Hell on Earth

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “Hi kids,” the man greeted Jean and Sonny.

  “Hello, Sir,” both greeted him.

  He handed the novel to Nick. “Hi, Nick, I’m Fred Conroy. I wish you would write faster.”

  Nick shrugged. “Yeah… me too, Fred. Often when a writer tries to force his writing along at a faster pace, it turns the writing into an albatross around the writer’s neck. We don’t want that, do we?”

  Fred laughed. “Nope. Thanks for the great entertainment.”

  “You bet. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Mustache strutted forward, poking his finger at Nick. “You really amaze me, McCarty!”

  “Oh boy,” Jean muttered to Sonny.

  “Thank you,” Nick said. “Do you have something you would like for me to sign.”

  “I have no idea how a no talent writer makes a name for himself tearing apart charity and human rights organizations like CAIR, and Black Lives Matter, using a psychopathic assassin as an instrument of execution.”

  “Was there a question in there somewhere?” Nick heard the angry muttering in the line. The man’s words had a familiar ring to them. “Diego is a hired assassin who kills bad guys. The BLM is based on lies and paid for by foreign enemies. CAIR is a terrorist organization tied into Isis and The Muslim Brotherhood. Diego takes contracts on members of CAIR or the hierarchy of BLM when requested. He feels no qualms about doing the sanctions. Does that explain it for your understanding?”

  A smattering of applause in the line made the Mustache angrier. Gone was the smile and easy going outward persona. “I’m sick of liberal causes and groups being bashed by ignorant jerks like you!”

  Nick’s demeanor brightened visibly as he recognized the words, tied to a one star hit piece reviewer, he enjoyed poking at in the Amazon comments section. “MoodyBlues! How the heck are you? So, you live in the Vegas area? I thought your Amazon avatar stated you were from somewhere in the Midwest.”

  MoodyBlues’ mouth worked for a moment without words. “How…how did you know me? This is an invasion of my privacy!”

  “Actually, I didn’t know until you admitted to it. Are you on vacation? It’s always nice to meet with my Book Killing acquaintances.”

  “Forget that! None of your business! Quit deflecting and answer my assertions.”

  Nick grinned. “Fine, MoodyBlues, you support the traitors, terrorists, and their enablers. I’ll write Pulp Fiction where they get killed. See? Can’t we all just get along?”

  Nick’s words elicited crowd amusement at Mustache’s expense, sending him into a fist clenched, red-faced fury. “Your Nazi novels should be banned, McCarty – better yet… burned!”

  “I thought it was the Nazis who burned books,” Jean spoke loudly enough for the people in line to enjoy her comment, which they did with a smattering of applause.

  “Why you little-” MoodyBlues reached for Jean.

  Nick snatched the man’s wrist, twisting and bending it, putting MoodyBlues on his knees. “No touching.”

  “I have this, Nick,” the security guard who ran over immediately, handcuffed MoodyBlues as Nick released him into the guard’s control.

  “Thanks, Sid. He was okay until he lost it and reached for Jean.”

  “I saw it. On your feet, Sir.” The security guard escorted the protesting MoodyBlues toward the exit with cheers from the crowd.

  Jean put away the knife she had drawn, as did Sonny. “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t want to explain to your Mom how I allowed you to slice and dice a reader at my book signing. Let’s have a nice quiet signing from now on.”

  Gus and Johnny flashed okay signals behind Nick’s back at the kids. Sonny leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “I hate to say this, but there’s a grammar Nazi six back from where MoodyBlues was.”

  “Good one, Cracker,” Jean said. “Pinched face, hair tied in a bun, horn-rimmed glasses, rail thin, in a black pants suit. She may as well be wearing a grammar Nazi t-shirt.”

  Nick breathed in deeply, glancing over at his smiling friends, Gus and Johnny. “I think this is going to be a long day, guys. I may have to go out and kill something afterwards.”

  “Have Diego work it out for you, with the help of Jed and Leo,” Johnny suggested.

  “Excellent suggestion, brother,” Nick replied, motioning the next contestant forward. “Sipping whiskey, the Vegas skyline, and using the keyboard to have Diego work out my aggressions in Pulp Fiction. We’ll let the kids pick our food for the night.”

  “Pizza!”

