Authors: Ray Banks,Josh Stallings,Andrew Nette,Frank Larnerd,Jimmy Callaway
Blood & Tacos #2 (13 page)
The wave of blue rushed at us, faces snarling like rabid soi dogs. Instinctively,
Connelly and I covered each other’s backs and opened fire. Short controlled
bursts mowed down the closest members of the pack, but they kept coming, clambering
over their fallen comrades to get to us.
I’d been in this situation before, a trench in Vietnam, firing at wave
after wave of North Vietnamese regulars, until the barrel of my machine gun
had glowed red hot. But ferocity is no match for firepower, and soon O’Connell
and I were surrounded by a harvest of corpses.
"Bloody eejits, that was a turkey shoot," said O’Connell
as he slit the throat of a wounded body chaser.
"Something tells me that’s just the start." I changed ammo
clips. "Stay sharp, mate."
We moved down the only corridor, checking the rooms as we went. More coffins,
a makeshift morgue, sleeping quarters. The air stank of disinfectant and we
could hear the roar of the crowd from a Thai kickboxing match on a black-and-white
TV that had been left on.
A set of stairs descended into a large chamber. O’Connell and I paused
on a mezzanine halfway down. It was like stepping into a science fiction film:
rows of large stainless steel vats, tubs of chemicals, the hum of machinery.
Wires and tubes ran everywhere.
O’Connell whistled. "Now that is a shite load of fucking scrag."
I nodded. With this set up Scorpion could produce enough dope to keep every
junkie in the States on cloud nine for a long time.
Two men in white lab coats emerged from behind the machinery. Lab technicians.
The one closest had a pistol. His partner, a few feet behind him, raised a beaker
of noxious-looking purple liquid above his head, ready to douse us.
I aimed the M70 from my hip and fired. The front of the first technician’s
coat exploded in a mass of red blossoms. He stumbled backwards onto his colleague,
who dropped the beaker, the contents spilling over his own head and shoulders.
I watched with grim fascination as the man writhed on the ground screaming,
the purple liquid eating his flesh.
"Okay, enough bloody bullshit." I handed O’Connell blocks
of Semtex and timers. "Let’s get this over with."
We walked down the aisle, affixing Semtex to the vats. As O’Connell set
his last charge, he turned to me and opened his mouth to speak. Before the Irishman
could say anything, the top of his head disappeared in a crimson blur and he
crumpled to the floor.
A huge, bald Oriental stepped out from between two vats, stood over O’Connell’s
body. He was naked from the waist up, his torso a patchwork of muscle and steel
surgically grafted to his skin. His right arm was completely metal and in place
of a hand was a ball covered in sharp spikes. Shreds of O’Connell’s
skull and tufts of his unmistakable carrot-coloured hair dangled from it.
I hesitated, transfixed by the horrific creature and the red star tattooed
on his forehead. Savouring my fear, machine man’s beady eyes narrowed
and his face split into a malevolent grin. The hairs on the back of my neck
stood on end.
I snapped out of my inaction, raised the M70, fired. The bullets ricocheted
off his metal hide. I squeezed the trigger again, heard a succession of metallic
clicks. The magazine was empty. Before I could reload, a swipe from machine
man’s metal hand twisted the barrel to one side like it was made of cheap
plastic. Another swing knocked the gun from my hands.
The monster stepped toward me, raised his deadly appendage. I dodged the blow.
The spiked ball missed my head by inches, tore a chunk from the nearest metal
vat. Steam hissed angrily from the gash. The Oriental walked through the boiling
vapour without flinching. Whatever surgical procedure he’d undergone had
obviously robbed him of any sensitivity to pain.
As he walked machine man swung his metal attachment from side to side. Although
I easily avoided each blow, I could feel myself tiring, while machine man, powered
by an inhuman energy, showed no sign of slowing.
In an effort to lose my attacker and buy a few moments to regroup, I ducked
between two steel vats, ran straight into a metal trolley loaded with glass
beakers and technical equipment, tripped over it and hurtled forwards.
I don’t know how long I lay stunned on the ground. I heard the crunch
of glass underfoot, felt one of my legs latched into a vice-like grip. The Oriental
dragged me along the floor like a carcass being delivered to the butcher’s
block.
He stopped in front of the damaged vat, released my leg. I waited for the spiked
metal ball to reduce me to hamburger like it had O’Connell. Instead, machine
man picked me up by the neck and lifted my face towards the jet of steam escaping
from the jagged hole in the metal.
I tried to prise his grip off me with both hands, but it was like trying to
manipulate concrete. The skin on my face burned as it neared the boiling steam.
