by C. S. De Mel
“Master, we received word that there is another way,” Hachiuma informed. “We can get the information—all we need is a few more days.”
“If I have not been contacted within the next week, there will be severe repercussions.”
“Understood. Once again, our deepest apologies.”
From the intercom they could hear a deep, chilling growl of a laugh. Definitely not a laugh that was contagious. “Fear and compliance are amusing. I wouldn’t do anything to you two—you both keep me entertained. Mind you, if either of you stops being entertaining, then there might be a problem.”
Scorcher sighed. Just when he was out of the woods, he had to drop another bombshell. “Master, there’s something else. We found out that Samuel Turly was killed.” Hachiuma looked at Scorcher, with an eyebrow raised. It was the first time he was hearing about it.
The intercom buzzed. “That’s unfortunate—I liked him. We’ll need to find a replacement to take up his post. Anything else?”
“No, Master. We’ll get the information,” Scorcher stated confidently.
“Good.” The intercom buzzed, then cut out.
Scorcher and Hachiuma stood silently in the room for a moment. “So, Frost is going to take care of finding the location...”
“Yes. I’ll personally assist him if he needs any help with the matter,” Hachiuma stated. “Our delay on this was inexcusable.”
“And I think it’s understood that we don’t need to go announcing Turly’s death just yet. No need to go causing destabilization amongst the ranks.”
Hachiuma nodded. “That goes without saying.”
“Also, I believe I’m going to place our mole back amongst Solly’s men. It might prove useful some ways down the road.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
Scorcher’s eye gleamed. “Just leave it to me.”
Hachiuma and Scorcher returned to the lounge. “Frost—Calzone, I need a word.” Scorcher quietly briefed the two on the game plan. Following this powwow, Scorcher and Hachiuma headed down via the elevator to attend other business.
Ulysses Frost and Tony approached a tough-looking individual sitting in the lounge. He had a wide, stocky build. Tony tapped him on the shoulder and pulled him aside. It was Zerneck Wells; once Solly’s lieutenant, now a turncoat working with Scorcher.
“You have to go back.”
Wells stared. “Say what?”
“Scorcher wants you back in Solly’s camp.”
“How the hell am I going to explain to him where I’ve been all this time?”
“Come with us. There’s a meeting room down the hall. We’re going to have to do this discretely.” Tony smirked. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to take one for the team. We’re going to make your ‘capture’ look believable.” Frost stood beside Tony, cracking his knuckles.
Wells sighed. “Am I going to get compensation for this?”
Tony smiled darkly. “Yeah, we can work something out.”
***
Bruce and Alex arrived home late in the afternoon after their trip had been unexpectedly cut short by the terrible and shocking news of Bruce’s discharge. Bruce shook his head in frustration as he fumbled with the manor key. Finally getting the door open, he dusted the snow from his boots and went inside with Alex. They found Varick, Santos, and Laura seated in the living room, having a lively discussion.
“Hey, welcome back, guys,” Santos greeted. “Didn’t expect you both till tomorrow.”
Bruce sighed and waved feebly. “Hey, everyone.” The three of them looked at Bruce uncertainly.
“Everything okay?” Santos asked.
Bruce gritted his teeth. Alex nudged his dad’s shoulder with a fist. “It’ll be okay.”
“Well—I guess all my blabbing to the papers finally caught up with me!” Bruce said, laughing.
Varick raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
Bruce continued to laugh. “Well, I sorta got canned.”
Varick, Santos, and Laura looked at him, puzzled. “Canned from what?” Laura asked.
“Well, it turns out they called me down to Fort Bragg to let me go.” Bruce shrugged. “Other Than Honorable Discharge.”
All three of them stood up. “You can’t be serious... For what?” Santos asked.
“Yeah, all this stuff about the Legion in the media...they thought it best to cut ties with me. I’m smearing their name or something along those lines.”
“That’s bullshit!” Varick spat.
“Right?! That’s what I said!” Bruce tried to force another laugh, but his false smile was beginning to fade.
