The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (34 page)

Varick smiled grimly. “They do something stupid, we throw them in jail. Year or two later, they’re out somehow, only to do the same stupid bull that gets them thrown right back in. Rinse and repeat.”

Santos chuckled. “You’d think they’d at least consider reform with so many failures under their belts.”

“Oh great, and Bruce’s bosom buddies are here too—this is just perfect! We’re freezing our butts out here, up on bumpkin hill, trying to make an honest buck, and you guys somehow show up. What the hell are you guys doing all the way out here anyway?!”

“Just following the slime trails,” Varick goaded.

Little Joey’s men muttered angrily and stared down Bruce and the others, clearly itching for a fight. They were only waiting for Little Joey’s signal. Bruce stood his ground confidently. “Unfortunately, it’s kind of late, so we really don’t want to stick around chit-chatting. So, you can come peacefully, or we can drag you to jail, kicking and screaming. The choice is yours.”

Little Joey’s men stood behind Joey, cracking their knuckles, gritting their teeth, and pulling out all the stops to look menacing. Joey glared at his men in disbelief. “What the frik you all waiting for? Beat the crap out of ‘em!” They roared to life and charged. The new faces of the gang led the pack, with the kind of fervid energy that came to those in their prime who were naive enough to believe themselves invincible. Conversely, the veteran members were far less enthusiastic to be knocked around li
ke pi
ñatas
. These old-timers were all too familiar with the Legion, but did as they were told nevertheless.
 

Bruce looked back at Varick and Santos, grinning. “Moths to the flame—let’s turn up the heat.
” He charged forward. “Meet them halfway!” Varick and Santos were right behind him. Laura and Alex watched with rapt attention as the brawl commenced. Bruce struck first, connecting a flying kick into the lead gang member, who crashed back into two others. Bruce rolled into the mass of bodies and was quickly surrounded by Little Joey’s gang.
They came at him from all sides
. Varick and Santos joined the fray. Punches and kicks were flying fast, with the Legion’s focus being on speed over power, given the sheer number of opponents they were facing. With everyone wearing heavy winter gear, they all had extra padding for protection. But it was this same boon that hindered movement and put an extra strain on their stamina.

As more bodies came at him, Bruce felt his adrenaline surge.
Maybe this was what it was all about.
Sure, he wasn’t a soldier anymore, but he was still fighting the good fight. Maybe being a soldier didn’t matter. As crazy as it would seem to someone else, even someone in the same line of work as him—this eased his tensions. His heart was pumping, but there was no stress. He knocked out another gang member. It almost felt like a game to him—one that he loved to play.
Maybe because he was just so damn good at it.
 

One by one, Little Joey’s gang members were hitting the ground. In some cases, two at a time, when legionnaires dished out simultaneous strikes. Little Joey watched the rumble, becoming increasingly more irate. There were a few stragglers from his gang standing a safe distance away from the fight. “Oh my god, what the hell!” Joey roared, while he pushed forward his reluctant soldiers. “Get ‘em, you idiots, GET ‘EM!”

Bruce quickly cleared his personal space and left a pile of bodies in his wake. One gang member removed his belt and lashed it like a whip, trying to hit Santos. He ducked under the belt so that it hit the thug behind him instead. Bruce spotted the weapon and darted forward to address it. “Don’t try and get clever here, buddy!” He cranked him in the jaw with a heavy fist towards Varick, who grabbed him by the collar, swung him full circle, and tossed him at the legs of two other attackers. Bruce and Santos were now back to back, sending fists flying. A couple of Little Joey’s men who were on the ground tried to grab Bruce and Santos’ legs to immobilize them, but they were kicked away.

Little Joey eyed the nearest snowmobile. He read the label along the front of the vehicle:
the key number
. He rushed to the bulletin board on the wall, where all the keys were hanging. He hastily scanned the board to find the correct key, grabbed it, then ran to the vehicle which was going to deliver him to freedom. Laura and Alex saw exactly what was going on. “Hey, guys!” Laura called. “You got a runner!”

There were only three gang members left on their feet now.
A three on three fight.
Upon hearing Laura’s alert,
Bruce’s gaze strayed from the fight and locked onto his new target. Of course it would have to be Little Joey.

