Drug Wars Part 2: Blood Money (The Revengist #2)

By I.D. Russell

MechaMountie. The secret CSIS project in cybernetics set to revolutionize the world of law enforcement. Stronger than ten gorillas with a brain faster than twenty IBM computers, the robot is laying down the law in a city under siege!
After the death of Eddie Camponelli, River City is in chaos. Rival gangs are shooting up the streets, attempting to gain control of the drug trade. The police are powerless until the government sends in their top secret weapon. Now THE REVENGIST is in for the fight of his life to prove that no robot can do his job better than he can. He’s going to show that he’s still got it, even if it kills him!

• Language: English
• Publisher: I.D. Russell
• Release date: Feb 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781988383163

I.D. Russell

When he’s not working full time, training in Hapkido and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, or looking after his kids, Ian likes to relax with a good book/board game/video game/movie/retro pro-wrestling match. Somewhere in there he finds time to write and make movies.Check out www.ringojones.com for links to his movies and follow him on Facebook, twitter, and youtube

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THE REVENGIST

DRUG WARS: BLOOD MONEY

by I. D. Russell

The Revengist #2

Drug Wars: Blood Money © 2017 by I.D. Russell

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Ringo Jones Productions

www.ringojonesproductions.com

Winnipeg, Canada

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED PUNKS RULE

Three bullets whizzed by his ear, grazing the faint grey hairs growing off his lobes. An inch to the right and his head would be a bowling ball. He pointed his gun towards the shape on the roof and fired six times. The muzzle flash lit up the sky, the sound of the gunshots exploding like thunder. He saw the shadowed punk stumble and fall forward, diving face first down to the pavement. With barely a scream, the shooter planted himself like a lawn dart on the alley floor, his head popping as it was crushed from the impact. The blood, brains, and goo of the human skull sprayed out from the landing point and made a dazzling bit of street art that might have sold for millions, had it not been made of what used to be a man. The body stayed perfectly upright for four whole seconds before finally toppling over and landing in a pile of shattered dreams and broken promises.

There was no time to admire his handiwork; a punk in a leather vest came screaming around the corner of the alley, his uzi flashing like a strobe light, emptying the clip in record time. Die, mother fucker! the man screamed, firing randomly.

Frank took one shot in the shoulder, the rest sailing harmlessly wide, but he remained calm. He levelled his pistol at the charging man and fired once, right between the eyes, detonating his head like a pus-filled zit. The body didn’t get the message, continuing to run at him, firing away.

Frank slid back behind the dumpster and waited as the charging headless monstrosity approached. He put his foot out at the last possible second and tripped the ghoul, sending the body sprawling down to the ground, his neck pumping out a continuous arterial spray half a block away. The body tried to right itself, but Frank put his foot on its lower back and took aim.

Use your head, stay down! He fired off six more shots into the flailing, headless marathon man until it finally stopped, laying flat and still forever, blood gently flowing down the sewer grates at the edge of the street.

All hell was breaking loose. What was supposed to be a routine bust of the Deadly Damned had turned into an all out street war. Someone must have tipped them off, there was no way common street punks like this should have this much firepower on their side.

They’d been caught off guard, needed to regroup. Frank took charge of the insanity and barked out orders to the nearby officers. Mahoney, Greco, get up to the roof and cut off those snipers. Ulrich, Lawson, secure the perimeter, and Kilik... hey, where’s Kilik?

What part of him, sir?

Frank turned to the mouth of the alley to see Detective Jessica Dawes running towards him. She was wearing her standard issue navy blue bullet proof vest and had her long brown hair tied back in a pony tail. Her face was splattered with blood, but there didn’t seem to be any holes in her.

Rookie, why aren’t you covering the north side of the building? Frank asked her.

That’s just it, sir. I was. But then someone inside had an RPG, and Kilik, well...

Spit it out, kid.

There’s not enough left of him to fill a shoe box.

Bastards! Frank cursed, Not Kilik, the man was only twelve years to retirement!

The enemy has secured the north side. I came to get reinforcements.

Frank surveyed the carnage. There were bodies littering the street and alleyway, mostly punk members of the Deadly Dammed, but mixed in with all the shredded leather and tattooed limbs were some of the good guys as well. It was supposed to be simple: show up with the full narc team, surprise the bad guys, make the bust, secure the contraband, have the press conference, go home, get drunk, get laid, call it a night, and do it all over again tomorrow.

But no, from the second that Officer Smith and Officer Frances had approached the warehouse loading dock and shouted, this is the police, come out with your hands up, everything had gone to shit.

First the warehouse door had been blown open, the flying metal slicing Smith in half at the waist. Then a stunned Frances had barely had enough time to point his gun before he’d been peppered with a dozen bullets from a dozen guns. The rest of the team had scattered, looking for any possible cover as lead flew all around them, taking chunks out of the concrete ground, splattering blood from wounds too numerous to count.

