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1930 Pittsburgh, PA. 010620
Deacon sat in a small cafe in the downtown area. A low-income area. The street had garbage in the gutter and grass was growing up between the cracks in the sidewalk. The road hadn't been repainted in about three seasons. Old signs and sale posters cluttered all phone and power lines. A liquor store displayed signs for cheap cigarettes across the street and this cafe was last remodeled (and cleaned) in the 1960's. But Deacon was there anyway.
He was wearing a cheap gray suit, a plain white shirt, and an unimaginative red tie. His black shoes were broken in and showed signs of wear, they hadn't been replaced in years. He sipped at a cup of coffee, his fifth in ten minutes. The waitress walked up and brought him a new pot, replacing the old one without a word. The thinning hair over his temples was pushed back as he ran a hand through his hair in a vaguely plain sign of stress. Why wasn't she here yet? She said seven o'clock.
Then she walked in as if on command. She weakly pushed open the dirty glass door to the cafe. It still displayed the Winter Chill coffee specials, even though it was the middle of summer. Her hair was flat from the humidity and she wore no makeup. Her shoes were plain and she looked haggard, somewhere in her thirties, the hard work and long hours of a sweatshop and single-mom-hood had robbed her of any youth and vitality she might have had. Walking up to the table of the man who was obviously the FBI agent she smiled and sat down as Deacon held out her chair. She drank the glass of water sitting there for her. "Good evening Mrs. Welch, I was worried you wouldn't make it," Deacon said.
"Oh, just call me Charlie, and I wouldn't miss this for the world Agent Strusz." She looked down as she spoke in a soft voice.
"I'm glad."--"Mark kept me late at the hospital and missed my bus, and..."
Deacon cut her off, "It's ok ma'am. Now I wanted to hear about the trouble with the Syndicate. Just take your time, and start from the beginning."
As Deacon was speaking she had taken out a Virginia Slim, lit it, and put it between her lips. She was exhaling as he finished. "Well Agent Strusz, I work at the Mercy General Hospital and on Tuesday a Police Officer was brought into the ER. I'm a RN and went to help Dr. Douglas with prep and eventually surgery. The officer had suffered three gunshot wounds to the chest. He was in critical condition and after three hours of surgery we were able to stabilize him. Unfortunately while he was in recovery he died suddenly. His body just gave up and went into arrest. We were unable to revive Officer Daily. I was in the room when he went into arrest and he had been conscious. He spoke to me for about three minutes. He weazed and spoke faintly, talking about his family, wife, kids, then he just broke down as he must have felt himself getting weaker. I've seen patients do this before, but then he just stopped. I hit the crash cart call button instantly. Like I said he didn't pull out and he was taken to the morgue."
"Well the problems came about because an ex-cop reporter that has lots of connections, even with our hospital security, found out I was the last person to talk to him. When I read the paper the next day, my name wasn't mentioned but it did say, 'A nurse had spoken with Officer Daily before he died.'"
Deacon was familiar with the article. Members of the Syndicate had killed a five man Police stakeout team. Daily was the only one to make it away from the scene. Presumably with the recordings of the incident that were missing. The Police thought the Syndicate had them. The Syndicate was afraid that Daily had told Charlie. "I've read the article. That's why I'm here. Then what happened."
"Well," continued Charlie, "yesterday a man tried to pick Mark up from school. I got there a few minutes before him and picked Mark up as he was walking across yard. He was a big mean looking, with cold eyes and a big scar on his chin. Last night a strange car was parked across the street all night. I left through the back door and went to my neighbors. Nothing happened to me and Mark and I don't know anything about that Officer and some of the Police are corrupt." She lit her next cigarette from the butt of the last. She wasn't making eye contact anymore and to Deacon she looked like about a nine out of ten on the shook-up-hardcore scale. "I'm scared out of my wits so I called the FBI office in town. I can't tell you how glad I am you wanted to meet with me here."
