I do not own the rights to The Shield.
San Francisco, CA - "Oro en Paz, Fierro en Guerra"
"Hold on a second... what happened?" Captain David Aceveda had just been roused from a long-overdue nap to a rather unpleasant phone call.
"Two county sheriff's detectives dead, another in the hospital... not likely to make it." Detective Claudette Wyms spoke very matter-of-factly, compassion being compressed in her voice.
"And.." Aceveda exhaled in frustration. "Mackey?"
"Yeah, he was there. The one in the hospital was with him most of the afternoon, apparently. He found one of them, and saw the other one blow up."
"... Blow up?"
"Killed by a grenade."
"... Seriously?"
"Yes."
Aceveda let out a very long sigh. "Nothing I can do tonight... I'll talk with him in the morning." There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Claudette?"
"I'm here. Anything more you want from Dutch and I?"
"No, no, sounds like... you have it all under control."
Kane sat on a very worn metal bench, smoking a joint. Looking out over San Francisco Bay would be breathtaking, were it not 2 in the morning on a typically foggy night. He could barely see the bridge. Next to him sat Finn, who was smoking a cigarillo instead. They hadn't said anything in about 45 minutes.
"Told you we couldn't trust them." It was Vikram, who had been pacing for the same length of time. Kane was wondering if Finn might snap and just shove him into the water. Not yet.
"Relax, man... not like this is a precise sort of operation."
"I just hate waiting. Fuck, you said midnight."
"I know what the fuck I said. Just relax. You're not a night owl, Vikram. That's your problem."
"Excuse me for being professional."
"Hey." It was Astroman, who had been very indiscreetly standing in between two large cranes about 10 feet away. They looked towards the road, and sure enough a Cadillac was making its way towards them.
Four black men stepped out of the vehicle and walked over to Kane.
Kane and a very rotund, bearded man with a large afro slapped hands. "Mojo."
"Snowman."
"Ummm... where are our friends?"
"They're here." He nodded to a skinny man with a pencil moustache beside him. The thin man went behind the Cadillac and popped the trunk. The other two gang members helped him drag two bodies with hoods over their heads out of the trunk. They then proceeded to drag them over to the Canadians and Mojo.
"These the guys?" Vikram pointed to them as the gang members proceeded to put the men on their knees. Vikram noted a large blood stain on the front of one of the hoods.
Mojo noticed Vikram's gaze. "He wouldn't shut the fuck up. Guys like this think they got huge ass dicks. We hadda show him he didn't."
"Fuck you..." grunted the bloody hooded man. Mojo rolled his eyes as the pencil moustache kneed the man in the side of the head and he collapsed into the other man, toppling the two over like bowling pins. The gang members then righted the two kneelers, the bloody hooded man almost crumpling over like a straw man but managing to stay upright.
"Okay, okay, enough." Kane raised his hands and tore the hoods off of the men's heads. "Hey. How the fuck are ya?" Silence. "Yeah, don't matter. You're dead. You're gonna be examples, ok? Finn, Astroman, shoot these fucks."
Vikram waved his arms. "Whoa, no, don't do that!"
"Huh?"
"Fucking drown them. They won't be able to find the bodies, they'll have just disappeared. We shoot them, there's gonna be blood, there's a chance we leave more evidence. Trust me, just weigh them down and toss them into the bay."
Mojo raised an eyebrow. "I had plenty of people shot, man... trust me, just shoot 'em and then toss 'em into the bay."
Kane shook his head. "Doesn't fucking matter, Christ. Drown 'em, I don't fucking care. Just do something."
Finn and Astroman shrugged, and proceeded to pick up each of the men. Already bound, they just carried them to the edge of the pier and tossed them into the bay.
"Whoa, wait, you've got to... fuuuuck... weigh them down!" Vikram was apoplectic.
Kane sighed. "Vikram, seriously, shut the fuck up. Are they sinking?"
Finn nodded. "Yup."
"Problem solved."
