Highway To Armageddon Page 10

  A sharp pain erupts behind my right eye. I groan and massage my throbbing head. I need more pills, but they’ll just fog up my mind. We need to get going if we’re going to have any shot at nabbing Mikhail. It’s only been one day since Klaxton placed a bounty on Mikhail’s head, but that still leaves us less than a week to capture him before the Chinese start a war. We need to formulate a plan tonight so we can begin our cross-country odyssey first thing in the morning. The journey between Sanctuary 7 and New Las Vegas isn’t one you can make in one day. Even in a flying car it will take at least several days to cover that monstrous distance.

  Our late start could work in our favor, though. We were watching the news earlier, and they kept talking about how Alaska is being flooded with bounty hunters. Several of those bounty hunters have already been killed in skirmishes with other criminals. The bounty hunters have also been fighting with each other. Alaska sounds a little hectic at the moment. Hopefully things calm down by the time we get there. That is, if Mikhail isn’t already apprehended. Then our odyssey will have been for naught.

  There is another bit of good news that has arisen as a result of the national manhunt for Mikhail; people seem to have forgotten we have a bounty over our heads. The only people who tried to take us down were these middle-aged bounty hunters who haven’t had a successful apprehension since the 2130s. They confronted us this morning when we went to the market. Needless to say, we incapacitated them in short order.

  My mind stops wandering when I come across Mikhail’s biography. The report claims Mikhail had a wife and six kids who died when the Chinese carpet-bombed his compound 15 years ago. That would explain why he hates them so much. Ten years later Mikhail got his revenge when his terror group used rocket launchers to shoot down a plane carrying the Chinese Emperor and Empress. That forced Princess Xing to ascend the throne at the ridiculously young age of 12, and it ignited a civil war between the Chinese and Russians that continues to this day.

  Historians still aren’t exactly sure what Mikhail hoped to gain by killing the Emperor and Empress, as it was counterproductive to his stated goal of reclaiming Russian sovereignty. The Emperor was in the process of giving the Russians back some of their land to ease tensions between the two peoples, but that all went out the window when Mikhail assassinated him.

  I personally believe Mikhail was so devastated over the deaths of his family that peace simply wasn’t an option. It’s estimated Mikhail and his followers have killed tens of thousands of Chinese over the last ten years, including prominent military and government officials. The Purple Dragons have won the distinction of being the most polished, organized, and effective terror organization in history.

  I use my brain waves to telepathically switch over to a list of Russian clubs in the New Las Vegas area. I only have to scan the list for a few seconds before I find one that piques my interest. It’s actually a fairly large casino that doubles as a club. The club is called the Purple Palace, and it’s owned by a guy named Igor Bolshevik. The name sounds familiar, so I pull up his file. It says he’s a rumored Mikhail sympathizer who has been accused by the Chinese of harboring Russian refugees.

  In recent years China has been hammering America to hand over people like Igor so they can “question” them. That, of course, will never happen. The government likes to leave Russian refugees alone for two reasons: one, they’re helping keep China at bay with all their suspected terror acts. And two, Russian crime-lords like Igor are at war with home-grown American crime bosses like Caesar. Basically the government gets to kill two birds with one stone.

  I flip back over to Mikhail. I’ve always found him to be an enigmatic figure. First of all, he looks like a dwarf from some fantasy novel. He can’t be more than five feet tall, and he’s quite chubby. His long, greasy hair and beard don’t help his cause. I’m also intrigued by his obsession with black magic.

  Mikhail can always be seen (on the rare occasion that he is seen) wearing a weird, mechanized purple outfit with a cloak and cape billowing behind him. He also has a purple dragon logo emblazoned across his chest.

  All that, however, is not what I find most fascinating about him. It’s the fact that he truly believes, deep down in his heart, that he is an actual wizard… that he actually knows how to use black magic. He wears these robotic gloves that enable him to shoot electricity from his fingertips, and his cyborg suit has extendable wings that allow him to fly across the heavens like a mutant eagle. I’ve seen video images of him buzzing around in the sky, firing lightning bolts. He’s done a remarkable job of portraying himself as a magical, god-like creature sent down to Earth to liberate the Russian people. Some Russians actually think of him as a god.