Deacon didn't tell her he wasn't FBI. Her call had been removed from FBI databases at the Federal Building, notwistanding the fact that they had no jurisdiction. "It's no problem at all ma'am. Just doing my job." He actually had to try to smile and seem caring, for they didn't come naturally. "I'm gonna put you and Mark someplace safe and then keep the Syndicate off you. I'll just let them know that you know nothing."
She actually thought he could do it he seemed so confident. Had her natural instincts been working she would have thought him totally crazy. After their coffee they left and she followed his car back to her house. The drive was pretty short and uneventful. Bums and winos were out in force, pimps and hookers lined corners of some of the seedier in town. Eventually they made it back to the old house She called home. They rented the upstairs of a small house and lived in its three rooms and bathroom.
Meeting Mark was interesting. For an eleven-year-old Mark had a sure grasp of the world. He talked allot about Cops and Lawyers but Deacon mostly ignored him and changed the topic. When Mark asked Deacon if he wanted to see his computer, Deacon figured 'what the heck.' Something to distract me.
Mark walked back into his small room and turned on the system at the power strip. His blond hair flipped forward as he stretched and leaned over the desk to reach the glowing red button. "So Mister, you ever use computers?"
"Oh, yeah all the time. I've got mounds of paper work waiting for me back at the federal building. You know I haven't seen a computer this old in quite a while. What's it got under the case?"
Marks eyes lit up with excitement as he began to describe his pride and joy to the large man seated backwards on the old wood chair. "It's an old old Pentium-133, but I've over clocked it and put in a new chipset. The RAM doubling program and the expansion RAM slots really make it hum though, at about 256Mb. I've got eight hard drives chained up and I use the neighbor's T1 line they got put in. They don't know about it but Mr. Jeffries is an 80 year old who loves nudie pictures and stock quotes, he almost never uses it." As he finished the last part he realized that it might be a crime, but it had slipped out in his over exuberance. He got very quiet and looked sheepishly at Deacon. When he met his eyes Deacon just grinned.
"Don't worry Mark, you're secret's safe with me," he said as he patted the young boy on the head.
By three in the morning after Mark had shown Deacon all his favorite Matrix sites, both he and Charlie were very tired. They climbed into their car and drove to the parking garage that was a block down from the Federal Building. It had good security and Deacon pre-paid for a month of parking. They then all got in Deacon's Ford Taurus SHO and took a winding route through town as Deacon lost their pursuers. This was accomplished with such non-schallance and calm that Charlie and Mark were asleep in the back seat and never knew there was ever a chase. Deacon carried Mark upstairs into an old apartment while Charlie shuffled along in a half sleep beside him. Once inside they were both soundly asleep within seconds on the apartment beds. The old apartment was in the old suburbs, but still kept up because it was very near the university. The red brick exterior and white window shutters and hedges gave it an old feel, but the interior was at least modern for the 90's.
One of Deacon's retainers was in the kitchen and dressed in a cheap suit and crappy shoes with a bad tie just like Deacon. Emanuel was a Peruvian Paratrooper that Deacon had not killed while in the Mountains of Peru back in the late 90's. E was a hard Hispanic young man with wrinkled skin and thick black hair from ages in the mountains where his parent's had been herders. He had escaped into the military and run afoul of the drug dealers and smugglers. Deacon had noticed him while in Trujillo chasing down some variation of a Demon. E was there fighting a vigilante war against the drug lords. As the witness to some of the Demons killings he should have been eliminated or cocktailed, but Deacon always had a need for more talent. Now Emanuel was acting as a FBI agent and would be Mark and Charlie's escort for the next few days. Additionally an old taxi driver that Deacon knew would be their transportation for the upcoming days and he arranged for her to get time off from work (with a little coercion.)
