PIPER'S, INC. 2 - JUDAS KISS. Joaquin De Torres
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these assholes.” Lotts nodded again and began walking out of the huge dilapidated holding room.
“Hey, Lotts!” called out Synikil, “I meant what I said about putting your badge in your eye! And after that, I think I’m going to send it to your wife!” Lotts pointed at him and looked at his men.
“Take your time with that one!”
Ramirez waited until he was out of the room before initiating his orders. He turned to the men moving forward.
“You guys ready to have fun?”
“Fuck yeah!” uttered the biggest most muscular cop in the bunch whose badge read NELSON. “I want this Synikil fuck!” He approached the calm man in the chair tapping his brass-knuckled fists together.
“What’chu looking at, pussy?” Synikil snapped at the big man. “You’re a pretty big dude? Tell me, did you get that big by eatin’ Ramirez’s cock?” Nelson raised his fist high to deliver the first of what he anticipated would be many blows.
“Wait one, Nels,” said Ramirez, “let me double check their knots to make sure they’re tight.” As soon as Ramirez knelt down and checked the bindings with a quick tug, Synikil suddenly stood up and threw himself at Nelson like a linebacker crushing a quarterback.
“FUCK!” yelled one of the men as Synikil began raining down hammer blows on Nelson’s face. In a blur, Shade stood up and jammed the palm of his hand into the nose of the man closest to him, ramming his nasal cartilage through his brain. The officer was dead before his body slumped to the floor. This made the others pause and take a step back.
“RAMIREZ! WHAT THE FUCK?!” yelled another man as they looked around in utter confusion. Ramirez just stood there looking at him as he calmly slid his own brass knuckles on his hands.
Then the lights turned off.
* * * * *
Chief Lotts walked through a long brick corridor. The smell of material decay, dankness and dust filled his nostrils. At the end of the hall, he made a right and maneuvered through a large back storage room filled with crates, dividing bookshelves, cabinets, broken appliances and sheet-covered office furniture, essentially the final junkyard room before the place was shut down years earlier. He opened the emergency exit leading out to the building’s sprawling backyard. He grinned thinking about the graves that waited out there.
He walked outside into the fresh night air only to find Freeman, one of his most trusted lieutenants and four of his precinct crew lying motionless on the ground. Their bruised and bleeding heads seemed twisted in awkward directions from their bodies, their eyes stared wide open. Lotts immediately reached down to draw his firearm but was forcefully pushed into the ground from behind by a foot in the small of his back. The burly 60-year-old hit the asphalt hard and rolled over in fear and confusion.
Standing above him was a tall man in black. Lotts’ eyes flew open in panic. There was no mistaking the uniform, the sleek and muscular battle armor of a PIPER’S, Inc. Ghost. His heart accelerated as he looked at the man’s stern face glistening in sweat. He no doubt was responsible for his men laying dead around him. The man was Asian, which elevated his heart rate even more.
“Temujin?!” Lotts asked on the verge of soiling himself. The man shook his head slowly.
“I’m Jason Heung, callsign Dragon.” He said nothing more, just stood there making no threatening moves to the panting police chief. Then the door behind him opened and to Lotts’ utter horror emerged Synikil. He was followed by Shade and Ramirez.
“Ramirez! What happened?! Where are the others?! Why are these two still alive?!”
“Three against 17. Not much of a fair fight, don’t you think, Chief?”
“You turned against me?!” Lotts asked in disbelief. “This was all a setup?” Ramirez smiled.
“You think I’d actually turn against my Ghost brothers and sisters for a corrupt mayor and his band of blue?” He shook his head. “You pathetic sack of shit. This ends tonight! And after you, I’m going to take care of the mayor.” He looked at Heung. “Did you bring the shovels?” The Korean nodded. Lotts, horror-stricken, got to his knees and pressed his hands together.
“PLEASE! PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS! HELP ME, RAMIREZ! PLEASE!” His pleas were ignored. Synikil stepped forward with an anticipatory grin on his face. He ripped the silver badge from Lott’s shirt. He looked at the trembling police chief whose urine had spread through the entire front surface of his trousers. Synikil turned the badge over playfully with his fingers, feeling its weight and finding its pointed corners. He nodded to Heung to go behind Lotts.
“Hold his head firmly. Hold open his eye.” Heung reached around Lotts’ face and gripped open the lids of his right eye.
“NO! PLEASE!”
“Hate to say this, Chief, but this is gonna hurt you more than it will me,” Synikil said in a soothing voice, then rammed the badge into Lotts’ eyeball with a sickening popping sound.
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