“One op at a time, Viper,” Nick said. “Tomorrow will be a busy day for us. We stay on patrol so the Facebook boys stay indoors. I’ll pay off Cal’s debt at 10 am. I suspect I’ll need to look in on Lane Wilcox before I take the money to Sutherland. Something about Lane was off.”
“Want to meet at the Monte after you get done,” Jean asked. “We can divvy the areas we want to patrol. There are a couple of areas we want to revisit.”
“I should be there before eleven. Ben has school tomorrow, so I’ll let him have one of the cars. I’ll take your Mom and Sammy to the Monte early. I may have to do some short-order cooking if Sally calls off again.”
“You should sell the Monte, Dad.”
“Sacrilege! You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady.”
“It’s hardly open anyway. All you do is go over there and mess around with Mom in the backroom.”
“I also meet interesting people there, like Conrad Laqab and his buddies.”
“True. That was a definite new slant on the short-order cook job description,” Quinn remarked. “Mom said they wouldn’t even talk to her. She enjoyed telling them they would have to talk with the complaint department.”
“The clown tried to order Ben and Sammy out of our own place,” Nick argued. “If it hadn’t been for the cleaning, I would have turned the werewolf loose on them.”
“They won’t be ordering much of anything now except ice cream cones in hell,” Jean added. “I have a feeling by your features when you talked about Wilcox, he’ll be standing at the same ice cream cone wagon tomorrow.”
Nick shrugged. “He might be smarter than I gave him credit for.”
* * *
Lane Wilcox watched Sutherland’s office front, the sawed-off shotgun under his coat held 30 ought buckshot. He grinned at his prospect. Blow away the Nick guy, grab the money, and be in New York City by day’s end. It would be a new start. The prick wouldn’t suspect a thing until the blast hit him. Lane checked his watch – only ten minutes to go. He moved a few steps back, hugging the side of the building. A light rain spattered down around him, keeping the sidewalks clear of strollers.
One second, Lane blinked away raindrops. The next, a hand ripped his head back by the hair. Knees buckled his in a pressure point strike, causing his buckling slam to the sidewalk on his knees. He felt the razor-sharp slice at his neck, watching in choking horror as arterial blood shot onto the wet sidewalk to glisten in a light red river, carrying away his life into the gutter. The shotgun fell from nerveless, twitching hands his brain could no longer control. Lane gargled hideously while being dragged more to the building’s side. In the blackening eternal night, Lane saw the Nick guy’s smiling face.
“No takebacks, kid. It is what it is.”
* * *
Donny Sutherland opened his office door to Nick, dressed in a black trench coat, carrying a bag in gloved hand. The other hand held something under his coat. Nick’s cold eyes stared at Donny in a searching appraisal. Drops of rain dribbled down over his short-cut hair without making him blink. He grinned in the way Donny thought death itself would look when his time on earth ended. The thought his time arrived at the door already chilled him to the marrow of his bones.
“Please… come in. It’s very wet today,” Donny said nervously.
Nick handed Donny the bag. “This is payment in full for Jerry’s son’s debt. Please take a look, and count it if you like. I have some time.”
“That won’t be necessary. You’re a pro. I didn’t know Jerry was connected. I made sure to tell Lane to stay away from the office until noon. I didn’t want him making you uncomfortable.”
Nick uncovered the sawed-off shotgun, placing it on the chair near Sutherland’s desk. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m glad you didn’t have anything to do with this disrespectful action. That’s Lane’s shotgun. He’s across the street between the buildings. Leave him. Someone will see his ass and call the police. I’d bet another bag of money he can’t be tied to you.”
“That…that’s right,” Donny muttered through a suddenly very dry mouth. “I told him… I told him. I even warned Lane I’d shoot him myself if he ever mentioned getting in your path again.”
“I get that. It’s good you understand. Don’t ever come to see or collect from Jerry again. I don’t care if someone screws up and gives his kid a marker. The marker is yours from now on, Donny. Like I told your boy, Lane, while he bled out, there are no takebacks. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
“Yes! I’m done. I will pass the word to everyone. Jerry’s protected… as is his son.”