0800 Pittsburgh, Pa. 010621.
The front of Gespanso's Eatery was like many small mom and pop restaurants around the various cultural neighborhoods of Pittsburgh. Old drapes, faded tablecloths, and a few burned out incandescent light bulbs all contributed to the look of great age, which was very true. Once an honest old couple ran it but they had long since sold the restaurant to a member of the Syndicate. Now it was run as a legitimate business by one of the most illegitimate operations in the America. The front door was set back in a small recess, flanked by both of the glass display cases and the booths beyond them. Green metal overhangs kept the rain off persons waiting to get in when it rained but now they only served to darken the interior by keeping out the morning sun. Cigar smoke lingered just above the hanging ceiling lights and wafted around the room. As Deacon entered wearing his cheap suit the blast of morning air from outside wasn't enough to keep the smell of Lasagnas, cheeses, meats, and Canolli's out of his nose. One big man stood up in front of him and made a feeble attempt to intimidate Deacon. Outweighed by thirty pounds and giving up five inches didn't bother him a bit, he knew he could break the goon in half, but he wasn't here for that. Yet.
"Watcha want?" asked the big bouncer.
I wonder if he graduated high school. Probably not. "I'm here to see Juliani. It's business," he said displaying the black attaché case.
"He's not he--" The sharp uppercut forced him to bite off his tongue. Followed by a lightning fast kick, which shattered his shin. Finally a knee to the groin, doubled him over leaving him to spit blood and groan on the floor.
"I'll find him myself. Thanks."
Walking through the front of the deserted restaurant the steward, and bus boy stared at him in abject terror and amazement. They thought for sure that they were looking at a man who would not be walking out. Deacon on the other hand, had different ideas. The attaché case held two hundred thousand dollars. He had no false ideas that they would stay away once he gave it to them. Criminals would get greedy and this was his bait to get them to try something ugly.
He walked into the kitchen and around the rotund cook coated in grease and spaghetti sauce. The stairs led up and he took them. At the top there was a door, closed, and plain wood with a window. Creaking as it opened he stepped in and was met face to face by a large man in an emerald green suit. Darkly tanned and with steel gray eyes, he wore a ponytail that was perfectly manicured to sit atop the collar of his jacket. He had a big scar on his chin.
"My, what are you doing here?" he inquired in a deep gravelly voice.
"I have an appointment with Juliani, for right now. Are you he?" Deacon asked. Though he could see he wasn't. Behind this man in the suit was a large desk. Clean and with an olive skinned man wearing red suspenders seated behind it.
"I'm Juliani," said the seated man without rising. He stepped his fingers and stared at Deacon with a pair of eyes that would send a normal man running for cover or the bathroom.
"That's good," said Deacon looking over at the man in the green suit. "Then I don't need you anymore." Instantly as he finished speaking he went from relaxed to jabbing a stiffened index finger into Green Suits chest. The breastbone audibly cracked and the target gasped for air. The same hand whipped up and poked a thumb into his temple, sending the Green suited man to the floor unconscious. "Now down to business," he said turning back to Juliani.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going to make you an offer you better not refuse." Where have I heard that before, Deacon thought. "The offer is this. You get the sum of two hundred thousand dollars to leave Ms. Welch alone forever. She knows nothing and just wants to be left alone. The money's in this case. Untraceable and clean." Deacon laid the case on the desk and stepped back.
"Why that sounds reasonable enough," said the Syndicate boss with a smile that oozed venom. "Could I ask who you represent?"
"I represent Ms. Welch." Deacon locked gazes with the Boss. The Boss blinked first.
"If there is anything else I can help you with don't be afraid to stop by. Though please call first, body guards are expensive."
"Certainly, but I hope I won't have to." Turning with a snap of the shoulders, Deacon strode out of the room and past the cooks who were still amazed.
0030 Pittsburgh, PA. 010622
"Deacon," Solo asked, "why the hell did you come here to help this woman? This one woman? Of all the women that need help in America alone, why this one?" Solo rarely argued, he must have been feeling argumentative.