  Nick glared at Jean. “Except that.”

  “Chili-dogs?”

  “Or that.”

  Jean threw her hands up in the air. “Fine. Fish and chips with a vegetable platter.”

  “You have chosen wisely,” Nick agreed, taking the copy of Dark Interlude from the next female reader, enjoying the exchange.

  “Your daughter didn’t even flinch when that knuckle-head went off,” the woman noted.

  Nick patted Jean’s shoulder. “Not much frightens Jean, or her friend, Sonny.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Too much violence on TV,” Nick offered to open laughter from all of his companions.

  * * *

  I flew co-pilot for Laredo on the trip returning to Oakland, after we dropped off Nick and the Unholy Trio with family. We enjoyed the short trips with all we had accomplished, including my UFC Heavyweight Championship win over Rock Costigan. We also shut down a Moslem, Somali Mafia, human trafficking/drug running gang. Our operations unearthed leads into the Somali connection with The Muslim Brotherhood. We made the Somali ranch house vaporize, while freeing young women who were in the wrong business, but certainly did not deserve to be sold into slavery overseas.

  On the way into our holding pattern, Lora moved into the cockpit. “We have a challenge, Dark Lord. This invitation to rumble comes from some newbies in town. They call themselves the Allendale Honchos.”

  I reached around to grip my wild princess of pleasure. “So what? They probably haven’t done their research. Let’s keep an eye on them and enjoy a few moments of inaction, babe.”

  “I’m with you, but the call came from Earl and ‘Rique. The Chief briefed them on the new gang ripping into businesses stretching from MacArthur Blvd all the way to the old fight warehouse. They do random home invasions, extortion, drugs, and weapons. Earl says they started fast. Rumors started about them challenging Oaktown, mostly because Earl claims they’re being backed by the Black Lives Matter enablers, and Oaktown swatted their police assassination ploy into the cheap seats. This gang’s organized, funded, and taking over the Allendale area. Here’s your personal email, DL.”

  Lora handed me an email. The heading consisted of gangbanger crap symbols and Honchos at its start. It read: ‘We have a player, Harding. We want a showdown for Allendale. We know the stakes and we know your game. Get it on, or get owned, for being the pussy we all know you are, sweetmeat. Championship belts in the public sector don’t mean shit. Face off, or step off’.

  I knew I should be laughing my ass off at threats from cheap punks trying to bait me. Instead, I let the killer inside take over against my will. Lora saw my face while I read the email.

  “You can do this another way,” Lora pleaded. “I see it in your face. You’ve just won the UFC Heavyweight Belt. What the hell do you have to prove? Stop the gang another way.”

  “How exactly, Lora? These aren’t punks playing penny pitch against the wall. They’ve studied me and Oaktown. They knew I’d be gone for a time and moved right into our territory to front us. If I back away, more innocent people get their homes broken into and the Blue get assassinated. If we act out like a military force in the open, we’ll all be exiled to Monster Island inside of a month. Rock didn’t hurt me. I’m fine and in the best shape of my life. Let’s take the challenge. Did you talk to Tommy? He knows the score.”

  Lora sighed with her ‘you have me on my last nerve’ exhale of breath. �
�Tommy said he doesn’t call Oaktown’s shots. He already called Alexi, who returned to Oakland right after the fight. Alexi received a demand for the fight warehouse to be used with referee for the cage match.”

  Laredo listened until then without speaking. He put it on the line, in point of fact. “They must have someone they think is a dead-bang certainty to win. Is there any mention as to who they have challenging, John?”

  “Nope,” Lora answered for me. “They stated he’s a newcomer from overseas who can clean John’s pussy clock back into the shit-pile he came from. They know there’s allowance for moves not allowed in UFC. They want a meet at Alexi’s warehouse when we get back into town today. Alexi already texted his willingness to be there with Tommy and John.”

  “Agree to it. I don’t like the sound of this bunch. Earl doesn’t reach out without a reason. We back the Blue no matter what. It’s a meeting, babe. We get to find out what this challenge is all about with all our players.”

  “I don’t want you getting over confident and getting killed. Couldn’t you find a way to take some damn time off?”

  “Doin’ good ain’t got no end.”

