Captive Crawler, page 8
part #1 of Silent Predators Series
"I wouldn't know." Viktor remarked unpleasantly, not too fond of the other's tone. Turning to face him fully, he was not shy of shooting out a glare toward the older man. "Maybe Karl's left a skeleton crew here so he can start up a man hunt for whoever pillaged his drugs. Maybe he decided to take the fucking night off. I don't know and I don't care." The last remark twice a callous as the prior build up. "What I do know, is that I'm not going to throw away a golden opportunity like this one."
Walking over, the clean shaven man prodded his underling with a rough nudge into the hitman's chest with his fingers. A second later, his fingertips dug into his shirt, pulling him in. "I'm taking that hospital." A single-mindedness to his driven and borderline obsessive stare.
Returning the glare, Harold kept up a neutral yet affirmative expression. "Of course. You said that you would prepare the explosives." The man urged, trying to move things along.
Releasing his grip, Viktor instead pressed his duffel bag full of explosives up against the man's sternum. "I wasn't sure of the resistance we'd meet tonight. You can ignore the IED's that aren't rigged to remote detonators." Dropping his arms to his side, the grim man stood ridged once more. "I trust that you can take care of things from here?"
Opening up the pack, the stately man ran his hand through it's contents. After examining a few more, his eye glimpsed back up. "I recognize the handiwork. These are from that woman bomb maker who worked for the mob, correct?"
"That's right." Viktor acknowledged with the briefest of nods. "Rebecca and I had a meeting the night of her passing."
Mordekai was about to follow up on his inquisition when he spotted Jamison turning away to cover up a few loose snickers. Despite the telling gesture, the eldest held his tongue. "My, that sounds like it must have been quite the chance occurrence." He delivered in a questionable remark.
The serious man's umber eyes bore into the other. "Yes. A real twist of fate." The gangster replied in a sour high-handed fashion.
Dropping out of the conversation, the gunman turned away. Hoisting the bag over one shoulder, he steadied it as he approached one of the machines. Pulling out an explosive with an adhesive already applied to one end, he tucked it away and out of site between a few pipes. He was about to move onto the next but halted as he heard a pair of footsteps approach from behind.
"Need a hand?" Jamison offered, presenting himself mannerly.
Reaching into the bag, Harold pulled out nearly half a dozen bombs. "Be my guest." The other mentioned, his feet shifting toward the opposite end of the facility. "See if you can't hide them under the crawlspace of the vats. Even if we're alone, it wouldn't hurt if we kept them out of sight."
Before his instructions could even finish being delivered, Jamison had already dropped himself onto the floor and rolled over onto his back. Shifting his state, the haze spread out low against the floor, pulling under the closest of the giant tubs of distilling liquors. As he reformed, part of his legs poked out from one side.
Staring down at the sight, Mordekai shook his head. Making it shortly apparent how strained the showcase of the other's talents made him feel. Moving over toward a support beam, he dug his hand into the bag again to prepare more explosives.
Watching her comrades get to work, and without any immediate job for herself at the moment, Kara headed back over toward the back door. Leaning on a wall by the side of the frame, the woman kept watch outside the windows. Her stare fluctuating between her coworkers and out the darkened glass.
On occasion, she would kick around a few specs of dirt by her feet to keep herself busy during the important but mind-numbing task she had assigned herself to. Her hands drifting into her coat pockets as she did her best to mask a bored yawn with hunched shoulders.
Midway through her action, a streak of light caught her eye from the edge of her peripheral vision. Yanking her head closer to the frame of the window, she stared outward and watched as a pair of headlights banished the dark out from the back lot and parked itself off on the side.
As the first vehicle pulled up, a new pair of lights emerged from the side alley. Trickling in, another came, and another after that. Dozens of cars and pickup trucks alike continued to pour in and showed little signs of stopping.
"Uh, fellas?" Kara called out. "We're not expectin' s'more guests, are we?" Clear panic striking her voice.
Just now making his way down from the second floor in heavy steps, Viktor gave the woman a questionable stare. "Why?"
Her eyes still a little wide, she gave a nervous check over her shoulder. "Oh, just askin'." The consecutive slamming of car doors outside pulling the attention of both Viktor and the hired gunman away from their tasks. "On a completely unrelated note, we should all get the fuck outta here." Kara suggested getting ready to book it.
"Second floor. Now!" Viktor roared doubling back and retreading the stairs he'd recently descended.
Not wanting to waste anytime either, both Kara and Harold rushed over to climb up the same staircase. Each of them breathless as they hurried as fast as they could to hide their presence.
As he finished setting up another bomb, Jamison glanced out from under his current vat to notice a far more empty building than before. "I miss something?" He called out, receiving no answer.
The back door blew open with a kick as a tall man led his pack of gunmen. He wore unbuttoned business attire accompanied with a distinct annoyance. Broad shoulders emphasized his thick neck. His suit jacket draped over his right arm, concealing it entirely. He had no need for the added apparel, he seemed to wear a sort of dread itself like a coat.
