"Dad?" Slade sees Joey at the doorway of his bedroom. There was a bloody cut on Joey's knee and the boy's face was red and teary.
"Now what the hell did you do this time?"
"I fell," Joey says innocently. Slade approaches his son and picks him up in his arms in a tight embrace.
"Let's get you cleaned up."
Just as planned, Slade is able to sneak his bag of weapons to the hotel without the staff peeking, with the help of Wintergreen's allies. Some of their allies work at hotels. Some work at restaurants. If you pay them well, they'll sure you're safe or at least they'll try to make sure you don't screw up, like Shado. Some of the people Slade and Wintergreen hire is people that need to pay off their debts; if not, they're dead meat. Some are just returning a favor.
Once Shado dropped him off at Heritage Hotel, he registers for his hotel suite using cash instead of credit cards. He doesn't want his name anywhere registered, except for that notebook on the counter but nowhere in the computer system. He uses a fake name though just in case. If the Jackal finds out about him being in Cambodia in any way possible, all of his plans will fail. He needs to stay hidden for the time being.
Everything is going according to plan.
In his hotel room, Wintergreen called and informed him that the Jackal will be bringing in a truck that would be containing 40 sex slaves, most of them kidnapped. Two of the Jackal's assistants will be there in charge of the sex trade. One of them should know where the Jackal is. If Slade finds the truck, he'll find the Jackal.
Slade heads for the bar. Slade can never get drunk no matter how many bottles of alcohol he drank. It would take more than four bottles to get him sober.
"Hi." A blonde woman is seated at the other side of the bar having a glass of rice wine, a distilled liquor made of rice from fermentation of rice starch converted to sugars. Slade has a read about them, how it is used to cure muscle aches, fatigue, and menstrual cramps. He wonders if the woman has menstrual cramps or muscle aches he might not know of.
Slade will stick to snake wine, an alcohol with a whole snake infused in rice wine or grain alcohol. Venomous snakes are mostly used, having their essence and venom dissolved in the liquor though it poses no threat to the drinker. He sees the bottle of red-tinted wine with a cobra snake inside. It's steeped. He has read that snakes are believed to possess medicinal qualities to improve health and to increase sexual performances. If Slade had added scorpion to the mix, it would have been too much.
The blonde woman is very pretty. Mid-thirties. Blonde pixie cut hair. Brown eyes. And dressed in a white sleeveless dress of thin coarse fabric. A tourist, he assumes. American. Slade, of course, is Australian.
The blonde woman moves from the end of the bar and walks to where Slade is and sits next to him. "I'm Patricia Trayce."
Slade grins. "Slade Wilson."
They both shake hands. Slade notices a wedding ring in her finger. He can imagine she's a gold digger married to some old stupid fart who has no idea his wife is flirting with another man. A wife who truly loves her husband would never flirt with another man. Unless she only married the man for money and privileges. Slade can expose her if he wanted to. If he wanted to.
"You're here on vacation?" she asks before taking a sip of her rice wine.
"Business, actually," Slade answers.
"Me too," Patricia says, "My husband brought me here on his business trip. Now I'm stuck here alone in the bar, having a drink while he's in a board meeting at a conference room."
Slade chuckles. "That's a shame. A real husband that loves his wide would pay more attention to her than his own colleagues."
Patricia sighs at this comment. "Indeed."
"And if your husband can't do that, someone else should," he says before taking another shot of snake wine.
"Would you?" she asks with a raise of an eyebrow.
With that, Slade takes Patricia Tracey to his hotel suite where he fucked her until four in the morning, or until she becomes numb with her legs turning into gelatin, thrusting in and out of her, fast and rough, nearly pounding into her every way possible and every position he could think of, listening to her moan, squeal and cry in ecstasy. It's been a while since he had sex with another woman, the feeling of soft skin, cupping their breasts and pinching their nipples, listening to the usual yells and pleasurable cries. It's only been a few months. So it wasn't that long. Still, he was bored out of his mind and if he's going to spend the next few weeks hunting the Jackal, he might as well make the most of his free time doing something besides sitting at a bar drinking snake venom.
