Maddog 1 The Begining

by Tom Golabek

About half an hour later, I walked back into the small cluttered gun shop. The bells on the door rang as I opened it, and Dino came out from the back room. “Oh, it’s you Mike. Browse around; and I’ll be through in a couple of minutes.” He returned to the back room, and I did as he suggested. The shop had more guns than many stores I’ve seen twice its size. He had everything from a Civil War cannon, to a Derringer the size of a thumb. Dino came out a couple of minutes later carrying the sawed-off shotgun. It looked like a deadly, powerful piece of armament. I took it from him, and gripped it in my hands. The shortened wooden stock fit like it was specially designed for me. A grin covered my face revealing my teeth.

  Dino handed me a couple of dark green shells. One was filled with buckshot; the other was a pure lead slug. I took them back downstairs to the range, and inserted the ammo into the chambers. The barrels were pointed at a paper target about ten feet away. I pressed gently on the forward trigger, and the shotgun burst a red flame out of its mouth. The noise was deafening. Pieces of the paper target flew about. What was left was riddled with a hundred little holes.

  I placed another target on the clothesline, sent it out a dozen feet, and pressed the second trigger. Orange fire came out of the barrel making it look like a blowtorch. The slug put a clean one-inch hole through the paper. This was the kind of power I needed. It made a .45 look like a Beretta, and a Beretta look like a peashooter. I carried the miniature cannon back upstairs, and laid it on the glass counter alongside the two Berettas. Dino was a good man to know. I asked him for a box of high power .25 caliber bullets, a box of .12 gauge slugs, and a holster for a Beretta. He put the works into a larger container for me to carry out. I gave him two more “C” notes, picked up the box, and walked out the door.

  My mind was more at ease now. I knew the arsenal I had would deal death and destruction. Tonight men would die.

  I peeked at my watch. The hands indicated 5:30…another hour to go before I was to meet Matt.

  I hustled into the car, and made my way through the asphalt jungle. If I pressed the gas pedal, and made the lights, I would make it back to the pad in fifteen minutes. My GTO passed car after car. I continued to think of tonight. My heart beat faster. My blood flowed through my body quickly with excitement. Darkness would be upon the city within a couple of hours.

  My apartment was in view now, and my eyes canvassed the street for a parking space. Luck was with me. I pulled into a space in front of my huge cream-white building, picked up my box of goods, and climbed out. The doorman gave me a slight nod of recognition as I passed him. I crossed the lobby and took the lift to my floor.

  Just to be on the safe side, I pulled out my .45 as I slid up to my door. I turned the key and knob quietly, and opened it slowly. My ears listened intently for any revealing sounds. No noise! Caution never killed anybody, and it wasn’t going to kill me. The darkness of my apartment could have hidden an elephant. My hand reached around the doorjamb, found the light switch, and flicked it on. The miniature chandelier on the ceiling flooded the room with light. My eye skirted every inch of the room before I stepped in. I straightened up, walked in, and set the box on the table.

  My thirst was begging for a cold beer, so I grabbed a bottle of suds out of the fridge, and slugged half of it down on the first gulp.

  I began preparing my supplies of war. The plain cardboard box didn’t give a hint of the arsenal it contained inside. I pulled out a Berretta, and the little leather holster that matched it. If I didn’t know that the pistol in my hand was a lethal weapon, I would have sworn it was a toy. My hand worked its way into the box, and came out with the pack of high power .25 caliber bullets. I loaded them into the Berretta, slid the holster onto my belt until it fit into the small of my back, and placed the .25 into it. I eyeballed myself in the mirror to see if it was noticeable. The gun was invisible.

  I walked to the bathroom, pulled out a roll of tape from the cabinet, and took it back into the living room. My hand pulled out the other Berretta, loaded it up, and taped it to my right calf. I looked into the mirror again. It wasn’t noticeable. The rod felt heavy and awkward when I walked, but it was well hidden.

