Thanks, Jack, I appreciate it.” Oswalt really had no intention to pay for a meal this expensive, but he figured he should do the cheque dance at least once.
Solly beckoned the headwaiter to the table, who dropped everything to assist. As Solly made motions to pay, the maître d’ immediately stopped him. “Please, Mr. Solly. For you and your party, it’s on the house.”
Solly smiled and turned his attention back to Oswalt. “Well then, if you’re done eating, let’s head to the bar, grab a drink, and talk business.”
“Yeah, sure.” Oswalt nearly forgot why he was here in the first place. Solly stood up and put on his overcoat. Mark and Lucas did the same. Oswalt followed their lead, slightly confused. “We’re not drinking here?”
“Not here—down the block. Let’s take a walk.” Solly pushed his chair in. “Alright, Adrianne, we’re off. Charles is still outside; you can take the car.”
Solly’s wife sipped on her wine glass. “Sure, Jack. See you at home.”
Jack led the way out of the restaurant. “In case you’re wondering, Oswalt, Charles is our driver. You have not attained power until your time is too valuable to waste doing menial tasks such as driving.”
Oswalt rather enjoyed driving, but he wasn’t about to open his mouth and tell Solly that. “So, what do you do when you’re not behind the wheel?”
“Typically nothing. But the few moments in a day where you find the time to relax and do nothing are just as valuable as the moments you slave.” They continued to walk. It was a chilly October night, but despite this, the strip was crowded with people chattering excitedly with no coats at all and alcohol on their breath. Oswalt was surprised to see how quickly the crowd changed a few minutes outside of the classy restaurant he had just left. He noticed that the establishments they walked past were clearly dipping in quality as well.
“How far is this place, Jack?” It had been over ten minutes now.
“Not much farther.” The area had definitely gone from first class to run down in a hurry. Oswalt was beginning to grow suspicious—he had a bad feeling about this. Oswalt still had his backup piece on him, tucked into the back of his pants, with his jacket covering it. He didn’t know what to expect from Solly. Three of them and one of him—not exactly good odds. Not to mention that one of his wings was clipped.
Jack stopped. “Here we are.” Oswalt looked up at the bar sign which read: ‘Esther’s Bar’.
“So…they have good drinks here, Jack?” Oswalt asked.
“Not particularly.”
Jack and Lucas walked in. Mark looked back at Oswalt, who hadn’t budged. “You coming?” Oswalt hesitated, then followed them inside.
The bar was dimly lit and looked like a cesspool. There were two regulars seated at the bar: Marty, who was wearing an overcoat and looked like he could be homeless, and another burly fellow named Brian Batts, who sported a tangled black beard. There were several shady characters lurking by the pool table, who eyed Solly with contempt. Jack Solly approached the bartender. “Four glasses of scotch, neat.”
The bartender looked up from the glass he was cleaning. His eyes bulged. “You have a death wish?! I should gun you down right here!” His hand reached under the counter and drew a shotgun.
Oswalt immediately whipped out his gun from under his jacket. “Don’t you do it!” Oswalt shouted. Lucas and Mark had drawn their guns too: Lucas was aiming at the bartender, and Mark’s gun was trained on the bar patrons by the pool table.
“Anyone starts reaching into their coats and I fire!” Mark threatened. The pool sharks looked itching for a fight.
Solly smiled. “I asked for a drink, Esther, not your hostility.” Esther’s shotgun was pointed directly at Solly’s head.
Oswalt’s hand was steady. “Put it down, Esther. Slowly.”
Marty and Brian, who were seated at the bar were caught in the middle of the showdown. Marty looked like a deer in the headlights, whereas Brian sneered angrily at Solly and looked ready to lash out.
“Are you really going to fire that thing off in front of a cop?” Solly nudged his head towards Oswalt.
Esther eyed Oswalt hesitantly. “You’re a cop?” Oswalt lifted his jacket to reveal the badge clipped to his belt. Esther slowly lowered his weapon. Lucas immediately reached over the counter and grabbed the shotgun from him.