Santos walked up to Bruce and embraced him in a hug. “I’m sorry, brother. I can’t believe this happened to you.” Alex stood by Bruce with his head down.
Bruce patted Santos on the back. “Thanks, I’ll be okay. Life goes on...stuff happens.”
Laura gave Bruce a hug as well. “I can only imagine what you must be going through, Bruce—I know the army was a big part of your life. Peter and John shared some amazing stories about you while you were gone. You’re strong—you’ll pull through this.”
Bruce smiled weakly. “Thanks, Laura.”
“Whatever you need, we’re here for you,” Varick stated firmly.
Bruce nodded appreciatively. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He drank steadily from the cup.
“How’s he taking it?” Santos whispered to Alex.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if the news has really sunk in for him yet. He was real quiet on the drive back.”
Varick placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “He’ll cope. Don’t worry.”
Bruce looked back at everyone. “Guys, I’m pretty beat. I think I’m going to call it an early night.”
“Okay, goodnight, Bruce.” Laura was still feeling pangs of sadness for him. “Sleep well.”
Varick and Santos exchanged glances. Bruce waved goodnight to everyone and made his way to the hallway. As he passed by Varick, he stuck out his arm, blocking Bruce. “You’re not going to sleep just yet. We got a bite on a theft job that will be going down tonight.”
“It’s going to be perpetrated by a gang in Scorcher’s network,” Santos added.
“Who gave the lead?” Alex asked. “Was it Varick’s guy Billy?”
Santos chuckled. “Come now, what do you think of us—that we only have one informant? We have informants all over the place, in all circles. You can never have too many. So, where’d our information come from, Varick?” Santos looked at Varick, who scowled at him. Santos cleared his throat. “Well, Alex, it just so happens that this lead was in fact—from Varick’s guy Billy.”
Bruce smirked. “Way to pick out that needle in the haystack, Alex.”
“So, Bruce,” Varick continued. “Interested?”
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t this something you and Santos can handle?”
Santos smiled. “Actually, we were thinking we would all go. That means Laura, and even Alex, if you’ll allow it.”
Bruce stroked his chin, intrigued. “A teaching mission, eh?”
“That’s right. We’ll show these rookies how it’s done,” Varick said.
“Hey, I’m no rookie, John,” Laura said, annoyed.
Varick shrugged. “Well, you haven’t learned to do things like a Legion member.”
“And what way is that?” asked Laura. “Like an impetuous belligerent?”
Bruce cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Up for it, Alex?”
Alex looked eager. “Let’s do it.”
“Alright, well, we have to leave right away,” Santos informed. “We’ve got quite a bit of distance to cover.”
***
Central New York, Albany, 11:15 p.m.
“I didn’t expect the location for this ‘training mission’ to be several hours away in the middle of nowhere,” Alex muttered. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”
“You bring
a notepad, Alex?” Bruce asked.
“No...”
“Well then, take mental notes of everything said and done here tonight. First note: No whining.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t stuck riding b—”
Bruce pointed a warning finger at Alex. “Language.”
“Hey, let me finish! I was going to say, you weren’t stuck riding between Mr. Santos and Laura for nearly three hours.”
Bruce snickered. “Yeah, sure, buddy.”
They had arrived at the location they were to be staking out: a large warehouse. Varick had driven the five of them up to Albany in his black Lincoln. The warehouse was perched atop a small hill on an otherwise deserted plot of land. Naturally, they were a safe distance away. Alex had opted to get out of the car to stretch his legs; the other four watched the warehouse from inside the car. It was a blistering cold night, and beyond the small stretches of cleared asphalt road, the snow was up to the shins. But everyone had dressed accordingly: many layers and tall boots. Alex rapped on the car window. Varick rolled it down a crack. “What’s in the warehouse?”
Varick shrugged. “No clue. But from what my sources told me, this heist is going to garner upwards of a hundred thousand dollars worth of merchandise. It’s the warehouse for some sort of retail store.”
