Fantasy novel, "The End of Realms," possibly moving forward

Hello all,
       Great prospective news.  I received a letter from a publishing company regarding a recent query letter.  An Indie company I will not name presently has expressed an interest in reading my entire manuscript.  I have in turn provided it to them for review.  One of three things can happen from this point moving forward:
     1.  The manuscript can still be rejected.
     2.   It will be accepted pending recommended revisions.
     3.   It will be accepted "as is" with edits.

Either way, it is an exciting time for me as an author and I can not thank my audience, friends, and family enough for their support.  Here's to staying positive.

Cheers!

Drakov

Book 3 EXCLUSIVE!! First full chapter "Society's Cesspool"

Chapter 1

The Headman’s adrenaline was pumping. In between labored breaths, his mind continued to replay the events that had just transpired. Did I just take out the prime members of the Vargus Syndicate? This is insane!” Gristle looked over at his boss who was deep in thought. He was speaking, but the Headman wasn’t hearing him as his ears were still ringing from the barrage of close-range gunfire.


“Boss? Boss?! Are you hearing me maan?”


“What?” Declan cleared his thoughts and refocused on the situation at hand. By now his trusted chauffeur bodyguard was yelling quite loudly.


“Where to now, boss?”


“We need to finish the job and quick.” His second in command nodded in agreement and knew exactly what he meant. The black SUV though speeding at first had now assumed the correct speed limit as it turned the corner leading into the industrial complex a half a mile away. They needed to blend in and not to attract any unwanted attention.


“Turn left here. Then pull up into that driveway.”


“Right away boss.” They had driven through the complex in order to emerge in a more residential area. The building in front of them was little more than a run-down tenement building housing some forty section-eight apartments. The front of the building housed three small businesses: a shoe repair shop, a UPS store, and a family-owned bodega.


“Seriously, who gets their shoes repaired in this day and age?” Old man Vargus was very traditional in his upbringing. His nostalgia for the ways of the old country had him establishing storefronts that were relevant back home forty years ago, but not so much here in the U.S.


The shoe repair shop had been his intended entrance, but it was well past regular store hours which meant he would have to find another ingress. He walked around the back of the building until he came upon a service ramp and a security door with a keypad intercom. The ringing in his ears had almost subsided. One’s initial impression of the building would be that of a fortified business, but the Headman knew differently. Back in his younger years, he too was running product for the Vargus Syndicate and had become quite familiar with their operations. He flipped up the keypad and after trying several four-digit codes, the internal door lock clicked allowing him easy access inside.


“Cover me.”


He pulled out his chromed revolver and stepped one foot inside. Gristle instinctively reached for his employer’s shoulder.


“Are you crazy boss? You’re going to get yourself killed!” He took his pointer finger and made a small circular motion on the side of his left temple.


“Please, Danimal. If anyone was going to shoot at us, they would have done it already. All of the Vargus heavy was eliminated back at the piers. The only ones that are going to be left here are his accountants and spies. You know...the exact kind of people we would want joining up with us.”


“And if they don’t?”


The Headman released the locking mechanism on his revolver barrel in order to examine and count his bullets. After a brief pause, he spun the barrel and then flicked his wrist to snap it shut.


“Then they’ll be joining their former employers in the morgue. Enough talk, stay here and keep a lookout. Send in four stormtroopers as soon as they get here. Have the other headhunters follow regular deployment procedures and secure the premises.”


“Will do boss, but I still think you should wait.”


The Headman scoffed at the thought, then slipped quietly inside. The interior was well-lit and littered with dozens of large cardboard boxes and several large wooden shipping crates. A card table was set up in the far corner with poker chips and three face-down hands laid out on the surface. The place seemed abandoned, but once more recalling his past experiences, the Headman knew better. Seconds later, his phone trilled with a new text message. They’re here. Less than a minute later, four heavily-armored stormtroopers entered the building to catch up with his current location which was no more than a yard or so away from the door.


“Excellent! You guys were quick. Follow me and stay sharp!” He used the two fingers of his left hand to point at his eyes and the area in front of him. They immediately flanked their leader at his six, three and nine, but allowed him to keep the point. The floorplan was almost exactly as he had remembered it nearly eight years ago, and he had no problem finding and undoing the latch leading to the lower levels. He pushed the faux wall to his right which exposed a locked door. He stepped to the right of the doorway using the door frame to shield his body before knocking. Thud, thud, de thud, thud!


The guard slid back the peephole cover. “Who is it? And be quick about it.”


“Your new best friend.” The well-dressed man answered coyly although he still remained obscured from view.