"Why not? Didn't she need help?"
"Yes, she did. But overall don't you know you can't make a difference."
"Don't make me tell you the Starfish story..."
"Ok, I see your point." Solo looked up and linked up a belt to his HK21E. Staring Deacon in the eyes he said, "Let's fuck us some cows."
"Nah," Deacon responded. "Let's fuck em all."
The big black Lincoln Continental rolled up to the front of Gespanso's Eatery. Parked on the right side of the street, the front door to Gespanso's was two car lengths ahead of them. Deacon got out the driver door and Solo got out the passenger. Late night traffic rolled by under the streetlights. Deacon thought about how monumental a mistake it was for Juliani to try and find Charlie at work. The Boss had sent three thugs to the hospital to rough up the Doctor to find out where she was. Only Deacon being undercover as an RN had spared him a real beating. The three hugs had gone back to their employer with broken arms. Then Solo had spotted surveillance at the Welch's old house. One had sworn before meeting his maker that they were trying to pick her up. Solo had let the other three run for their lives. This was all before noon. By four p.m. Deacon had been told by Dodger that hits had been placed for her to the sum of two hundred thousand dollars; alive. That was no way to see my easily stolen money get spent.
So it was time to dispense with pleasantries and send a message. Under their trench coats each carried an imposing arsenal of weapons. Deacon had been sitting on the Benelli M3 12-gauge entry gun for the whole twenty-minute car ride. At left and right hip he had the HK USP Tactical in .45 Super with the Gemtech suppressor and the Taurus M608 8-shot .357 Magnum respectively. He carried the HK UMP .45 SMG with suppressor, laser, white light, and optical sight; it hung under his right arm from a comfortable sling. Solo on the other hand carried a HK21E GPMG. With a bag of two hundred rounds slung under its shortie barrel and another four hundred on his person, you'd think that was enough. Nope, he carried only three more Taurus (Berreta look-alikes.) The two on his hips had thirty round magazines, and the last slung under his arm had a very efficient wet-wipe silencer on its muzzle. Both also carried all the usual sundry items like lock busters, a few meters of detcord, a couple hand grenades, monocrys vests, assorted tools, and incendiaries.
They'd scoped out the restaurant earlier this evening and set up a camera across the street to give them up to the minute info on who was inside. This way, they were sure Juliani was alone with other minions of the underworld. This eatery was in no tourist pamphlets, and no civilians ever ate there. So they had free reign. As they approached the front door Deacon thought it sure would be nice to have the back door covered, but they had to go in together to watch each others backs and to cut down on the chances of 'friendly-fire.' Deacon reached the door first, no one inside had a clue what was up; Deacon held the UMP so it was shielded from view and the HK21E was shielded by Solo in Deacon's shadow.
Deacon barged in and shot the bouncer three times in the chest as he headed for the stairs at a run. Solo was right behind him running backwards, swinging the short barrel back and forth on full auto, his massive arms straining mechanically under the recoil as he walked bullets into each new threat as it appeared. On man ran out of the kitchen with a double barrel shotgun. As Deacon got his first foot on the stairs, the UMP burped a three shot burst that turned his heart into chopped liver, sending him to the floor. Deacon was at the top of the stairs as Solo ran up them backwards, still spraying the clientele with hot lead. At the top of the stairs, Deacon kicked in the door as Solo let the HK21E hang from it's sling as he reloaded it one handed, while using the other hand to empty out the thirty round mag in the Taurus to keep customers heads down. Still moving backward up the stairs he reached the top as the Taurus ran out and the HK21E was rechambered.
Inside the room Deacon walked up to the greasy Wap in an awful leather suit, worn without a shirt, and with just a big plain gold chain. His chest was wrapped and he had a ice pack on his head. "Lookie, lookie what I got here," Deacon said as the white light from the UMP clicked on and bathed the man with steely eyes and a big scar in light.