"Fuckin' lazy bastards. Leavin' their post when I'm out." What left his mouth was closer to a growl than human speech. "They'll be lucky if I don't wring their god damn necks the next time I see 'em."
He headed a company of what must have been close to a hundred men. They flooded in from the back door like a spreading disease. Some sticking close to the walls to save room as more and more shoved their way inside.
With a swig of his own branded liquor, the man in front wobbled over toward the closest most vat. The one stationed nearest to the stairs. Finishing the bottle, he smashed the remainder against the floor.
Before even making it to his destination, two of his followers bent over and started cleaning up his mess. One knelt and quickly picked up the shards of glass in his bare hand.
The other discarded his jacket as he fell onto his knees. Folding it in his arms, he pressed the coat against the ground and started soaping up the alcohol as though he were using a throwaway rag. "No worries. We'll clean this right up for ya Karl."
The room beginning to crowd, a few started to head up the stairs.
Biting down on the corner of his lip, Viktor reached into his bag and tightly grasped the detonator. One small press being all it would take to level half the building.
"Hold up!" The brewery owner shouted, stopping his men in their tracks as they all turned in his direction.
The lumbering man turned around and collapsed backward against his machine. His weight slamming against the steel reverberated a dull ringing.
"Gotta lot'a new faces 'ere tonight." Karl slurred as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Since Von was so kind to loan me you bastards, figure now's a good a time as ever for orientation."
Gazing on from up above, Viktor tried his best to take in as much of the interior as he could without being spotted. His lead foot inched forward with a painstaking steadiness. A cold sweat running down the side of his head. "Where's Jamison?" The group's leader asked in a hushed questioning over his shoulder.
Harold was quiet as he hunched over and moved himself to the opposing wall of the hallway in order to get a different focus point and view of the ground floor. "I don't know. He offered to rig a few of the explosives under the mixers. Though if I had to hazard a guess, I'd assume he's still under one right now."
As the last few words left the gunman's mouth, the other members, himself included, all stared down at the six brewing vats on the floor below. No one having a clue where their fourth associate currently lay in wait.
Clearing his throat in a haggard manner, Karl spit out what gunk had amassed in his mouth before going back to addressing the assembly in front of him. "I'll make this short and sweet ladies. You do me right, and I'll do right by you." A worn breath pushing passed his lips as he massaged his right shoulder over his jacket.
Back up above, Viktor eyed the unkempt mobster with a hated passion. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the detonator and clasped it tight in his grip. "How many did he rig? How many explosives?" His eyes glued on his target as he asked.
Harold shifted his gaze as his expression changed from caution to on edge. "I don't know how familiar he is with the equipment. Two? Maybe three?"
"Three." Viktored repeated under his breath. "If he attached them clockwise from the middle, Rager would be out of harm's way." Another sweat drop started to form as his thumb hovered over the switch. "If he went counter-clockwise though, it would mean Karl is standing right next to a bomb and doesn't have a clue."
Keeping a level-head, the hired gun turned to face his employer fully. "Viktor, we don't know which way he went. He could have zigzagged for all we know." He spoke out, trying to talk down the other man's dangerous thinking.
"Yeah." Kara called out, taking Harold side. "Plus, Dee's still down there, right? Can't ya like warn 'im or something over his radio? Hell, ask 'im where he planted 'em!" Despite moving closer to their leader, her voice only grew louder as an anxiousness took over her.
"No good." Viktor shot down immediately. "Using the radio would tip off Rager."
With a long and slow huff, Karl stopped rubbing down his shoulder blade. "Marco, front an' center." He commanded, singling out one of his men.
Seemingly surprised, one of the gangster's hands walked out amongst the large group to stand tall before his employer. "Yeah boss?" He asked, his voice noticeably shaky.
Instead of answering his subordinate's question, he motioned to the spot at his right side with a short gesture of his head. Once the man took his place, Karl continued. "This 'ere's Marco. Been with me almost three years now. If ya ever think I'm anything else but hard and fair, ya think of him."
With a low groan, the lumbering man clenched his shoulder. "Some of ya probably don't know. Earlier today, some junkie thought it'd be a good idea to jack some of my product and break my things. Thought it might be a good idea to take inventory since we got a little shook up. Marco 'ere keeps track of my income for the more off the record stuff for me." Turning his head, the mobster glared up at his worker. "How much we make today? What's it say on the books?"
Marco remained ridged and stiff as he held his hands behind his back. It was as if he were intentionally trying to shrink his silhouette. "W-We made close to nineteen grand in collections this morning." He announced to everyone following a heavy gulp.
"Nineteen. A little slow, but ya get used to highs and lows now and then." Karl mentioned, ripping his gaze away as his eyes coursed the crowd. "How much did ya give me today Marco, before ya left?"
His underling began to shake. "Nineteen. Sir." His response as short as it needed be.