There was a brief pause before the locked flipped and the door opened outwards. A familiar-looking man stood in the doorway with his firearm drawn. Immediately, the stormtroopers cocked their weapons showering the man with four well-placed green laser points. The guard wisely threw up his left arm while slowly bending down to place his pistol on the floor.


“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed!”


The Headman stepped forward and placed the muzzle of his pistol into the man’s chest, but didn’t fire. After a brief moment, he removed the tip of his gun from the man and motioned for him to stand up.


“Well hello, Carlito. Fancy seeing you here. How long has it been? Five? Eight? Ten years is it?” The man shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, not sure of his fate just yet.


“Relax amigo, I’m not going to kill you. Well, at least not yet. In fact, I might not kill you at all if you can prove that you’re beneficial to me.”


Carlito leaned forward to peer at the well-dressed man with the mask a bit more closely. “Declan? Is that you?” The drug lord once more placed the muzzle of his gun into the man’s chest and scowled.


“It is, but I no longer go by that name. I’m the Headman now and you’d be smart to quickly learn that.”


“What...what are you doing here? Have you rejoined the syndicate?” The man holding him at gunpoint began to laugh.


“No, my dear friend. I AM the Syndicate now. So say hello to your new boss. The Vargus boys had an... unfortunate accident.” After a slight bow, he turned his gaze back to Carlito who seemed completely surprised by the proclamation. “You seem perplexed. You mean to tell me that you didn’t know?”


“What’s to know? The Vargus boys rarely come here. Everything here is handled by Lolita and Chavo.” It was now Carlito’s turn to observe the look of surprise on the Headman’s face. “Should I let them know that you’re here?”


The Headman pointed towards the camera directly to his left. “I’m sure they already know.” A moment later he heard the faint click of a gun’s safety from among the shadows.


“I know you’re there. It doesn’t have to go down this way. We can all be allies, or the lot of you can all be dead.” Unbeknownst to his would-be-assailants, ten heavily-armored headhunters had silently made their way inside and already had their night vision sights trained on the mystery shooter. “Besides, if you were going to shoot me, you would have done so already. I’m sure you know of me and that I can be a more than reasonable employer.”


From the shadows, a voice replied. “Fair enough. I’m putting down my gun. Please, don’t shoot.”


“Very well.” The remaining lights in the room suddenly went up and the Headman could now clearly see the person previously addressing him from the shadows.


“Chavo? I presume.” The man straightened up at the sound of his man. He stood roughly five foot eight and was dressed in a long leather trench coat. Most likely kevlar-lined. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five with barely a five o’clock shadow of facial hair. Perched on top of his head were what appeared to be night-vision goggles. He, in turn, offered his own bow to the Headman and a second later, the lights went out leaving the room in complete darkness.


“Do you really think me that naive, that I would show you my face Headman and allow you to live?” This time the voice came from another corner of the dark room.


There was a single gunshot followed by the sound of at least ten silenced rounds. Thuck, Thuck, Thuck! Then there was a loud thud. A flashbang went off a second later and then the lights went back on. The Headman stood over the prone body of Chavo, his gun placed up against his left temple. Two stormtroopers in night-vision goggles held a Hispanic-woman with dark-hair and fair skin at gunpoint, while the would-be sniper laid dead in a puddle of his own blood in the far right corner of the room.


“You would have been smart to shoot me when I entered the room instead of waiting. A pointless game of cat and mouse. Now, you’ll all pay with your lives for wasting my time!”


“Mercy, mercy, please!” The cries came from the woman across the way. He’s my little brother. I’ll do anything, just don’t kill him.” The cartel lord turned to regard the attractive young woman never once removing the muzzle of his gun from her brother’s temple.


“Senorita Lolita, I assume?” The woman nodded. “I’ve been told you use the moniker, Lethal Lolita. What happened darling? Did you think I was some two-bit punk?”


Being held at gunpoint, she could do little more than shrug.


“Bring her to me, but secure her hands first.” The two stormtroopers zip-tied the woman’s hands and patted her down for any possible hidden weapons before forcing her over to the Headman. “So, you’re this ugly, little thing’s sister? How did that happen? Different mother?” He eyed the exaggerated curves of her body then caressed the side of her face. She flinched at his touch, but wisely did not pull away from her captors.


“Please, my brother knows not what he has done, but he can still be a valuable asset to you. You will need him if you wish to know the location of the Vargus’ other real estate and routing numbers to their offshore banking accounts.” The well-dressed man chuckled.


“I don’t need him, just the thumb from his left hand and his right eye. Both of which can be taken easily from his cold corpse.”