Fear filled his eyes, "You stinking pig, you'll pay for this. The Juliani Family don't take this crap from nobody."
"Oh, I'm sorry." BANG BANG BANG. Three shots drilled into the cheap laminated board to the left and right, and just above his head. "Just who will make me pay?... You?... You couldn't catch a cold on an iceberg nor kick a one legged mans ass. You weak parasite. I'd kill you, but then who would tell you uncle J what went on here. I want you to personally tell him of your defeat. Now on your feet weed." Deacon drew the USP pistol and stuck it in the crook's face as he got up and walked in front of the desk. "Turn around."
"You gonna shoot me in the back, you yellow bastard."
"Swearing is the domain of weaker unimaginative minds," Deacon said as he jabbed a tranquilized needle into the thugs neck. Slumping to the floor with a loud hollow thud as his head struck the wood without the aid of any effort by Deacon the gangster was inert.
"Ten seconds Deac," Solo said through the implant mics. "Kitchen clear and plenty of splatter. IED's in place."
"Affirmative. I've got Mr. Happy. Proceed to Happy-Face," Deacon whispered into his mic as he slipped a nylon strap under his captive's arms and then bound his arms behind his back with a zip-strip. Now using the nylon strap as a carrying strap he dragged the hoodlum out of the office and down the stairs painfully and into the street. Beside the car he jammed a manila envelope into his pants with Juliani's name on it. The thugs were left on the sidewalk as Deacon and Solo drove away. Half a block later the building was rocked by eight light explosions, and then engulfed in flames. It would burn to the ground before the Fire Department could get there.
Pittsburg, PA. 010623
When they were done there they went to eight of the Syndicate's flophouses and cheap brothels. There they stealthily places a steel grate over each ground floor window. It was braced up by a angled steel beam that kept it firmly in position blocking any exit. Then Solo parked a garbage truck (or other suitable large immovable vehicle) against the back doors, while the Deacon quickly boarded the front doors after shooting any bouncer and persons at the front door with a suppressed .22 Browning Buckmark three or four times each. With the preparation done they were then free to stroll over to the get-away van and throw the eight gas cans onto the roof; shortly followed by a dozen thermite grenades. Most houses of ill-repute are not know for their conformity to local fire ordinances. Fire Marshals seldom visit the joint, and if they do it is not to inspect the fire extinguishers. This fact meant most were tinderboxes waiting to be struck by a match. As each gas can burst they added their fuel to the flames. High flammability meant no one inside survived any of the fires. At each location they waited, listening to the screams of those inside, until the last possible moment to drive away. The fire-trucks arrived as the last wall was collapsing and they merely extinguished the fires to prevent them from spreading. There was nothing they could do to help anyone inside the former buildings. Over three hundred persons burned that night.
The fearsome twosome was just getting warmed up. It was 0200 by the time they had torched all eight establishments. By six a.m. the next morning twelve crack houses and drug dens were also smoldering in the morning light. Most of these buildings suffered from either gasoline-magnesium firebombs or dust-initiator bombs. Likewise the Police would have no one to question over the events.
Pittsburg, PA. 0900 hours, 010624.
After being introduced to Emanuel the day before, or 'E' for short, the Welts had taken very kindly to him. They didn't mind the pair of Browning High-Powers under jacket, and didn't' notice the two backup .38 snub noses on his ankles or the SIG Sauer P230 in the small of his back. He cooked what would be called Mexican food all day long in the apartment much to the delight of the mother-son pair. Mark hungrily devoured all the chimichangas, tortillas with cheese and beans, and the tacos he could. Heinrich the cab driver was a former East German terrorist that had operated in Western Europe for years, and the forty-five year man looked quite harmless. Never mind the fact he was still wanted for over fifty deaths in eighteen countries, and only a good deal from Deacon, and his undying devotion to the man kept him out of the laws hands.
