"Society's Cesspool," Chapter 3 Book 3

Chapter 3

Lolita and Carlos completed their car ride with the Headman in silence while tied-up and locked in the trunk of a Lincoln Town Car.  The Headman needed time to think about his next move and also wanted to be sure that his Headhunters had cleared the basement of the Vargus Syndicate’s apartment building before doing anything else.  He had become paranoid about a possible hit on his life ever since the sniper attack at the loading dock.  The Vargus’ are dead.  Gristle and I killed them ourselves.  But who else were they working with?
He had more questions than answers at this point in time and wasn’t sure where he should go with his soon-to-be new business partners.  He knew that the feds were probably checking traffic camera footage as he drove and he needed to find a secure location in which to lose their surveillance. Then he remembered the tunnels.  He knocked on the glass partitioning between the front and back of the limousine.  His second in command promptly lowered it.
“Yes, boss?”
“Take me to the place Danimal.”  His chauffeur knew the code to be for the network of tunnels connecting his old neighborhood to the subway system.  The place also had an underground garage to ditch their car and egress to safety away from the prying eyes of the feds.
“Right away maan.  Shall I call ahead for an escort?”  The Headman chuckled every time he heard the word “escort” as it elicited memories of many of the trashy girls he had been with over the years.  Then he refocused on the real meaning.
“Just request Alpha and Epsilon in plain clothes for our rendezvous.”
“Will do boss.”  The silence was broken suddenly by the sound of pounding in the trunk.
“And would you do something about the rats in the trunk?”  Gristle nodded and pressed a red button on the center console. The Headman heard a groan come from his passengers hidden behind his seat and then silence.

*     *     *     *

It had taken Burnout several days to weed through his contacts and gather some useable intel of the Headhunters organization.  His latest bit of information led him to the parking lot of Bacro Industries in a small suburb of Hartford, Connecticut.  It seemed like an odd place for the Headman and his cronies to set up shop, but it had been his most promising lead to date. He parked his Harley in a numbered spot and proceeded to enter the building through its main entrance.  He was greeted by an upbeat and mildly attractive receptionist seated behind a higher-than-average hardwood desk.
“Welcome to Bacro Industries sir.  How can I assist you today?”
The Dreadnok spy had taken measures to blend in with the area trading in his gang attire for a two-piece suit and designer sunglasses.  He flashed a charming smile at the young woman before introducing himself.
“Good afternoon to you as well.  I am here in reference to the advertisement placed on your webpage regarding a ceramic engineer.  Am I in the right place?”
“Let me check into that for you Mr..?”
The name is Jones.  Doctor Walter Jones.”  The secretary took down his name and searched through her database to locate the correct contact liaison.
“OK, thanks.  You’ll be meeting with Doctor Randolph Frankenstein.”  The twisted look on the man’s face spoke volumes.  “Oh don’t be concerned.  That’s the normal response to his name.  And yes, we do actually have our own resident Doctor Frankenstein, but he prefers to be addressed as Hotwire.”
“Got it.”
“Have a seat and I’ll let him know that you’re here.  Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”  The well-dressed man waved her off with a smile and sat down to peruse the latest issue of Motorsport.  A short time later a buzzer went off at the secretary’s desk.  “Yes, doctor.  I’ll escort him in to see you.  Follow me, Dr. Jones.”
The pair passed through the security door and down the hallway to a door labeled Conference Room.  Upon entering, Dr. Jones was greeted by a younger man with wild hair wearing a white lab coat.  “Welcome, Doctor Jones. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I am quite familiar with your work on the thermodynamics of organic ceramics.  Please have a seat.”