“Very good, Donny. I have a team of killers who answer my call in a heartbeat. We will kill so many, you’ll think it’s the end of the world when we come for you. Make certain to follow my directions without misstep.”
“You’ll never hear of me or anyone associated with me… ever, Sir.”
“Excellent. Have a nice day, Donny.” The cold-eyed Terminator backed out of the office and closed the door.
Donny spent the next fifteen minutes alerting everyone on his network about Jerry and Cal, issuing a warning they would be sliced and diced if his instructions were not followed to the letter. He never exited his calls until he received confirmation of his orders. It was only then he realized he had pissed his pants.
* * *
“Oh my.” Jean smiled, watching her Dad back out of the office on the cam she had planted on him without his knowing. She chuckled, turning to Quinn, Jay, and Sonny in their van. “Donny pissed himself.”
“This is wrong on so many levels, Sis. You should have asked permission to video it,” Quinn stated. “Dad aced Lane in slow-motion death, every footstep taking him toward the walking unaware dead-man, using the rain splatter to mask the approach.”
“Good Lord,” Sonny muttered. “He even delivered the last words to the guy: ‘it is what it is’. Wait a minute… your Dad would never have mimicked Cruella Deville, not in a street kill with-”
* * *
The van sliding door whipped against its stops with a bang. The Terminator tossed the lapel cam inside, loving everyone inside had a gun pointed at his head. “Hi kids. Did we have fun this morning? What did we learn today?”
“Damn… I almost pissed myself when you slammed the door open,” Jean said. “I could have killed you by accident, Dad!”
“What did we learn today, kids?”
“Stay away from Jean’s lunatic schemes,” Quinn ventured with a shrug as he holstered his weapon. “Jesus… Dad, Lane never had a prayer.”
“We’re not in the prayer business, kid. I’ll see you all at the Monte. Thanks for the backup.” Nick slammed the door closed.
“That… was just plain disturbing,” Jay said. “You’d think we’d learn after all these years to avoid Jean’s plots involving the Terminator.”
“What! We observed a killing beyond description, right? Dad understands.”
“When he gave my folks a haircut in the middle of the night, I vowed never to cross him in any way, shape, or form,” Sonny said. “It’s a good thing he cares for us.”
“Your Dad’s a psychopath,” Jay stated. “I’m not venturing into the intricacies of that description. I know he feels a shade of what we recognize as love. Otherwise, he would have shot us all in the head.”
Jay’s statement ended in uneasy laughter as each one of them remembered moments with Nick, sometimes unexplained.
“When Deke died, he reverted to the Terminator for a time, without conscience or compassion,” Jean related. “God help the bad guys in that period. Mom, Quinn, and I gave him his space. He took solo jobs, away from us, for a few months. We never asked for details. Gus, Johnny, Cala, and Jian rode the vengeance trail with him. They don’t talk about it, and I’ve never asked. Sammy loves the shit out of him, on a par with Benny. Dad keeps a distance beyond the training, unwilling to get super close to Sammy.”
Jean closed their surveillance gear with purposeful movements to mas
k the emotion she sheltered in her love for Nick as her Dad. She stopped for a moment, teeth gritting together, lips drawn into a snarl. “Dad loves me. I know that… psychopath tag or not. Let’s get over to the Monte. We have a full day ahead of us.”
Sonny hugged his wife. “You won’t have to worry about him taking out those Snow Whites tonight. He hasn’t lost a step.”
Jean kissed her soulmate with a long moment’s passion. Quinn and Jay moved into the driver’s seat and front passenger seat while shunning the pair with hands at the sides of their eyes. Jean led them because she had heart and soul, but with a fully developed, cold blooded killer’s skill and direction, they followed without question.
Jean broke away and then leaned her forehead against Sonny’s chest. “Remember the TV series Highlander. There can be only one!”
Sonny enjoyed the repartee with Quinn and Jay. “Yep. Your Dad is it.”
* * *
Rachel laughed in hand-clapping recognition of Jean’s forlorn Marine Marauders. “Oh…oh my God. You tried to bug the Terminator, you little warts. Jean… you scarred up little turd. All these years… in the same house… with the number one assassin in the world, and you still think you can play your little turd games on him. Oh… my!”