Slade is now lying down on the bed next to Patricia who's now sleeping after long hours of them fucking. He remains looking up at the ceiling with his hands placed on the back of his head and a light sheen of sweat covering his toned torso.
He continues thinking of what would have happened if he never donned the Deathstroke mask in the first place. Maybe he would still be married to Adeline. Maybe Joseph would still be alive. And perhaps he'd be living a life some people want, a life that would drive him crazy. Live an apple-pie life. Perhaps in his retirement, he can work as a mechanic, a martial arts teacher since he's been trained in the military before, or a businessman like Patricia Tracey's husband. Of course, with his type of reputation and history, he doubts he'll even get a job at McDonald's. He's lucky though. McDonald's would have been a nightmare for him. But being with Adeline, Grant and Joey would be marvelous.
At four in the morning, her wakes up Patricia and kicks her out of the hotel suite, much to her distaste and disappointment. It's not like he wouldn't like another hour with her. He would. But he has a job to do. The Jackal. The man who killed his son Joey.
11: 30 p.m..
It's time. Time to get to work. He wants to find and kill the Jackal as soon as possible, glad to end his reign of terror. Even if he'd be doing everyone a favour getting rid of him, it's more of a personal reason.
He remembers well what Wintergreen told him. A truck full of 40 sex slaves, most of them kidnapped. Two of the Jackal's assistants will be there in charge of the sex trade. One of them should know where the Jackal is. If Slade finds the truck, he'll find the Jackal. Slade rented a Jeep Wrangler to drive around the streets and he parks near the spot where the truck would arrive at 11:57 p.m.
Slade is dressed in a neat light grey business suit which he saved in his duffle bag. Many of the women in those trucks would be sold as prostitutes. Pimps are reported to imprison young children and woman, mostly virgins and they are not put to work until they are presented to bidders such as military officers, politicians, businessmen and foreign tourists. They receive no money, only food, and they would be shot to death if they try running away. Many are often held captive, beaten, and starved into prostitution. As much as Slade doesn't give a shit about them, he does feel pity.
Some prostitutes are brought in from Vietnam or Laos but most are Cambodians. But these days, with Wintergreen's resources, Slade has seen pictures of prostitutes that originate from Europe, Canada, Latin America and the U.S. These are kidnapped girls and judging by the way they're dressed, he has to guess those girls belong to the Jackal.
"Hey, mister." Slade looks to the right side of the Jeep, to find a little boy standing there. Dark skin, girly baby face, shaven head, barefooted and dressed in a dirty shirt and torn jeans. He looks about eight or nine. "Do you have any change?"
"Beat it, kid," Slade growls harshly.
The boy pouts in disappointment before walking away.
Slade sighs as he watches the boy leave. Thinking about it, he might be of some use, just as long as he doesn't steal anything. The kid wouldn't steal even if he tries. Slade will shoot him right on the spot.
"Hey, kid! Come back here!" he calls out.
The boy turns around and quickly runs back to the Jeep. Even his feet look dirty and small.
"What's you name?" Slade asks.
"Kiran Singh," the boy answers.
"Okay, Kiran, how would you like 200?" Slade says as he takes out two 100 riels. Kiran almost snatches them from his hand but Slade quickly snatches them back roughly and shoves the boy back. "Uh-uh. You need to earn it first. I need you to do something for me."
Kiran nods his head. "Yes."
"There's a delivery truck on the way here," he says, "The name of the truck is called Golden Phoenix. It's a big black truck. I need you to keep a look out. If you see the truck arrive, come back. Here." He gives Kiran 100 riels. "You'll get the rest when you see the truck coming."
Kiran looks at the money in his hand before looking back at Slade. "Making it 400 and I'll stand at the spot waiting for the truck to arrive."
Slade frowns at him. For a small kid, he's sharp at negotiating. Maybe there's hope for him yet. "You get 300."
"400," Kiran opposes.
"350 and I won't shoot you," Slade says firmly.
The boy simply sighs in defeat. "Deal."
"Slade, this is all your fault," Adeline hissed angrily as they wait in the hall for any news from the doctor, "If it weren't for you -."
