Chapter 11: Recuerda El alamo
May 24, 2001
4:31 P.m.
Azotar El Mono, Los Angeles, California
I’ve never been a particular fan of bars.
Belay that. I completely despise them for everything they are and represent, save for one little detail that I’ll share later on. These establishments, besides being dens of all sorts of violence and vice, exist only to serve that mind numbing dilution known as alcohol. At least if you go to a restaurant to home, you can do other things while you drink that piss poison; a drinking hole is simply to get drunk off your ass and nothing more.
Even better, it’s not like they’re for the social elite anymore. Back in the golden age of the roaring twenties, the local cantina was the place to be for social interaction, music and shows. Now, if you’re going to a bar of all places to drink then you’re just the low tier of modern society, an economic failure wasting your few precious dollars away with your friends perpetually alone on Friday night. Even if you somehow do get lucky and wind up heading home with someone because of it, don’t let these blasted modern romantic movies fool you; if Rick can’t get the girl who walked into his joint in Casablanca, you won’t get your dream dame binging for two dollars a bottle.
Yet with all that said, there is one quality that justifies the continued existence of bars in our modern age. While I may have shared this story in the past and will probably share it again in the future, I recall a certain exchange with a soldier who complained that hospitals were no fun to fight through. When pressed, he commented that he preferred to fight in more refined settings like dance clubs, antique store…
Bars. Especially bars.
So that’s the playground that Big Boss found himself in as he walked into that old demon’s den, a menagerie of dirty men and a few women all lying about, equally drinking and cursing up a storm. A few full tables, a few empty ones; a row of exposed bottles just waiting to be sold, filled to a brim while their half drunken brethren laid strewn about half empty on the various mesas about the room. Tons of targets, tons of glass, tons of things that can break with ease.
All of it would be destroyed, though these moronic criminals didn’t know it yet. As the bell rang, a large body builder that must have come from the east coast, put down his paper as he looked up to the one eyed veteran and laughed, thinking him to be just another cocky cop trying to make a move.
“Bud, I’ve wiped the brains of three different bounty hunters from that mat you’re standing on. How about you go out the way you came?”
Damned Boss whistled, Max’s eyes glinting as the quarter German and remaining lethal mix put their genes to good use. While the dog leaped upwards at the man, a few wandering eyes who had with boredom turned to watch the new visitor armed to the teeth, a fairly common sight to them. The patrons only perked up as they saw the tanned body builder freeze, choking as the dog landed on the floor with a knife stained completely Red, a slim sliver of the same color appearing on the man’s neck.
Right before his head rolled completely off.
“Holy fu-”
Massacres seemed to be a common occurrence for the one eyed men, more so than the occasional lucky shot that literally blew a body in half as Big Boss pulled the trigger, the cursing barman cut off as his organic bits painted his wares. If the other patrons hadn’t been alerted to the newcomer, they sure did now as they lost their server, a good ten of the thirty or so criminals personally carrying pieces of their helper once he had exploded.
Of course, the fun didn’t stop there. Pulling the trigger as fast as he could, Damned Boss put down another three people before these idiots for hire finally started to draw their guns, the soldier kicking out a table and diving behind it as the rest of the patrons covered it with hail fire, outnumbering the man yet being under armed. Small pistols were all they carried; couldn’t have a cop catching them with anything more deadly, especially since none of their weapons were legally in their name.
They’d come to regret that now, yelling at each other for who had anything bigger as the criminals started to pile behind the tall barrier that was the main bar table. A few stragglers, still firing and finding their rounds unable to pierce the thick metal circle that was acting as a shield to Big Boss as he reloaded, remained in the open until they heard the movement of paws, causing a good three men to turn and find the mutt charging at them.
Shooting it did no good, at least with these small fire arms. Unbeknownst to them considering they didn’t even know what the term AT Field meant, a chip was implanted into Max that generated an electromagnetic field of tachyons around him, meaning that not only could he disrupt and disable any FTM powers used on him, but that he could also redirect any bullets fried his way.
At such a close proximity, that meant redirecting the shots right back at their firers. All three men went down, victims to their own bullets, as the dog picked off the one that didn’t immediately perish with a jab between the ribs. A short grunt and the numbers were further reduced, Damned Boss crouched behind a metal table as the twenty or so odd jobs left argued and bickered behind their wooden barrier.
“Max! To me!”