“That’s it, Trashy! I didn’t want to say this, but you’re bulging in all the wrong places, big momma. Eat a piece of fruit… for God’s sake. You’re running for political offices, not a pie eating contest!”
Rachel put hands on hips. “You’re not getting me with your tired crap. I’m not pulling the Trailer Trash Momma card for that pathetic bait. I’ll get you bunch some coffee. Thanks for the laugh this morning.”
The Marauders sat down together in front of Nick’s table, where Sammy reclined over Nick’s foot. Gus, Johnny, Cala, and Jian all waved with smiling faces.
“You had to tell everyone, huh Dad?”
“Actions have consequences, young lady,” Nick replied. “Your Mom loved it.”
“I’ll bet. What did you think of the areas I marked for patrol? We don’t have a huge area. We can go in groups for backup. By this afternoon, word will be out. Should we stop at some local businesses too?”
“Yes. That way, we can check on the general feelings of folks other than Somali Mafia and Sharia mutants. I liked your patrol plan. We’ll do it for the next few hours. We’ve posted the warnings everywhere, including the newspapers, anyone rioting, looting, or interfering violently with police will be shot. I do not want our vehicles stopped and rushed by a mob. I will thin out their numbers if they try it. We’ve all seen Europe police actions.”
“Remember the police cars getting their windows smashed in Europe so the crowd could throw Molotov cocktails into the interior, setting the car on fire,” Quinn said.
“Even with a huge mob forming, the police over there use pepper spray, shields, and body armor,” Jean added. “They let the mob attack their front line without a response other than using their shields. I’m with you, Dad. We get rushed, I’m thinning the herd.”
“I told everyone at the last meeting a few nights ago.” Rachel set down an insulated carafe of coffee in front of the younger killers with cups. “It was the main reason I met with the Somali community representatives. I wanted no misunderstandings.”
“Great warning, babe,” Nick stated. “Keep your young thugs in line or be prepared to bury them. You got a standing ovation from the non-Somalis. I heard they called in a contingent of ACLU lawyers to slow our operations. Maybe we’ll have the worst of it behind us by the time they get here. If not, they can add some funerals to their agenda.”
The next half hour passed quickly with snacks and coffee. The entertainment arrived before patrol in the form of a dozen thugs, all in black, with masks and Isis flags. They danced, waved, and began rocking Nick’s Highlander.
“What the hell did I teach you skills for if you’re simply an observer to your old man’s car getting trashed,” Nick asked. “Payback for my telling Mommy on you?”
“Maybe.” Jean headed for the door with a wave, the Marauders following.
One of the black masked men bounced on the hood of the Highlander. Jean attained a clear sight position, ran forward a few steps before planting a throwing knife hilt deep in the hood bouncer’s shoulder. He screamed in horror, falling sideways to the curb, clutching his shoulder while crying out for help. Quinn caught one running at them with his sign, snatched him over his head, and threw him bodily into his nearest companions. Sonny pinned a weapon reacher’s hand to his chest with a throw so hard it put the man on his back.
“You dimwits have the wrong idea about our new law enforcement here in the Grove,” Jean called out. “Remove your masks, get on your knees, and lock fingers. Anything else will get you shot.”
“This… this is against the law!” Another of the mob blustered, only to grow a knife hilt in his shoulder from Jay. He cried real tears. The rest followed Jean’s orders.
Jean walked over and retrieved her knife with a violent jerk, as did Sonny and Jay. Screams echoed out into the mid-morning air, non-stop, until Jean kicked her victim in the head. “Shut the hell up! Let’s get these pussies weapons. Then we get pictures, prints, and DNA samples, Marines.”
When the identification process ended, Johnny already had three picked out for detainment, two of them with knife wounds. Jean issued the news with a bored delivery. “Three of you have long criminal records, including warrants for your arrest. We’ll keep you. The rest of you will be imprisoned or shot the next time we catch you doing anything like this. Get out of here.”
