Highway To Armageddon (38 page)

           
“Man, this place is badass,” Krystal says from the front passenger seat,
leaning half her body out the shattered window. (Machete took over flying
responsibilities after spending the first night screaming at Krystal for her
erratic aerial maneuvers.)

           
I have to agree with Krystal. Even in the afternoon the city lights are almost
blinding. There are skyscrapers and elaborate casinos and clubs for as far as
the eye can see. Some of the casinos are shaped like pyramids, others are giant
spheres (almost resembling colossal golf balls), and others are dual towers
connected by walkways.

           
“As much as I’d love for us to get a hotel here, it’s way too crowded.” Machete
points to the massive crowd of people in the streets. “Every bounty hunter in
the country is probably down on the Strip. They’ll be just as happy handing you
guys over to Caesar as they would be nabbing Rasputin.”

           
It’s busy in the sky, too. Hundreds of cars are zooming around and cutting each
other off, honking their horns and flashing middle fingers.

           
“There are cheap motels a few miles from here,” I say, checking my goggles.
“We’ll be less likely to run into trouble if we hang out there.”

           
“Good suggestion, girlie.” Machete makes a crazy U-turn in mid-air, sending
Lance and me colliding into our door. She then shoots off at break-neck speed,
sending me crashing back into my seat. Thank God for seatbelts.

           
As we head toward a more rural area, I check the news on my goggles. There’s a
report detailing how people are getting antsy as the Chinese continue
threatening a surgical military strike if Rasputin is not apprehended. Some
analysts believe the strike could happen in a matter of days. Footage is then
shown of people all over the country flooding supermarkets to stock up on food
and water. Rich people living in the sanctuaries are purchasing underground
bunkers in near-record numbers. And of course crime in the slums and
non-Sanctuary cities has skyrocketed as poor people commit increasingly brazen
robberies to shore up on their meager supplies. The whole country is losing its
collective mind.

           
I’m even more shocked by the report that pops up after that. European ‘Fuhrer’
Sarah Coulter has put out a rare press release stating she and the other
leaders of the Fascist Empire of Bavaria (none of us in America call it that,
we still call it Europe) are ‘appalled’ and ‘outraged’ by the assassination of
the American Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. Coulter’s statement claims the
Wizard was a ‘great man and close friend of the Bavarian people’. The press
release goes on to say the Bavarian Grand Wizard is ‘heartbroken’ over the
murder of his ‘American brother of the cloth’, as is the rest of the Bavarian
Nation. It ends by stating the Bavarian Ku Klux Klan and their Neo-Nazi
brothers will work tirelessly until the Grand Wizard’s assassins are apprehended
and executed. Good thing they don’t know it was us!

           
We reach the rural outer edges of New Las Vegas in no time. Machete parks in a
wooded area and walks over to the front office of a cheap, $100 a night motel
called the Poor Man’s Paradise. She returns moments later, dangling a key in
the air.

           
“We’re in Room 36,” she says, pointing to the very back of the motel, the part
that faces a wooded area. We’re out of sight of the main road. It’s the perfect
spot for people who don’t want to be seen.

           
We all get out of the car and head inside the room. Machete turns on the light
and about a dozen cockroaches scatter, crawling under the two beds and the sofa
against the wall. The beds and sofa are covered in stains, as is the worn and
tattered carpet. The door to the bathroom is open, so I can see the toilet
looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a year, and the shower curtain is yellow
and moldy. There’s a giant crack on the ceiling that indicates the roof is one
bad storm away from caving in, and the entire room smells like dirty feet and
crap.

           
“This place is disgusting!” Krystal hollers, stomping on a roach that stupidly
runs up to her.

           
“I agree,” Dorothy says, sticking out her tongue. “I’d rather sleep outside.”

           
“No one’s stopping you,” Machete says.

           
Arrow gives Machete a dirty look, prompting her to sigh and say, “We won’t be
here that long. We just need a place to lay low until we make our next move.”

           
I cautiously sit down on the edge of one of the beds, making sure no critters
are under the cover.

           
“Right now we don’t have many leads on where Rasputin may be hiding, save for
he’s probably somewhere in Alaska,” I say. “And if he’s in Alaska, he may as
well be here in New Las Vegas, since there’s such a concentration of Russian
mobsters. There is, however, one person who’s most likely been in contact with
Rasputin at some point within the past several weeks. Heck, he could be hiding
him in one of his casinos for all we know.
Igor
Bolshevik
.”

           
Machete nods. “Yeah, he’s rumored to be one of the most powerful Russian
mobsters in the country. Arrow told me you guys were thinking about going after
him.”

           
“So where is this Igor guy?” Dorothy asks.

           
“He owns a casino on the Vegas Strip. I bet you can’t guess what it’s called.”

           
“The Purple Dragon?” Dorothy says.

           
“Bingo. Rumor has it Igor is one of Rasputin’s biggest American supporters. He
uses some of the hundreds of millions of dollars he makes from his casinos and
drug smuggling to finance Rasputin’s terror operations. This is all
‘allegedly’, of course. Igor has never been formally charged for helping the
Purple Dragons. But that’s probably because the American Government isn’t too
keen on arresting people who are helping destabilize their biggest foreign
threat.”

           
“So we know where Igor’s at,” Dorothy says. “What’s the plan? How do we use him
to get to Mikhail?”

           
“The most important thing is earning Igor’s trust. We have to convince him we
want to join his gang. Once we do that, we can infiltrate his inner circle and
hopefully locate Rasputin.”

           
Dorothy scoffs. “You’re making this sound like it’s going to be easy. How are
we going to convince Igor we want to be in his gang, especially when you, Lance
and Krystal are wanted by Caesar and Blackbird?”