"Yup." Leaning forward, Rager allowed his left arm to drape over his lap as he adjusted himself. "It's all there too. 'Cept there's this problem." The last words almost dropped his right-hand man. "I decided to talk to our dealers. We shoulda made close to twenty-one today. Marco 'ere thought he could pocket some of my funds in the confusion and I wouldn't notice."
Marco turned himself to Karl fully at the accusation. In spite of his nerves, he took a step closer as an act to heighten his sincerity. "Boss, my sister's in the hospital right now! I needed that money." He never once even tried to deny the claim. This was the kind of fear that could only given rise to someone who had seen full well the consequences of lying. "I was gonna pay you back every cent! I swe—"
"Can it!" The owner roared, silencing his underling. Bearing his teeth for an instant, they receded as he looked back over to his man. "You've worked for me long enough. You should know better. You need something you ask, none of this sneakin' around behind my back shit."
"Boss I—!" Hanging his head low, the lackey swallowed hard again. "Once I pay my debts, I'll work for you for free! I mean it!" A trembling but hopeful self-conscious smile fitting his greasy face.
Karl's face lacked anger. With an apathetic sigh, he grew a somber expression. Opening up the top of the vat behind him, the mobster stared at the mixing brew over his shoulder. Dipping in his fingers with his left hand, he cupped them together. Leaning down, he took a sip. "Drink up Marco." He commanded in an almost sedated state, his eyes fixated on the viscous waters.
Following a short breath, Marco stepped closer again in relief. "No thanks, boss. You've already done me enou—"
Before the other could finish, Karl jumped up to a stand in a burst. His speed betraying his size. Whipping his body around, he smashed his left hand into the middle of his long time follower's mug. With blood spewing down the front of his face, Karl was far from finished. Moving closer to reclaim the lost distance, he roughly yanked the back of the man's hair and pulled him in. Without warning, he slammed the other man headfirst into the tank.
Marco struggled and kicked trying to pull himself up and recover his quickly depleting oxygen. Due to his boss's size and stature, he was easily able to keep him under no matter the level of resistance, even with the sole use of one arm.
As he drowned his worker, Karl never looked away. He didn't so much as blink. His face grew somewhat redder as he continued to press down against his henchman's last show of desperate resistance. His hair coming undone as strands dropped over his face.
The splashing came to a stop as the fiery kicks halted as well. The smaller man's frame became limp. Gravity took over as they fell downward, his arms floating up against the rim of the tank.
Pulling Marco up from the mixer, Karl tossed his body onto the ground between him and the deadly silent audience. Landing on his back, his face stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were glossy and immobile, completely devoid of the faintest life.
Turning around again, Rager leaned back first against his open vat and retook his position from before. Reaching behind him, he cupped another handful of unfinished alcohol and took a messy sip. The remnants of what escaped his mouth dripping down his chin and staining his shirt.
"Drink up Marco" Karl repeated in a heartless fashion. "Every man's entitled to one last drink."
The body in the center of the room remained still. Out of the corner of Marco's lip began to ooze a small trickle of liquor from his overfilled lungs.
His hand soaking wet, Karl went to wipe it against his jacket but stopped halfway. Instead, he reached up and ran the hand through his hair to mend and fix up his disheveled appearance.
From the second floor, Kara stood glued on the display before her. Her jaw dropped as she stared in horror and awe. An expression shared by almost everyone else in the entirely hushed brewery. "Holy shit." She ended up uttering aloud in her normal tone. Her hands shooting up to cover her mouth, reaching up in an attempt to stop herself after realizing what she had done just a little to late.
Looking up in the direction of the commentary, the building owner looked to see a group of the mob's newest hands still parked halfway up the stairs. "Someone's still green." He noted with a lowly smirk.
Taking another sloppy drink from his leaking cup hand, not a single shake remained. His body relaxing to the same level of irritation it possessed when he marched in. "Alright, now listen up. I know you lot ain't free. It's why we had to steal that special cargo tonight from the enforcers up North. Once Davis drops it off, we're crackin' skulls of everyone on the block until we find out who had the stones to cross me on my turf."
Viktor's finger inched off the detonator. "Special cargo?" He repeated in contemplation, desperate to hear more.
As two stepped forward to move Marco's corpse and remove it outside, the rest of the place looked amongst themselves to isolate the former speaker.
Harold' eye darted back over to the other next to him. "Viktor, I don't think I need to emphasize why we should go. Now." He urged, knowing full well what was to come soon enough.
Viktor's focus remained locked down on the hulking mobster down on the ground floor. "I heard something before. I wanna find out what it is fi—"
The doors flew back open. The pair that carried out the recently deceased came rushing back inside. "Boss!" One cried out in a frantic tone, his face red and sweat ridden. "The guys who're supposed to be watchin' the back are in the damn dumpster!" So worked up, he was caught up in a rabid pant. "They're fuckin' dead!" He shouted, blunt as he was irate. "Shot right through the damn head!" He added with a stomp of his feet.