The dog obeyed, the soldier sticking his gun out overhead and pulling once. The immediate boom of several beers was heard, pouring their contents on the row of crouched scum as they let out a yell of even more expletives as the smell of spirits grew even stronger. It reeked so much that the soldier almost wondered if he was about to make a wrong move, one that would light the very air itself.
Only one way to find out. Taking a cigar from his inner shirt, a habit he had given up long ago, the man light the Cuban with his friend’s silver pocket trinket as the stogie turned Orange, bright as the sun as the soldier resisted the temptation to take a hit. Then, biting his lip, he tossed it overhead like a grenade as he listened to it bounce, Big Boss preparing for the worst as he imagined the fire going off.
Except it didn’t. The cigar simply landed in the pool of alcohol, too submerged and nowhere near hot enough to light the escaped brews on fire. With a grunt, disappointed that the trick didn’t work, he decided to go straight to the source as he took out the lighter he’d been gifted, staring for a moment at the fox face that adorned it as the thought back to its original owner.
“Always did like staying warm, Violet… well, here’s another blaze in your memory.”
Breaking the trigger, causing an eternal flame that would have only lasted fifteen minutes or so, Damned Boss only needed it for ten as he tossed it over head and counted down the seconds it would take for it to ignite, a hit or miss depending on how much vodka was on hand.
More than enough. Just as he was about to count to three, he heard a roar of shouts as flames arose from the ground, lighting and causing every single glass container suspended and displayed along the shelves to explode in a hail of flaming shrapnel. Those who didn’t immediately die from either the roaring fire or the hail of glass had little to await them as they tried to escape; as they began to climb over the wall they had used to trap themselves, Damned Boss simply aimed and fired, bursting their meaty heads and causing them to fall over their compatriots, trapping them in the blazing incinerator that was quickly growing out of control.
Just as he took his fourth shot, a window burst as the plume of smoke that was beginning to generate was sucked out, filtering into the outside world as the hunter realized how close he was coming to a flashover. Content that the burning pyre would take care of anyone who hadn’t been killed already, he set out ventilating the room even more as he unloaded ten more bursts, the shells ripping apart both wood and glass as he hit every window.
A success, though only in slowing the destruction down. Instead of a minute or so before the building would become inhospitable, he’d have a good five; after that, the combination of gasses and preexisting heat would set everything inside alight in one giant explosion, a so called flashover that was a fireman’s worst nightmare. Maybe even less consideri
ng how old the building was, made from wood instead of concrete and sturdier materials.
So it was time to act fact. Yelling at the dog to exit, he was already moving towards a locked hallway labeled for staff as Max wisely obeyed, abandoning the structure as he ran and leapt through a broken window to safety. Left to his lonesome, he simply hoped this building wasn’t some labyrinth that would make hunting down Morales impossible without the mutt’s superior senses. It would take him forever to identify the corpse, even with the help of vampires; another week in LA just to wait for an autopsy wasn’t a reality he considered until he had let the row of alcohol aflame, something he regretted now.
Well, no going back. Sticking his Remington to the locked door, he not only blew it two with a single shot but killed the waiting assassin behind it, his revolver flying down a hall as he crumpled to the floor with his pierced lung exposed. Stepping over the man, Big Boss took a second to pause as he considered how to best quickly scour the area with the time he had left.
Only half the bar was available to patrons; the other half were offices and private rooms, places for drug lords and visiting investors to conduct their business and pleasure themselves in secrecy. The perfect kind of place for Morales to hide in, a reasonable gift from La Mara to their new partner in crime.
Which sucked for Damned Boss, considering there were over sixteen rooms to clear. If Big Boss wanted to check them all in under three minutes, which would be playing it close to the flashover that may have had the power to even kill him, he would have to check every room and verify that Rodrigo wasn’t hiding within in under ten seconds. Difficult, given how these rooms were the size of a public school classroom.
Not impossible though. Kicking the first door open, he peered in to find what could have very well been Rodrigo’s accountant, a middle aged man with glasses and an attire that indicated he had no reason to be there in the first place. No reason to kill him, really; number crunchers are simply mercenaries of a different trade, using multiplication instead of murder as their tools of a trade.
Making them collateral in the war. Knowing he had no way to escape, Big Boss choose the lesser evil and put him out of his misery, blowing him apart as he stomped onto the next room. To waste his chance to find Rodrigo over a nerd was not a trade he was willing to make, especially given how much he had done so far. Room number two.