"Halt."
The harsh female voice echoed through the laboratory. Machine man let go. I
rolled, came up in a combat stance.
A tall, athletic-looking Asian woman stood on the mezzanine above me. She was
clad in tight-fitting khaki cheongsam. Her long black hair was tied in a bun
underneath a khaki Mao cap.
The Oriental giant stood still, stared at me, an attack dog awaiting his master’s
next command.
She threw back her head and laughed. "I can tell what you are thinking,
imperialist scum." Her dark eyes narrowed as she looked at me. "You
think it is not possible Scorpion is a woman."
I had to give the reds points for cunning. No wonder Bannister and his people
had had so little success locating Scorpion. I stared at the creamy white skin
of the leg protruding from the split in her dress, the blood red lips, the pistol
in the holster nestled in the curve of her hip, as I figured out my next move.
"For decades we have spilt blood in the struggle against capitalism.
Then we realised, it would be simpler if we used the West’s own decadent
craving for narcotics against itself. In this laboratory are the means to make
that plan a reality, as your paymasters will soon realise."
Scorpion looked around the room proudly before returning her gaze to me. "Lefebvre
was a fool to lead you here, but you will not live to brag of your discovery."
She barked something in Mandarin. As if a switch had been flicked, the machine
man resumed his slow advance towards me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Scorpion
lick her lips in anticipation as he swung his metal fist.
I dove. The deadly wrecking ball sailed over my head, struck another vat. This
time the metal fist remained lodged in the hole. The Oriental emitted a moist
grunting sound as he tugged, a confused expression on his face, but he couldn’t
dislodge himself.
Scorpion shrieked in anger, undid the clasp on her holster to reach for her
gun. With no time to go for my pistol, I grasped one of my boomerangs and threw.
She raised a hand to shield her face. The boomerang struck, severing it clean
off at the wrist. Her lips trembled as she stared at the blood spurting from
the severed stump.
I quickly switched my gaze to machine man, still straining to free himself.
I pulled out the Colt Cobra, held it in both hands, aimed, shot the creature
between the eyes just as he was about to rip himself free. Machine man swayed
as the hollow point round bounced around his skull. He crashed to the ground
with the meat and metallic sound of a car accident.
I raised the pistol to sight the woman, but she was gone. When I reached the
spot on the mezzanine where Scorpion had been, all that was left was a delicate
female hand in a pool of blood.
At least I’d left her something to remember me by.
I stood on the sampan’s deck, the orange glow from the burning warehouse
receding in the distance.
Tiger Lily smiled, handed me a beer. Later, when I was not around to cause
her loss of face, I knew she’d light incense and say a prayer for O’Connell
at the rickety wooden spirit house on the pavement outside the Sunrise Club.
I pulled on the beer. The glow had almost disappeared beneath the skyline.
I turned away and savoured the cool breeze of the headwind against my skin.
O’Connell knew the risks and I didn’t have time to mourn.
I had the rest of my money to collect.
THE END
Andrew Nette
is a writer based in Melbourne, Australia.
He is one of the editors of the on-line magazine,
Crime Factory
. His
short fiction has appeared in
Crime Factory: The First Shift
by New
Pulp Press and
The One That Got Away
, an anthology of crime stories
released in 2012 by Australian independent publisher Dark Prints Press. His
debut crime novel
Ghost Money
will be published by Snubnose Press in
2012. His blog,
www.pulpcurry.com
explores
crime film and literature, particularly from Asia and Australia
.
A Brace Godfrey Chrestomathy
With Commentary by Johnny Shaw
In the summer of 1998, I was fortunate enough to sit down with the immortal
"King of the Three-Shots," Brace Godfrey, and talk to him about
his life’s work: over six hundred novels published between 1969 and 1988
that comprised more than two hundred individual adventure series. There is no
complete bibliography for Godfrey’s work, but I asked him to pick his
favorite "Three-Shots."
He presented me with 26 series, using the alphabet as his limitation. "Wrote
so damn many, forgot more than I remember," Godfrey told me, "And
I ain’t got the time to dick around with this kind of bullshit."**
I, personally, may have included such fan favorites as Mafia Berserker, The
Expunger, and Blonde Squad, but I think this list makes a strong case for the
wealth of Mr. Godfrey’s imagination.
- AMERICAN VIKING – Erik Leifson’s family has lived in the United
States since before the country existed, the descendants of a Viking expedition
in 700 AD. For hundreds of years in rural Maine, Erik’s people remained
isolated from the rest of the world. The last of the line, Erik must find
a new path, leading him to the chaos of New York City.
