Rizzo, page 9
What they couldn’t agree on was where they most likely had gone.
Speculation mostly centered around Canada, Mexico, Brazil,
Australia, Russia, or Tahiti. A conspiracy theory emerged that they
had already been secretly killed by Dagger Cross security. They were
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thought to be everything from a mafia crew to rogue National Guard
troops to a sleeper unit of Chinese secret agents.
Let them wonder, Rizzo thought. Let them wonder about it all.
Once they’d made the stash, the men ditched their cars and
trucks in places they could be sure to be stolen and chopped up in
less than twenty-four hours after the locals found the keys still in the
ignitions.
No witnesses. No evidence. No problems.
The media reported the figure they’d burned at more than $330
million, and for once the reporters and the pundits had told the
truth. Later over multiple bottles of Bushmills they’d all agreed,
money on that level just felt like science-fiction.
They’d walked away with $1.1 million—and their lives. They had
taken what they needed to, and Rizzo couldn’t help but think of all
the good they could do with that money. The good he could do.
They had started something. There was no going back. They
were a team now.
They went to ground in Chicago, amid a couple million other
black folks. A day after they arrived the Martin massacre came back
onto the news cycle with a vengeance and once again dominated the
conversation. It had been six months to the day and what was
supposed to be the lead that would break the case was announced as
having reached a dead end. There were no fresh leads but the cops
wanted to assure the public and their masters that everything that
could be done was being done. The crew’s adventure in Ohio faded
into yesterday’s distraction.
For the thousandth time Rizzo wondered just who had gotten
close enough to the Martins to whack them and what that person or
persons were doing right that moment. Were they still alive? Were
they plotting something new? Were they sitting back content with
having put some measure of justice back into the world? Once again
he wished he had those answers because the act had been his own.
Rizzo and Cole Jr. went for a walk. After the pooch did his busi-
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ness Rizzo decided to take a run with the local ballers at a famous
South Side playground.
It was a good game, with some pretty good players. Rizzo was in
the midst of his second four on four when a woman walked up to
the court.
Rizzo stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was Stone O’Leary. Even Cole Jr. stared at her.
Stone being in Chicago was strange. Last he’d heard she was
supposed to be going to State U on a full ride. He figured his infor-
mation was probably out of date, but the rumor back home had
been that she’d gotten a deal from the Martins to work for them that
included the long term care of her father.
It had sounded like the same sort of deal Rizzo got. Which hadn’t
been a good deal at all.
An idea flashed into Rizzo’s head. Had Stone had the same
trouble with the Martins as he had, but reacted more quickly, more
directly, and more aggressively? She could always see the picture
fast, and make decisions even faster.
Could Stone have been in on the Martins’ death? It would
explain why she was in Chicago now, instead of back home or
at Uni.
And if it that were true, Rizzo wondered if Stone would have any
interest in joining his crew as a commando. All that power, all that
cunning, transferred from the courts and into the fight....
Rizzo couldn’t take his eyes off her. Yep, that was Stone. She was
unmistakable. Smoking hot. That walk, a perpetual challenge. Her
ass was still on point, Rizzo thought, remembering the story of how
she first earned, and then subverted, her name. And there was some-
thing else, some indefinable something she now possessed that she
hadn’t before.
She noticed Rizzo noticing her. She came over. “Can I get in the
next game?” she said.
The guys were stunned. Yeah, she looked fit. But a girl in a game
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at this level? One who looked like Stone?
The guys started yipping. No girls in this game. This is for the big
dogs. Keep practicing, maybe you can hang with the shorties.
Stone couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She looked around—
her eyes settled on Rizzo.
“You feel the same way, big guy?” Stone asked.
Rizzo smiled. He knew who she was—but did she know him?
“Tell you what,” she said, looking around again. “I’ll take stretch
here, and we’ll take on any two of you. Two on two. If we lose, I’ll
leave quietly. If we win, I play.”
The guys started to laugh. It sounded forced.
“For a hundred bucks,” she said. “Just to keep you awake. I’ll
cover it for anyone who wants to take the bet. All comers, one
hundred each.”
Rizzo said, “You know—in the spirit of things—I’ll back that bet.
Two hundred dollars, all comers. I’m feeling flush just now.”
“You should be,” Stone said, locking eyes with Rizzo before
laughing and looking away. Rizzo stared at her, because that was all
he could do.
The guys put their heads together. They picked two of the tallest
dudes to be their team, one standing six-seven, the other six-five.
They both had some college ball experience and knew their feces
smelled like roses. Thinking the height advantage would knock
Stone out. Rizzo was confident this was the exact opposite of how
things were going to go.