  Mikhail is a nutjob, there’s no doubt about that. But one can’t deny his effective use of terrorism. He has single-handedly thrust the Chinese people into a perpetual state of fear. People are too frightened to leave their homes for fear the Purple Dragons will bomb a school or supermarket. No wonder the Chinese government wants him dead.

  I relay all this to Lance, who is staring up at the stars. At first I think he’s ignoring me, but he finally says, “So what’s the plan?”

  I lift my goggles to give my eyes a rest from the glowing screen. “Well, Igor’s gang mostly caters to older Russian refugees, but they’re always on the lookout for ‘fresh blood’. They need younger people to be their drug runners and assassins. We could probably convince Igor and his crew that we want to join their cause. It’ll be easier to find Mikhail from the inside of a Purple Dragon affiliate than from the outside of one.”

  Lance stops looking at the stars and stares at me with wide eyes. “Are you suggesting we weasel our way into the Purple Dragons and act as spies?”

  “Yes, unless you have a better idea.”

  I assumed Lance would be critical of my plan, like he usually is. So I’m stunned when he grins and says, “That’s freaking genius!”

  “Really?” I say.

  Lance jumps out of his chair. “Yes, really! I’ve always wanted to be a spy, infiltrating a major criminal group and taking them down from the inside. I mean, we’ve done similar things before, like when we went after Remy, but this will be way bigger, and way more exciting.”

  “It’s also going to be extraordinarily dangerous,” I point out.

  Lance blows raspberries. “Everything we do is dangerous. We nearly got beat up by old bounty hunters on our way to the market this morning.”

  “I doubt we were in any danger of being beat up, but I get your point.”

  “This won’t be easy, though,” Lance says seriously. “The Purple Dragons don’t let just anyone join their gang. We’ll have to prove we hate the Chinese or something.”

  I slide my goggles back over my eyes and look up the fashions of Purple Dragon gangbangers. I quickly come across images of young people with spiky purple hair and Mohawks. They’re all wearing leather jackets and pants, and quite a few have tattoos of purple dragons on their arms and legs. (Big surprise there.) I rattle off what I see to Lance, who merely nods.

  “That won’t be too bad. I’m cool with dyeing my hair purple and wearing leather. And doesn’t Krystal have some crazy Mohawk wig?”

  “I believe so,” I mutter, not paying too much attention to Lance. I’m too busy reading what it takes to join the Purple Dragons, and I don’t like what I see.

  “What’s wrong?” Lance asks, squatting beside me. He can always tell when I’m upset or perturbed.

  “According to this article, the Dragons have a gruesome initiation process.”

  “Such as?”

  “To prove your loyalty, they usually make you take out one of their rival gang members… or a troublesome politician.”

  “Oh, a hit.”

  “Yeah, a hit. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this.”

  “What do you mean? It’s not like we’ve never killed anyone before.”

  “Yeah, but it’s always in self-defense. This will be totally different. We’ll be going
out to a commit murder, or maybe even multiple murders.”

  Lance pats my shoulder. “You’re overthinking things, like always. They might not even have us do an initiation. You know how perverted some of these older Ruskies are. You show a little skin and they’ll make you a member right off the bat.”

  “I could say the same about you. I hear some of those Ruskies have a thing for young guys.”

  Lance shoves my shoulder. “Ew, that’s gross.”

  “You started it!” I shove him back.

  Lance and I continue our shoving match until a familiar, gritty voice says, “Well ain’t this precious. The two lovebirds are playing a game of patty-cake.”

  Lance and I spin around and gasp at the sight of a midnight-blue Moon Cruiser floating up over the side of our penthouse apartment and landing on the roof. Machete is in the driver’s seat and Arrow is right beside her, twirling one of his arrows in his hands.

  Lance marches over to our uninvited guests. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Arrow hops out of the car. “Calm down, hothead. We came to… ugh!”