“That is true Papi, but if you allow him to live, I can persuade the remaining members of the Syndicate to swear their loyalty to you and the Headhunters.” The Headman stared pensively at the young woman then back at the man at the end of his pistol. Without so much as a warning, he pulled back his arm and pistol-whipped the kneeling man, knocking him out cold.


“Tie the two of them up and search the location. We don’t have a lot of time before the feds are onto us. Take anything of value and torch the place!”


“No! Please. There are innocent families living above us. Women and children who know nothing of this organization. You would kill them all?” Lolita pulled away from her captors in an attempt to assault the arrogant, well-dressed man. Two semi-automatic gun muzzles were immediately pressed to either side of her head and a third in between her ample breasts.


“Do you seriously think I care?” The woman quickly halted her advance and lowered her voice to a seductive whisper.


“But why destroy the place? It is actually quite lucrative. I can sign the lease over to someone in your organization. No one else has to die today.”


He pondered her words for a moment. He was first and foremost a businessman and any additional collateral would be valuable. “You make a good point. Gentlemen, simply remove any trace of the Syndicate. Then we must definitely split.”


“Yessir Headman!” The stormtroopers all answered in unison and began the process of clearing the rest of the underground rooms.


He turned back to the curvaceous young woman standing before him. “They live... for now. As do you, but you’re both coming with me. There are several things... that we need to discuss.”

Book 3 "Society's Cesspool" Teaser (Extended Version)

Chapter 1

The Headman’s adrenaline was pumping.  In between labored breaths, his mind continued to replay the events that had just transpired.  Did I just take out the prime members of the Vargus Syndicate?  This is insane!” Gristle looked over at his boss who was deep in thought.  He was speaking, but the Headman wasn’t hearing him as his ears were still ringing from the barrage of close-range gunfire.  

“Boss?  Boss?! Are you hearing me maan?”

“What?”  Declan cleared his thoughts and refocused on the situation at hand. By now his trusted chauffeur and bodyguard was yelling quite loudly.

“Where to now, boss?”

“We need to finish the job and quick.”  His second in command nodded in agreement and knew exactly what he meant.  The black SUV though speeding at first, had now assumed the correct speed limit as it turned the corner leading into the industrial complex a half a mile away.  They needed to blend in and not to attract any unwanted attention.

“Turn left here.  Then pull up into that driveway.”

“Right away boss.”  They had driven through the complex in order to emerge in more of a residential area. The building in front of them was little more than a run-down tenement building housing some forty section-eight apartments.  The front of the building housed three small businesses, a shoe repair shop, a UPS store, and a family-owned bodega.

“Seriously, who gets their shoes repaired in this day and age?”  Old man Vargus was very traditional in his upbringing. His nostalgia for the ways of the old country had him establishing storefronts that were relevant back home, but not so much here in the U.S.

The shoe repair shop had been his intended entrance but it was well past regular store hours which meant he would have to find another ingress.  He walked around the back of the building until he came upon a service ramp and a security door with a keypad intercom. The ringing in his ears had almost ceased. The initial impression was that of a fortified business,  but the Headman knew differently. Back in his younger years, he too was running product for the Vargus Syndicate and had become quite familiar with their operations.  He flipped up the keypad and after trying several four digit codes, the internal door lock clicked allowing him easy access inside.

“Cover me.”  

He pulled out his chromed revolver and stepped one foot inside.  Gristle instinctively reached for his employer’s shoulder.

“Are you crazy boss?  You’re going to get yourself killed!”  He took his pointer finger and made a small circular-motion on the side of his temple.

“Please, Danimal.  If anyone was going to shoot at us, they would have done it already.  All of the Vargus heavy was eliminated back at the piers. The only ones that are going to be left here are his accountants and spies.  You know...the exact kind of people we would want joining up with us.”

“And if they don’t?”

The Headman released the locking mechanism on his revolver barrel in order to examine and count his bullets.  After a brief pause, he spun the barrel and then flicked his wrist to snap it shut.

“Then they’ll be joining their former employers in the morgue.  Enough talk, keep a lookout and send in four stormtroopers as soon as they get here. Have the other headhunters follow regular deployment procedures.”

“Will do boss, but I still think you should wait.”

The Headman scoffed at the thought, then slipped quietly inside. The interior was well-lit and littered with dozens of large cardboard boxes and several large wooden shipping crates.  A card table was set up in the far corner with poker chips and three face-down hands laid out on the surface. The place seemed abandoned, but once more using his past experiences, the Headman knew better.  Seconds later, his phone trilled with a new text message. They’re here.  Less than a minute later, four heavily-armored stormtroopers entered the building to catch up with his current location which was no more than a yard or so away from the door.

