Highway To Armageddon Page 7

  Harpoon and Blade both gasp. Lance smacks his head and says, “Holy shit!!”

  Krystal gags on her pretzels and cries, “Ah hell naw, I have got to get out of the country!”

  My head starts spinning. I back up against the couch and sit on the arm rest.

  “Ten million dollars for the heads of Lance, Boom Boom, and Krystal,” Caesar repeats. “If you have a desire to live the rest of your days as a king, I will provide the means. All I ask is that you help me exact vengeance.”

  The screen flickers, then it goes dark. Seconds later the reporter comes back on, looking as pale and shaken as the rest of us.

  Harpoon starts crying and throws her arms around Lance’s leg. “I don’t want you guys to die!” she wails uncontrollably. “You’re all we have!”

  Lance hugs Harpoon back and calmly replies, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll be okay. I promise.” His shaking voice suggests he doesn’t believe his own words.

  I glance at Blade. He’s still on the couch, but he looks as frightened as he did when he was younger, when the Boogeyman lived in his closet.

  I sit down next to him. He sniffles and gives me a hug.

  “Seriously guys, don’t worry,” I say soothingly.” We can handle ourselves. No one’s going to come after us. We’re the good guys, remember?”

  But the truth is, I’ve never been more terrified in my life. The concept of good and evil is divided by nothing more than a blurry, gray line nowadays. We’re in the middle of the worst depression in history. People are broke, starving, and desperate. $10,000,000 is an unfathomable amount of money. It’s why we went after Caesar for one tenth of that amount.

  Dagger used to always say, “His goose is cooked,” when we closed in on a target. Now I think that phrase applies to us. Our goose has avoided the oven for years, but now… thanks to the botched apprehension of one of the most powerful crime bosses in America… our goose is about to be thrown straight into the fiery pits of Hell.

  Chapter Five: Lance

  “This is the place?” I ask as we approach the desolate warehouse.

  “That’s what Al said,” Boom Boom says. There’s a slight quiver in her voice.

  I grab Boom Boom’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. If things get out of control, Krystal will bail us out.”

  Boom Boom stifles a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s not making me feel better.”

  Yeah, me neither. Krystal is currently parked on some rooftop a mile away. She’s supposed to be watching us with the new goggles and robotic mosquito we just bought. But knowing her she’s probably watching some trashy reality show.

  I look up at the star-filled sky through my own green-tinted shades, but I don’t see any mosquitos buzzing around. I assume it’s up there somewhere. I’m just glad it’s not raining. The government’s really gone overboard with all their artificial rainstorms. I personally think they’ve screwed up the gulf-stream with all their geo-engineering, and they don’t know how to control it anymore. But of course the government would never admit that.

  Boom Boom squeezes my hand back. She still seems tense. In an attempt to calm her down, I seductively lick my lips and say, “You look good in leather, Firecracker.”

  Boom Boom smacks my arm. “Don’t be a pervert, we’re on a mission.”

  I notice her lips twitch ever-so-slightly. Score one for me.

  I’m not joking when I say Boom Boom looks good, either. I mean, she always looks great, but right now she looks even sexier than usual. She’s dressed in a low-cut shirt that shows off some of her cleavage. She also has on a leather jacket, tight leather pants, and high-heel boots.

  But Boom Boom’s leather outfit isn’t the hottest thing about her disguise. It’s her dyed blonde hair. Since we’re well-known in the criminal underworld, sometimes we have to go to extreme lengths to hide our identities. Boom Boom’s red hair is a distinctive feature, so she occasionally dyes it. I love her fiery red hair, but the blonde dye is really hot.

  As we get closer to the factory Boom Boom slows down.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  Boom Boom looks around frantically. “I have a bad feeling about this. It’s quiet… a little too quiet.”

  Boom Boom’s right. The factory looks abandoned. There are no lights in the parking lot, nor are there any cars. In fact, there’s no sign whatsoever that thousands of people are here for an underground steel cage brawl.

  “Now wait a minute,” I say. “You just assured me this is the right place. Why are you suddenly having doubts?”