Ragnarok &
Ragnaroll, Midtown in Midgaard, Norse Force
. - THE BRAIN – After his release from prison for a crime he didn’t
commit, super-scientist Quentin Maxwell uses his genius to develop a pair
of high-tech boxing gloves. Taking to the streets, he uses his brain to punch
the lights out of the criminal organization that framed him.
Cerebrawl,
A Present for Mandy, The Brain vs. The Brain
. - CODENAME: BLACK BELT – Ex-stuntman and martial artist Lance Horner
is recruited by the CIA to help battle the rise of N.I.N.J.A., an evil cabal
hellbent on reclaiming Asian treasures from the American museums that are
now their rightful owners.
Dojo of Death, Karate Chop Chop Shop, Lady
N.I.N.J.A
. - DINGO (written as Linden Miles) – Some claim that Australian Aborigine
Hozzle Adlinga is part dingo. That’s only a legend, but what is true
is that he is the best tracker alive, and his often mysterious powers are
sought after worldwide.
Fair Dinkum, The Boomerang Brigand, Didgeridon’t
. - THE EXORCISMIST – The Vatican has entrusted Father John "Mac"
MacNeish with one vital job: to cast out demons wherever they surface. But
the real question is, is he possessed himself?
Second to Nun, Satanarchy,
A Child’s Garden of Pit Fiends
. - FIFTEEN WARRIORS – Fighting throughout Europe during World War II,
they were known by their fellow soldiers as "The Fifteen Warriors."
The Nazis only knew them by one name: Certain Death! Join Sgt. Stone Steel
and his men, Rocco Angelino, Mickey O’Herlihy, Olaf Swedenson, Max Dumkowsy,
Ivan Crushski, Ching Chang, Cholo Garcia, Abraham Goldbergstein, Chief Flying
Bear, Pierre Fageux, Jethro Hickson, Nappy Roosevelt, "Fancy Tommy"
Sparkles, and their trained gorilla, Private Gorilla.
500 Divided by 15
Equals Death, The Nazi Princess, Hitler Island
. - GHETTO FORCE (written as Fillmore Cleveland) – They grew up fighting
for survival on the mean streets of Harlem. Now they are the deadliest mercenaries-for-hire
in the world.
Maldives Jive; A Turkey from Turkey; Phuket, It’s
Thailand
. - HAWKSHAW – When not nursing Old-Fashioneds at his local watering
hole, private eye Cain Hawkshaw is usually peeping in windows and following
soon-to-be divorcees. But one thing is sure: when Hawkshaw is around, trouble
can’t be too far behind.
The Delivery Man Usually Knocks Four Times,
Triple Indemnity, Body in the Urinal
. - I, CAVEMAN – Oong feels different than the rest of the cavemen in
his tribe. He is smarter and his posture is more upright. His thumbs are fully
opposable. He feels like there is some kind of link missing between him and
his people. But that’s the kind of thing that takes backseat when saber-tooth
tigers and rival tribes threaten.
Valley of the Cannibals, Fire of the
Dinosaur God, Insectosaurs from the Chasm
. - JUDGE HAYMAKER – Tired of liberal do-gooder lawyers and seeing guilty
men walk, former judge William Haymaker turns his back on the law and fights
for justice. God help the criminal who feels the wooden sting of Judge Haymaker’s
gavel.
Lest Ye Be Judged; The Court of Hard Knocks; All Rise, All Die
. - KNOCKERS O’MALLEY: LADY COP (written as Lizzy C. Stanton) –
Walking a beat in the toughest neighborhood of Chicago, Bernadette "Knockers"
O’Malley is just as adept with her revolver as she is with her lipstick.
"The hard-nosed, tough-as-nails cop who also has enormous tits!"
Busted, Booby Traps, The Cantaloupe Caper
. - THE LAST OF THE MONSTERNAUTS – Damon Valescu is the last of his kind—a
now-dead breed of men that ride monsters and secretly protect the Earth at
the gates of the Tri-Dimensional Rift. Riding his faithful monster steed Cthloggoth,
Damon will be tested by the horrors of the Plagueworld army.
The Tentacled
Terror of Taojoka, The Horned Horror of Heklaba, The Anal-Scent-Glanded Abomination
of Aviozca
. - THE MEXICUTIONER (becomes CHINGÓN: THE WORLD’S DEADLIEST MEXICAN)
– With his bullwhip Marta and a bandolier full of grenades, Chingón
makes his own rules in a world where rules were meant to be exploded.