  Laredo laughed. Lora didn’t. “Okay for you, DL. Remember, choices have consequences.”

  Lora started walking out. “Hey… what the hell does that mean?” She continued into the passenger area. I turned to Laredo. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “No man knows, John,” Laredo answered. “We only find out when the trap springs, breaking our ass, and leaving us with the scent of cheese.”

  “Gee… thanks, brother.”

  “Anytime, John… anytime.”

  * * *

  Our limousine drove in front of Alexi’s fight warehouse in the demilitarized zone of Oakland and parked. We hired a driver this trip since all the Monsters and Snow Whites wanted to attend. I didn’t mind. I knew they had my back, and were game for some way to accumulate instances to poke me with later. I promised we’d hit the Warehouse for a few afterwards. Uncharacteristically, Alexi met us out front with Jack Korlos, his now right-hand man and referee.

  I shook hands first with both men before my crew did. “You guys look like someone pissed on your flower garden. What’s the problem?”

  “You must see to believe, John,” Alexi said. “Come, my friend.”

  “Do something, Dev,” Jesse said. “When something stuns Jack Korlos, you have to get prepped with some hoodoo, brother.”

  Dev enjoyed Jess’s referral to his Latin incantations, as did we all. He put an arm around his partner. “I can’t get too deep into the mix, Jess. I’ll put my soul on the line if I go too far.”

  “Damn… I never thought of that! Holy shit… I…” then Jess saw the rest of us smiling and enjoying the interplay. Jess shrugged. “Okay… okay… I know it’s mostly for show, but that Latin has power. I can feel it. Dev sounds like the gates of hell clanging shut.”

  “I’ll work on a protection spell, Jess,” Dev assuaged his longtime friend. “I’m certain it will get something in the paranormal dimension moving.”

  Jess laughed, nodding at the rest of us. “I know… I know, but Dev’s Latin chills my ass to the bone. The brother brings the ancient dark with that shit.”

  Alexi waved amusedly. He and Jack were enthralled with the Latin interchange along with our crew. “Come. Let us see this through.”

  Inside the Warehouse, six hooded gangbangers met us. Jess was pumped. He rammed forward, knocking thee of them to the floor. “Step the fuck off, punks, men comin’ through.”

  One of the men in the back stepped forward, waving for calm. “We are here to challenge Oaktown Cartel for the city and we have a champion. Do not provoke us!”

  “Or what, pussy.” Lucas shouldered past Gus Denova and his fellow Oaktown trio of bosses, Quays Tannous and Silvio Ruelas, splendidly dressed in expensive suits. “If you provoke us, every last asshole in your sissy gang dies. We’ll erase you from existence so fast, you’ll forget you were ever born.”

  “We have brought our champion.” The leader, who had scrambled in retreat from Lucas, waved at the section opposite the entrance. Two men moved forward with intimidating stealth.

  We stood silently, watching a human hulk of a man come into view, accompanied by a slender, gaunt faced wraith with leering smile. The giant had to be nearly seven feet tall with Sumo wrestler like bulk. His buddy looked a little under six feet tall. Both men were Japanese. They said nothing. They didn’t need to.

  Jafar spoke before anyone else. He had been working over his iPad feverishly. “The guy shooting his mouth off fronts for the Black Lives Matter bunch, Lamar Castile. He must be the one replacing Laverne Sallie and Rueben Black. He has been arrested six times on suspicion of inciting riots.”

  “How the hell… you can’t just break in on a citizen’s life!” Castile stomped toward Jafar.

  We didn’t stop him. I trained the kid. Lucas took charge of Jafar’s tablet. Castile tried to walk into Jafar’s air space. Our man, sometimes known as Achmed the Dead Terrorist, leg whipped Castile on his back. “No touching, Lamar. Scramble away or I hurt you bad.”

  Lamar did as Jafar ordered. He pointed at his champion as he huffed and puffed his way to an upright position. “This brother is Katsu Takahashi. His partner is Ryuu Himura. They ride for the Honchos. We challenge you, Harding, unless you’re afraid to face Katsu. That’s okay if you are, pussy. Honchos take over.”