"I still say we shoulda shot them."
"Yeah, well, too late. Fuck. Thanks again for your services, gentlemen."
"Hey, before you go... we got another problem."
"Oh, great."
"Bikers, these fucks from Nevada... setting up shop in Fremont, but you know they're gonna be coming into town soon enough. Shot one of my boys the other day, shaking down some of my employees ever since they moved in."
"And?"
"And? And fuck you man, you owe us. We just killed two fuckin' feds, that's way above anything I've ever done. I go to Pelican Bay for that I ain't never comin' out. I got kids man, I don't have time to be fuckin' around in this stuff. You fuckin' owe it to us."
"Of course, of course."
"Well..."
"Shut up, Vikram. We owe it to the man. We're fuckin' men of our word. What are they called?"
"Caravan of Death. Buncha Iraq and Afghanistan vets, even a coupla Vietnam vets, real old guys, used to be lieutenants in bigger gangs that got split up. Think they're real tough assholes."
"But you need our help."
"Hey, fuck you man. Never hurts to have backup, and I trust you guys in a firefight. We got a feeling they're gonna make a move on us any day now. A Post Office in Chinatown got torched the other day, had a very important PO Box. Lost a lot of fucking money that day. Sons of bitches are getting braver."
"Well, it's not like we can stay long. I mean, we've got more business up north and the sooner we can get that done the sooner we can get home without going to a fucking hellhole American prison."
Mojo sighed. "Shut up, Vikram."
Kane smirked. "Hey, you got yourself a deal, Mojo." The two slapped hands again.
Shane closed the Strike Team's door. Ronnie and Curtis hadn't shown up for work yet, so Vic and Shane were taking the opportunity to talk. "Any idea where these Canucks went?"
"Not yet. Not quite sure how we're gonna have to proceed. Just know they're going north."
"Maybe they hit the Bay?"
"Nah, I think they're gonna make a beeline for Hoserland. They know they're in some bad shit. And they know if they get caught, U.S. cops will fucking rape them in the ass."
"Yeah."
There was a knock at the door, and Cpt. Aceveda entered. He pointed to Vic. "You. My office. Now."
Vic stood up from his chair. Suddenly his cell rang. "Lemme get this."
"Get up as soon as possible."
Shane chuckled. "That's what she said." A glare from the Captain quieted Shane's attitude. Aceveda slowly strode out of the room.
"Yeah?"
"Vic? Bill O'Dowd here."
"Bill, how the fuck are ya brother?"
"Great, man, great... listen, I think you're gonna wanna hear this. We had two bodies float by Fisherman's Wharf this morning. Undercover LAPD."
"What... what? In Frisco?"
"Yeah, I thought that was really weird too. Turns out they're meeting with two FBI agents every Sunday at this diner. Got DEA connections too. Sounds like something gang related, something to do with your turf."
Vic looked at Shane. "I see..."
"Yeah. I haven't talked to anybody back at the precinct, but..."
"Don't. I'll be there as soon as I can be."
"I figured you'd wanna be in on this. I got a lead that this arson over in Chinatown might be related. Gonna check that out. Call me when you get to town."
Vic hung up. "If this isn't our beaver-fuckers, I'm fucking Alex Trebek."
"Don't forget the captain."
"Ahhhhh shit."
"Vic, I know I've given you a lot of slack. But what happened yesterday was a catastrophe."
"Are you saying I killed those cops or something?"
"No, I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying that your involvement escalated this into something beyond what it should have been."
"You don't know these people. They would have fucking killed those guys anyway. And as brutally as they did. We found that guy with his head and limbs blown off by a goddamn shotgun for chrissakes!"
"The incident with the grenade, Vic."
"They would have shot him. And his fucking wife too. Don't pin this on me. I've got a lead up north I'm gonna follow up on."
"North Hollywood?"
"San Francisco."
"San Francisco? You just got back from Tijuana!"