Joey sneered at Bruce from atop his snowmobile. “What, you think I’m dumb enough to stick around here and try to fight you?!”

“You’re dumb enough to try and run!”

“You got that right!” Joey stuck the key in the ignition and took off through the rear-end garage door.

“Now that looks fun...” Bruce rushed over to the bulletin board. “Hey, finish up here, guys!” Bruce instructed to Varick and Santos. “I’m going after the little guy.” He matched a key to its snowmobile and took off after the leader.

Little Joey accelerated down the slope, weaving in and out between evergreen trees. He surprised himself by how well he could maneuver the vehicle, being his first time on a snowmobile. The slope evened out into a wide sweeping snowfield, and the trees were becoming more concentrated. He could see that he was heading towards a forest. Even though it would provide excellent cover, there was no way he could bring his snowmobile in there. He decided he would skim the edge of the forest and follow alongside it. His ears suddenly became aware of another roaring engine—a second snowmobile in his proximity. He looked over his shoulder to see Kasparov closing in fast. Little Joey’s eyes bugged out. “Oh, son of a bitch!” He tried to pull some tricky maneuvers around trees, but Bruce met him every step of the way. He kept glancing back after each stunt he pulled, but nothing was working. In fact, his weaving only seemed to help close the gap between Bruce and himself.

“You’re only making this harder for yourself, Little Joey!”

Little Joey turned his head and gave Bruce a big sneer and the finger. He turned back to see himself on a collision path with a tree. “Shit!” He swerved frantically to avoid the crash and lost a great deal of speed. Bruce cut in and was mere feet away from Little Joey. Bruce leapt off his snowmobile and managed to tackle Little Joey off his. Down into the snow they went. Little Joey screamed out in frustration. “I hate you, Kasparov! I really hate you! I really f—”

“Shaddaaap!” Bruce rubbed a big handful of snow all over Little Joey’s face. “Let me clean out your filthy mouth with pure white snow.”

Little Joey coughed and spluttered. “Bastard!”

***

Bruce returned to the warehouse on his snowmobile with Little Joey, whom he held in a headlock all the way up the hill. He was pleased to see that Varick and Santos had everything under control. The hands and feet of every gang member had been restrained with plastic zip ties (just one of the many things that Varick kept in the trunk of his car for crime-fighting fun).

“You caught him. Nice job,” Laura said.

“Was there any doubt?”

Laura rolled her eyes. Bruce winked. “But thanks. You guys cleaned up here real nice as well. Laura, I take it you’ve already informed the local authorities about this shindig?”

“Was there any doubt?”

Bruce grinned. “None.” Bruce threw Little Joey onto the warehouse floor. “Now then.
Talk
. What did you want with all these snowmobiles?”

Little Joey blinked and looked at him, dazed and confused. “I dunno. What I heard is that the big man Scorcher wanted to have a stockpile of them around for the wintertime. Just in case he got bored.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Bored?”

“Yeah. He thought they might be fun. Apparently, he was trying to plan and organize a snowmobile race or something...I dunno. To be honest, I think he’s a little loco.”

Bruce rubbed his face. “You
think
?” Bruce stretched his arms over his head and looked out through the garage door. “Whatever. I’m not going to try and pick that freak’s brain.” He glanced at Varick and Santos. “You two have anything to ask this guy?”

“Nah, I think you already got everything we’re going to get out of him,” Varick replied.

“Alrighty then.” He turned his attention to Laura and Alex. “So? What did you two learn?”

Laura scratched her head. “Honestly? Not a damn thing.”

“Alex?”

Alex thought about the question for a moment. “Yeah, I’m gonna go with Laura on this one. You guys didn’t teach us anything—you three were just showing off.”

Bruce grinned. “And therein lies the lesson. Get the job done and look good doing it.”

***

Sunday, December 5th, 1999

The Seaberg Lounge, Queens

It was late in the afternoon. The Solly brothers were shooting the breeze at their table, with several plates of appetizers being shared between them. Their attention was caught by someone at the door who was creating a stir. He was drawing the stares and hushed murmurs of the patrons as he engaged the bouncer. Mark’s jaw dropped. “Is that...”