  Arrow never finishes his sentence because Lance slugs him in the mouth. Arrow bumps up against the ledge, nearly falling off the roof.

  Machete dashes over and tackles Lance to the ground. She then whips out a gleaming blade and dangles it over his throat.

  “Lance!” I scream. I grab Machete’s right arm, the one holding the blade. I pull back with all my might, but Machete’s arm doesn’t budge. She’s extraordinarily strong.

  “Krystal, help us!” I shout. I hear nothing but laughter in response. Krystal and the kids are so absorbed in their loud-ass TV show that they don’t hear our struggle.

  Machete spins around and punches me in the throat with her left fist. I gag and collapse to my knees. My shades fly off and clatter to the ground. Tears stream down my cheeks as I struggle to breathe. Machete came close to shattering my windpipe.

  Machete kicks the side of my head, unleashing a shower of orange stars that flitter in and out of existence. White hot agony envelopes my skull. I’m starting to see why Machete is so successful at nabbing crooks. She’s like a freaking Kung Fu master.

  Machete grabs my neck with her left hand while she dangles her blade over my right eye socket.

  “If you don’t stay down, girlie, I’ll perform a little cosmetic procedure that will have people thinking you’re my long-lost daughter.”

  I focus on Machete’s eye patch. I get the point and stop struggling.

  “Get off of her!” Lance shouts, running up behind Machete. He skids to a halt when Arrow aims an arrow directly at his neck. Lance sighs and raises his hands. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.

  “Alright, you guys win… again,” Lance growls. “What the hell do you want?”

  Machete releases her death grip on my neck and slowly stands up. I back away and rub my throat, which feels like it’s just been released from a vise.

  Arrow still has his arrow aimed at Lance, but he does back away. It would appear Lance and I are out of danger… for the moment.

  “Is this how you treat all your uninvited guests?” Machete asks, sheathing her blade.

  “Just answer the question,” Lance says curtly. “Why are you here?”

  “We want you to help us hunt down Rasputin,” Machete says bluntly.

  Lance and I exchange incredulous glances. I’m stunned.

  “You expect us to track down Mikhail together? Are you on crack?!” Lance cries.

  Arrow jabs Lance in the chest with his pointed projectile.

  “Watch your mouth.”

  Lance scoffs. “Calm down, momma’s boy. I’m sure you’ve heard people say much worse about your psychopathic mother.”

  Arrow drops his bow and slugs Lance in the gut. Lance grunts and bowls over.

  “Next time I’ll use a knife,” Arrow hisses.

  “Arrow, back down!” Machete shouts. “You’re not helping matters!”

  Arrow continues glaring at Lance, but he does grab his bow and step back.

  I kneel beside Lance. He pushes me away and grumbles, “I’m fine, Firecracker.”

  Typical Lance. He doesn’t like to be helped because he thinks it makes him look weak.

  Arrow flashes me a grin. “What’s up, Red? You look great in those shorts.”

  My cheeks flush. I should be angry at Arrow and his insane mother for attacking us, but for some reason I can never stay mad at him. Maybe it’s his gorgeous black hair blowing softly in the breeze, or his muscular bronze arms, or the cute dimples in his cheeks. His white, form-fitting shirt clings to his chest, showing off his pecs. The shirt is so tight his six-pack makes a slight indentation. Lance is pretty hot, but Arrow… Arrow is something else.

  My heart flutters as I become absorbed in Arrow’s deep, brown eyes. It’s like being swallowed up in an ocean of chocolate.

  Machete sighs, snapping me out of Arrow’s magnetic trance.

  “I hate to interrupt this love-fest, but we’ve got business to discuss.”

  I glance at Lance. His face is fiery red, and he’s giving Arrow the look of death. I’m surprised at how good that makes me feel. It seems I’m not the only one who gets jealous easily.

  “How about we start over?” I propose. “Why do you want us to join you on your manhunt for Rasputin?”

  Machete lights a cigar. Pacing back and forth, blowing smoke rings into the air, she says, “Arrow and I want you to join us because…”

  Machete stops and rubs her head. She grumbles uneasily under her breath and finally blurts, “… we need your help.”