  Boom Boom sighs. “I don’t know. Can we really trust Al?”

  “I wouldn’t if he was sober. But he was totally wasted. Drunk people don’t lie. They just blurt stuff out.”

  “I just don’t like walking into these things unarmed.”

  I know exactly how Boom Boom feels. I always feel naked without my gun. But we have to go in unarmed. The guards are going to frisk us. At least, according to drunk Al they will.

  We continue our long march toward the deserted factory. I flash back to what led us to this mission in the first place.

  It all started two days ago, one day after we got back from Cincinnati. We spent most of our savings replacing all the weapons, armor, and ammo we lost going after Caesar. We also bought a crappy used car that barely flies. (It stalled twice in mid-air on the way over.)

  Basically we’re broke. With rent coming up, we’re in desperate need of a big payday, fast. So my pals and I do what we always do when we’re strapped for cash: we go looking for high-bounty bad guys.

  We spent a couple hours searching through our database of wanted criminals and eventually decided to go after Remy Pelletier, the U.S.’s most wanted financier of Canadian terrorist groups.

  The main reason we decided to go after Pelletier is because of the whopping bounty on his head: $750,000. According to our intel (and what we heard about him on the news) Remy is a pretty sleazy guy. But he’s also super smart and ruthless. His biography says that his dad was a rich and powerful pharmaceutical tycoon who died under ‘mysterious circumstances’ a few years back. Shortly after his dad’s death, Remy embezzled the pharmaceutical company out of hundreds of millions of dollars, forcing it into bankruptcy. He then went on the run and used his money to fund terror groups around the globe, especially Canadian and Russian ones. He’s rumored to be one of Mikhail Rasputin’s major American backers.

  Apparently Remy isn’t good at handling his finances, though, because he soon ran out of money. He’s rumored to be a high-rolling playboy who spends millions a year on booze, women, drugs, and high-stakes poker games (which he seems to always lose). Nowadays he raises money for his playboy lifestyle and terrorist funding by being a sort of ‘universal’ bookie who puts together underground steel cage brawls. The government outlawed the brawls years ago because people kept getting killed. The fights still go on, though, and Remy is the ringleader. People come to the fights and place bets, and Remy skims a percentage of all the winnings.

  Practically every bounty hunter in the country has tried to track down Remy at one point or another, but no one’s ever come close to nabbing him. He’s too clever and he has too many connections. We, however, have a secret weapon that helped put us on his trail.

  During my uncle’s 20-plus career as a bounty hunter, he created a giant database of all the fugitive criminals in America. He even made a list of international fugitives in case he ever came across them during his travels. The database not only includes the names and faces of the criminals, but it also has all their known aliases and past residences, plus a list of all their friends, family, enemies, and casual acquaintances.

  After Uncle Dagger died, Boom Boom continued to update the list whenever we stumbled upon new information, or heard it on the news. Boom Boom also spends countless hours each week doing her own research. She looks stuff up online, hacks into government databases, and infiltrates criminal networks. Boom Boom is like some computer genius, and I qu
ite frankly don’t know where I would be without her. She’s the reason we were able to track down Caesar, and she’s the reason we got a lead on Remy.

  Boom Boom only had to spend a few minutes on Remy’s file before she discovered one of our neighbors, Al Shank, was recently arrested on suspicion of attending one of Remy’s fights. He apparently tried to deposit a crap-load of undocumented money into his checking account. That caught the attention of bank investigators, who called the cops. Fortunately for Al, he was never convicted for lack of evidence. With that being said, everyone knows Al used to gamble at the fights when they were legal, so he was placed on a watch list of Remy sympathizers.

  Al is basically an older, lonely guy who likes to spend his evenings passed out on a bar floor. Boom Boom and I knew we could get him to talk as long as we liquored him up, so we offered to take him out to dinner. We then wined and dined him until his speech became slurred and he staggered when he walked. After that we took him back to his place and wined him some more. After that we asked him when Remy was hosting his next fight. Al freely gave us that information. The next steel cage brawl was today, in Detroit, at the abandoned warehouse less than 100 feet away from us.

