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.
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