A black Mercedes pulled up outside the Southside Palace, a few dozen yards down the street and across the intersection. Two men stepped out, both of them wiseguys. One short, cocky, nameless little punk with a shock of blond hair and an evil little switchblade mouth. His companion exited from the passener side and shut the door. Luke Brendotti, a thick lipped, bull chested man wearing black leather gloves and a bulky grey overcoat.
Brendotti tossed the keys to a young attendant who appeared around the corner, and turned towards the Casino entrance. The short blond man followed.
I’ll take Brendotti first. His ears twitched in anticipation as he switched the sonic blaster to focussed-beam mode, raised it to his shoulder, and aimed it at Brendotti.
Enter two more actors, stage left. God damn it. Civilians. Too much risk. Perforated ear drums at the very least. Harmless addicts. A gambler, the one on the left. The other one, probably on zoom. They were a couple of sweating, twitchy wrecks, one wearing a blue shirt, and one a red, and they had just come out of the Southside Palace Casino entrance. Another vigilante might have taken them out of their misery along with the target. A mobster wouldn't have thought twice. But no, he wouldn’t do that. Of course, freedom had to be bought. Even bought with blood. But would not lose his soul, not like Brendotti, not like Giovani, not like Driogano, not like… not like his father.
Times had changed. It was 2010 and the new millennium was well upon Freedom City, and the previous one was becoming a distant memory. These new times called for escalation of the war. The Mob had to be finished off now, while it was still weak. The Mob had plans, big plans, and the Power House were a major part of it. A mobile biochemical enhancement clinic, they had started producing ever more cheap, and powerful treatment, and a new breed of powerful soldiers were appearing on the streets. But there was something else, something more sinister in the works. Big Al Driogano had been seen having recent and very numerous meetings with Lady Tarot. Nor was it any love affair either. She had been out of the City for long periods, which was well out of character. And Driogano and been seeing number of other unusual guests. Time would only tell, but time had always been a scarce commodity, and now it was running out for Freedom City.
Blood is the price for freedom now, he thought. But even though he would escalate his war, his war from the shadows and the silence of his own creation, the blood of the innocent would never stain his hands, only the blood of the evil would decorate them. He only wished to wipe away the scourge that had ruined his life and the lives of so many others.
The black Mercedes glided out of sight behind the Casino, driven by the parking attendant. The sweet, faint sound of saxophone and Patti Dumont’s contralto drifted across the street from an eight-paned window of the Southside Palace second storey grand hall. The song ended, and a large crowd applauded, and a few cheered. The band launched into a strangely muted version of ‘My Funny Valentine’ and the moon winked from behind ragged clouds above the old Southside chimneystack.
Out front, Brendotti clearly knew one of the civilians. His gold tooth lit up, bathed in the sparkle from the Casino entrance hall lights. "Lenny, you ain’t throwin’ away my money on Hold’em or Blackjack, ain’t you? Come on!" He pulled out a cigar and poked it at the man.
"Hey Mr. Brendotti," said the newcomer in the blue shirt, "I had your money on that that last hand but the son of a b*tch opposite me is a sharp, he’s got a plant in there, man."
"Come on, Lenny, you know we got no cheaters on the tables, they all know they’ll get their knees busted in the back room. We got a set of kneecaps on display for *** sake. It’s clean as a whistle in there, so don’t give me that sh*t."
Lenny scratched his ear head like a cat. "Please Mr. Brendotti, all I need is a hundred bucks, or whatever, you won’t be sorry, please Mr. Brendotti, an’ I’ll be outta here in one hour, an’ I give all your money back, I swear it, every last nickel."
Brendotti laughed, his meaty lips flapping up and down in unison, and his blond psychopath sidekick cracked a toothless smile.
"Lenny. I don’t give a sh*t, " said Brendotti, and he raised his eyebrows. "Really I don’t! One way or another, you’re gonna be payin’ me Monday morning."
Lenny’s face dropped.
"Don’t sweat it, Lenny," said the other, blue shirted man. "I know a place along Boardwalk, I know a guy."
"He knows a guy!" Brendotti laughed again. "You go see your guy, Lenny, you go and see your guy, and come back here and strike the goddamed jackpot and get me my money." Brendotti’s laugh turned sour. "Now get the **** out of my way, I got business to attend to." Brendotti pushed aside Lenny Tutti and headed towards the Casino entrance doors, glancing at his watch.
Now, Brendotti, you die. From his silent hiding place, he raised the sonic rifle, and took aim again.
The two men stepped aside, but Brendotti stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder. "You hear something?" he asked the thin mouthed wiseguy.
