by B Branin
* * * * *
Half an hour later, in a vacant lot hidden on three sides by a condemned apartment complex, an abandoned roller rink and a closed liquor store, I waited. Just down the street laid the shabby market that was fondly known as the Ocean Grocer. It was the only store that catered to the gritty, poor and unthankful residents this deep inside the Dock District. I was skeptical that the cult who had plans of sacrificing human souls to a demigod/devil would do so inside a building that had a sign out front that read “50% off all non-FDA approved canned goods.”
My doubt evaporated upon arrival. I hadn’t seen any of the cultists but the Ocean Grocer had far too much activity going on for a store that had closed three hours ago. Milling about in the parking lot was a contingent of gangbangers, unaffiliated hoodlums and junkies of every flavor. It was as if Lorraine called together the biggest army of desperate, Z-list mercenaries she could coax from the nearby slums. Grudgingly I had to give her some credit because army of riff raff was still an army.
The temptation to call the police or Zotkin’s crew to mop up these morons grew stronger with each passing second. Somehow I resisted that temptation. Sure, the cops and Zotkin’s foot soldiers could handle the rift raft in the Ocean Grocer’s parking lot but what then? How could I warn them about fanatical worshipers, monsters made from trash or phantoms that could freeze the breath in your lungs without getting thrown into a room with padded walls?
So it was up to me. An entire life-time of running from heroics and responsibility and now they were both thrust onto my shoulders. I gotta say, fate sure knew how to screw someone over. Still, I felt confident.
Ok, not confident but at least I wasn’t that scared.
Though I didn't have an army at my side, I had something just as good. After calling in every favor, I brought together the strangest and quirkiest taskforce ever assembled...whose members happened to include the most capable if not dangerous people in the city.
First among my battalion of the bizarre were the Twins. The distributors of disarray themselves, their very names striking fear directly into the heart of federal investigators and crime bosses alike. The enormous monster of a man, West and his stone-cold killer of a counterpart, Kurt. I had a feeling they would have shown up here even if I hadn’t invited them, some instinctive need for chaos guiding them to this very spot.
Standing by the trunk of his white Cadillac, B. Bruce smoked a cigarette and looked rather irritated. The pawnbroker and I had always been great associates and on occasion, partners but this was a true act of friendship for him to come out and risk his neck on my account. A true act of friendship…that was going to force me to pawn some of my more valuable possessions indefinitely.
Fidgeting nervously to my right was Fiona and to my left, stalwart as always, was Father O'Brawley. I didn't need to beg, plead or bribe the old priest for his help. I simply told him we had found Fiona’s sister and needed a hand. That, coupled with the promise that we would be getting rid of the Daughters of All who had been causing no end of grief for the church, was enough to bring forth the most frightening ire from Father O’Brawley I had ever seen.
The last and least of my cult-hunters had just arrived. Tall Man, Zotkin’s iron right hand, rolled into the vacant lot and stepped out of his car in a full three piece suit, looking as if he had been preparing for this gathering all week. Not the slightest hint of fatigue or annoyance could be read in his features (which I found rather galling for some childish reason).
With Buggy on speakerphone, my team was complete.
It was time to kick some cult ass, defy a devil, reunite a family and save the day…all free of charge. Honestly, the overhead of heroism was immense! It strengthened my silent vow never to partake in anything noble ever again.
“Okay, um, I wanna thank everyone for coming.” I started after a nervous cough to clear my throat, “Let’s get right down to it, shall we?”
How does one prepare his associates with a rallying speech while combining it with a plan of attack? It was difficult, yes, but certainly not impossible. After spending my entire life spinning tales, blending the truth and falsifying facts all for the sake of a con, I had learned one thing: Showmanship was key.
But this wasn’t a con and dammit, I owed my associates…my friends…the truth.
“Some of you know less, some of you know more but here is what you all need to know.” I continued, attempting to sound fearless, which was probably a huge waste of time, “In the building we are about to raid, some crazy cult has kidnapped several teenaged girls. I believe these psychos are going to try and get rid of their victims tonight…”
I left out the parts concerning the demonic sacrifice, soul thievery and body snatching. Why worry my team any further than need be?
“…so that’s why I need all of your help. We have to stop these nut jobs now or it’s going to be too late to save anyone. So we hit them hard and fast, grab the girls n’ get the hell out.” I continued, doing my best to accept my place in such a strange, tangled web woven by fate, “I have a task for each of you but no worries, there’s plenty of wiggle room. Do it however you want as long as you get the job done, got it?”