Heinrich mad several trips back and forth to the Mall and the grocery store. On his last trip he got a Novex 2300 for Mark. The sleek laptop had just fallen out of top of the line with the introduction of the Opptek 3k. Both were rated by their speed in MHz. So at 2.3 Ghz they really moved. The Novex 2.3 had 768MB RAM and a 25Gb internal hard drive, CD-ROM, and 3" EO disk drive (which had become the new standard) and was only 3/4" thick. Mark was ecstatic, and played on it for hours with Heinrich, but Charlie had her doubts. She walked into the kitchen and stood at the end of the counter, where E was whipping off some dished and putting them back in the cupboard. His sleeves were rolled up exposing the big Spanish insignia of his unit on his rippled forearm. With his jacket off you could really see his muscular figure which the shoulder rig and pistols served to accent.
"You guys aren't FBI are you?" Charlie asked.
"Oh, senioreta. Of course we are. We've come here to protect you and Mark from the Syndicate and bring them to justice." Despite looking up at her and clearly telling a real whopper, he spoke with great conviction and strictly it was the truth. "Do not worry, we are a special unit tasked with combating organized crime and have great resources at our disposal. We use the criminals money we capture against them." Again a very convincing lie, hidden between two truths.
She looked skeptical, but had to yield to such a convincing lie as the second, "I'm sorry, it just seems so unreal. And not at all like the cop shows Mark is always watching on TV."
"Ah yes, TV, as we know is not always true. Do not worry senioreta, things will be fine." He stepped beside her and handed her the glass of orange juice he had just poured. "Here, just like mamasita made it. Fresh squeezed." She took it with a grateful nod and returned to sit and watch Mark play on his new computer that was worth more than she made in half a year.
1400 hours.
Since masterminding what would be known as the July Mob Cook Out, Deacon and Solo had stayed very busy. They continued their rampage of destruction. Now they left one survivor outside each attack site with a manila envelope stuffed in their britches. Inside, just like the scared chin man's envelope, were three sheets of paper. The first was a bookkeeper log of the total worth of everything destroyed at the particular site. The second was a short letter to the effect of, 'You should have just stuck with the money.' and then a short stupid quote like 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." During the day they had burned ten Syndicate warehouses, twelve gambling establishments, and three safe houses.
Calling them industrious was correct.
1600 hours.
"Please let us come with you. We haven't been out of the apartment all day," Mrs. Welch pleaded to Heinrich.
"Ok, I don't see why not. Just wear these hats, and keep your sunglasses on. We'll just go in and out of the grocery and you both can pick out what we're having for dinner."
"Thankyou very much, I'd like to cook for the two of you just one night to show you how much I really, really appreciate this." Mrs. Welch looked at both of them, willing as much sweetness and sincerity as she could into her words.
During their short trip to the store, where Charlie bought all the ingredients to make roast pork, mashed potatoes, and a tempting side salad, they had inadvertently driven down Douglas Street. Douglas Street was the perch of Slick Sid where it intersected 45th Avenue. Sid was in notorious stool pigeon for who ever needed information fast. Earlier that morning he had heard about the two hundred grand reward for a woman and her kid. He never imagined he would get it.
When the taxi drove down the street and he recognized the woman, he called for a cab quick. After following them to the store he called from a payphone to the Boss. In less than ten minutes, far less time than for Charlie to finish shopping, there was a van of eight thugs that had escaped the preceding twelve hours of destruction to the Syndicate.
Unfortunately for Sid, they dragged him in the van and beat the life out of him with a lead pipe and then stuffed him in three black garbage bags and then a body bag.