Bruce pointed with his finger. “They’re here.” They spotted one car driving up the road to the warehouse. Then another—and another... A total of five vehicles. They parked just outside the warehouse. Bruce and the others witnessed several bodies moving in the shadows.
Laura’s eyes grew wide. “Did you expect so many, John? I’d say there’s about twenty in the pack.”
“Are the numbers worrisome for you?”
“Considering we’re significantly outnumbered, yeah, I would say so. I’m not reckless, and I’m not stupid.”
Bruce grinned. “Another note, Alex. Sometimes being reckless and stupid is what’s needed to get the job done.”
Laura sighed. “I don’t even know why you’re making jokes at a time like this.”
“Relax, I know the guys who are trying to pull this job,” Varick informed. “We’ve all gone up against them before. The ringleader of this gang is known as ‘Little Joey’.”
Bruce let out a bark of a laugh before he could help himself. “Little Joey, are you kidding me? Isn’t he still in jail?”
Varick shook his head. “Nah, he got out. Out on bail.”
“Wow. I thought there were going to be things to teach the newcomers tonight. This is going to be a joke.” But Laura wasn’t laughing.
Santos decided to offer up an explanation: “You see, Laura—Little Joey and his gang members—they’re basically at the bottom of Scorcher’s ladder of lackeys. Most of these guys are petty thieves. All they do is basic robbery.”
“I’m actually surprised they were assigned to this job,” Varick said. “A one hundred thousand dollar robbery seems a bit beyond them, if you ask me.”
“They don’t even carry firearms. The worst you’ll see is a pocket knife, if even that,” Bruce stated confidently. “So, like I said, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Umm, okay...” But Laura was still not reassured. “So, what’s the plan?”
Bruce laughed again. “Plan? We don’t need a plan. We’ll just go in there and mop the floor with ‘em.” Bruce hopped out of the car, and Varick and Santos did the same. Laura hesitantly followed behind them. Bruce pointed up the hill. “Everybody, with me.”
Alex pumped his fists. “Alright, let’s do this!”
“Hey-hey-hey!” Bruce shouted at Alex. “We’re foiling a robbery here, not off-roading in an ATV. So, please—a little restraint.”
The five began trudging uphill through the dense snow, which was no easy feat. Alex could see his breath in the cold while he marched through the snow. He made an effort to stay side by side with Bruce, attempting to keep his pace. He glanced at his father. “Dad, why’s he called Little Joey?”
“Because he supposedly started gang-banging when he was twelve, or so the story goes.” Bruce maintained his quick stride. “It’s probably just a pile of nonsense.”
“Twelve...wow.”
“And let that be another note for your mental pad: Stay in school. He’s a dropout and a dumb-ass, and look at where he is now.” Bruce reached the top of the hill and scouted the area. He ushered everyone forward. Little Joey and his gang had already disappeared into the warehouse.
“Bruce, I might be able to hold them at bay,” Laura said. “But if I have my gun on them with that many there, chances are, some are going to run—”
“Gun?” Bruce questioned, cutting off Laura. “No-no, don’t worry, you won’t need to pull out your gun. This is what’s going to happen: Laura and Alex, you two are going to hang back and observe. Santos, Varick, and myself will round ‘em up.”
It was Laura’s turn to laugh. “Really, only you three? Being outnumbered four to one wasn’t bad enough? And how do you three plan to roundup some twenty-odd thieves?”
Bruce smiled with a gleam in his eye. “It’s simple, really. Because they aren’t going to run. They’re like moths to a flame. If they were smart they’d run, but they aren’t, c’est la vie, yadda yadda—” he impatiently ushered everyone forward, “—Let’s get this show started.”
The group marched alongside Bruce towards the warehouse. Santos whispered to Bruce so that no one else could hear: “I know you’ve had a trying Friday—just don’t fly off the handle and take it out on Little Joey’s gang.”
Bruce grinned. “Relax, I never fly off the handle.” He looked back at Laura and his son. “Remember, Alex: stay by Laura. You two help each other out if you need to and stay safe. And don’t underestimate Alex either, Laura—he may be young, but he’s no pushover.”