           
I can’t help but smirk. Dorothy is a smart, observant girl, asking all the
right questions. She really would make a good bounty hunter.

           
“First we’re going to need some good disguises. A lot of Russians nowadays dye
their hair purple. They also wear leather jackets and carry around electric
swords.’

           
“Electric swords?” Dorothy cries. “Aren’t those illegal?”

           
“Technically. But as with everything in America, you can find them if you know
where to look.”

           
I personally hate electric swords. It looks like a pocket knife, but when you
click the trigger a two-foot blade pops out. You then click another button and
the sword heats up, so it slices through flesh and bone easier. That’s not its
only purpose, either. The heated blade cauterizes any wound, preventing a
victim from bleeding to death. This is useful in torture sessions, when you
want to prolong the torture as long as possible. You can also make the sword
electrified, which causes instant death when you stab someone. They’re nasty
weapons, which is why even our ruthless government outlawed them. But the
Ruskies love em.

           
“And you think just by dressing up Igor will hire you guys?” Dorothy asks.

           
“Not exactly,” Lance says, cutting in. “Russian gangsters are looking for new
blood, since most of their gangbangers are older. That’s one thing we have in
our favor, youth. But they’re probably going to have us go through an
initiation first.”

           
“Like?” Dorothy inquires.

           
“They’re gonna want us to carry out a hit,” Krystal blurts out, munching on
some beef jerky she bought from the store.”

           
“Omigosh, really?” Dorothy cries.

           
“Don’t worry, they won’t have us go after anyone innocent,” Arrow says
casually, chomping on an apple. “Probably just a rival gangbanger. Or, if we’re
lucky, we’ll get to go after someone even more corrupt… like a politician.”

           
Krystal, Machete, and Lance laugh at Arrow’s morbid joke. Dorothy and I,
however, do not. I’m beginning to think we’re the only ones with any class.

           
“Another thing,” I say, looking directly at Machete and Krystal. “We should
probably only send three of us into Igor’s fortress. That way the other three
can act as backup in case things go to hell.”

           
“Okay,” Machete says. “You, me, and Arrow can go, and the others can wait
outside.”

           
I sigh and shake my head. I’m about to break the news to her, that she can’t be
part of the infiltration team, but thankfully Arrow comes to my rescue.

           
“You can’t go inside with us, Mom, and you know that,” Arrow says sternly.

           
“And why not?” Machete growls.

           
“Because you’re old,” he says bluntly. “These Russian perverts want young,
beautiful women like Boom Boom, and young, strong, attractive guys like me.”

           
“And me, too,” Lance says.

           
“Don’t flatter yourself, chump,” Arrow replies.

           
Before the boys get into an argument, I say, “No offense, Machete, but Arrow’s
right. Igor may find you… intimidating.”

           
Machete seems to like my answer better than Arrow’s.
Intimidate
is
better than being called ‘old and ugly’. Not that Machete is ugly. But the eye
patch and scars don’t do her any favors.

           
I’m relieved when Machete grumbles, “Fine, I’ll be backup. But I want in on the
mission to nab Mikhail.”

           
“Deal,” I say without hesitation. I want someone crazy like Machete on that
mission, too.

           
We spend another ten minutes fine-tuning our mission, then we head back out to
the car. First we stop at a barbershop outside Vegas. Since Lance, Arrow and I
are the ones going undercover, we’re the only ones to get any work done.
(Although Krystal does buy herself a purple wig. She looks like a cracked-out
clown when she puts it on.)

           
I get my hair cut off at my shoulder. I really don’t want to do it because I
like my hair long, but I figure it’s necessary to drastically alter one of my
most distinctive features. I then have my hair dyed dark purple. The
transformation is uncanny. I barely recognize myself in the mirror.

           
Lance gets his shaggy hair trimmed a few inches and dyed light purple. He looks
totally different, too. I personally think he looks sexier than ever, but I
don’t tell him that. He already has a big head. If I inflate it anymore he
might not fit through the door.

           
Arrow absolutely refuses to get his hair cut, and he complains when we try to
persuade him to dye it. He does get a few purple streaks put in, though. It’s
not quite as important for Arrow to alter his look. He’s not as ‘wanted’ as Lance
and me.

           
After that we go to a shady-looking tattoo parlor in a back alley to get the
most important and convincing part of our disguise: a purple dragon tattoo.
Lance and I spend a good half an hour arguing with Machete about just getting a
fake tattoo. We really don’t want a permanent mark indicating we’re radical
terrorists hell-bent on China’s downfall. But Machete convinces us to get real
ones after reminding us what Russians do with people they suspect of being
spies and informants. (Let’s just say they make Caesar’s torture methods seem
like a mild toothache.)

           
At the tattoo parlor, a muscular woman who could easily pass as Machete’s
cousin straps me into a chair and goes to work injecting my left shoulder with
ink. It hurts like hell, but I bite my lips and tough it out. The woman’s
assistants work on Arrow and Lance. Arrow doesn’t say much, but Lance whines
about how much it hurts. He finally shuts up when Machete tells him to quit
being such a bitch.

           
After the tattoo ladies finish up, the three of us stand in front of a cracked
mirror and admire our tats. As much as I hate that I had to get one, I have to
admit it looks pretty badass. It’s an angry-looking purple dragon with his
wings extended, blowing fire out of his mouth. Arrow and Lance got similar
ones. Machete, Dorothy, and Krystal go on about how awesome it looks and how
they want to get one. I take it the tattoo ladies are flattered by all the
praise because they give us a 20% discount.

           
After the tattoo parlor we head to a clothing store to buy some leather
jackets, pants, and boots. Machete tells us we won’t be able to wear our armor
underneath the vests, as that will give us away as spies. I don’t feel
comfortable going into a mobster hotspot without a Kevlar vest, but I guess we
don’t have much of a choice.