"Well, get used to it. We got two dead LA cops floating in San Francisco Bay this morning. You know it's gang related. You know it's related to yesterday. I'm your best hope of cracking this and turning your Bloody Saturday P.R. nightmare into you making your bed in the governor's mansion. And if we don't go to San Francisco now, we're gonna end up further and further north cleaning up millions of dead cops. Cuz it looks like our killers are Canadians."
"Oh, so you're going to Canada? Where are you going to go next? England? Japan?"
"If I have to... yeah."
Vic suddenly emerged from the Captain's office, with Shane waiting patiently just outside the door.
"Grab your coat. We're going north."
The four had been sitting quietly at the Sunset Diner, slowly eating their breakfasts. It was almost 3, but they didn't care. An all-day breakfast was like manna from heaven for the night owl.
Vikram suddenly leaned forward in his booth and whispered to Kane. "So now we're getting involved in turf wars with gang bangers and white trash? Kane, that doesn't seem like a very sound business policy."
"Good God, Vikram, don't you get it? We're not going to fucking 'help' anybody. We're gonna have this problem take care of itself."
"What do you mean."
"Well..." Kane gesture his flame-covered arm towards himself and Finn sitting next to him. Then he used his ice-covered arm to gesture to Vikram and Astroman.
"Uhhh..."
"We got two white guys and two black guys."
"We're not black."
"Black enough... especially to a bunch of fucking white trash bikers."
"What... oooooh..." Vikram looked at Astroman, who was watching him.
"You two go to Fremont and hit some bikers. Finn and I will kill some HV71 boyz over in Oakland. Sounds fair."
"Then we just let these guys wipe each other out?"
"Of course. And it looks like those two LA shitstain cops were connected to this, too, especially since we got HV71 to do most of the fucking work. And if this town turns into a warzone, fuck it, the chaos will cover our tracks as we make our way back to B.C."
"Shit, I gotta say, Kane. That works."
"Method to my madness, dipshit."
"How's it going, Inspector?" Vic shook Bill's hand vigorously, and he emphasized Inspector with an almost French accent. Bill chuckled.
"Good, good. That Chinatown thing wasn't quite a smoking gun, but it wasn't a dead end either. Turns out one of the PO Boxes was registered to a "Bud Mixon." Guy lives over in Oakland, some rundown place that looks like it's been abandoned for about 6 years. And his PO Box was full of charred cheques and money orders made payable to a bunch of pseudonyms... Bud Bishop, Malcolm Newton, Jamaal Jackson, Sharif Rahman, Amir Thompson, you get the idea. So we don't know who exactly it is, but it looks a lot like HV71, this Oakland gang. Mojo Nixon is running the show at the moment. We had the feeling they were deep in some marijuana distribution service."
Vic looked at Shane in surprise. "Distribution service?"
"Yeah... mailing it off. Point guard for the Portland Trail Blazers received about six pounds in the mail two weeks ago. I only found out through the grapevine. I know the DEA and the FBI were gonna get involved. Buddy of mine in the Bureau and I were sharing stories last weekend, so I've got a pretty good picture what's going down here."
Shane shook his head with a wry smile. "Blazers, eh?"
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, seems HV71 is shipping not just Cali weed, but some B.C. bud, y'know, like any good business ya gotta diversify brands. Highly illegal. That Canuck is doing time in Washington State just for selling seeds. But everybody in Canada is too scared to touch this one. Get a bad vibe off of it."
Vic waved to Shane and the three men began to move outside of the police station towards their vehicles. "These Canadians seem to have their fingers into everything. Think they're mailing it south?"
"Nah, with the volume they're pushing, customs would have come across one by now, even by accident considering how fuckin' worthless those guys are sometimes. I'd say the guys you were talking about, these Canadians, might be bagmen or something, y'know, taking the stuff down south in person."
Shane rubbed his chin. "Well, we're gonna need more evidence. Ya got anybody we could knock around... I mean ask a few questions?"
"Glad you asked."