Empty, or so it seemed. Acting on pure speed, he flicked his wrist as he said the spell, a grenade flying from his previously empty hand as he realized that maneuver had only taken three seconds, a great benefit when he remembered the first room took him eight.
So there was no longer any need to be indiscriminate. Taking two seconds to transition from room to room, three to four to summon and toss the grenade, it meant he had cut the search and clear to six seconds, more than enough time to clear the floor out and get himself out of the burning Hell safely.
It just meant a bit more collateral. The third room was also empty, but not the fourth; a fat dealer, cocaine still evident on his pudgy nose, was panicking as a addicted prostitute hung on his leg, a victim of one poor life choice that had come to haunt her forever. Big Boss didn’t even see her when he had uttered the word, the ball of metal and fire already moving as he rolled along the floor and come to a stop at her feet.
Nothing could be down as the room was blown apart, the girl and dealer incinerated as Damned Boss found himself moving to the next room. Grunting, he swore he it was necessary as he kicked down door number six and threw the grenade, hoping that he wouldn’t rob anyone else of their somewhat innocent life.
Given how much of a jerk the times are, they invoked the rule of the genie and turned his wish around on him; as details of the room became clearer to the one eyed soldier, Big Boss nearly had a heart attack as he found himself starring at a teenaged girl bound and gagged, tied to a chair in the remnant of her ruined school uniform. While he didn’t recall seeing any missing fliers throughout the day, it didn’t take long for Damned Boss to know what she was.
An innocent victim, kidnapped from her family and friends, sent to rot in this blasted bar… and now panicking as a grenade was rolling across the floor, pin already pulled as she waited for it to explode and put her out of her misery.
Well, only one thing that a moral man with the power to defy the times could do. With his hand outstretched, it was easy enough to utter another spell that could very well cost him his life. Instead of coming to a rest at the bound woman’s feet, the grenade came tumbling back as some invisible force pulled it towards the soldier, causing him to grip it in his hand as he bit his lip.
You can guess what happens next. The grenade exploded, propelling Damned Boss backwards as he went through the wall behind him and collapsed a good tenth of the burning building on top of him. The teenager, with flustered eyes, merely shook in her chair and grumbled as she tried to figure out what happened to her killer/rescuer as she heard the structure continue to break and dump raw material on top of the soldier’s grave.
Can’t kill the man who bosses around Death. The pile of roofing blew apart, scattered about the parking lot as Big Boss pulled himself free, his shirt in tatters though he himself only suffered from minor wounds. Most of the damage had been redirected, his eyepatch singed and broken as blood poured from his missing eye, the glass ball within shattered from whatever spell he used to contain the blast. While it hurt, it didn’t keep him down; he rushed forward to help the confused girl who simply didn’t understand anything anymore as she heard him say
“I’m getting too old for this shit.”
The bonds were broken shortly after, a knife having been withdrawn from a pouch as he had lost the Remington in the rubble behind him, ropes comping apart with ease as he moved to cut the wrap keeping her mouth shut. With a slice it feel, the girl gasping as the first licks of flame began to enter the room, the Latino asking
“Ah… Quien… Quien es usted?”
“Papa Noel…. Pero, no importa quien soy. Vamanos. El fuego casi esta aqui.”
With his Blue eye glowing, Big Boss left the girl for a second as he threw a single punch, the whole wall behind the captive girl exploding as the cooling air of the afternoon came to greet them. An orange light, a sky that was a fading Blue, greeted them as the girl inside began to cry, fearing she would never see such a beautiful sight again after being caged in that tiny room for two weeks.
The smell of smoke and intensity of heat within kept the tattered soldier from noticing. Picking the school girl up and carrying her over his shoulder, he immediately leapt over the small broken pieces of wood and into the outer world as he ran for the parking lot and to the safety of his Ford Falcon, the Hispanic girl crying to be put down and left to walk on her own two feet.
Needless to say, Big Boss had no intention of slowing down and let that happen, especially as he felt how light she was. Keeping up the sprint, he turned the corner and finally found Max patiently waiting by the car, an entertained Trevor nursing a root bear turning concerned as he saw the soldier running towards them.
“Boss? What’s wr-”
Soldier, Model, School Girl, and Dog were all thrown to their feet as the burning bar finally imploded, a Gray mushroom cloud rising into the sky as the fire consumed everything inside, organic or synthetic. Ash was sent everywhere, a Black snow beginning to fall as the building began to outshine the intensity of the sun, pure Yellow in it’s fury as it consumed even the smoke it spewed.