“Excellent! You guys were quick. Follow me and stay sharp!”  he used the two fingers of his left hand to point at his eyes. They immediately flanked their leader at his six, three and nine, but allowed him to keep point.  The floorplan was almost exactly as he had remembered it nearly eight years ago, and he had no problem finding and undoing the latch leading to the lower levels.  He pushed the faux wall to his right which exposed a locked door. He stepped to the right of the doorway using the door frame to shield his body and knocked.

The guard slid back the peephole cover.  “Who is it? And be quick about it.”

“Your new best friend.”

There was a brief pause before the locked flipped and the door opened outwards. A  familiar-looking man stood in the doorway with his firearm drawn. Immediately, the stormtroopers cocked their weapons showering the man with four well-placed laser targets.  The guard wisely threw up his left arm while slowly bending down to place his pistol on the floor.

“Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed!”

The Headman stepped forward and placed the muzzle of his pistol into the man’s chest, but didn’t fire. After a brief moment, he removed the tip of his gun from the man motioning for him to stand up..

“Well hello, Carlito.  Fancy seeing you here. How long has it been?  Five? Eight? Ten years is it?” The man shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other not sure of his fate just yet.  

“Relax amigo, I’m not going to kill you. Well, at least not yet.  In fact, I might not kill you at all if you can prove that you’re beneficial to me.”

Carlito leaned forward to peer at the well-dressed man with the mask a bit more closely.  “Declan? Is that you?” The drug lord once more placed the muzzle of his gun into the man’s chest and scowled.

“It is, but I no longer go by that name.  I’m the Headman now and you’d be smart to quickly learn that.”

“What...what are you doing here?  Did you rejoin the syndicate?” The man holding him at gunpoint began to laugh.

“No, my dear friend.  I AM the Syndicate now. So say hello to your new boss.  The Vargus boys had an... unfortunate accident.” After a slight bow, he turned his gaze back to Carlito who seemed completely surprised by the proclamation.  “You seem perplexed. You mean to tell me that you didn’t know?”

“What’s to know?  The Vargus boys rarely come here.  Everything here is handled by Lolita and Chavo.” It was now Carlito’s turn to observe the look of surprise on the Headman’s face.  “Should I let them know that you’re here?”

The Headman pointed towards the camera directly to his left.  “I’m sure they already know.” A moment later he heard the faint click of a gun’s safety from among the shadows.  

.”

Book Three

Hello everyone,
     I have been busy as of late in terms of my writing.  I am working through final revisions on my fantasy novel, "The End of Realms," and will hopefully be getting my query and sample chapters out to prospective publishers in the next week or so.  But since all work and no play makes Drakov a dull boy,  I have also been indulging myself in some fun-filled G.I.Joe fan fiction.  I have decided that even though Kindle worlds is no more, I will still be writing the third book in "the Armed and Dangerous" trilogy.  The current title for this WIP is Society's Cesspool, and you guessed it.  It will be picking up right where "Enter the Headhunters," left off.

     The DEF task force has been called out to investigate a recent hit on the Vargus Syndicate, a powerful drug cartel prominent in the tri-state area.  All the team has to go on is some blurry surveillance footage and spent bullet casings engraved with the initials HH and DHM.  The stage is set for an epic turf war on American soil.  Will anyone be able to stop the Headman and his band of ruthless Headhunters?  And what of the super secretive Cobra organization slithering in the background?  Only time will tell in this action-packed conclusion to the series.

     The story has been coming together nicely with roughly three chapters already written and my fingers have not been able to keep up with the thoughts running through my mind.  If all goes well and time permits in my busy schedule, I envision this new book being available by early August.  I will post more information on this and my other projects as it becomes available.

     As always, thanks for your support because without each and every one of you reading these stories, I would be nothing more than an unknown, but highly-entertained unread author.

Cheers,

Drakov

The history of "the End of Realms."

        I understand that most of my readers associate me with G.I.Joe, but I am also a fantasy writer who is an avid admirer of authors like Tolkien, Salvatore, Cunningham, Gygax, King, and Greenberg (to name a few).  I started writing the above book at the age of seventeen while working nights as a gas station attendant in Glen Rock, NJ.  The original hand-written manuscript is a total of thirty-seven pages and still in my possession after all these years.  I did an initial edit of the piece about four years later and typed it up on my computer at the time, save it to at least three floppy discs, and forgot about it.  I revisited it about two years ago and it has grown into a two-hundred and fifty-page novel and roughly 50,000 words.
      I have created at least five new noteworthy characters and feel that I have further developed the main characters to a point where they are no longer just fictitious people, but ones I feel others can connect to on other levels.
      This has been a labor of love for me as I would really like to have this published the traditional route by someone who markets fantasy books similar to the Forgotten Realms.  I will be spending the next month or so editing it chapter by chapter in an attempt to further polish and improve it. I am currently revising chapter four.  The prologue and chapter one have been posted for review and comment if anyone would like to share their thoughts. first impressions would be greatly appreciated.

