THE TOCABAGA CHRONICELS: (BOX SET PART II - BOOKS #6-8)

by Thomas H. Ward

  Joe stood about six-foot-two and probably weighted around 230 pounds. He had on a black tank top and army cargo type pants. I could tell he was in pretty good shape by the toned muscles in his arms. I guessed his age to be in the late twenties or early thirties. His nose was crooked which meant it had been broken a few times.

  “I’m not a Fed. I’m Jack Gunn and this is my Grandson Johnny. You know, you could use a Tic Tac.” He backed off a step while pointing his AK47 at me.

  “That’s very funny, old man. Tell me what are you doing in a Fed truck?”

  “They arrested me for killing eight Federal Agents and kidnapped my grandson, holding him as a hostage, in case I tried anything stupid. He’s the Fed,” while nodding my head towards Stan’s body.

  Joe bent down, frisked his body, and said, “He ain’t got a badge or ID on him.”

  “Believe me he’s a US Marshal and there was another one with us. We ran out of gas and he went to find some about four hours ago.”

  “Where were they taking you?”

  “Atlanta.”

  One man got in the driver’s seat and tried to start the engine and I said, “I told you it’s out of gas.”

  Joe told him, “Russell, go get some gas and then bring the truck back to the Boss Man.”

  “Ok, old man let’s go, we’ll find out if your story is true.”

  He gave me a push in the direction of 54th Avenue and Johnny held on to me. The group was a ragtag band made up of women and men. I thought maybe this is the 54th Avenue Gang that controls the north side of St. Petersburg. They don’t like the Feds any-more than I do.

  I had heard about the 54th Avenue Gang from Army Ranger Intel reports. They number a few hundred people and where controlled by one man named Big Boss. The gang kept the Feds out of the area along with other evil-doers. The problem was they controlled all the food and supplies. People were forced to pay for protection and goods. If you didn’t pay you were banished from the area or terminated.

  We walked toward 54th Avenue in the dark hot night. Sweat was running down my face. Johnny asked me, “Where are they taking us?”

  “I don’t know but we’ll find out soon.”

  A woman from the group walked up holding out a bottle and asked, “Hey, kid, you want some water?”

  Johnny looked at me and I looked at her noting her short brown hair surrounding her dirty, but kind looking face. She appeared to be in her late twenties and was dressed in tight short-shorts showing off her butt. The halter top barely covered her breasts. Combat boots made her long shapely legs stand out. She was about five feet six and in great shape.

  Looking in her eyes I could tell she had some Asian blood running through her veins and I asked, “Is that really water?”

  “Of course, it is Mister. We have rules here and one rule is we don’t hurt kids.

  “Here, you taste it.” Putting it to my lips she poured some in my mouth. She was so close her breasts lightly brushed up against my body.

  “Johnny, it’s ok.” We hadn’t had anything to drink for about six hours.

  “You don’t trust anyone do you?” she asked.

  “Thanks for the water, but I’m just looking out for my grandson.”

  “I told you nothing is gonna happen to him. My name is Lisa.”

  “I’m Jack, and this is, Johnny.”

  “Hi, Johnny, you want some more water?”

  “Yes, please.” Lisa pulled out another bottle and while handing it to Johnny she patted him on the head.

  “Jack, you don’t need to worry if something happens … to you … I’ll take care of Johnny.”

  “Thanks Lisa, but nothing is gonna happen.”

  “Are you a tough guy, Jack? You look like one to me. You got nice big arms. You look strong and tough. Anyway, you’re gonna need to be tough.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. Just worry about yourself and remember what I told you.

  “We captured another guy earlier who told us you’re a Fed. He said Johnny was his grandson.”

  “That has to be Ken. He’s a liar obviously. Johnny will tell you that.”

  “I can tell Johnny’s your grandson.”

  Joe yelled, “Lisa, stop talking to him!”

  “Shut up, I’ll do what I want.” We kept walking but the conversation ended.

  We reached 54th and turned east for a few blocks until we reached 16th Street and the old Northeast High School. They took us to a room in the main school building, opened the door, and pushed us inside. “See you later Johnny. You, too Jack,” Lisa said, as she closed the door.