Vikram unsteadily loaded his Mac-10 submachine gun, locking and loading. He turned towards Astroman. He was dressed all in camo, with a ski mask covering his face. He held an H&K MP5-N at his side. "You ready?"
He nodded.
"Let's do this." They proceeded to exit the hotel room and enter the rented car. Vikram drove while Astroman ended up riding shotgun with his submachine.
Turning down onto a more rural road near the suburbs, Vikram pointed suddenly. "There it is."
DOOM was the sign over the bar in massive red glowing letters. Sure enough there were tough looking individuals in leather and plenty of motorcycles in front of DOOM.
"Here goes nothing." Vikram sped up and then began to gradually slow down as they cruised past the bar. Waving his Mac-10 out of his window as Astroman lept up out of his window and over the roof, the duo began to unload a hail of gunfire on the unsuspecting bikers.
The first man to notice was an obese man with a long red beard. He tried to cry out before several bullets tore through his abdomen, sending him sliding along the wall with a red smear trailing behind him.
The second man had his back to Vikram and Astroman. CARAVAN arched over the crest on his back, two crossed blood red machetes over an enraged black cat on a yellow background. OF DEATH completed it all. The bullets tore into his back as he began to slowly turn around, dropping to the ground before he complete his cycle.
The last man had drawn his pistol and was firing blindly. He managed to hit one of the duo's tires. Between concentrating on the bar and the popped tire, Vikram suddenly lost control of the vehicle, hopping over the curb and slamming into a nearby tree.
Astroman, having slid back into the car and braced himself between the dash and the seat moments before impact, quickly slid out from the window with cat-like agility and crawled on top of the hood of the now-stalled car. He had drawn his own pistol and proceeded to empty the entire clip into the remaining biker in quick succession. The man barely had time to aim before al-Ghurab had killed him.
Vikram opened his door and walked out, blood coming from his now-broken nose.
"Fuck." was all he said. It was almost a sigh.
They could hear sirens in the distance, and the shattered glass meant that they had kicked an anthill and were soon to meet many, many more members of Caravan of Death. Vikram looked over in time to see a small red Honda civic drive by, an elderly couple on a Sunday drive. He proceeded to open fire on them.
The passenger-side window shattered in the face of the elderly wife, bullets missing her face by inches. The man proceeded to drop dead of a heart attack, and the vehicle slowly came to a gradual stop, bumping into a tree on the other side of the road.
The two men quickly ran over to the car, opened the doors and threw the occupants to the ground. Vikram put pedal to metal as the first of the bikers emerged with shotguns blazing away.
"Hey, Kenny. Long time no see." The three cops strolled into the pool hall like they owned the place.
An East Asian man wearing a San Francisco Giants cap groaned, putting down his pool cue and walking away from his friends. "I didn't do nothin' O'Dowd."
"Right, right... Post office in Chinatown burns, you don't know anything about that, do you?"
"No. Who are your friends?"
"Some buddies of mine from LA."
Kenny took a step back. "Los Angeles?"
Shane laughed. "No, Los Alamos, retard."
"Listen, listen... I don't want no trouble.." He lead them to a nearby booth and began to whisper. "Yeah, that was me... but if you wanted to bust me you woulda busted me... so what do you really want?"
"Who paid you?"
"These Bikers from over in Fremont. No names. Patches said things like Sgt. Rock and Lt. Dan, dunno what the fuck that means. Called themselves Caravan of Death."
O'Dowd nodded. "All we needed to hear. Thanks again Ken. Be seein' ya." The trio turned and began to walk away.
"Wait! Are you LA cops as tough as they say? You guys don't look so tough."
Vic shook his head in annoyance. "Does kidnapping a Mexican druglord and smuggling him into the United States in the trunk of a bullet-ridden car count as tough for ya, hotshot?"
Ken raised both hands, his friends eyes upon him. "Hey, just asking man."
The cop left the bar in silence. O'Dowd spoke up again when they exited the hall.