"Nothin’".
"That’s what I’m afraid of." Luke Brendotti pulled a 9mm Glock automatic from under his overcoat and glanced over his shoulder. "Gone quiet all of a sudden."
"Hey what the hell you playin’ at!" cried Lenny the gambler, spreading his hands in supplication. "You said I got till Monday!"
"It’s gettin’ cold out here," moaned the other addict, sniffling and shivering. White breath snaked upwards towards the street lamp.
This is it. As if depresssing a valve on a trumpet, he pulled the trigger on the sonic rifle, and unleashed the weapon’s full cacophonic musical force on Brendotti.
Bullseye. The blast hit the overweight wiseguy like a tornado, launching him skyward like a sail that’s been ripped suddenly off a Port Regal yacht. He flew into the air, and through the upstairs window of the Casino grand hall, smashing it inwards with a splinter of glass and a whoosh of air. The band stopped in mid song and screams of ladies and shouts of men erupted from the upstairs window.
Suddenly, the blond haired psycho’s 9mm was out, spitting flames into the darkness, firing at the unknown assailant, firing anywhere, at anything to stay alive. But the Silencer was gone. He had left his hiding place, and he had taken his sonic rifle, his silence, and his hatred along with him.
Big Al Driogano stabbed a fat finger towards the chandelier in the back room of Southside palace. "This is war!" he boomed.
A tall man with a massive frame, slicked black hair and a dark goatee, he paced back and forth at the front of the room. His number two Frank Tonifanni sat at the head table next to Driogano, his gold ringed fingers clasping, and unclasping.
Smoke and dust danced in the shafts of late morning sun that streamed into the red carpeted room. A few dozen sallow faced men sat around a half dozen tables, sucking on cigarettes, some nursing drinks, one elderly lieutenant handling worry beads.
No one spoke for a full minute. Finally, battle scarred Joe Ballara spoke up from the back. "There’s gonna be losses, boss. We ain’t got the numbers on the street," he mused. "Business is gonna suffer."
"Not war with Johnny Oliverti, Joe. War against that mutant sh*t the Silencer. And the rest of them." said Driogano. "Luke Brendotti is… "It nearly didn’t come out. Driogano tried again. "Luke Brendotti is dead." Driogano choked on the last word. "The Silencer took him out last night outside the Palace."
Angry shouts tore through the room.
"War! You tellin’ me it is!"
"He’s going down, that m***** f*****"
"We gonna wipe them off the street!"
Wiseguys railed angrily at each other, each decrying the Silencer, and each one of them, with convincing enthusiasm, claiming he was the right man for the job of dispatching him.
Finally, Big Al Driogano raised his hand for quiet, and slowly the angry shouts subsided.
"How do you know it was the Silencer?" asked Ballara.
Tonifanni spoke up. "Witnesses said he was blown from the street through a first story window. Some sort of sound weapon or some sh*t. Rocky Basile copped some of it too. He’s deaf."
"We got to take down the Silencer, and the rest of them," said Driogano. "Foreshadow, he’s been on our backs for too long. And if we let them get away with this, it will be Captain f****ng Thunder himself taking care of business down here, or the goddamned Federal mutant patrol."
Tonifanni continued. "It’s a clear change of tactics. The Silencer is taking people out now. No more bullsh*tting around. No more more packaged deliveries to the FC police department doorstep. This is most definitely an escalator."
Tonifanni stood up from the table. "Many of you will have heard of Professor Haus from the Power House clinic. He has proved invaluable several times in the past when dealing with problems, and we are going to need his services now that we got a war on our hands. He has recently developed some sort of enhanced serum… biofuel augmentator… – whatever! Some sh*t that’s gonna give us a big f***ing edge out there. He’s gonna be dropping by tonight. He’ll be parking his truck in the Palace private carpark. So we want some volunteers to get a jolt, and get out there and take out the Silencer."
"Didn't do Brendotti any good," said Ballara. He seemed to be the only man in the room prepared to speak up. "He used the Power House before."
"This new sh*t that Professor Haus has got cooked up is gonna take it to a whole new level," replied Tonifanni. "So forget about it."
"OK so listen up," shouted Driogano. "The Silencer is to be silenced once and for for ****ng all. You hear me! I want him off the streets and his mutant f***ng ass nailed on the wall next to the kneecaps in the security room. You got me?"
"Sure boss." The gangsters saluted half heartedley and filed out of the Casino sitting room.
The thick cowl of darkness had fallen again over Freedom City, and the private carpark behind the Southside Palace Casino was puddled with recent rainfall. Rocky Basile stood on the black, slick asphalt outside a large truck, and ran his fingers through his short cropped blonde hair. He checked the contents of a black leather zip-up bag he held in his left hand, walked up the aluminium steps to the back of the truck, and knocked on the door.