“Now pour me a drink,” Solly instructed. Esther reluctantly grabbed a scotch bottle off the rack and filled a glass.
Solly took the drink and threw it in Esther’s face. “I wouldn’t be caught dead drinking your pigswill.”
Solly turned his back to Esther, who was soaked and seething. Brian Batts stood up. Lucas jammed his gun barrel into Brian’s forehead. “Sit—back—down.” Brian was bigger than Lucas, but with a gun kissing his forehead, Batts did as he was told.
“Let’s go,” Solly instructed. The four walked out of the bar, with Oswalt and the Solly brothers bringing up the rear. The moment they exited the bar, Oswalt blew up:
“Jack, what the hell was that?!”
“I just wanted to see you in action. You handled the situation well—kept it under control.”
“We could’ve all been killed!”
“But we weren’t. Like I said, you kept it under control. Even with your injury, you didn’t shy away from acting. Impressive.”
Oswalt got within inches from Solly’s face. Lucas stepped forward, but Solly raised his hand to keep Lucas at bay. Jack smiled innocently as Oswalt bore down upon him. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I don’t want any part of it. Keep your job.”
Oswalt turned his back on Jack and began to walk. Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Oswalt!” Jack called. He continued to walk. “Do you think I’m a villain?”
Oswalt stopped. “Whatever doubts I had about that, you cleared up in a big hurry.”
“If that’s what you believe, then you’re sorely mistaken. And a tad naive I might add.” Jack could tell that he had aroused Oswalt’s curiosity. “But I’m confident we can do something about that.”
Oswalt turned around to face Jack. “What are you talking about?”
“The bartender—Esther—he’s on the mob boss Tony Calzone’s payroll. And Calzone is in league with Scorcher. The bar is just one minor example; they infiltrate society on every level. They have full control of criminal activity in Manhattan and Brooklyn. And now they’re pushing hard into Queens. Staten Island and the Bronx are next. They’re dangerous. Scorcher has cells all over the U.S.”
“You sure are well-informed about the workings of the criminal underworld, aren’t you?”
“I make it my business to know. I’m a villain to the villains. Are you familiar with the Omega Ops Legion?”
Oswalt was surprised to hear Jack asking such a question. “I know of them and their general mission.”
“My father was a member,” Jack stated simply. Oswalt was even more surprised by this tidbit of information. Of course, it made little difference for Oswalt regarding Jack. He did not care for the organization. Jack paused to get a response from Oswalt, but when none was given, Jack continued:
“I share many of the same values my father did. My men and I are fighting these tyrants, and we need all the help we can get.”
Oswalt gave Solly a calculating stare. He was not buying Jack’s half-baked story but, at the same time, was considering his value. If Solly had intel on Scorcher that the
police did not have access to, it could become a great asset. Maybe this was his chance to do some real good. Scorcher was major league, and Oswalt was prepared to side with the lesser of two evils to get to him. “Alright, Jack, you’ve peaked my interest. What do you need from me?”
“What I need from you—is to crack down on Scorcher’s operations using the police resources at your disposal, starting here in Queens. Before he gets a steady foothold.”
“Places like this bar here?”
“No, not like the bar. This rathole is good for everyone; people hear things in there, you know. Drug labs, weapons holdings, and the like are the places I’m referring to. Seizure of assets from the homes and businesses of the scum working with Scorcher and Calzone. You will be fed leads by my men, and you will investigate these leads. You will be working alongside Mark and Lucas, here. As for you and myself—we won’t be seeing too much of each other from this point forward. My profile alongside a police officer would draw unwanted attention. Can I count on you, Oswalt?”
Delusions of grandeur danced around in Oswalt’s head as he took all this information in. “Well, at the moment I have time off for the shooting incident. As well as—” Oswalt flapped his arm sling.
“Get back on duty ASAP. Aggressively push for it. You may be physically limited at the moment, but you can still run the logistics.”