"I was afraid of this. These Cee O' Dee bikers came in from Reno not long ago. Haven't seen 'em around much, but whenever they're in town, things get ugly. Usually they've been working over in Oakland, cutting down HV71 and some other gangs. Pretty rare they come over to this side of the Bay."
Vic put on his sunglasses as they began to enter Inspector O'Dowd's car. "Sounds like something big is going down soon."
Finn spat a big wad of chewing tobacco on the pavement. He adjusted his vest to scratch an itch. He hefted his shotgun over his shoulder and sighed.
Finally the door opened and Kane exited, dressed in the same biker leathers as Finn.
"I don't know how you managed to wear these, man. I hate this shit. Feels like I'm out cruising for a blowjob or something."
Finn shook his head and gave a short chuckle. "Would you rather Vikram was wearing them then?"
"Hey, listen. Enough of that. We've been over this."
"Just saying, we haven't heard from them yet and I bet that dipshit couldn't shoot straight to save his life."
"That's why he's driving. And besides, do you wanna manage the books? Do you wanna run the business end, the boring stuff, all that bullshit? You wanna launder money? Vikram is the reason we've been so good at this. He was the last piece of the puzzle. This is partly about being able to bust heads, sure... but you gotta plan it out if you don't wanna get fucked in the ass in the shower for 25 years."
Finn was silent and Kane took the time to get on his bike. Finn spat another wad of tobacco on the ground.
Kane started his engine. "Now, it's time for you to do what you do best, my friend."
The two men rode through the streets of Oakland before they finally crossed over into HV71 territory. They both drove cautiously, keeping their eyes peeled for their targets.
Kane waved his hand to his left and Finn nodded, spotting the gang bangers at the same time he did. The began to drive faster, heading straight for them.
A skinny banger with a moustache turned around, drawing his submachine gun from his coat, driving the others to do the same. He was too late as Kane and Finn were upon them in no time, charging them like cavalry lancers. Holding their shotguns on their handlebars for balance, the duo unleashed a single blast at the exact same time when they were meters away from the men, cutting several of them down.
They used their momentum to smash through the men, one knocked down and crushed by Finn's bike. The skinny man felt Kane drive over his tibia, snapping it cleanly in half. He screamed and tumbled to the ground, the fractured appendage waving in the air. Waving his submachine gun the moustache man fired blindly in the direction of the two men.
Kane felt a white hot burn tear through his shoulder and suddenly his entire right arm went numb. He jerked the handlebars of his bike hard to the left and suddenly found himself thrown from the bike, skidding down the street before slamming his back into a parked car.
Finn wheeled around almost instantly, pulling an insane 180 in a matter of seconds, barreling back towards the screaming man with the moustache. He was now out of ammo but still pulling the trigger, still waving the gun.
Finn waiting until he was directly beside the man's screaming face before timing his last shotgun blast. He was quickly silent, the remains of his head scattered across the pavement.
Finn doubled back as Kane began to slowly get to his feet. He could move his arm again, but his shirt was now completely torn off his back. Road rash and bloody gashes criss-crossed his back. He slowly got on the back of Finn's bike, wrapping his bad arm around his waist with his good arm before gripping his bad arm tightly.
"You want to-"
Kane cut him off. "Get the fuck out of here first, we'll go from there. Fuck!"
Mojo Nixon was playing his drumset when Dino walked in, a very grim expression on his face. Mojo instantly dropped his sticks.
"What? What is it?"
"Those bikers killed Santiago."
Mojo stood up very quickly, kicking his bass drum over. "Son of a goddamn motherfucking cocksucking bitch!" He gave a guttural yell. "Some motherfuckers always trying to ice skate uphill. Jesus!"
"What do you wanna do next?"
"What do I wanna do next? Call the other captains. Tell 'em to meet me here tomorrow morning. We're gonna go out to Fremont and we're gonna fucking end this bullshit war right here, right now. This is war to the knife, man. War to the knife."
Stay tuned for Chapter 3 - "Baghdad by the Bay"