Somehow, Frank had managed to get into the alley relatively unscathed. He knew something had hit him in the thigh, felt warm blood pouring down into his socks, but he could still walk, could still point a gun. 

There was no way of knowing how many of the original twenty-five that had come with him were still out there alive. They were good men doing good work. But all that mattered now was that the ones still living needed back-up, and needed it fast.

What’s the plan? Jessica looked at him, wiping sweat and blood from her eyes.

Frank leaned down and took the uzi from the headless corpse’s hands, fishing in its pockets for another clip, reloading in one smooth click. You’re going to get to the cars and call for backup. I’m going to read these assholes their rights.

She reloaded her standard issue pistol, falling into step behind him as they moved around to the front of the building. She was noticing his wounds with concern written all over her too-young face.

You’re bleeding, she said.

Ask me if I care.

Well? Do you care that you’re bleeding?

He stopped and turned around to stare her right in the eye, gritting his teeth and scowling. No, was all he said before turning back around.

But how do you intend for me to make it to the cars in one piece? They’ve got that whole side of the building secured.

Then I’ll just have to un-secure it.

Frank reached the edge of the alley and peered around the corner towards the loading dock. Through the ruined sliding doors he saw a couple of parked cars lined up, with men in leather vests standing cockily behind them as cover. They were holding guns of all sizes: pistols, shotguns, machine guns, full automatics, pump actions—you name it, they had it. They had a full vantage point on the area and there was no cover to be seen.

Jessica whispered in his ear. See? There’s no way I can get a clear run to the car without getting cut down. It’s fifty yards across the open parking lot.

Frank looked over the options. The only thing between the girl and certain death were the bodies of her co-workers and some smouldering rubble. Unless these guys had the aim of a stormtrooper, they were going to hit her. And even if he could distract them long enough, there was just no way she could get to the car and make the call unseen. The bad guys had too much cover. Frank wouldn’t be able to hit them all with a gun as inaccurate as an uzi.

He scratched his chin and sighed. You wouldn’t happen to have a grenade in those pants, would you rookie?

Sorry. Left my explosives in my other jeans.

Then I’ll just have to improvise.

****

I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this, Jessica thought as she rolled the trash can to the edge of the alley. In what world does this work?

She knocked on the side of the metal can three times and the lid popped open. Frank was inside, a banana peel on his shoulder, the uzi and his pistol in his hands.

Are you sure about this?

He nodded like a kid being asked if he liked candy. You said it yourself Miss Dawes: there’s no way you can make the run without getting chopped to cheese. We need to take out those guys behind the cover in the loading dock. They’ll never suspect a trash can.

Yeah, but you’ll be all alone out there!

They’ll be so surprised to see me, they’ll be easy pickings. He brushed the peel to the ground.

Why don’t we just wait and see if some of the neighbours called it in? Maybe backup is already on the way.

In this neck of the woods? Gunshots are like doorbells to these people.

But this is suicide!

I know what I’m doing, kid, just roll me towards them and watch me raise hell.

Jessica watched as he winked at her and pulled the trash lid down. He wasn’t about to be talked out of his so-called brilliant plan. When Frank was like this, there was no point in arguing, so she pushed the trash can up to the edge of the alley and took a deep breath. 

Here goes nothing. She rolled him with all of her strength towards the open loading dock.

****

D-Rick stood behind the black mustang with his fingers on the triggers of his two uzis. It felt good to be holding so much power in his hands. He’d already blasted one of the pigs straight to next week. The guy had been standing like an idiot in the parking lot thinking the Deadly Damned were going to be a push over, thinking they would just arrest everybody with no fuss.

Stupid cops. Didn’t they know who there were messing with? The Deadly Damned weren’t some rinky dink bunch of pussies. They weren’t like the East Side West End Boys or the South Side West End Boys. Hell, they weren’t even like the West Side East End Boys. The Deadly Damned were tough, locked and loaded, professional, with big time backing. There was no way a bunch of two-bit cops were going to come in here and mess up their business.

When he saw the blood splatter like cherry bombs from the body on that fat little piggy he’d felt good. Like he was God. One notch on his belt already, one kill. He was riding so high he felt invincible. Maybe later he’d go down to the newly-rebuilt Puckered Whiskey and pick up a chick, take her home, and give her a little something to abort.

Yeah, fuck her real good, maybe twice!

He felt himself getting hard already beneath his tight jeans and leaned forward to lick the end of his uzi barrel suggestively, imagining it to be a fine pink pussy just waiting to be stuck with his farmer’s sausage. The gun tasted like metal, cold steel, but she wouldn’t. She would taste like—

Dude, what is wrong with you?

He was drawn out of his daydream and opened his eyes to see Marco staring at him, shaking his head.