  The .45 I was wearing was a good one, but I replaced it with one of the rods I had cleaned this afternoon. It fit snugly into my shoulder rig. A full clip was inserted, and the semi-automatic was ready for action. I finished the beer, went to the fridge, and pulled out another one. My watch read 6:15. I checked my equipment again, and was satisfied.

  Some of the newspaper was lying on top of the television. I picked it up, and wrapped it around my other .45, and the shotgun. It looked like a package of fresh fish. I grabbed a fistful of slugs out of the box, and shoved them into my pocket. My other hand drew a full clip of .45s from the table, and dropped it in the same place. I felt like a walking armory. Too bad the newspapers couldn’t get a load of me now. I buttoned my jacket, and walked out the door.

  Matt was probably waiting for me in the lobby by now. I jumped over to the elevator entrance, and pressed the call button. The movement of gears and cables sounded through the doors. The whine stopped, and I hopped in. As I pressed the button for the lobby, I looked at the newspaper wrapped package I was carrying. Wouldn’t you know that my picture was staring at me! The paper I picked to wrap the guns was very appropriate.

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors retreated into their recesses. Matt was in the lobby sitting on a comfortable couch, listening to the soft music the management provided. He didn’t know that I was in the lobby until I sat next to him. He looked at me and said, “Alright Mike, cut the cloak, and dagger stuff, and tell me what the scoop is.”

  “Let’s get in my car. I’ll tell ya on the way.”

  He looked annoyed, but followed me out of the building, and into my car. With his gruff voice Matt said, “You had better drop me off here when we’re through. My car is right around the corner, and I am not gonna pay a taxi to drive me over here to get it.”

  “Don’t worry. If you manage to live through tonight I’ll drive you to your car myself.”

  His eyes lit up with confusion. “Okay, we’re in your car now, so tell me what’s going on.” I pulled out, and headed northbound.

  “Matt, you’re gonna get a chance to promote yourself to Chief of Police.” He leaned back, lit up a cigar, and enthusiastically said, “Go on, go on, let me hear more.”

  “Alright, here’s the story from the beginning. We know that Archie Bankoff was the one who covered Krasinski’s body with that Voltesso stuff. I saw Dragon talking to Bankoff after the fight, and it wasn’t any social chat. Archie was shaking from head to toe. I know a lot more about this case than the police do. The mugs that have been trying to kill me, all worked for Dragon, or his boss. He is the muscle of this boxing syndicate that makes sure that certain boxers take dives in specific rounds. If the fighters don’t go along, Dragon leans on them until they agree. Dragon knocked off Bankoff. He also knew I was on the case, and hot on his trail. Sooner or later, he knew that I would get to the bottom of this racket. Do you remember what I did to his brother? He wants me to walk into a trap, so he can do the same thing to me. That’s where we’re headed right now. To the trap…a barn in Hastings. They’ve got Lola up there.”

  “You mean Lola is in on this too? Why that lousy whore…”

  “No you dumb ass. They kidnapped her from the apartment while I was out, and are holding her as bait. I am supposed to be there at 9:30. It’s an abandoned farmhouse and barn located on Farmers Road.”

  I reached into my pocket, and drew out a smoke from the pack of butts. He held out a light for me, and I dragged on it. I continued, “Here’s where you come in. Since you are about my size and shape, you could be mistaken for me at a distance at night. I am going to get out of the car before 9:30, and sneak my way up to the barn. You’ll have my jacket on, drive my car up the driveway, and get out. I figure there a
re three of them in there. Two will probably come out, and I will be behind them with cannon in their backs. After I fill them with lead, we break into the barn, clean up, and rescue Lola. If there happens to be more than three, I’ve got the artillery to take care of the situation. You’ll get front page headlines, and have another girder to build your bridge to Commissioner with.”

  He knew the danger involved, but the fame he wanted blinded him to it. Plus he knew I needed him to rescue Lola. Matt wasn’t a coward anyway. He had risked his life many times when he really didn’t have to.