Oswalt smiled coolly. “Okay, Jack, I’m in.”
Jack was pleased. He extended a hand which Oswalt shook. “Welcome to the family.”
***
Chapter 7 – Orientation Day
Sunday, October 10th, 1999
Kasparov Manor, New York, 2:00 p.m.
How tightly can you squeeze a tennis ball before your finger goes right through? Varick studied the fuzzy sphere in his palm. Would it puncture at all? The bright yellow color (optic yellow as it was known) was starting to make him feel nauseous. He crushed the ball like a stress reliever, then released. Then again, it wouldn’t pay to ruin a perfectly good tennis ball. He bounced it a few times on the arm of the couch where he sat. Leonardo’s eyes went up and down with the ball as Varick bounced it. “You want in on the action too, Leo?” Varick threw the ball down the hall and Leo casually trotted after it, as if he had nothing to prove. Leonardo was a light-brown Rhodesian Ridgeback. Technically, he was Varick’s dog, but he was very independent, and no one in the house treated the dog as if he had a master.
Gripping the ball in his mouth, Leonardo returned with the prize. “Alright, now give it back here.” Varick extended his hand, inches from Leo’s face, but the dog didn’t budge. He tried to take the ball back but Leonardo evaded. Varick scowled. He tried a quick swipe and again the dog dodged.
Alex was sitting on the couch beside Varick, flipping through the television channels and trying to fight back a grin. “The master has become the student, it seems. Leo’s even faster than you, Varick.”
Varick scoffed. “Not a chance.” He focused and calmed his nerves. Leo stared at him intently. Varick jumped out of his seat, attempting to snag the ball from the dog’s mouth, and immediately regretted it. Varick sat back down holding his side. “Goddammit.”
Leonardo jerked his head and released the ball, sending it sailing through the air and bouncing back down the hallway. The dog sat down in front of the television.
Varick sneered at Leo. “So, you’re going to mock me now too?”
“I think he wants you to fetch,” Alex said, laughing.
Varick gave a loud sigh. He knew his injuries would keep him out of commission for a good while—a couple of weeks at least. He leaned back into the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. Patience was not his greatest virtue.
Footsteps from above could be heard thumping down the stairs and into the living room. Bruce normally carried a light step, but he appeared agitated today. “Alex!” Bruce barked.
“Whoa, what?!” Alex exclaimed, startled.
“Turn that off.”
“What did I do?” Despite his confusion, Alex did as he was told.
Varick glanced at Bruce from the corner of his eye. “Ever think that I was watching that?” As if to ask the same question, Leo raised his head and stared at Bruce.
Bruce ignored them. “Okay, Alex, let’s head down to the basement.” Without waiting for a response, Bruce turned and walked. Alex looked at Varick—he was just as mystified as Alex was. Alex dropped the remote into Varick’s outstretched hand and followed Bruce downstairs to the basement.
What could he have possibly done? He was generally well-behaved, and he hadn’t done anything stupid as of late to get his dad worked up. Alex stepped down into the basement. The manor’s basement was massive. Upon coming down the stairs, one immediately entered into the gym space. It was fully-equipped with free weights, an exercise bench, treadmill, rowing machine, and a hanging punching bag. The pièce de résistance was a custom-designed jungle gym for every conceivable bar exercise. Bruce stood in the center of the gym with his arms crossed and wearing a stern look. Alex shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “So...what’s this about, Dad?”
“Step forward,” Bruce instructed.
Oh boy, Alex thought to himself. He didn’t like where this was going. Alex walked forward hesitantly. Bruce immediately stepped in and tripped him to the floor. Alex had his hands up in a position of surrender while Bruce’s finger pointed straight down at him. “Training starts today.”
Alex took several seconds to process this. “Wait...what?” Alex immediately got back up, pushing Bruce’s hand out of the way. “What?! Are you serious?” Alex’s eyes lit up. “Omega Ops stuff?”
Bruce grinned. “Yeah, that’s right. Omega Ops stuff.”