There were a few murmurs. The night air seemed to be charged with a palpable energy, demanding that something, anything, happen which was putting us all on edge. Despite the added anxiety to my already frayed and whiskey-soaked nerves, I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time…happy. Happy that I was doing something productive. Happy that I was about to be apart of something bigger than my personal greed or self-indulgence.
Happy that, for good or ill, this fucking week would be over.
“First on the agenda would be you, Bruce. I need you to clear out the parking lot of junkies and gangbangers.” I announced as all of us focused on the pawnbroker, “Just like we discussed when I called you. The cult has been paying these dredges in drugs, so they are probably really wired and really, really dedicated to their dealer.”
Bruce let out a laugh and then a long string of grunts and mumbles.
We all stared blankly at him.
“I whasaying that I got datrick to git ridof ’em, here.” The pawnbroker replied.
All eyes turned back to me for a translation.
“You have something to get rid of them?” I ventured, more of a guess really.
Beaming with a smile that had stolen many a girl’s heart and undone many a bra, Bruce opened up the trunk to his car. Basking in the soft glow of the trunk’s single light bulb, the pawnbroker reached into the compartment and pulled out an enormous shotgun-like device.
“We’re not going to commit mass-murder!” I informed Bruce hastily.
“It’s a riot gun,” The Twins said in unison, obviously having seen (and probably been on the receiving end of) a similar weapon in the past.
“Tear gas?” Tall Man interjected stiffly, “This is pathetic. Give me five minutes and I will have enough men to clear out the building. Zotkin has instructed that I put an end to these competitors and this will be the easiest course of action!”
Of course I couldn’t tell the ruski sob’s lieutenant that inside the building his men would be facing the supernatural. They wouldn’t stand a chance! Nor could I trust them not to shoot up Lorraine (if that were even possible). I had plans for the cult leader and needed her alive.
“So are you planning on killing those kidnapped girls as well? Because the first thing they are going to do when free is call the cops.” I countered Tall Man’s declaration, “This is going to be a media frenzy, no matter what. Creating a double digit body count isn’t going to help anyone! It’ll only bring more heat down on us. More heat than even your boss can dodge. We gotta use tact and guile, not brute force.”
If my reprimand pissed off Tall Man in the least, he didn’t show it. His expressionless face was a blank slate as he crunched numbers in his head. He knew I was right; this wasn’t some gang-related turf war that the cops could chalk up to senseless violenc
e. There were going to be survivors and there were going to be questions…but, if we were careful and lucky enough, the answers to those questions won’t involve us.
Bruce spoke up once more as he loaded a round, canister-like cartridge into the belly of the weapon he held. After four indecipherable attempts, the pawnbroker cleared his throat and spoke slowly so we could understand what he was trying to say.
“This isn’t tear gas, it’s called a ‘nettle agent.’ Pikked it up from some Tongs who were passing thru last ‘ummer,” Bruce informed us, “Fires gas grenades but the gas causes chemical burns. Bad ones. No one dies but everyone runs screaming.”
West began grinning from ear to ear and even Kurt offered an approving smile, truly impressed with the pawnbroker’s choice. I myself was pleased but not surprised; if there was a tool or device needed for an odd job, Bruce already had it in stock, ready and waiting.
“Excellent!” I exclaimed rubbing my hands together eagerly, “Now that brings us to our next step, which involves you...”
As I spoke, I locked eyes with Tall Man.
“We are in the Docks and not even the residential area. Chances are no one will be calling the cops no matter what trouble we cause.” I explained, knowing that Tall Man already understood where this was going, “But to be on the safe side, I need you to run interference. I know every cop in this part of town is on Zotkin’s payroll, so make them look the other way. On top of that, I need you to make sure that no other gangs show up, thinking this is an invasion of their territory.”
With all the urgency of someone about to order a pizza, Tall Man reached into his suit and retrieved his cell phone and dialed with that infuriating calm that was quickly becoming his trademark. After putting the phone to his ear, he gave a series of low, growls in what I assumed was Russian.
“It is done,” Tall Man announced as he tucked away his cell, “My boss will have a crew on standby. If you fail, we won’t…and you will be the one in the media frenzy.”
Short, blunt and threatening. My kind of warning.