  I told Johnny, “Untie my hands.”

  I checked the door, but it was locked much to my regret. I looked around the room as my eyes adjusted to the dark. There were no lights or windows. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I saw a person sitting in the corner of the room and slowly walked over to him. I balled my hands into a fist getting ready to fight whoever it was.

  I stopped a few feet away when I saw it was Ken. He said, “Hi Jack, where’s Stan?”

  “Stan is dead and so are you.” I reached down and grabbed him by the shirt pulling him to his feet. I put my hands around his throat and started to squeeze.

  “Wait, I was just doing my job. Stan made me do it. He made me be a part of the whole dirty thing. If I didn’t go along with him he’d lock me up again. I think we can help each other and escape from this hole,” Ken begged me.

  “Maybe you’re right, you lying little weasel. I won’t kill you yet.”

  “What do you think they’re going to do to us?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find out pretty soon.”

  I went to the other side of the twenty foot room moving as far away from Ken as possible. We didn’t say another word to each other. Johnny and I laid down on the hard floor. He used my shoulder as a pillow and fell fast asleep. Looking at my watch it was five a.m. as I fell into a light sleep while keeping one eye on Ken.

  “Hey, wake up you guys,” Lisa, said in a stern voice. Johnny and I jumped up and saw Joe and four men were standing next to her.

  “Johnny, are you hungry?” Johnny nodded his head yes. “Ok let’s go eat.”

  Lisa looked even better in the daylight. She was all cleaned up, but still had on the same outfit. I couldn’t stop looking at her cute little ass and great shapely legs.

  We followed her, while the four men kept their guns pointed at our backs, to the school cafeteria. “You got a choice of Spam or Spam and beans,” Lisa told us while laughing.

  There were other people in the room and some of them stared at us as we walked in. It was a busy place with people coming in to eat. Everyone carried some type of weapon.

  “I’ll have Spam and beans,” Johnny said.

  “Same for me,” I replied.

  Smart ass Ken said, “Not much choice here at the Hilton. I’ll have the same.” I thought we’re lucky to get anything to eat.

  Lisa made sure Johnny had enough to eat and drink. The meal was crude by our standards on Tocabaga. Eating just beans and Spam with no fruit or other vegetables wasn’t very healthy, but it was filling.

  It was hot and judging by the bright sun it was around noon. We finished eating and Lisa advised us, “Ok, it’s time to meet the BIG BOSS. Let’s get going he’s waiting for us.”

  Following her Johnny held onto my hand as we walked to what was once the gym. High school kids used to play basketball and other indoor sports in the gym. Passing through the metal doors I saw him sitting at the other end of the big room.

  He was sitting in a big throne like chair, up on a pedestal, above everyone else. There were about a dozen people standing or sitting around him in a semi circle. The room was smoky and smelled like pot and cigarettes. As we approached I could make him out in the shadows. I could see his shape and noted he didn’t have a shirt on. His body was covered in tribal tattoos and so was his face. He was a huge hunk of muscle with a massive chest and thick Herculean ar
ms.

  We stopped about fifteen feet away from him and I could clearly see his face. One man, who looked like a little rat, ran up to us and said, “Kneel before the BIG BOSS.”

  Ken knelt down to the BOSS. I didn’t and I saw the little rat’s fist coming out of the corner of my eye. I quickly raised my left hand and grabbed his arm stopping it in mid-air. I pulled him up close to me. Using my right hand I seized his thumb and bent it backwards in a counter-clock wise direction until I heard it snap.

  The little rat screamed, “You broke my thumb! The asshole broke my thumb!”

  BIG BOSS chuckled out loud and told him, “Sit down you fool. You’re lucky he didn’t break your neck.”

  Another guy, standing next to BIG BOSS, shouted, “Let me take this guy out!”

  “You can’t take him out. He’d beat your ass with no problem, so sit down and shut up!”

  He asked, “Do you know this guy, BIG BOSS?”