  By pulling out his police special .38, he told me that he was with me all the way. I dragged on my smoke, and flicked it out the window. My watch read 7:00. We were in Dobbs Ferry, and almost there. It was early. I swerved the car over to a grocery store, on the side of the road. We were in the middle of nowhere. No other houses, or stores, or buildings could be seen. Matt followed me into the old wooden structure. An old man with no teeth, and binoculars for glasses, came out of the back room, and gummed, “What can I do for you boys?”

  Matt answered, “We need a couple of beers Pop, a Bud for my father here, and a Miller for me.”

  A voice from behind some boxes in the back said, “I’ll get it dad.” It was a female voice and it sounded very attractive. A few seconds later the most innocent looking brunette emerged from the boxes, carrying two cans of beer. She saw that our eyes followed her every move. This babe was stacked with a couple of bowling balls. They were fascinating. I‘ve seen smaller watermelons. It was a wonder that she could walk erect. Matt looked at me, and we almost burst out laughing. Her body was like an hourglass. I doubted that she could see her toes. They had to be “double F’s” if they were an inch.

  She handed the cans to us, and I asked her for a can opener. A smile beamed at us and she said, “Take your eyes off of me, and you’ll see that they are the new self-opening cans.” That sure made me feel stupid. Matt thought it was pretty funny. He asked her to join us for a beer, and she accepted. Matt slipped two bucks to the old man, and we followed the buxom chick outside to a wooden table and chairs at the side of the shack.

  We could see that she was as intrigued with us as we were with her. We didn’t look like a couple of schoolboys. Matt whispered to me that he had never felt like touching a woman’s breasts as much as he did right now. As he talked to her, they were practically stabbing him in the eye. Every other second I looked at Matt, and he appeared to be fighting to keep his hands off of her. She knew what he was looking at, and she took some deep breaths. Finally, Matt couldn’t stand it any longer and said to her, “Look kid, I don’t believe all that is yours. I’ll pay you twenty bucks if you show me what those monsters look like.”

  She thought it over, smiled, and got up. “I’ll take your money first, sir.” He fingered into his wallet, and handed her twenty bucks. She pulled the tight blue sweater over her body, and revealed her bra. It didn’t look like the normal bra, but resembled two flour sacks sewn together. Matt and I were on the edges of our seats. Her hand’s swung around behind her, and released the clasp of her bra. It fell away, and lo and behold, we witnessed the eighth wonder of the world. They looked like two giant white milky basketballs with large pink tips. We looked at each other in amazement, then back at the broad. Matt stated that he wished he had a camera! Still in a daze, we stood up, slugged down the remainder of the beer, and walked backwards to the car still soaking up the view. Wow, what a sight! We hopped back in the car, and headed out.

  The time was 7:30, and the sun was down. I turned the headlights on. Up ahead was a sign, “WELCOME TO HASTINGS. POP: 18,000”.

  I thought I knew where Farmers Road was, and found the long narrow paved road with little problem. The iron sign on the corner read “Farmers Road.”

  As I drove on the desolate byway, I noticed a deserted farmhouse on the right. I wondered if that was the one. Few cars travelled this road, as it was an out of the way place that lead to nowhere important. I drove further up the road, and read the numbers on the next house, which were 329. The deserted barn we had passed was the place where I was supposed to meet my bitter enemies. I pulled the car over to the side, far out of sight of the farmhouse, and cut the engine. Matt and I went over our plans, and I reached back for my .45 and shotgun. It was the first time Matt had noticed the package. When I opened it, he laughed. I pulled two slugs out of my pocket, and inserted them into the chambers of the sawed off cannon. My free hand gripped the .45, and slid it under the dash. That one was there just as an extra safety measure. We sat back, lit up a couple of smokes, and got our thoughts together.

  * * *

  CH 15 Death in ‘Nam! Death at the Barn! Death for …?