*     *     *     *

The mechanic looked around the newly retrofitted assembly line.  His expertise combined with the funding of the Headman had accomplished a somewhat impossible task in record time. The next stop on his checklist was to check the manufacturing machinery for the purification and refinement of the street drugs that the Headhunters were pedaling. His employer wanted to be able to synthesize his product as soon as possible since the costs of importing the raw materials or finished products from foreign countries were not only expensive but deadly to the overall life span us their potential clientele. As he passed through the doorway of the main processing room he was greeted by another familiar face.
“Oh, good afternoon.  You’re the Chemist...correct?”  The man dressed in a white lab coat and donning a surgical mask pulled it down from his mouth to address the other man.
“Yeah, that’s me.  It’s been a while, Mechanic.  Who would have thought ten years ago that we would still be working for Declan?  I was confident that he would have caught a bullet by now.”  The burlier rugged-looking man shrugged with indifference.
“Honestly, it makes little difference to me.  In this profession, you don’t get too attached to people and there will always be someone else willing to profit at the misfortune of another.  So, what’s your assessment of the machinery?  Does it meet your specifications?”
“I’ve only just started to look them over, but this is leaps and bounds above anything I’ve observed with the competition.  This is some high-end hardware.”
“Well, the boss did say to spare no expense.  So, can I assume at the moment that everything is status quo in the department?”  The chemist picked up a clipboard from a nearby counter and glanced over it quickly before replying.
“Do we have an ETA on the centrifuge and crystallization extractors? Without them, I can’t fully evaluate the workings.”  The Mechanic nodded and checked the screen of his cellular device.  After several moments of scrolling, he too replied.
“DHL shipping report says they’re in transit with a delivery time between two and six this afternoon.”
“Excellent!”
“Alright, I’ll send someone up with the equipment to find you once they have arrived.  So, if you would excuse me I need to see to some other things.  Good seeing you.”  The mechanic offered his hand to shake, but the chemist politely declined.
“No offense buddy, but I don’t do handshakes.  It’s a lab thing.” Once again the mechanic shrugged and exited the room.  His checklist listed the lower levels, the wi-fi access, and the fueling station outside.  It was going to be another long day.  He closed his eyes envisioning how nice it was going to be once this project was complete and he was relaxing with a cold alcoholic beverage in hand on a beach in Bora Bora for the next three months.  He loved his job.

*     *     *     *

“So Doctor Jones, I am interested in hearing your thoughts on using industrial strength ceramics in an organic capacity.  The job focuses on and around the development of biodegradable containers to store and deliver fertilizers and insecticides gradually over a typical growing season.  We hope to be the first company to do this in an ecologically-friendly and conservative way.  The idea is to make something that will leave behind no harmful contaminants.”
Burnout tried to convey as much interest in the project as possible.  The job sounded dreadful compared to the work he regularly did.  The speed junky preferred automobiles and motorcycles and had dabbled in ceramic engineering to produce parts for weight reduction, but never in this capacity.  He began to wonder if he would be able to feign his skills and actually land the job, but Zandar had successfully created a fully-searchable online persona just in case this opportunity ever arose.  The Dreadnok nation was always planning ahead.
“That is a truly ambitious undertaking on the part of Bacro Industries and something that I would be excited to partake in.  I have done some research using chitin-based sealers that breakdown in the presence of 45% or more humidity.  I could envision one of these substances being used to contain the substance.  The challenge will come from the proper pairing of the container and the delivery system so that they don’t contaminate or deactivate each other.”
“Interesting idea, but don’t worry Doctor Jones.  Man, this is really weird.  Do you mind if I call you Indiana?” The undercover Dreadnok infiltrator smirked...he almost expected the comment at some time from the overly eccentric interviewer.
“Whatever, but if you start throwing a ball and asking me to fetch it, we’re going to have a problem.”
“Fair enough.  So when can you start? Is tomorrow too soon?”  Burnout was partially surprised and it showed on his face. “I’m kidding, of course, I still have to run your credentials passed the big guy.  He has the final say on all things hiring.”  Burnout nodded his understanding while regaining his composure.  “Give me a day or two and I’ll be in touch.  I have a good feeling about you Indy.”
The make-believe Doctor Jones extended his hand to his host. “I look forward to hearing from you.”  The interview ended with the two men shaking hands and Hotwire showing him to the door.  Chitin-based water-soluble sealants.  That’s ingenious!  Why hadn’t I thought of that? The biochemist was truly intrigued by the prospects.  If this was his idea for the proposed agricultural project, what other ideas might he have in regards to the F.A.C.E. program?