  I take a deep breath and walk right up to the front door. Boom Boom holds my hand, but she lags half a step behind.

  When I reach the door I knock ten times. (According to Al that’s the secret knock.) I hear nothing but the dull clang of my knuckles against rusted iron. After that, silence.

  Boom Boom and I wait for about a minute, but no one answers the door.

  Boom Boom sighs irritably. “Al gave us the wrong address. What a waste of time.”

  “Oh well,” I say, stepping back from the door. “I guess we can go after Maxine Irving, the chick who killed those two cops in Cleveland. We at least have a decent idea of where she might be hiding.”

  “But her bounty is only $50,000,” Boom Boom points out. “We’ll blow through that money in no time.”

  I’m about to say something when I’m interrupted by a creaking sound. I spin around to find a small rectangular peephole near the center of the door. I didn’t notice it before, so someone must have just opened it. I lean closer to get a better look and immediately jump back when a pair of sunglasses appears.

  The man wearing the shades gruffly barks, “What’s the password? And hurry up with it if ya don’t wanna get shot.”

  A gun clicks from behind the door. My mind draws a blank. Al told us the password, but I can’t for the life of me remember it.

  Thankfully Boom Boom is a bit more clear-headed than I am. She calmly says, “The password is Klaxton is a dirty whore. Now let us in, jackass. I wanna see Sasquatch beat the crap out of Abyss.”

  I smirk at Boom Boom’s amazing acting. She even bothered to learn the names of the steel cage fighters, something I didn’t think to do.

  I’m not the only one impressed, either. The guy behind the iron door chuckles and says, “You’re a woman after my own heart. Just a second, sweetheart.”

  The slab to the peephole slams shut. I hear the clinking and clanging of locks being unlatched, then the creaky iron door slowly opens. Two large, muscular men in black suits step out with large pistols. They both have shades on, and scars crisscross their rugged faces. They’ve definitely earned their pay as security guards.

  The guards proceed to pat us down. One of the douche bags rubs his hands up and down my legs while the other swings his gun back and forth between me and Boom Boom. After he’s done with me he moves on to her.

  Boom Boom slaps the guard’s hand. “I think you’re doing molesting me.”

  The guard turns to me and says, “You got a real firecracker on your hands, sonny.”

  If he only knew.

  The guard reaches for Boom Boom’s goggles. She grabs his wrist and snarls, “Lay off the merchandise, buddy.”

  The guard yanks his arm out of Boom Boom’s grasp. “It’s just protocol, ma’am. We wanna make sure these aren’t those fancy goggles that record stuff.”

  “We like to keep our glasses on,” Boom Boom says, opening the large burlap sack she’s carrying. “We have a lengthy rap sheet. We don’t want to be… recognized… if you know what I mean.”

  “A lot of people here have rap sheets,” the guard says, cocking his head as Boom Boom dips her hand into the sack. “So, uh, what’s in the bag?”

  Boom Boom pulls out her hand and opens it palm-up, revealing five gold coins.

  Boom Boom tilts her head, allowing her shades to slide down her nose. Her bright, green eyes peer over the top of the shades, sparkling in the moonlight.

  “How about a little bribe to expedite the process?”

  The guards exchange smiles and aim their guns at Boom Boom’s head.

  “How about you give us all the gold coins?” says the guard standing next to me.

  “Yeah, then we can talk,” says the other.

  I’m just about to take down both guards when Boom Boom calmly replies, “I don’t think you want to do that. Unless, of course, you want to explain to Remy why I wasn’t able to deliver his payment?” Boom Boom shakes the bag, causing the coins to jingle.

  The guards gulp and step back.

  “Er, no, we wouldn’t want that at all. F… follow me.”

  The guards hurry inside the dark factory. Boom Boom shrugs and follows them, her burlap bag swinging at her side. I bring up the rear.

  We walk down the dark, deserted hallway in silence. All the windows are boarded up, preventing any moonlight from entering. If it wasn’t for my goggles I wouldn’t be able to see at all.

  We stop at a steel door in the back. One of the guards presses his finger against a scanner, and the door slides open. Bright light floods the hall.