Man, fuck you. I was just picturing the pussy I’m going to get later.

Marco laughed. Man, more like all the cock you gonna suck later. You were licking that thing like it was a ten year old’s dick!

The fuck you know about that, you pedo?

Hey, shut up, both of you, Henny shouted. Something’s going on. He pointed to something rolling down the parking lot.

D-Rick looked with confusion as a trash can rolled awkwardly through the empty concrete loading area, past the bodies of cops and the burning door. It rolled like there was something inside, something with weight. The can made quick half rotations, then clunked with a heavy thud.

It came to a stop about twenty feet away from them and the lid started to push outward. There was banging from inside. It seemed to be stuck. Then, finally, it flew off. D-Rick squinted to see what was inside. It was a man. He climbed out, planting himself on his elbows. His hair was a mess, his moustache covered in slime, and he seemed to be trying to stop the room from spinning, his head bouncing awkwardly like a drunk.

Alright you punks, he slurred, hands up.

****

Frank tried to focus his guns on the leather-clad hooligans in front of him, but they wouldn’t stop spinning. Hadn’t there only been a handful before? Now there were a dozen And why were there so many sets of twins?

Did you hear me, shit for brains? he said, drop ‘em and I don’t have to get mad.

All of the twins lifted their weapons and pointed them at him. They weren’t going to come peacefully. Okay, he said, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

He was just about to start shooting when there suddenly came a loud crashing, and everyone looked behind him.

****

The dark blue van backed right up through the parked police cars, knocking them to the side in a great crash of sparks. The vehicle stopped just behind where Frank had rolled and the rear door swing open. From her angle at the edge of the alley, Jessica couldn’t see what was going on. The van was unmarked, the windows tinted. Was this the calvary come to save them?

Something shouted with a loud, booming, electronically enhanced voice, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you have to say—

His words were interrupted with a barrage of gunfire from the punks in the loading dock. A thousand rounds of ammunition were pumped into the back of the truck. Whoever was inside was surely toast. There was no way they could have survived that much lead.

When the gang bangers had emptied their clips, they relaxed. There was total silence, the punks peering into the smoky back of the truck.

—will be used against you in a court of law. Drop your weapons and exit the building in single file, the voice called out again.

So he was alive? How? Another barrage of gunfire rocked the back of the truck, another thousand rounds wasted. The fog was so thick now she couldn’t see anything, she’d even lost sight of Frank, who was still trying to get out of the trash can.

Repeat, you are all under arrest, the voice said a third time.

Then, she thought she saw a red blur leap from the back of the vehicle. It moved so fast she couldn’t tell what it was, but she heard screaming coming from behind the cover the punks had been using. More gunfire erupted from within the haze. Something was happening to the Deadly Damned. She could just make out a shadowed form moving through the mist as quick as lightning. Each flash of light from gunfire gave her a better look, but she gasped in horror when she finally saw what it was.

CHAPTER TWO KINDS OF COPS

It’s so lifelike! What do you call it?

They call him MechaMountie, but his operating handle is B.O.B., or Bionic Operating Battledroid.

Frank stared at the thing wide-eyed, shaking his head in awestruck wonder, just repeating it’s so lifelike, over and over again. 

Jessica sat in disbelief in Chief O’Rourke’s office, staring at the strange robot that had saved their asses back at the warehouse. It was about six and a half feet tall, made of gleaming silver metal. It’s body had been painted in the red of a royal Canadian mounted policeman’s uniform, airbrushed to a shine that showed no evidence of the chaotic gunfight it had just been through. Its head was a square block on a thin cylinder neck. The familiar brown mountie hat was fused to its cranium, also made of steel. The robot’s eyes were glowing yellow lights, the mouth a horizontal rectangle screen of yellow that displayed wavy black lines that moved in time as it spoke. The creature looked like something right of a science fiction magazine, but here it was, alive, after a fashion, and moving right in front of them. 

It’s the spitting image of our boys in red! Frank said.

But while the creation was impressive, a shining example of what the best in ’80s technology could produce, it certainly wasn’t lifelike. You couldn’t have a robot look more like a robot if you tried, but for some reason Frank was totally enthralled.

As if created by the hand of God himself. he whispered.

Was he joking? Had the shock of seeing what MechaMountie could do still not worn off? Had he been hit in the head at some point in the firefight and suffered a concussion? Jessica still wasn’t sure just what in the heck she had seen back there herself. The haze had obscured much. The robot had taken out the entire Deadly Damned gang. Was this all a crazy dream? Would she wake up in a few minutes and laugh this all off as a case of indigestion?

The RCMP have sent in MechaMountie because the police are losing control of the streets. Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau authorized the deployment of the robot on my recommendation. Professor Francois stood smiling proudly behind the robot, patting it on the shoulder like a boastful father. "I’ve been given a grant to