     Synopsis:  When Jeff Larson landed a dream date with the most desirable girl in his high school class, he could never have imagined that his date would end in him being transported into another world. One where an evil blue-eyed beast has been awakened and forming an army of magical creatures hell-bent on complete domination over all the realms.  In the midst of the chaos, Jeff's link to an ancient line of heroic paladins known as the Golden Lancers will be revealed, and with the help of the wizard/warrior dwarf, Mamatar, and some other newly found friends, be called upon to be their champion.

Cheers!
Drakov

Enter the Headhunters Epilogue

Epilogue

          The man known as Ghost Bear stepped off his plane carrying a duffle bag and the case given to him by Cobra high command.  A small 80’s style jeep was parked over to the side of the airport brandishing the flag that had been described to him by Major Bludd.  Two men in traditional Arab head-garb sat behind the wheel. He had started to grow in his facial hair prior to his deployment and after dying it, he took on a more Arabic-look.  The makeshift airstrip he landed at did not require him to register his entry into the country and this made him feel even less safe.  The man behind the wheel stepped out of the jeep and raised his hands signaling for him to walk on over.  Ghost Bear acknowledged the man and made his way towards them. 

“Are you the Ghost Bear?”

The man spoke in broken English but could be easily understood.  The Cobra emissary nodded and also answered in broken English.

“Yes, it is I. You speak Farsi? Arabic?”  The man smiled a big gnarly, toothy grin at him.

“Yes, welcome my brother! As-Salaam-Alaikum!”

“As-Salaam-Alaikum.”

The other two men exited the vehicle and offered to assist the younger man with his luggage into the jeep.  He did the correct thing and thanked them, but loaded his personal items into the vehicle himself.  The four men then began their journey away from the airstrip and onto a barely recognizable dirt road.

   *     *     *     *

          The D.E.F. team arrived on the scene in Newark in under an hour using the team’s helicopter. They immediately began investigating the area for ballistics evidence and drug paraphernalia. 

“Major, these spent casings are not like anything we’ve seen before.  Whoever orchestrated this hit has access to some pretty high-tech artillery.” 

As the team continued their investigation two more bodies were retrieved from out of the bay. 

“Looks like these two guys tried to abandon ship and were shot dead in the water.” 

By the time the team was done with their preliminary search, they were left with more questions than answers.  It was clearly a turf war, but the identity of the second player was still unknown. 

“So what are you thinking Major? Negotiations gone bad?  Or a random hit?”

“This was clearly a planned assassination since each faction came prepared.  The level of accuracy here leads me to believe that we are dealing with a very organized and disciplined drug cartel.  This was deliberate, and it doesn’t appear that there was a single casualty on the other side.  The wrist tattoos clearly identify all the dead as members of the Vargus Syndicate.”

Bombstrike continued clicking on her tablet as her teammates discussed the possible players.

“Guys, you’re going to want to see this.  I was able to tap into the security feed of a ship anchored off to the right side of the pier.  It appears all other nearby cameras were dismantled prior to the firefight, but I was able to get this.” 

The forward observer turned her tablet to show a freeze frame of two men holding handguns trained on the Vargus family.  One of the men was wearing a ridiculously-colored forest-green suit with a white fedora and a face mask. 

“Can you zoom in on that and clear it up?”

“Give me a minute.”

Her fingers padded away on the tablet improving the resolution and size of the image.

“I know who we’re dealing with now.  Ladies and gentlemen this isn’t good.  The man pictured goes by the street name of the Headman, one Declan H. Mann.  Once a sleazy, two-bit drug pusher now, one of the most notorious organized drug lords in all of North America.  We thought he was dead due to the fact that he’s been off the radar for several years. He runs a group of radicals known as the Headhunters.  This hit indicates that he’s finally ready to take his small-time criminal band and enter into the big leagues.  Things just got interesting.”

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Several hours had passed and Vincent d’Alleva was more than halfway through mixing up his newly modified plant food formula.  He had gathered up some germinating seeds to use in the later stages of the process.  Using a dissecting scope and live seeds, he could apply the finished solution and directly observe its effects at the cellular level.  His excitement level continued to grow the closer he came to completion.

“All I need to do now is distill the crystals and add them to the existing mixture.  The fractionalization process always takes so long.”   He instinctively looked at the clock on the wall as his stomach began to grumble.  “I can’t believe that I worked through dinner again!  Is it really a quarter to ten?  Where did the time go?” 