  “Yeah, that’s Jack Gunn. Now everybody get out of here! I want to talk to Jack alone. Lisa, take the kid outside to play. Joe, take Ken back to the room and lock him up.”

  Johnny looked up at me and I said, “It’s ok, go with Lisa.”

  Lisa walked up to BOSS and gave him a big wet kiss. It was clear they had a thing for each other. I watched her leave the room with Johnny holding her hand.

  In a few minutes the big room was empty. I looked at the BOSS as he stepped down from his throne and out into the light. His face and body were covered with black ink tattoos. His head was shaved into a short Mohawk haircut. He had muscles alright and I knew he took roids to be that big. BOSS stood almost six feet and looked to be about 240 pounds of solid muscle. I knew he was in his early fifties.

  He stood there looking me up and down with a grin on his face and said, “Hello Jack, long-time no see. How have you been?”

  “Hello Rico, or should I call you … BOSS.”

  “Come on Jack, I’m Rico to you, we go back a long way. I thought you were dead. I read on the internet that al-Qaida killed you.”

  “They tried to, but I’m still around.”

  “Yeah, you’re one tough old fart. I didn’t think al-Qaida could kill you. Who’s the kid with you?”

  “That’s my grandson, Johnny.”

  Miguel (Mike) Rico Martin, ex-Navy Seal, ex-Swat Captain, one of the toughest men I have ever known was now the BIG BOSS of the 54th Avenue Gang.

  Rico and I go back a long way. I first met him while at the shooting range in Tampa. We were shooting the same model handgun, a Glock 17, and had lanes next to each other. I didn’t know who he was but I could tell by his form and style he had some type of military training. I commented to him on his nice shooting.

  We shook hands and started talking and we became friends right off the bat. I came to find out that he was the SWAT Team Captain for a local police department. He was booted out of the Navy after fifteen years for striking an officer. Eight of those years he was assigned to Special Operations. No telling what he really did during those years because he never spoke of it.

  One thing for sure, Rico Martin was an operator who knew his stuff. I knew him like a book. He is the most dangerous man I know. He’s a one man killing machine.

  “Come on over here and sit down. You want a beer?”

  As I sat down at the table he walked over to a cooler and pulled out two beers advising me, “The beer isn’t ice cold, but it’s still good.”

  We popped the tops and I made a toast. “Here’s to old friends.”

  “To old friends, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “Rico, what happen to you when the country fell apart? How’s your wife and son?”

  “Well it’s a long story, but my wife and son are gone. I don’t know where they’re at. The Feds kidnapped them because I wouldn’t do their dirty work. They tried to get me to work undercover to round up the so called rebels, like you, who weren’t co-operating with big brother.”

  We both took a long chug of beer and he hung his head down looking at the floor as if thinking what to say.

  “Any-how I refused to do their dirty work. Then one day I came home from work and my family was gone. The Feds left a note; if you want to see your family again then join us.”

  “I’m sorry Rico. The Feds will do anything. They’re a bunch of scum bags. We knew the country was falling apart that’s why we practiced shooting every week. That’s why we stored ammo and food. That’s why we started the fight club.”

  Twenty years ago Fight Club was Rico’s big idea. We would meet once a week at a local gym and trained in hand-to-hand combat. Rico wrote the book on hand-to-hand combat; and on knife fighting. It was Rico who gave me the Cold Steel Black Bear fighting knife. All Warriors’ carry at least one knife. He taught the members of our fight club, honing our skills, in advanced fighting methods. He tried to mold us into his image of a Warrior.

  We would have combat sparring sessions which were painful but it made you better and tougher. No one ever beat Rico in five years of training. We practiced knife fighting using eight inch long hard rubber knives which hurt like hell if you got stuck or sliced. Sometimes they would draw blood.

  The only time I ever beat Rico at was a three gun shoot. A three gun shoot is shooting at targets with a handgun, shotgun, and a rifle. We entered the Tampa Bay Annual 3 GUN SHOOT and I won the contest, out-shooting Rico by one bull’s eye.

  I asked him, “After they took your wife, what did you do?”