  “They’re Yakuza, John,” Jafar said in reply, after returning to his iPad. “Takahashi was a champion Sumo wrestler, banned for life after rumored to have killed a man outside a Tokyo nightclub. No witnesses would testify. He became a Yakuza enforcer. Himura is also a Yakuza enforcer. They aren’t locals. They aren’t Honchos either. Takahashi and Himura work for the Yakuza in San Francisco.”

  “So what? They Honchos now,” Castile said.

  “It means you’re importing gang members and killers into Oakland, dummy,” Tommy said. “These men with me are killers. They protect Oakland. You’re a punk outsider, fronting for cop killers, rioters, and pillagers.”

  “Fuck you, Sands! Oaktown either rumbles tomorrow night or stays the hell out of the Honchos’ way!”

  “Or we shoot you all in the head right now,” Clint replied.

  Clint’s pronouncement amused my crew but didn’t sit well with the gangbangers. They were looking a bit anxious. Oaktown’s reputation was on the line though. I admit I’m not real fond of being called a pussy either.

  “We’ll be here at ten tomorrow night if Alexi allows it,” I said.

  “I’ll arrange it,” Alexi agreed.

  Tommy sighed with a shake of the head. “Okay… it’s on. Put your money where your mouth is, punk. The UFC Heavyweight Champ doesn’t rumble for pennies.”

  “We got fifty grand says we own Oakland after tomorrow night. We want five to one odds too, Sands. We got another twenty-five large says our cutter can take out your bitch.”

  Even Clint couldn’t react in time. Lamar finished his pitch. A second later he was yelping, while trying to stop the blood welling out of his arm, soaking his hoodie. Lynn wiped her knife on him. “Call me bitch again, Betty, and I do surgery on your testicles if I can find them.”

  Lamar wanted to say more but he wasn’t stupid enough to do anything but nod.

  After Lynn and Tommy exchanged nods of agreement, Tommy spoke to the quiet Lamar. “We accept the terms.”

  The Yakuza remained still and silent during the entire process. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce these two were pros. I wanted to know who paid a couple of pros to take this gig, so I asked. “Who pays your fee, Katsu?”

  “The family of Momar Al-Kazar has paid me to kill you in the cage,” Katsu answered without hesitation, shocking Lamar.

  “You ain’t supposed to answer questions, brother!”

  Katsu turned his head slightly to glance at Castile. “I am not your brother.”

  Alexi stepped forward with Jack Korlos at his side. “We do
not allow premeditated killings in the cage, Mr. Takahashi.”

  Katsu bowed slightly. “It will be accidental.”

  “What of outside the cage,” Himura asked, trading smiles with Lynn.

  “No holds barred outside the cage, Ryuu,” Lynn replied.

  Himura bowed. “We must meet then before any crowd, Ms. Dostiene.”

  “That would be best.”

  “We’re done here,” Tommy said. “Please leave… now.”

  We stepped aside for the congregation of criminals to pass by. Takahashi and Himura left last, keeping their eyes to the front without glancing at us. After they left, Jess rushed me.

  “Brother… don’t fight that man. Those Sumo guys can’t be hurt. What kind of fight plan you got that would work on that guy? They’re quick as hell. They lumber around, but when they move, they move hell-a-fast.”

  Wow, I’m getting dissed by my own corner guy. “I figure I’ll snake around behind him. I can put Katsu down with a rear full naked choke.”

  “He would have to have a neck for that to work, DL,” Dev said.

  “I doubt he became a Yakuza enforcer if he couldn’t hit,” Tommy added. “There’s a lot of things I figured might happen after we returned. You, fighting a seven-foot tall Sumo wrestler professional killer wasn’t one of them. We should have followed Clint’s suggestion. It’s not too late.”

  “I admit I don’t have any experience fighting Sumo wrestlers. They probably have tree trunks for legs, but it might be possible to hurt him if I keep hammering the same spot.”

  “That might work. What if he simply runs at you like they do in the matches,” Dev asked. “He could smash you into the cage repeatedly. How the hell do you stop him?”

  “Flying knee?”

  “I doubt you could hurt him enough to keep from being slammed,” Tommy replied. “Dev’s right. I don’t think you have a plan. There have been a few Sumo wrestlers that fought in the cage. The first one was Teila Tuli. He took a round house kick to the head that knocked a bunch of his teeth out and ended the fight.”