FRACTURE
Book One in The Don's Embrace Trilogy
a Stilwater Story
written by Valdarez
Book Overview: After barely surviving an explosion aimed at ending his life, Atom returned to Stilwater to find his former gang, the Saints, in remnants. Taking the reigns of the Saint's leadership, Atom rebuilt the gang and took back the streets of Stilwater one block at a time. The war for Stilwater was costly and the price for it paid in blood. After losing one of his lieutenants and upon finding Julian his former mentor responsible for the explosion that nearly killed him, Atom sought Julian out eventually finding vengeance with a single bullet through the side of Julian's head. In the Saint's, there is no forgiveness, only grace through retribution. With Julian's death, the Saints were once again rulers of their gangster empire and Atom was their King. The streets were safe, business was good, and the women and drugs flowed freely thanks to Atom's deft hand.
Atom was a natural born leader, yet not even the best general can win every battle and it only takes one lost battle to lose a war. When a member of the Tombstones, a rival gang from Stilwater's sister city Riverway, is killed on Saints turf, it sends Atom on a search to uncover the extent of the Tombstone's infiltration of Saint's operations. Atom's quest for the truth behind the Tombstone's being in Saint's territory uncovers an undercurrent of illicit deals in the Saints ranks that permeates the top of the gang's leadership and threatens the very existence of the Saint's and all that Atom calls family.
Prologue
"Stilwater.... yeah, anything but," muttered Atom as he took the last toke from a beached stint and kicked the body laying at his feet off the edge of the pier and into the bay. He watched the corpse slowly sink into its watery grave and sighed thinking of the trouble that was sure to come his way. The body headed toward the cold depths of the bay was none other than Mario Lantangio, brother of Lucienne Lantangio the Godfather of Stilwater's sister city Riverway and leader of the Tombstones.
What the hell were you doing in Stilwater Mario? This isn't your turf! Tonight was supposed to be a simple shake-down of an independent drug runner named Ricco Rimango, who was skimming on both ends. Buying less Black Powder than he was paid to buy from his contact, pocketing the difference, and then stepping on the product he sold to the Saints. He even had the balls to keep some of the Black Powder for himself to sell on the side so he could pocket even more. Ricco had always been a solid contributor to the Saints, and until lately, his product had always been top notch. It was for this reason there was never an inquiry into the identity of his provider.
"No question who it is now" Atom said shaking his head and turning from the bay back toward his decked out Phoenix. Khaki colored, outlined by black molding with an even blacker tarp, the convertible sported a 354 under the hood and was total class, as was Atom himself. He walked to the car in the fading light of the setting sun, a stoic outline against a darkening horizon. Standing at six foot two and weighing in at 240 pounds, he was an imposing figure. His long, light brown hair fell halfway to his waist and tonight, geared for battle and forgoing suit and tie, a shirtless Atom's bronze skin revealed barbwire tattoos on each upper arm and dual Colts on his chest with a proud emblem of the Saints emblazoned upon his back.
Johnny Gat leaned against the other side of the car, looking out over the stretch of the city across the street. He turned as Atom reached the vehicle and flashed one of his signature grins. "This is going to be crazy fun!" he said, then laughed as he opened the door and quickly took a seat in the Phoenix.
Effing Gat. As long as bullets were flying or something was being blown up, he was having fun. But Atom didn't share his friend's love of the fight. To Atom it was a necessary evil, a means to an end. Not to say that Atom didn't take a small amount of satisfaction in executing vengeance on those who deserved it, or in distributing justice to the wayward, but this was different and it sure as hell wasn't going to be fun. Saints were going to die.
Shaking his head as he entered the vehicle, Atom hastily started the car. Johnny fired up the radio, where Iron Maiden played a song wailing about the troubles of a mariner and a fallen bird. Killing something you shouldn't have, now there's something I can relate to, Atom thought as a small smile briefly crossed his face. Killing Mario had been an accident, and all Ricco's doing. Ricco had been the go-to guy for fulfilling the Saints' unexpected demands for the Black Powder yet he had always been a small time player.
But things had changed. Ricco had developed a disease; a highly contagious disease eventually fatal to all who contracted it. A disease called ambition.
Ambitions were one thing, but acting on them, that's when things got complicated. Ricco desired the finer things in life: women, possessions, and, of lately, power. To that end he had setup his own crew called the Dusters, consisting of back-street pushers, a couple of low-end rackets, a few pimps, and muscle. Lots of muscle.
Until lately, Ricco had operated in the lower part of the Barrio, careful to stay under the Saints' radar. The money from the Saints' Black Powder purchases was used to fund his ventures, which was fine, to a point. If you look outside and see a mouse in the street, you don't leave your home to chase it down. But if you see a mouse in your house, you find that mouse and you don't stop until that mouse is dead. Last Thursday Ricco made the fatal mistake of entering Atom's house when one of Ricco's thugs iced a Saint for complaining about the quality of the Black Powder Ricco had sold to the now dead Saint.
This presented two distinct problems. First, why was a Saint buying from a potential rival gang for his own personal use? While members indulged themselves from the Saints' personal inventory at times, the Saints didn't tolerate addicts. They couldn't risk the self-serving interests and recklessness that went hand in hand with a junkie and their habit. For a Saint to have gone in search of additional drugs beyond what was available for them from the gang's own stash... that was just the sort of careless mistake only an addict would have made. In this instance, the Saint jonesing for an additional high had been killed, so the first problem was solved, leaving only the second. How was a rival gang able to sell on Saints' turf without Atom hearing of it? Of the two, this was the most disturbing. At best this meant one of his Saints wasn't doing their job, at worst it meant there was a traitor in their ranks. Neither possibility was acceptable.
All Atom had to do now was root out a turn-coat, take care of an encroaching gang, and smooth over relations with the Tombstones, the most feared gang west of the Mississippi. This was going to be trouble, and lots of it.
Turning onto the freeway to head back toward the Saints' headquarters, the last of the daylight had faded, leaving an empty night sky illuminated only by a few stars and a full moon just beginning its monthly cycle. Driving off, Atom realized a new song was playing on the radio. I see a bad moon rising, I see trouble on the way...
"Damn it Gat, how many times do I have to tell you not to turn on the radio after a shootout!"