  I smirk. It must pain Machete to no end to admit she needs help… more specifically, she needs our help.

  Lance crosses his arms and frowns. “How exactly are we supposed to help you?”

  “We know you guys have access to some database that Dagger created,” Machete says. “We know that’s why you’re so successful in your bounty hunting endeavors, even after Dagger passed away.”

  “That’s why we occasionally follow you,” Arrow says. “You lead us to our prey, then we swoop in and take credit for the capture.”

  “Why don’t you do that again this time?” Lance asks. “Why go through the hassle of begging us for help when you can just follow us like always?”

  “Because, numbnuts, Rasputin isn’t an ordinary fugitive,” Machete replies. “This is the most wanted man on Earth. He’s going to have lots of dangerous supporters protecting him. Even if Arrow and I were able to locate him by ourselves, we’d need help taking him down. As much as I hate to admit it, you kids are the smartest and toughest bounty hunters I know… besides myself and Arrow, of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” Lance says sarcastically.

  “You kids are the only people I can kind of trust. If you’re in, I’ll split the $25 million bounty with you. Arrow and I get $12.5 million, and you guys get the rest.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Lance cuts me off.

  “Gee, what a great offer. Let me think it over.”

  Lance scratches his chin for a few seconds, then blurts, “Uh, no!”

  The fingers Arrow has on his bow begin to twitch. In an attempt to prevent Lance from getting shot, I say, “Now hold on, this may be a good idea.”

  Lance’s jaw drops. “How could this possibly be a good idea? We can’t trust these losers!”

  Machete goes back to chugging on her cigar. The nicotine is probably the only thing keeping her from gutting Lance like a fish.

  Arrow walks over to me and grabs my hands. His calloused fingers are rock-hard.

  “Come on, Red. You know this is a good idea,” he swoons. “You need us, and we need you. Just think, the two of us, working together to save the world. It’ll be a blast.”

  Lance and Machete groan as Arrow sweet-talks me, but I find his words intoxicating. He pulls me in so close that our lips are mere inches apart. I look up at his dark, handsome face, partially obscured by the silky black hair that hang
s over his chocolate eyes. Part of me wants to jerk away, but I can’t. His magnetism pulls me in like a rocky asteroid caught in the inescapable gravitational pull of a black hole.

  “C’mon, Red,” he whispers, softer than before. “Let’s go save the world.”

  I hear myself whisper back, “Okay.”

  “WHAT?!” Lance explodes.

  This releases me from Arrow’s mesmerizing hypnotic reverie. I unlatch my fingers from Arrow’s hands and step back. It’s almost like he’s some wizard, able to manipulate my mind and emotions with his words and mere presence.

  “Way to go embarrassing yourself, Firecracker. Why don’t you just throw yourself at his feet?”

  “Shut up, Lance!”

  Deep down inside, however, I am embarrassed by my love-sick puppy behavior. I think it’s because Arrow is the only guy I’ve ever known to actually act romantic around me. Sure I get hit on all the time by old, creepy perverts, and Lance and I have dated on and off over the years, but Arrow is the only man to actually work to woo me. He’s smart, charismatic, brave, athletic, gorgeous, and articulate. But that’s not why I’m infatuated with him. It’s because I’ve never seen him go after another girl. I’m the only one he wants, whereas Lance is constantly distracted by other women. I know it’s a selfish reason to like someone, but I like the attention. I like that someone desperately wants me.

  Lance swings his quivering finger between Arrow and Machete.

  “I refuse… I repeat, I refuse… to work with these jackasses. If you’re so hell-bent on hanging out with your new boy-toy, you can go alone.”

  “Quit acting like a buffoon,” I snap. “Use your head. We need the help. Rasputin is going to be well protected. You saw firsthand how easily Arrow and Machete kicked our asses. Wouldn’t you want people like that on our side and not competing against us?”

  “No,” Lance grumbles. I can tell from his softened tone, however, that I’m winning him over.