This seemed too good to be true. Alex still wasn’t entirely sure it was. “This isn’t one of your jokes, is it? ‘Cause you have a sick sense of humor...”
Bruce shook his head. “Honest—no tricks, no jokes. We can start your training today. If you’re up for it, that is.”
“Hell yeah!” Alex exclaimed, slapping Bruce on the shoulder.
“Now, just so that we’re clear, this doesn’t mean you’re a member yet. Nor does this mean you’ll be going out on any missions. This is simply a precursor to joining the ranks. Training to get you physically and mentally up to scratch.”
“Absolutely, no problem. I’m ready. So, what do I address you by? Master? Captain? Chief?”
Bruce frowned. “How about ‘dad’?”
Alex shook his head. “No, that’s no good. Sensei? Sensei sounds about right.” Alex gave Bruce a thumbs-up with one hand and punched the air with the other. “We’re going to be learning martial arts, right, Sensei?”
“Yep. Mind you, these first couple of weeks will be some of the hardest in your life. When you’re not eating, sleeping, or doing school work, you’ll be training.”
“I’m up for the challenge. It’s not like I haven’t been taking care of myself.” It was true. Alex was already in excellent shape for a sixteen-year-old. He ate right, exercised regularly, and was managing to incorporate all of the gym equipment into his workout regimen.
Bruce walked a full circle around Alex, looking him over. “Not too bad—it’s a start. But we’ll be cranking up the intensity...just a smidge.” Alex could tell by the evil gleam in Bruce’s eye that his idea of a smidge was going to leave him in excruciating pain daily. “But more than that, Alex, the focus of my teachings will be technique. You’re going to learn how to fight and how to defend yourself. Hand-to-hand combat against one foe—two foes—several foes.”
“Good.” Alex was already at the punching bag and striking it with impressive speed. “That’s good.” He was pumped—but... “I have to ask, Dad… Why the sudden change of heart? I mean, just a few days ago you weren’t even considering it.”
“I suppose you have Santos to thank for that.”
“Mr. Santos?”
“Yeah, he had a talk with me this morning. He went through one of his ‘spiritual enlightenments’ at the
church last night, apparently.”
Alex smiled with mild amusement. “Really? A spiritual enlightenment about me?”
“No, not you specifically, but I suppose it was on his ‘things to take care of’ list. Anyway, we’re going through a bit of a precarious time right now, as you may or may not know, and I might have made some people angry.” Bruce phrased the last bit as delicately as he could. Alex raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “But as long as we take the proper precautions, there’s no need to worry. For example, there’s a slim chance that certain parties will try to get to me through you, Alex. That’s why, until further notice, when you leave the house, you’ll inform Santos, Varick, or myself; and we’ll arrange an escort for you.”
Alex laughed. “Wait, no-no, time out, I don’t need a babysitter. I can watch my own back.”
Bruce raised a hand to stop any further argument from Alex. “I’m sure you can, but it’s happening anyway.”
Alex scoffed. “Well, what’s the point of this training, then? I thought it was to learn how to defend myself. Don’t need that if I have someone holding my hand to cross the street to school.” The basement stairs creaked as Santos and Varick came down them.
“Well now, what’s happening here?” Varick asked.
“Ah, good timing, guys,” Bruce responded. “I was just telling Alex a little bit about the current situation with the Legion.”
“And how I need to be escorted off the premises, apparently,” Alex muttered. “You guys sign up for this?”
Varick shook his head. “This is the first time I’m hearing about it.”
“But that is the plan,” Bruce confirmed. “You’ll always have someone safeguarding you, Alex, but it won’t be intrusive—they’ll have no contact with you. In fact, I’d be surprised if you were able to notice your tail. As you know, we Legion members are a slick bunch.”
“Well, as long as no one else notices it...”
“Believe me, we want that even less than you,” Bruce replied.
Alex scratched his head. “But are you sure it’s absolutely necessary? Surely you guys have better things to do than waste time watching over little old me?”