  “I went on a killing spree. I used all my skill to kill every Federal Agent I could find. They put a one million dollar bounty on my head. I’m wanted dead or alive. I searched for my wife and son but couldn’t find them.

  “I had to keep moving because they were after me every day. I ended up here about three years ago and started this group to maintain control of the area and to provide me some protection. I needed my own little army.”

  “You should have come to Tocabaga.”

  “I know, but I wouldn’t fit in there. I am a womanizer, and an alpha male. I give orders. I don’t take them. I can’t follow anyone, not even you.

  “Do you still have the Black Bear I gave you?”

  A good fighting knife has a one piece shank and blade. It is made of hardened steel with a softer inner core but the blade edge is hard and sharp as a razor blade. Fighting knifes have a finger hook or sub hilt for your index finger to wrap around and a hand guard to keep your fingers from getting cut off. The nice thing about the Black Bear knife manufactured by Cold Steel is that both edges are sharp as a razor so you can slice and dice in either direction.

  “Yep, it saved my life. I killed two al-Qaida guys’ with it by slitting their stinking throats. I carry it everywhere I go.”

  “How did you get here and who’s Ken?”

  “To make a long story short Ken is a US Marshal and there was another one named Stan, who was the leader, but your people killed him. Stan and Ken managed to arrest me and held Johnny as hostage so I wouldn’t try to escape.”

  BOSS pulled out a pack of smokes and offered me one. I took a long deep drag, and blew out a perfect white smoke ring.

  Looking at Rico, I said, “They arrested me for killing eight agents at Ellenton. They were taking me to Atlanta when the SUV ran out of gas. Then your gang found us. End of story.”

  “Did you kill the Agents?”

  “No not really. We took their guns and SUVs. Then a mob of people at Ellenton chased them down and shot them.”

  “Serves them right … they got We The People justice. How many bad guys have you killed?”

  I laughed and replied, “Between the Feds and dope heads I don’t have any idea. What about you?”

  BOSS looked up in the air for a second or two and said, “I don’t know, at least a couple of hundred. You know you’re going to have to kill that Marshal.”

  I didn’t say a word because I knew Ken was already dead. If I didn’t kill him then Rico would make him suffer before he killed him. It was better for
Ken if I did him in.

  Rico commented, “I should have lived in the Roman times. I would have made a great Gladiator. I hate to tell you this, but I enjoy the killing and inflicting pain on those I hate. I love everything about combat.”

  Now I knew that Rico had gone over the edge. He has so much hate in him that he has turned to the dark side. I looked at his face and thought I saw the devil in his eyes. It sent a chill down my spine.

  “Tomorrow is Friday and that’s fight night. We have a tradition here that on Friday night someone fights. Sometimes it’s a fight to the death. That’s our entertainment. What we do is capture any invaders who cross into our territory. They’re the people we normally fight. We give them fair warning by nailing posters to the light poles stating; ‘NO TRESPASSING - Enter 54th Ave. at your own risk.’ The sign has a skull and cross bones painted on it.

  “Sometimes we let them go, after a good beating, so they can warn their friends to keep out. If they win the fight they can leave or join us. I call my group of warriors the DIMACHAERUS CLAN.

  “I want you to fight Ken to the death Gladiator style. Have you ever heard of the DIMACHAERUS?”

  “No. I’ve never heard of them.”

  “They lived in Roman times and would fight in the arena, with no armor, using knives or swords. When you fight I’ll let you use my Black Bear.” He patted the knife hanging on his hip.

  I wondered how many men Rico had killed with the Cold Steel blade.

  “Rico, why don’t you just let Johnny and me leave? I don’t want to kill Ken. He’s not much of a challenge. You do what you want with him.”

  BOSS stood up and walked around in a circle looking down at the floor. Then he stopped and looked up at the ceiling and said, “Jack, you just got here and I can’t let you leave. If you want to leave you’ll have to fight your way out.”

  “Fight my way out! What the hell do you mean?”

  “Here’s the deal. I agree with you, fighting Ken is not much of a challenge. Lisa will fight Ken and after she kills him then anyone of my men can call you out.”