A voice with a clipped German accent that sounded like a wartime broadcast crackled through a small speaker. “Please state your name.”
“What? Speak up? I can’t hear, I’m a little deaf,” said Basile.
“Please state your name.”
“Rocky Basile.”
“How can I help you, please?”
“I’d like a sauerkraut sandwich,” said Basile through gritted teeth.
A faint clicking sound told him that the truck door was now unlocked. “Please come in,” said the voice.
Basile pulled on the large steel door handle, and stepped inside.
The interior of the truck was dark and gloomy despite the glow of lamps set in the walls at intervals. Stainless steel benches and shelves lined the walls of the truck. Burettes and bulbous chemical glassware were filled with pinkish and green liquids, and computer monitors flashed charts and status displays. There appeared to be a freezer door at the far end. Various cybernetic components could be seen scattered in pieces on the bench; a hand, a ball and socket joint, and one half of an enormous arachnid. A small bespectacled man in a white coat, and a white beard was cleaning his glasses on his shirt. An extraordinarily skinny man was titrating fluid from a burette further back in the vehicle, also dressed in a white lab coat.
The small, white bearded man replaced his spectacles and greeted him perfunctorily. “Welcome to ze Powerhouse, Mr Basile. My name is Professor Haus.”
Basile nodded a mute greeting in return.
“Let us get straight to business. Ve offer state of ze art treatments in all manner of biochemical, cybernetic, and genetic enhancement. What is it zat you require from me, young man?”
“I’m gonna take out the Silencer.”
“Mr, Basile, vot you use your enhancement for is entirely your business, my concern-“
“OK, I’m gonna take on a mutant, so juice me up with whatever the best sh*t you got, pops.”
"Hmm, well, let me see. Even with ze best my clinic can offer, you vill have to pick and choose your fights, Mr. Basile. You can’t take on ze mutant world, you are not going to walk out of here er, how you say, a vun man army. However, I have made some significant advances of late. I can offer super human strength enhancement, various sensory enhancement, and my latest creation zat I am so proud of-“
Rage simmering beneath his red complexion, Basile interrupted Professor Haus. “Give me the lot.”
“Oh no, Mr. Basile, zese are not to be taken together, zis would result in ze most unpredictable, most unpleasant side effects.”
“I got the money.” Basile unzipped his leather bag and pulled out a brick sized wad of cash and threw it down on the bench. “So give me the lot.”
“Mr. Basile, again, I cannot administer multiple treatments, ze consequences would be - unzinkable, and for you, most likely fatal.”
Basile pulled out his 9mm Glock from the leather bag and pointed it unwaveringly at the Professor’s head. “Think again, Professor Haus.”
The Professor removed his spectacles, and spoke in a fatherly tone. “Mr. Basile, please, put ze gun down. I do not respond to zreats. Put ze gun down now, and I will forget your transgression, and give you a second chance.” He turned his head slightly and said something in highly guttural German, followed by some clicking sounds.
Basile looked towards the back of the van, where the skinny man in the white lab coat had been. The man’s upper body was slowly transforming into a hideous black and yellow striped set of hairy, thick with hair, a fanged, clicking mouth, and the body of an enormous spider.
“M***er f***r!” roared Basile.
The Professor continued. “Now Mr. Basile, I know your type. I have dealt with you before. Your friend Mr. Brendotti is a customer. I know you are highly strung, and have ze tendency to use violence as a solution when zere are other options available. Zerefore, if you put your gun down, Ariel back zere will let you walk out of here alive. I may even consider your proposal.”
Basile was hyperventilating in disgust and horror. Froth lined his mouth. He replied in two short bursts,. “OK. OK.” Basile lowered the gun and returned it to the leather bag. “Was a customer.” He gasped between breaths. “Brendotti is dead. That’s the reason I’m here.”
“Admirable sentiments, Mr. Basile. Now that’s better much better. Never pull a gun on me again.” The professor replaced his spectacles once more. “Now, Mr. Basile, you are clearly set upon trying out multiple treatments. If you are prepared to take ze risk, and to suffer the possible consequences, then so be it. I can provide support in ze form of drugs for some of the side effects, but in your case, their efficacy is likely to be extremely limited. “
The Professor continued. “For an exceptional treatment however, zere will be an exceptional price.”
Basile reached back into his leather bag, pulled out another brick of cash, and threw it on the bench.
The Professor smiled warmly. “Now Mr. Basile, let us begin.”