“What the hell...” Lucas hastily pushed out his chair and rushed to the front with Mark. “Bobby, we’ll handle this,” said Lucas. The bouncer shrugged and stepped aside to give Lucas free rein. On closer inspection, the man at the door was indeed Zerneck Wells—but his face was horribly disfigured with bruises and welts. Dried blood stained his hairline and ran down the side of his head. “You’ve got some nerve,” Lucas muttered.

“I need to see Jack.”

Lucas shoved Zerneck. “The hell are you thinking, coming in here looking the way you do?”

Zerneck gritted his teeth. “
Where is he, Lucas?
”

Lucas pushed him again. “Outside.
Right now
. You’re gonna scare everyone away.” Mark and Lucas escorted Zerneck out of the lounge and directed him to the back entrance. Lucas unlocked the door and the three of them went inside. There was a seat behind the desk and a single folding chair leaning against the wall, but a
ll three chose to stand
. The Solly brothers stared at Zerneck without saying a word. Keeping his gaze fixed on Wells, Lucas pulled out his cell and dialled his father’s direct line. “Pops, it’s Lucas. Wells just showed up here at Seaberg.” Wells watched anxiously while Lucas spoke to Solly. His fate was about to be decided by this one call. “Uh-huh, yeah, the office. He wants to see you. Okay, see you soon.” Lucas cut the call. “He’s on his way.”

***

Within twenty minutes, the office door opened. Wells and the Solly brothers had been waiting patiently in complete silence. Jack Solly stood framed in the door way. His eyes first locked onto his sons and then to Wells. He walked in without saying a word and sat down behind his rickety desk. He placed his hands on his desk and studied Wells. “You should be physically dead or dead to us because you’ve turned traitor. You have one minute to explain yourself before you’re dead on both counts.”

Wells inhaled deeply, which triggered a raspy cough. He held his side, clearly in pain. “I never turned on you, Jack.
Never
. They captured me right outside First Bank.”

“Who did?”

“Scorcher’s men—and Brody. Brody was the traitor, not me. They held me for days...weeks...putting me through unending torture. Hell, I don’t even know what day it is.”

“They kept you alive all this time?”

“They wanted information. But I didn’t give them anything. I kept feigning to be weaker than I really was after every beating. When they thought I was completely subdued, I still had something left. They eventually got sloppy, and I managed to escape by the skin of my teeth today. I knew the first thing I had to do was see you, Jack.”

“How did you get here?”

“I have a vehicle outside. I stole it from their lot.”

Jack stared at Wells. He opened his drawer and pulled out a box-cutter. He pushed out his chair and slowly walked up to Wells while extending the blade on the knife. He stood in front of him. Wells watched him, breathing hard. He tried to maintain eye contact but found himself constantly looking down at the knife in Jack’s hand. Jack gently held Wells by the chin. He brought the knife up to the side of Wells’ face. Wells swallowed nervously, but didn’t move. He was perspiring from his forehead now. Jack gently turned Wells’ head to the left and then to the right, examining him. He rested the knife on the top button of Wells’ tattered shirt. Then, with one swift stroke, Jack brought the knife all the way down Wells’ shirt, cutting off the buttons. Jack nudged his shirt open with the box-cutter to reveal all the bruising and gashes that had been inflicted upon Wells.

“Scorcher’s men did this to you?”

Wells nodded. Jack retracted the knife and pocketed it, to Wells’ relief. He turned his back to Wells, then walked over to his desk and placed his hands on it. “There’s just one thing that I find curious, Wells... If Brody was the traitor, then why did Turly kill him?”

Wells stared. “What?”

“You didn’t hear? Turly had a confrontation with Brody. He’s likely the one that killed him. Oswalt retrieved Turly’s bladed pen from the crime scene—the one that left puncture wounds in Brody’s hand. We’ve already dealt with Turly, but unfortunately, he gave us no information. So, again I ask...if they were on the same side, why did Brody and Turly come to blows?”

When Zerneck had fingered Brody as the traitor, he was actually considering saying he was the one that killed him to earn some points with Solly.
Thank god he didn’t
. Wells blinked, thinking fast. “This is all I know: Brody betrayed
me
. If Turly killed him, something must have gone wrong, or they had no more use for him.”
Just keep your composure, you know Jack,
Wells told himself.
“Jack, I swear to you that’s
what happened. Come on, you
know
me. How many years have I been loyal to you?”