Vincent walked to the rear of the lab where he had a small personal refrigerator and opened the door.  Several containers of Greek yogurt greeted his hungry eyes.  He picked one up and checked the expiration date.

“Well, it says its still good.  Might as well eat something while I wait.” 

The crystallization chamber continued to crackle and pop as the chemicals continued to combine on a molecular level releasing small amounts of heat and condensation in their wake.  A preset timer indicated that the process was near completion.

  *     *     *

          The caravan of various delivery trucks did their best to blend in with traffic along I-95 South.  They were already in New Jersey and less than fifteen minutes from their desired target.  The Newark docks were a congested area with a lot of activity.  The chosen rendezvous point was the same pier that had once housed the Headman’s supply house only months ago.  The Headman managed to maintain his composure as the meeting site emerged.  He did not want a turf war, but he would not be attacked or insulted.  He had worked too hard and come too far for that.  Gristle stopped the car when the pier was in clear view.  It was not well lit and it appeared that the arranger of the meeting was already on site as a large black SUV  with running lights on was parked near the corner of the dock.  The vehicle had a large push bar and was turned around and facing in their direction, ready to make a quick getaway or to ram an oncoming vehicle.

          “It appears that Vargus and his cronies are already here.  Instruct the ground troops to get their night vision goggles on and to get into position.”  His second in command gave the order through a Bluetooth comlink.  A moment later there was a response.

          “Alpha, Beta and Epsilon teams are in position, sir.  Delta team is floating in the bay.  We await your orders, sir.” 

The Headman nodded into the rearview mirror and instructed his driver to proceed onto the dock. They parked the car roughly thirty yards from the black Expedition, whose hood logo could now be clearly identified.  The doors on both sides of the luxury SUV opened and several men in long trench coats emerged holding their hands up in a non-threatening manner. 

          Gristle exited the car and opened the rear door so the Headman could join him on the outside.  The two parties then walked to the center of the area between both vehicles which was illuminated by the parking lights of both cars.

          “I didn’t know if you would actually show Declan.  It’s truly been too long.” The Headman now recognized the voice to be that of Manuel Vargus, a street peddler from back in the day when they both ran product for the Sinaloa cartel.  Both men had at one time been acquainted and close allies, now the man was a mere customer who occasionally purchased large amounts of drugs from him.

          “Manuel, so good to see you again.  Although if you wanted my attention there were other ways to do it than killing my informant.”

          “Jimmy was a snitch and working with the feds.  I did you a favor.”

          “And what about the firebomb at the bar?  Were you doing me a favor there too?  Several of my associates were gravely injured by your arsonist and that is NOT an acceptable way to do business!” 

The drug lord’s voice was stern and intimidating, but there was no movement from the four men standing before him.”

          “Maybe, we’re done doing business with you.  Maybe, it’s time for a change.  Too long has Vargus taken orders from you.  We want the northeast. It’s time for you to take orders from us.” 

Gristle made a slight move to reach for his handgun, but Declan put his hand on his shoulder to stop him.

          “I came here tonight to try and broker a reasonable agreement and keep the peace between our two organizations.  If you want to challenge my leadership of the streets I understand, but are you really ready to back up that statement with blood?  I can still be a reasonable man.  It’s up to you now.”

          “We’re done taking orders from you and your band of miscreants.”

          “Have it your way then.  Your ‘blindspot’ will be your own undoing.” 

As the words left his lips, several red targets appeared on the chests of the four men standing before them.  The Headman and Gristle both pulled their own weapons and fired at the four men while dashing for cover among a pile of crates. A barrage of bullets began to rain down upon both parties.  Vargus had also come ready for a firefight.

          “Get down boss!  Let the Headhunters take care of this.” 

Alpha and Beta team snipers made short work of the men brandishing guns who had emerged from among the steel canisters and alleyways.  Several of Vargus’ men tried to jump off the pier into a waiting getaway craft only to be mowed down by Delta team.  The whole firefight lasted no more than six minutes, and all members of the Vargus Cartel laid dead or were dying.  Manuel Vargus was barely clinging to life when he tried to crawl to safety under his SUV.  The Headman ran over to the man’s prone body and grabbed him by his right leg preventing his escape. He then turned the man over to face him as three well-armored stormtroopers flanked the man from key sides.  Manuel Vargus put up his hands in surrender.

“Please Declan, we were friends once. Show some mercy. I made a mistake.  You win. Please, I have a family.”

The Leader of the Headhunters smiled at the carnage around him and at the bloodied man lying before him.

 “Oh, I’ll show you mercy. I’ll make sure your family is lying next to you in the morgue in the next twenty-four hours. I reject your proposal and hereby put you and your upstarts out of business.” 