As the Taxi left for the apartment Heinrich was very alert and quickly noticed the van that had left the store with them and was now behind them. He got on the radio to Emanuel, who would be waiting at home. He remained calm and didn't let on that they were being followed. Mark and Charlie sat in the back seat and talked about the proper way to roast a great big piece of pork. Speeding up to pull away from the van he managed to put thirty seconds between them when he pulled up to the curb and double-parked in front of the entrance to the apartment. He turned to the backseat, "Ok, everyone out now. Run inside. Leave the groceries and don't look back. Please go now," he said very forcefully as a look of fear filled Charlie's face. He got out the driver side and killed the engine. Charlie and Mark got out from the passenger side rear and headed straight in. Down the street he could see the van. It was now about 1745 and traffic was pretty heavy. Would they try anything in broad daylight? he thought to himself. The muzzle coming out of the passenger window told him the answer. Looking over his shoulder he could see Charlie and Mark just get in the door, and head inside. "Charlie! Get down now!!" he yelled inside and was glad to see she did. He grabbed his FN FAL paratrooper rifle with 16-inch barrel and took cover behind the hood. It wasn't his trusted AKS-47U from his youth in eastern Europe, but this would do. Cycling the action and removing the safety he brought the weapon up to his shoulder and fired. Rounds poured into the passenger side of the truck just as the Uzi started to go off.
Blood spattered around the interior of the Van and it swerved to the right into oncoming traffic to avoid his shots. Oncoming traffic stood on their brakes and avoided a head on collision, but it wasn't enough to save their front fenders, which met loudly. The driver got out and went around the front of the truck where he pulled up his M11 and opened fire at Heinrich.
Heinrich took cover behind the hood and engine block of the taxi. At a lull he popped over the hood and dumped another magazine into the van, the rear doors were open and several of the thugs were moving to the side of the street he was on, using stopped cars in traffic as cover. A short burst caught the M11 gunner in the shoulder and then the rest of the burst hit the gas tank. The explosion flipped the van over onto the thug with the wounded shoulder.
Inside Emanuel came running down the stairs to meet Mark and Charlie. He crouched before them, "Ok, follow me. There's a crawl space upstairs," he said as Heinrich's first burst ended and the M11 fire began. "Common!" he repeated as Heinrich returned fire. Helping them both to their feet and then up the stairs they heard the explosion of the gas tank.
Heinrich crouched behind the car door as he slammed another magazine in his weapon. Popping back up after his shield took a long burst from an Uzi, he returned fire and hit another thug across the chest. Emptying the magazine over their heads he forced them down and rolled to get behind the car his taxi was parked (illegally beside.) crouching there he reloaded and let thugs hammer his position. Down the street he saw a thug pop out from between parallel parked cars up the block and empties a long burst in his direction, then a round impacted behind his head and a shard of the bullet scratched his neck. He turned and pointed the weapon by instinct at the thug down the block behind him and peppered him with two shots. Wiping his neck he felt the blood flowing. NG.
Upstairs Emanuel took Mark and Charlie into the walk in closet. He opened the back of it, which was a false door. "Here, this will take you to the apartment next door. Go out and then into the back alley. Get to the Laundromat at the corner and ask for Deacon's suit. They'll hide you. I'll call Deacon and hold them off. Now go, I have to help Heinrich."
Charlie was almost in tears because of the unsaid 'It was wonderful knowing you' at the end. But her and Mark got in and he closed it up. He walked into the siting room/family room and flipped up the couch cushions as he pressed #69 on the AutoDial. The phone was dialing as he heard more gunfire from the street and pulled out an AR-10 7.62mm match rifle, with flat top, bull barrel, bipod, and free-floating hand guard. He slapped in a magazine of match ammo and pulled on his armor vest as the phone answered. "Yeah, Mr. Everest, the situation is a compromise. Repeat a Compromise."