Laura smiled at Alex while addressing Bruce: “I never did underestimate him. I know Alex has got moxie.” Alex felt himself turning red.
Little Joey and his gang had the main garage door wide open. Bruce turned the corner of the warehouse without hesitation and stepped out into the open. “Little Joey! How are ya, buddy!?”
The man known as Little Joey turned around, bewildered. He was in his early thirties, with unkempt stubble and wavy brown hair. “What the hell?!” Little Joey squinted. “Is that...Kasparov!?” He had a loud, hoarse voice, that grated on the eardrums.
“Little Joey—all grown up. Don’t tell me that you and your cronies are still garbage collectors for Scorcher?” Bruce looked around the warehouse. “Never mind, I take it back.” The building was full of top-of-the-line snowmobiles. Each vehicle was worth somewhere in the vicinity of ten grand. “Snowmobiles, huh? Interesting. So, that’s why you need all this manpower—to ride off in your sleighs, jingling all the way.”
Varick smiled grimly. “They do something stupid, we throw them in jail. Year or two later, they’re out somehow, only to do the same stupid bull that gets them thrown right back in. Rinse and repeat.”
Santos chuckled. “You’d think they’d at least consider reform with so many failures under their belts.”
“Oh great, and Bruce’s bosom buddies are here too—this is just perfect! We’re freezing our butts out here, up on bumpkin hill, trying to make an honest buck, and you guys somehow show up. What the hell are you guys doing all the way out here anyway?!”
“Just following the slime trails,” Varick goaded.
Little Joey’s men muttered angrily and stared down Bruce and the others, clearly itching for a fight. They were only waiting for Little Joey’s signal. Bruce stood his ground confidently. “Unfortunately, it’s kind of late, so we really don’t want to stick around chit-chatting. So, you can come peacefully, or we can drag you to jail, kicking and screaming. The choice is yours.”
Little Joey’s men stood behind Joey, cracking their knuckles, gritting their teeth, and pulling out all the stops to look menacing. Joey glared at his men in disbelief. “What the frik you all waiting for? Beat the crap
out of ‘em!” They roared to life and charged. The new faces of the gang led the pack, with the kind of fervid energy that came to those in their prime who were naive enough to believe themselves invincible. Conversely, the veteran members were far less enthusiastic to be knocked around like piñatas. These old-timers were all too familiar with the Legion, but did as they were told nevertheless.
Bruce looked back at Varick and Santos, grinning. “Moths to the flame—let’s turn up the heat.” He charged forward. “Meet them halfway!” Varick and Santos were right behind him. Laura and Alex watched with rapt attention as the brawl commenced. Bruce struck first, connecting a flying kick into the lead gang member, who crashed back into two others. Bruce rolled into the mass of bodies and was quickly surrounded by Little Joey’s gang. They came at him from all sides. Varick and Santos joined the fray. Punches and kicks were flying fast, with the Legion’s focus being on speed over power, given the sheer number of opponents they were facing. With everyone wearing heavy winter gear, they all had extra padding for protection. But it was this same boon that hindered movement and put an extra strain on their stamina.
As more bodies came at him, Bruce felt his adrenaline surge. Maybe this was what it was all about. Sure, he wasn’t a soldier anymore, but he was still fighting the good fight. Maybe being a soldier didn’t matter. As crazy as it would seem to someone else, even someone in the same line of work as him—this eased his tensions. His heart was pumping, but there was no stress. He knocked out another gang member. It almost felt like a game to him—one that he loved to play. Maybe because he was just so damn good at it.
One by one, Little Joey’s gang members were hitting the ground. In some cases, two at a time, when legionnaires dished out simultaneous strikes. Little Joey watched the rumble, becoming increasingly more irate. There were a few stragglers from his gang standing a safe distance away from the fight. “Oh my god, what the hell!” Joey roared, while he pushed forward his reluctant soldiers. “Get ‘em, you idiots, GET ‘EM!”