He placed his gold-plated pistol between the defeated crime lord’s eyes, then squeezed the trigger. As the final shot rang out, he announced once more.  “The Headman reigns supreme!”

          He used Vargus’ tie to wipe the blood from his handgun then surveyed the fallen bodies.

“Did we lose anyone?”

Alpha indicated that everyone was present and accounted for.

“Excellent! Clear the area of any incriminating evidence. The cops will be here shortly, we need to make ourselves scarce.  Move!” 

The activity on the pier ended almost as quickly as it had started.  The Headman placed his handgun back into his shoulder holster before getting back into his limo and Gristle chauffeured him far away from the pier.

 *       *       *

          “Major you’re going to want to see this.” 

Bulletproof jumped up from behind his desk and came over to the monitor.  “Satellite imagery just revealed several random delivery trucks in route to the Newark piers an hour ago.  Local police chatter has just alerted us of multiple shots fired in the same area.” 

Bulletproof slammed his fist hard against the desk.

          “Dammit!  I knew something was brewing.  We need to get out there pronto.”  Bombstrike removed her headset so that everyone in the room could hear the audio. 

          “Local police are reporting multiple rounds of gunfire coming from the main shipping pier outside Newark Liberty International Airport.  At least twenty alleged drug cartel member’s bodies have been retrieved with other casualties expected.  The lone abandoned vehicle was registered to Manuel Vargus, supposed head of the Vargus Syndicate.  It appears rival drug gangs participated in a turf war leading to the multiple homicides.  The FBI and other specialist groups are being called in for further investigation.”

          No sooner had the broadcast occurred that the phone on Major Morris’ desk rang. 

“Hello. yes, this is he.  Why weren’t we made aware of this sooner?  It’s already all over the media. We’re on our way.” 

He hung up the phone and turned to face his team. 

“Everybody gear up. We got a hot crime scene to investigate.  Looks like it’s going to be a late night.”

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 24

Chapter 24

After his benefactor’s departure, the CEO of Bacro Industries decided to spend some time on his own experiments.  Hotwire’s stunning spectacle left him feeling the need to prove his own creativity and ingenuity.  It had been several days since he sprayed the plants up in the greenhouse and he could really use some fresh air and tranquility.  He took the elevator up to the rooftop and unlocked the doors to the large glass enclosure.  How he loved the place! The smell of flowers, the relaxing sounds of the cascading fountain, and the soft melodic buzzing of the bees.  It was truly one of his happy places and an escape from the hustle and bustle of running the corporation.  He crossed through the main garden area to get to the laboratory where he swiped his security card.  Upon entering, he traded in his suit jacket for a white lab coat and a pair of canvas gardening gloves, before walking over to check on his previous test subjects. 

To his ultimate dismay, all but one species of the vegetables he had sprayed were dead. 

“I don’t understand it!  Why is this happening? How can it kill the tomatoes and not the corn?”

The frustrated scientist pounded his fist on the table and sat down in a slump with his face held in his hands.  He didn’t remain in that position long before he jumped back up to his feet. 

“I need to get back to my laboratory and check my notes.  Hotwire must have mixed it up wrong.  Then I’ll simply prepare it myself this time.”

Not wanting to be disturbed or observed by other employees, Vincent exited the greenhouse and took the elevator down to his private lab.   Few in the complex knew of its existence as it was located in a secured wing on the maintenance floor. His personal lab gave him access to all the components needed to create the various types of fertilizers on the market.  A copy of his original notes and formula were safely locked away in the room’s computerized safe.  He punched in a combination made up of both of his children’s birth dates and extracted his notebook in order to peruse the transcripts of his latest formula. 

“Oh! How did I miss that?  By combining the organophosphates before the nitrates I’ve inadvertently created a form of diquat.  This is quite troubling.  Perhaps if I reverse steps sixteen and twenty-seven, I can counteract the reaction and stabilize the formula.  No wonder that little upstart called it a weed killer.  He probably saw the problem as he was mixing up the batch.  I’ll have to talk to him about that later.” 

Vincent spoke out loud as his mind began to further process the written organic equations.  He had originally created the mixture when he was depressed and severely sleep deprived.  He wouldn’t make that mistake again.  He circled the error in the formula and labeled the step “herbicide.” 

“I’ll make a note here just in case I decide to market a weed killer later on.”

He traversed the room in order to procure the chemicals needed for the first steps of the process.  His creative juices were flowing now and his mind was racing a mile a minute now.  If all went well, he could have a test batch ready for use by the end of the day.