“Moving along,” I coughed, not even bothering to acknowledge the intended threat, “West, Kurt, this one is for you. After Bruce clears the parking lot, I need you guys to go through the front door, guns a blazing. Cause as much havoc as possible and get as much attention from the cultists, got it?”
“This is gonna be better than Christmas!” West chuckled savagely.
“Watch your backs. We don’t know what kinda tricks or how many people are defending the building.” I warned them, “As you two draw their attention Father O’Brawley, Fiona and I will be slipping in through the back. As soon as you guys get the signal, bail. All of us will meet up at the Booze Bin if this works out.”
“What’s the signal?” Kurt asked though I knew they would only leave after having their fill of destruction.
“When the sprinklers go off.” I told them, “Everyone get ready. We are kicking this into action ASAP.”
With that, we prepared for war. The Twins laughed wickedly while Bruce waved them over to his car, apparently having more gifts to share. Tall Man gave me a stern glance before he climbed back into his car and drove off, predictably meeting up with his strike team should we fail.
While everyone else got ready, I had hoped to speak with Father O’Brawley privately but Fiona caught me off guard before I had a chance to get the old priest's attention. With a single glance she trapped me inside those big, beautiful eyes of hers.
“Who are you?” Fiona demanded, “You aren’t an investigator are you?”
“To be perfectly honest,” I replied, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly as I readied myself to confess, “I am surprised it took you this long to figure it out. I’m actually a-”
“-Good man.” Father O’Brawley spoke up, stepping between us, “It just takes some of us awhile to realize it. Lass, trust in this man a little longer and you shall see his greatness.”
My face must have been a perfect picture of astonishment because that was the closest thing to a compliment that I had ever heard Father O’Brawley utter. And it was about me! Fiona looked a bit sheepish for her doubt but she gave me a small smile and I saw all the hope, all the trust that she could muster…
…placed squarely on my shoulders.
“Father,” I said, drawing the old priest to one side, “What we’re about to do tonight…it’s going to be hard. I can’t guarantee our own safety much less the safety of those we are going up against. It’s…well…what I’m trying to say is that if you don’t want to…”
Father O’Brawley held up a hand and locked me with a stern gaze.
“Lad, endless tides of mercy and forgiveness can be found in the hearts of the Son, the Father and the Holy Spirit.” The old priest informed me, but his face grew grim and stern, “Alas, I am just a man. I cannot show those who would harm the innocent and steal but children the same mercy. I be with you and whatever price must be paid to save the innocent, so be it.”
Over the years I had come to trust Father O’Brawley’s council and enjoy our chats on the benches outside the church. I would never deny that I had a soft spot for the old priest but I had always spoken with him as a man of God. I never realized just how…human…he was until this moment. Just how fragile his age had made him and how this just might be his last night on earth, dying for the sins of a worthless conman.
“I hear those church crackers are pretty good.” I commented with a strained laughed, “I’m looking forward to having one this Sunday.”
“They be wafers not crackers,” Father O’Brawley corrected, but chuckled all the same, “And they are even better after a long day of fasting.”
There was still a part of me screaming, pleading and begging me to turn tail and run. Somehow I found the strength to ignore those pleas but where that strength came from I'll never know. Despite my cowardice making my nerves brittle, I managed to set the plan in motion with a wave of my hand. It was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life because I knew that come morning, I was either going to be victorious or dead.
Our plan began with Bruce exiting the lot in his caddy, a big grin of anticipation on his face and the riot gun on his lap. Before the Cadillac took off down the street, the pawnbroker leaned out of the window and tossed something to me. I plucked it out of the air and felt a reassuring weight in my hand.
It was a switchblade, brand new and razor sharp.
The Twins, each in their respective vehicles, followed Bruce.
On foot, Fiona, Father O’Brawley and I hurried along, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.
Despite the oppressive gloom of the night, I could make out the Ocean Grocer clearly, even from this distance. If I squinted, I could even spot the shapes of the cultist rabble milling about, patrolling the area and waiting for trouble. In any other circumstance, this might have seemed absurd. Six people about to raid a thrift store owned by a cult and protected by gangbangers...but in any other circumstance there wouldn't have been dozens of lives, not to mention souls, at stake.
For the first time in my life, I offered a genuine prayer.
* * * * *
Please note that these following accounts have all been witnessed by me, though not during the actual events. Thanks to the stolen security footage from the Ocean Grocer, I have viewed my friends and their actions from every possible angle and collected comments from those involved. So I will start at the beginning of these tapes as well as the beginning of my plan…