Then Emanuel walked over to the window and opened it up. Standing back in the room to hide his barrel flash and silhouette as much as possible. Heinrich was hiding behind the car door and firing through the passenger window at some thug up the block from him. A quick survey of the situation showed him that there were four thugs down and Heinrich looked wounded in the neck and thigh. From a standing position he looked through the 10-power scope and drilled one round right through the shoulders of the thug who had been harassing Heinrich. Two thugs from across the street decided to rush the car as one down the block stood up and poured full auto fire from his MP5 into Heinrich's position. Emanuel silenced him and his weapons but not before the other two were half way across the street. As he was dragging the rifle back into line with them, Heinrich noticed the cessation of the MP5's fire and came up with his Glock in hand. The Glock 21 holds thirteen rounds of .45 ACP ammo. He fired off ten before the two thugs had gone down. Then he slumped to the ground. Emanuel had seen one thug fire off his TEC-9 and watched the 9mm rounds work their way through Heinrich. He grabbed a first aid pack, an ammo belt of magazines for the AR-10, and ran down to the street. Heinrich was laying face up on the sidewalk gasping for air. Emanuel pulled out bandages, and stuffed the wounds. Applying pressure to the wounds probably wouldn't do it. Then he heard wheels come screeching to a halt. He looked down at Heinrich and set his hands on his own wounds. "Press hard," he said.
Peering over the ventilated car body he saw six more men getting out of a suburban. He quickly brought up the AR-10 and shot the men getting out of the driver side doors, and sent the rest for cover on the other side. The thugs and Emanuel exchanged fire for several minutes, but they could not break out and he could not help Heinrich who lay bleeding to death beside him.
Wheels screeched, a big block engine revved, and sub-machine guns burped. All from behind the thugs in the van the big black caddy car barreling down the street like a locomotive with Solo hanging out the window with a UMP .45 belching smoke. Deacon wheeled it up into a stop perpendicular to traffic flow, but that had pretty much come to a halt anyway. Solo bolted out of the passenger side, took six or seven hits at close range and dispatched the thugs. Not with the UMP he had left in the car or with his retractable mono blade claws, but a nightstick like the kind used as Tonfa. Each thug recieved a hard blow to the head. Deacon had walked out of the car, until he saw Heinrich. Then he ran to his retainers side, and knelt beside him. Pressing his hands on the wounds he tried to save the man, but Heinrich was gone.
"I'm sorry senior, Mark and Charlie are safe at the Laundromat, but Heinrich held them off too long. I tried, I really did," he said as if he were a totally rejected slug.
"It's ok E, you did what you could. Now we gotta get out of here." Deacon then grabbed the body and headed into the apartment. Everyone left their long arms behind and headed for the back door. Solo was there first and had already hot-wired a car. Heinrich went in the trunk and E rode in back. Solo pulled up to the curb by the Laundromat and Deacon got out. Inside Mrs. Lincoln and her Husband who ran the Laundromat greeted him, and they showed him to Mrs. Welch and family. "Mrs. Welch, you won't have any more trouble with the Syndicate. In this folder is a house on the outskirts of town and a new job. There is my FBI number in Washington on a card. If you have any troubles or concerns call me and I will attend to it the best I can. Thank you, you have done a service to your Country by calling the FBI in on these criminals."
"Agent Strusz I can't thank you enough," she said with tears in her eyes. "I want to thank Agent Emanuel and Heinrich."
"Heinrich stayed back at the apartment to clean up and bring in the criminals and Emanuel is right there in the car." She walked over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek, and shook his hand without saying a word. "Now Charlie it is very important that we get you to your knew home immediately. Lets go."
A bare forty-five minutes later they had dropped off mother and son at what would hopefully be a new life.
It was a quiet ride out to the cemetery after the stop at the white house in the suburbs.
Pittsburg, PA. 1300 hours, 010625.
Deacon looked over at Solo listening to the last chorus of the choir at the funeral. The sky was gray and the morning cold. Their suits were damp from the morning humidity and the light mist. "Ready? You wanna drive?" he asked as he turned his back in anguish and walked to the car.
Solo remained a minute longer, unable to breakaway from the grief-laden tones of the singer. Her chords struck him somehow. Then he turned away too, "Yeah, let's get out of here."
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