  The guard gestures toward the door. “Enjoy your evening, kids.”

  The guards quickly scurry off.

  I turn to Boom Boom and ask, “You ready?”

  “I guess,” she replies. “Let’s get this over with.”

  We both walk through the doorway, which immediately shuts behind us.

  When I first walk into the room, I’m nearly overpowered by all the sights, sounds, and smells. The center of the factory has been remade into a brightly-lit auditorium with stadium-style seating. In the center of the auditorium is a 20-foot tall steel cage, and two bare-chested guys in shorts are furiously trading punches as the crowd cheers like crazy.

  There are over 2,000 people in attendance. A couple hundred are crammed on the floor surrounding the steel cage. The rest are sitting in the auditorium chairs.

  You’d think the people who’d attend an illegal steel cage fight would be criminals, but I actually recognize a few famous and respected members of society. A lot of them are wearing disguises (wigs, hats, fake mustaches, shades), but our goggles can see through all that. One of the people I notice is the son of a sitting senator. Another lady is an assistant to the Detroit mayor. My goggles also point out a couple actors, athletes, journalists, and television reporters. Apparently this is where the rich and famous go to have a little illegal fun.

  I have to hold my breath as we get closer to the steel cage. The combined scent of sweat, body odor, perfume, and cigarette smoke is suffocating. Poor Boom Boom gags a few times as we make our way down to the floor, especially when we cut through a cloud of smoke.

  I grow angry when I notice all the older guys gawking at Boom Boom and muttering disgusting comments. One pervert shouts, “Hey baby, how much for an hour?” Another douche bag actually slaps her ass and says, “Yeah, baby got back for sure.”

  Boom Boom ignores the catcalls and walks on. I, however, can’t ignore it. I slug the guy who slapped her caboose right across his face. He tumbles out of his chair, spilling beer all over his shirt.

  Boom Boom grabs my arm and drags me into the crowd.

  “Keep your cool, Lance.”

  I swallow my pride and let Boom Boom drag me away. She’s right, of course. If I make a scene, we can kiss our bounty goodbye. />
  We’re now so close to the steel cage that we can hear the fighters talking smack as they trade punches.

  “The short, feral looking dude in the white shorts is Wolverine,” Boom Boom says. “The guy in the green shorts is Stingray.”

  I watch as Wolverine breaks Stingrays nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils as he collapses to the mat. The crowd roars as if their favorite team just scored a game-winning goal. I notice a few people put their heads in the hands and tear up their tickets. I guess they picked Stingray to win.

  Someone slides their hand under my shirt and rubs my stomach. I spin around, ready to fight. I’m shocked to find a gorgeous, scantily-clad girl standing beside me, her hand still pressed against my abs. Her long, black hair creates an open curtain around her bronze face, and her slender body glistens with sweat from the hot and humid auditorium. She’s wearing a skimpy bikini, and it takes all my self-control to look into her eyes and not… elsewhere.

  “Hello handsome. Would you like a dance?”

  I gulp and struggle to keep my voice from cracking. I see her name stitched across the top of her bra. Ivory.

  “Uh… hey, Ivory. That sounds… um…”

  Ivory grabs my shades and slides them over the top of my head.

  “You have such pretty blue eyes. Why don’t you come with me into the back and I’ll give you the first dance for free?”

  “F… free?”

  Boom Boom storms over and shoves Ivory, nearly knocking her to the floor.

  “Back off, lady. He’s mine.”

  Boom Boom snatches my hand and drags me away yet again.

  I crack a grin. “Aww, you’re jealous. How cute.”

  “I’m not jealous. We have a mission to complete, and you keep fooling around.”

  I wring free from Boom Boom’s iron-clad grasp. “So what are we doing? You’re stomping around like you’re looking for something.”

  “I’m looking for a bookie,” Boom Boom says, adjusting her goggles as she scans the faces of people walking by.

  “Hm. I still don’t understand where all these people came from. I mean, where are their cars? This factory is in the middle of nowhere. They couldn’t all have walked.”