One of them reached for the Glock he carried to the mini-protest. Quinn bitch-slapped him to his back.
“Don’t know what you think you’re doin’, partner,” Quinn said. “You don’t walk away with weapons. They will be catalogued. If found in prior cases of violence or illegally attained, we’ll be hunting you down.”
Quinn’s words had a chilling effect on the mob. They eyeballed their confiscated weapons in a new light. Jean noticed. “I think we’ll be hunting down a few of you. Anyone want to come along with your buddies now? When we need to hunt you down, it’s more of a ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ scenario.”
The mob all left together except for the detained ones. The wounded and non-wounded, Quinn and Jay loaded into their van, with minor triage for their wounds. They were restrained. Jean went into the Monte to talk with Nick for a moment.
“We’ll be on patrol within the hour, Dad. Don’t you old timers go out and get mobbed like a bunch of boot-camps.”
Rachel pushed Jean toward the door. “Get going. You can’t bait that bunch. I’ve tried for years. Nice throw. I noticed how many had guns. This could have been a deadly encounter.”
“You have that right, Mom. We would have killed in an instant. Unfortunately, for the mob, the Terminator would have been in the thick of it in a heartbeat. No survivors.”
“You saved lives with the knife display, ‘Daughter of Darkness’.” Rachel embraced Jean. “Be careful out there.”
“I will. You be careful in here. This might not be a bad time to take a vacation from the Monte.”
“I have the werewolf with me. I’m packing, and I have the shotgun within reach. My regulars will be in to talk with the new mayor. We don’t hide, girl. You know that.”
Jean glanced at Nick with a grin. “Yeah… I know.”
* * *
“Jean. Sidewalk, driver’s side,” Quinn said. “One of Dad’s perps is strolling. He’s wearing the same clothes he did for his FB performance. His hoodie must be in the wash.”
Jean slowed. The suspect took one look at Jean and ran. Jean holstered her weapon. She shrugged. “I was hoping he’d reach. It would have been one less for Dad to set a scene with. The perp will get the word to his pals.”
“I texted Uncle Johnny.” Quinn held his iPad up with a grin. “He asked if the perp was room temperature or on the move. Uncle Neil didn’t seem to mind we needed to wound a few of the resta
urant visitors, especially when he ran the weapons we gathered.”
“We pay for the emergency room bills,” Sonny replied. “The city’s still up to their eyeballs in debt. With the tourists returning, we may be in the black by the middle of next year. The Somali Mafia harassing and stealing from the scuba divers, hikers, and joggers scared the damn coastline tourist visitors away. Even ‘The Bamboo Reef’ almost went into bankruptcy.”
“I wish Uncle Neil would give us the warrants on the four he’s sending his people after because of the new info on the confiscated weapons.”
“He knows they have to earn their keep, Jean. Besides, we’ll be called in if there’s any problems,” Jay replied.
“You seem to be taking renewed interest in ‘Grove’ law enforcement, brother,” Sonny kidded Jay. “Are you contemplating a permanent stay?”
“I don’t know if I can convince Jan to move out here. Maybe we can gang up on her at the dinner date, Quinn. She loves Florida though. Like most people from there, this climate freezes their thinking. They arrive in California in shorts, sandals, and short-sleeved shirts. By the time they go home from their stay, they have a new winter wardrobe.”
“We’ll need to be subtle,” Quinn said. “I’m sure your folks worked her over ever since you two arrived. She may be a little raw from that.”
“You’d be surprised. They kept quiet, only asking about everything in Florida. The folks know how much I want to be here. Jian made the move back. Maybe I can too. Joan is no fan of his action with Reaper and the Trio.”
Sonny’s phone beeped. “It’s Uncle Neil.”
“Monterey PD’s in trouble on the wharf,” Neil stated without preamble. “There’s nearly fifty protestors in hoodies and masks congregating there, screaming at visitors, and threatening death to all against Sharia Law. The Chief called me personally. He wants help.”
“He’s been complaining to the Governor regarding our methods,” Sonny replied. “We’re not going there if we can’t stop the pillagers by all means necessary.”
Hell on Earth Page 32