    *     *     *

          The bar room arsonist had adeptly escaped out the back of the structure and shielded himself with an old refrigerator from the blast.  He then slipped through a hole cut in the chain-link fence at the rear of the property and hopped on his motorcycle riding off into obscurity.  When he was more than a few miles from the blast zone, he pulled his rice rocket into an underground garage and retrieved a cell phone from a zipped pocket on his left pant leg.  He pressed the power up button and dialed the preprogrammed number.  The line trilled only once before the voice of his employer answered. 

          “Well hello Wraith, I trust you sent the message?”

          “I asked you not to say my name out loud.”

          “Relax! I’m in my private safe room.  Did they agree to the merger?”

          “Not exactly.  The Headman decided to push the envelope and after agreeing to meet with you tonight, exited the building before I dismissed him.  No one was killed, but I highly doubt he’s pleased with the encounter.”

There was a pause at the other end and a long sigh.

          “So, I assume that our meeting at the pier will not be a civil one, not that I had expected it to be anyway.  Charles can be quite pig-headed. But, no matter. You did your job.  I’ll be in touch if I should further require your services.”

          “And my payment?”

The man on the other end of the line pressed an audible key on his phone.

          “Check your account now.” 

Wraith swiped down to expose a second screen which indicated a rather large cash transfer.

          “Pleasure doing business with you.  Try not to die.”

He then disconnected the call.  Afterward, he removed the sim card, melted it with a lighter and smashed the burner phone on the ground.  He looked around the garage for suitable disposal and found it in the form of a large garbage barrel. The mercenary then rode off in the direction of the main street.

   *     *     *

          The Headman returned to the security of his new warehouse behind Bacro Industries.   He was a little bruised and dirty, but far from beaten.  He had sent a message to all available foot soldiers prior to his arrival, and a legion of seventy-five highly armored soldiers stood at the ready in the center of the warehouse.  The Mechanic had already handed out lightweight assault rifles modified with laser scopes and silencers, as well as magazines of ammunition.  It was only several hours before the scheduled meeting on the pier in Newark, and it would take a minimum of two and a half hours for the complete unit to complete the drive into the Garden State.

          “Gentlemen, today there was a vicious attack on your leadership.  We were fortunate in the fact that no one lost their life, but several of the Weasel’s operatives were severely injured in a blast meant to kill all who were in attendance.  The act cannot go unchallenged!  This act cannot go unnoticed!  And this attack Will Be Handled tonight!  This act was an act of war against our organization and it will not be left unanswered!  Tonight, I will give this Vargus one opportunity to rectify the situation and surrender.  If my demands are not met, vengeance will be swift and severe.  We will leave the bodies of our adversaries littering the piers and bloodying the waters.  This will be the night that the Headhunters will truly rise!”

          The soldiers in attendance cheered loudly at the proclamations of their leader.

          “And the Headman shall reign supreme!” 

The room once again erupted in a chorus of cheers.  The squadron leaders were brought into their supreme leader’s private quarters for a briefing, and the warehouse was soon a bustle of activity.  Stormtroopers loaded weapons and ammunition into the back of at least a dozen heavily armored box trucks.  The Headman had his personal bulletproof limousine brought out for the drive into New Jersey.  He outfitted himself with a kevlar vest and secured his personal sidearm to his body.  He then dressed in a mint-green suit and fedora.

Gristle, his second in command and personal bodyguard, also prepared for the upcoming skirmish strapping on a kevlar vest and a second gun holster.  At 1930 hundred hours, the convoy of delivery trucks headed up by the Headman’s personal limo exited the property after which split up in order to travel several different routes to their destination.

  *     *     *

          The Dreadnok speed enthusiast, known as Burnout, stepped off the tarmac. The private jet that he had flown on to the metropolitan area had made the trip quicker than any commercial airline could have.  He was eager to get into the city and check in with some of the old gang.  The encrypted message sent prior to his arrival to one of his old patch brother, Cletus, had resulted in a tricked out Harley being left for him in the visitor lot of Kennedy International Airport.  He hated the airport because of its congestion and the fact that it’s under constant construction, but he preferred it to LaGuardia.  The motorcycle was equipped with fingerprint recognition in place of a key, something he had developed across the pond and shipped here for a patent prior to his arrival.   Arriving on a private jet, allowed him to skip the long lines at customs and immigration.  His passport was valid, but he didn’t need or want unwanted attention. He preferred flying under the radar. There were many individuals in the area who might still be bitter about losing their cherished tricked-out rides to the speed junky in past races.

The Harley started right up and purred under his fingertips.  He opted for quieter pipes on his ride and removed a helmet from one of the custom fabricated saddlebags and placed it over his dreadlocks.  He then proceeded to ride off on to the JFK Expressway heading into Manhattan.