Rizzo leaned over to Stone and used his soft voice. “This ain’t
even fair. We should have gotten these guys up to five hundred each.
We’re gonna eat their lunch.”
“I don’t know,” Stone said. “I was watching your game. I can carry
you but it still might be a little tight.”
Rizzo looked at Stone to see if she was joking. Her face gave
nothing away. He shook out his neck and shoulders and turned his
focus toward the court. “All right,” he said. “Good deal.”
EPILOG
THE RETURN OF SWAMP RED
THEY APPROACHED from the mountain’s north face. The unmistak-
able smell of shackles and desperation managed to reach Rizzo’s
nostrils even this high above the chain house.
Using his spyglass Rizzo could see the smoke stack belching
horrible black clouds into the sky, he could see returning chain
gangs marching past the tracks and under the flashing red “vacancy”
sign. To the east a new crop of detainees approached, squashed into
the cars of a slow moving train chugging its way around the
mountain.
Here comes Swamp Red
Swamp Red, he’s long dead....
The entire chant drifted back into his mind, unbidden. For the
first time in months Rizzo remembered how Swamp Red’s story
ended. He led his people to the Promised Land and everything was
good—but because he was now a spirit whose place was in the bog,
Swamp Red could only spend eternity watching over his clan.
The sun picked up speed as it sank below the trees. In an hour it
would be night. Rhino’s and Mo’s rocket launchers would blow a
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hole in the rear of the chain house signaling the start, and the timed
charges they had painstakingly rigged around the camp’s perimeter
under Dennis’s direction would be detonated, killing the boots in
the guard towers and signaling the beginning of Mountainview's
demise. The months of planning and near misses had seen word get
to Cole, who had made the necessary arrangements. The men,
women, and children of the Mountainview Detention and Re-
Education Residence knew revolution was coming and would be
prepared.
Stone O’Leary approached Rizzo from his six, followed closely
by Cole Jr. Rizzo swore the dog loved her more than it loved him.
“Sniper units and ground guns are all checked in and frosty as a
motherfucker,” she said. “It’s go time the second you give the signal.”
Cole Jr. snuggled at Rizzo’s feet. Hound and human were
returned to the evil place from which they had escaped. Except this
time things would be different. Things would be better. This day the
sun would rise on the soul of man.
“Outstanding,” Rizzo said. And smiled.
Variant cover by Benjamin Marra
A ‘STONE’ PORTFOLIO
BY BENJAMIN MARRA
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in London, England, Ho Che Anderson was named after the
Vietnamese and Cuban revolutionaries Ho Chi Minh and Che
Guevara. Anderson began his career as the author of numerous
graphic novels, including KING, a biography of Martin Luther King,
the horror thriller, SAND & FURY, and the science-fiction action-
adventure, GODHEAD. During this time he wrote the children’s
novel, THE NO-BOYS CLUB. After a two-year stint as a Toronto Star
reporter, Anderson embraced a lifelong fascination with filmmak-
ing. He studied film production at the Toronto Film School and
Sheridan College, during which he was involved in the production
of more than 40 shorts as either DP, camera operator, editor, writer,
or director. One of those films, LOTUS EATERS, won best picture at
the 2014 TFS Festival of Films and was an official selection at the
2014 ReelWorld Film Festival. Following film school he joined
IATSE Local 667 where he worked for several years as a camera
assistant on numerous shows including Reign, Taken, and Desig-
nated Survivor to further hone his skills. Anderson wrote and
directed his first feature in 2018, the supernatural heist thriller, LE
CORBEAU, for Canada’s Telefilm, and is currently in development
on a second feature. He is also hard at work scripting several graphic
novels, among them another tale of the supernatural called, THE
RESURRECTIONISTS, for Abrams Books.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
Benjamin Marra is the creator, writer, and artist of the comics
NIGHT BUSINESS, AMERICAN BLOOD, and TERROR
ASSAULTER: O.M.W.O.T. (One Man War On Terror), all published
by Fantagraphics. Acclaimed writer Grant Morrison chose Marra as
a collaborator on the first issue of the relaunched HEAVY METAL
Magazine. Marra had two serialized webcomic series appear
on adultswim.com. His most recent book is JESUSFREAK, written
by Joe Casey and published by Image Comics. In 2016, he was
named one of the Art Directors Club's Young Guns. He illustrated
the cover of American Illustration 35. In 2017, he was nominated for a
Grammy Award for his album art of Wayfaring Strangers: Acid
Nightmare, a collection of obscure 1970s post-Age-of-Aquarius
Heavy Metal.
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
NeoText is a publisher of quality fiction and long-form journalism.
For regular free website articles and information on our latest
releases, please visit us at NeoTextCorp.com
allanbuchan, Rizzo