Oaxacalypse,
Blood and Tacos, Chihuahua Brouhaha
. - NUNCHAKU WARRIOR (written as Wang Fang) – subtitled "The Oriental
Tornado," this series features the adventures of Ch’ing Ki’an
and his efforts to protect his extended family from the seemingly endless
gangs that riddle the streets of Hong Kong.
The Two Sticks and Connecting
Chain of Death, Shrimp Fried Murder, Confucius Say Die
. - OPERATION: KILLZONE – Mercenary Brand Macklin has traveled the world’s
worst hotspots killing those that hate democracy. Now, tired of all the bloodshed,
he has retired to the island nation of Bimbatu. Unfortunately, his past won’t
let him retire, and neither will the bullets and mortar fire of his enemies.
Kill Blood, Dead Kill, Blood Dead
. - PILE DRIVER – Zeke Heffernan tours the wasteland of the post-apocalyptic
Desert Southwest (now known as "The Zone") in his tricked-out
dump truck looking for survivors and keeping the banditos of the Raza Uprising
at bay.
Phoenix Descending; Highway to Purgatory; Break Her, Break Her
. - THE QUARTERBACK – On Sundays and occasional Mondays, Marl Brock stands
behind center, throwing touchdowns for the Iron City Mastodons. But the rest
of the time, he’s on the street fighting a one-man war against the Mob
and meting out his own brand of vigilante justice.
Roughing the Passer,
The Hail Mary Killer, The Night of the Male Cheerleader
. - RAPIER – Killer of men and an all-around ladykiller, "The Private
Privateer" pirates his way throughout the seven seas, leaving men scarred
and women satisfied in his search for treasure of both the gold and sensual
kind.
The Tight Fit of Her Scabbard; Mansword of the Swordsman; Rapier,
Rapiest
. - THE SNIPER DOSSIER – Otis Gangley spent his childhood hunting varmint
in the Badlands of Oklahoma. Killing and a dead aim are in his blood. But
now that he is a proud member of the US Marines, he no longer hunts game,
he hunts man. Which is in its own way a game—a game of death.
Death
at 700 Yards, Death at 800 Yards, Death at 900 Yards
. - TANK HOWITZER – After a freak accident almost kills ex-astronaut
Tank Howitzer, he is rebuilt with a mechanical body on treads and a transistor
for a brain. Outfitted with an array of deadly explosive devices that shoot
from his fingers and eyes, he rolls from town to town wherever he is needed.
Assignment: Helsinki, Assignment: Perth, Assignment: Wisconsin
. - ULTRAGEDDON – World War V has decimated the world. A ragtag group
of survivors tries to rebuild a society in the remnants of Cuyahoga Falls,
forced to repel roving gangs of Mutantneers and the constant attacks of the
Infected.
The End Is the Beginning, The Beginning Is the Middle, Rowdy
Dangle for President
. - VISIGOTH CHRONICLES – The barbarian army of the Visigoths tears a
swath of violence through Europe. Punished by the gods for their deeds, the
predators become the prey when the Visigoths are haunted by the ghosts of
the men they killed and the women they raped, who presumably died afterward.
Soon, it is an all-out war with an army of the undead.
Death Spirits of
the Ostrogoths, Blood Ghosts of Gaul, Corpse Centurions of Colonia
. - W.E.R.E.W.O.L.F. SQUADRON – What does W.E.R.E.W.O.L.F. stand for?
Werewolf Elite Recon Extrahuman Weapons of Lycanthropic Force. Need I say
more? Hell, no.
Never Cry Monster, The Moon and Six Deaths, V.A.M.P.I.R.E.
Strikes Back
. - X-PATRIOT – Mack Flagg isn’t going to let something as ordinary
as death stop him from fighting for the United States of America. Brought
back to life through a Native American ritual, Flagg gets a second chance.
With his bald eagle spirit guide, he battles the decay of both his body and
Western civilization.
Love It or Leave It, The Eaglewind Cycle, Marine
Corpse
. - YO-YO ASSASSIN – Written as promotional paperbacks for the Duncan
Toys Company (although the shockingly brutal violence doomed the series).
Duncan Carrington lived the life of leisure, yachts, and wealth. But when
his family is murdered by an international terrorist organization, he uses
his money and his only skill to exact revenge one trick at a time.
Walking
the Death Dog, The Big Sleeper, The Yo-Yo Assassin Meets Tommy Smothers
. - ZANE – Cast out by his brethren in The Council of Nine, rogue wizard
Zane must find his way by working as a celebrity bodyguard in the hustle and
bustle of Hollywood. With only his magic gun and magic bullets to protect
him, can he survive not just his fans, but his clients?
Which Witch?;
Abra Cadaver; Presto, Slay-O
.