Yet besides the shockwave, the four were left untouched. The most resilient of the four, Big Boss tore his eyepatch off and became Jack Wallace as he began to cough, slamming his first into the hood of his car and putting in a minor dent as he pulled himself upwards. Next to rise was Trevor Daines, his metal leg useful for situations like these given their dependency to always behave the same, the man irritated nonetheless as he complained
“Dam it Boss, when you set a fire you let me know beforehand so I can get to a safe distance.”
“You aren’t hurt. That’s safe enough…”
The dog seemed to agree, bringing himself up and walking over to the tired and shell shocked Latino girl, licking one of her hands as if to clean them when she shooed him away. No words or complaints came from her, merely happy to be alive, as Jack Wallace groaned again and let her be, turning to face the burning building and everything he accomplished.
Trevor asked the question on his mind.
“So. Is he dead?”
“I don’t know… I didn’t have enough time to find him. You see anyone come out?”
“Not through the front. It was like looking at the mouth of a dragon, so fiery and intense it was. Nobody could have escaped that way even if they tried… but what about the back?”
The one eyed soldier, still bleeding from his broken eye, shook his head. “Negative… there were no exits, no entrances save the front. If he didn’t come out… he must have died in the fires.”
Trevor was happy with that. Picking up his bottle of root bear and finding it to still be half full, even after he dropped it, he took a long swig in commemoration of their mission accomplished.
“Someone will have to stay behind to verify the body. You have Padma back in SC; want me to take care of things here?”
“Hm… I’ll stay. With the surprise from Volgin, I need to make a few calls. See if I can get a detective or two to resolve a few loose ends… such as whether Morales was under Volgin’s payroll.”
A surprise. “You think he was?”
“The kind of sadism Rodrigo participated in was the same sort of sin that Volgin was fond of… I almost wonder if he did it as a sort of tribute to the devil. It’s a shame I didn’t get the chance to talk to him… at least I have Richard for that.”
Trevor could drink to that. “True. Besides, could be worst. At least Morales is ninety nine percent sure to be dead.”
One percent, eat your heart out.
As if on cue from the Blond, a White 1995 Toyota Supra Mk IV shot out from the wreckage of the downed building, flying over the parking lot and past the waiting Ford Falcon as it landed in the main street, ripping down the road as it began to accelerate and make it’s escape, flames and ash falling off of it as it tried to make its way out of the city.
The only detail that mattered, the only thing that Jack noticed as he saw the car fly through the sky? Rodrigo Morales, hands busy loading an assault rifle, sitting in the passenger seat. The crime lord was alive, making his escape even as the first responders arrived on scene, Fire Trucks and Cops coming to put out the bonfire that the soldier had lit.
The two didn’t even need to ask what just happened, the boss speaking the order as if a machine making a cold calculation to a glitch. “I’m taking the roof; you’re driving.”
“Terrible idea. Let’s do it.”
The dog ran and jumped into the car as the wounded warrior reached past his pet’s crate and retrieved his own rifle, intending to match his opponent tic for tact as he retrieved another eyepatch, covering his wounds as he climbed aboard the Ford Falcon. Trevor, meanwhile, did the opposite and removed his eyewear; letting his Purple eye shine, he directed his shoulder missing a limb towards the burning furnace beside him and cast the spell, his missing eye being replaced by a smoky copy once more.
The effect was immediate; some of the smoke from the bar left its source and came to the Blond in a tank top, forming into a shadow arm that resembled his organic one, save for the talons that replaced his finger nails and the dark color that came from the shifting smoke. Flexing the limb, he cracked a smile and stepped into the driver’s seat as he turned the key, the V8 roaring as it would get pushed to its max in what was the first time in a long while.
As such, all were happy with the situation save the school girl. Coughing, even further lost as she saw her savior pull out a cord from one of many pouches on his belt and hook himself into the roof, the Latina asked
“Senor-”
“La policia estan aqui para ayudarle. Ellos necesitan algo para hacer.”
Hitting the roof of his Turquois ride, the V8 roared once more as the car immediately shot away, heading onto the street as the various officers made sure to step around it, all having heard the message broadcasted over their PA systems as the moved to help the girl. With the building destroyed and the MVPs all but gone, it’s safe to say that our business, time, and attention here is concluded as we follow the trail of the escaping Rodrigo Morales.
So closes ACT 1. Now to the races.
Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation Page 24