"If it weren't for me, Joey would be on the ground dead and not here in the hospital," Slade snapped back. Not while back, Joey was kidnapped by the Jackal and his men for refusing a paid assignment. Slade shot one of the men that held Joey with a knife to his neck but Joey still had his throat slit open when the man fell dead. Slade took Joey to the hospital where he hoped they could save him.
"It's your job that got us into this mess in the first place," Adeline said while poking her finger at Slade's chest. "If you have told me, I would have been more prepared but no. It's always about you, isn't it? If he dies, Slade, I'll never forgive you."
But that's what happened. The doctors informed them that Joey wouldn't make it through the night since the damage was severe. Slade sat by the hospital bed, holding his son's hand while watching him slowly die in his sleep. At least Joey died in his sleep peacefully even if the events weren't. Adeline didn't stay in the room. She went to the bathroom to cry instead of stay by her son's side. Slade was the one who remained by his side even if he didn't cry like Adeline did. Yes, Slade was heartbroken over Joey's death but he was more angry with the fact he couldn't save him from the Jackal. The Jackal did this to his son.
Joseph Wilson died at two in the morning. He was only 11. The beeps on the monitor flatlined and Slade covered Joey's body with the paper sheet instead of letting the doctors do it. He already threatened to punch the doctor if he went anywhere near Joey.
Three days after the funeral, Slade went back home to pack up as he had another job to do. Of course, he found a surprise in the form of Adeline standing in the doorway holding a gun in her hand.
"I hope you burn in hell," she said before pulling the trigger.
...To his misfortune, not even hell wanted Slade there.
"Hey, Mister." Kiran's small child voice brings Slade out of his thoughts and back to reality. He sees the boy running back to where he has his Jeep parked. "A truck is here. Is that the one?"
Slade looks over to the spot Wintergreen indicated him, a desolated road. A black truck with the Golden Phoenix brand printed on the side is parked there. The doors to the trucks are open and at least four muscled men are spotted.
"Yes, that's the one," Slade says as he gets out of the Jeep and gives Kiran another 100 riel before heading his way to the truck.
"Hey, you said 350!" Kiran calls out to him.
"Keep an eye on the Jeep and you'll get the rest!" he says as he continues to walk over to the truck. Kiran simply scoffs and leans back against the Jeep, pouting in frustration. Slade knows that if the kid wants the 350, he'll have to do his job.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Slade smiles at the four glaring men at the truck. "I was hoping to purchase some rice from your truck."
"You can buy it in some of the local markets," one of the men say with their macho tough guy act. Of course, Slade shows the gun in his pocket, showing that he's armed. "We have guns too, you know. Big ones. Bigger than yours," the man says.
"There's no need for them though," Slade says kindly, "I happen to be a reasonable man. As you can see, I've searched locals markets but some of the bags of rice are outdated or hard as pebbles. I'm hoping if any of you have something fresh for me. 2,000 riels will do, I'm guessing."
One of the others, a Vietnamese, says: "Make it 5,000."
Slade rolls his eye. Again with this. This guy is worse than the kids. "3,000."
"5,000."
"Show me what you have in the truck and we'll see if it's worth first," Slade says, "If so, four thousand then. Take it or leave it."
The Vietnamese man rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says before looking at his companion. "Show him the delivery."
Two of the men lead Slade to the back of the truck.
As expected, the back of the truck is filled with 40 young women and children, all of them dressed in small clothing that shows plenty of skin and leaves little to the imagination. They are all huddled together whimpering in fear, wrists tied or handcuffed and some having bruises on their arms and legs (probably from being beaten or raped). He sees a twelve-year-old Vietnamese girl wearing a silver mini dress with a bruised eye and a swollen lip. There's even a girl from Scotland. Most of these girls are from around the world: Paris, Guadalupe, Rio de Janeiro, London, Hong Kong, Germany, Puerto Rico, the U.S.; etc. Girls that were probably tourists having a fun time but ripped out from the streets by someone posing as a tour guide named Jack and then dragging them into a black van in the middle of the night. How barbaric, Slade lets out a pitiful sigh as he continues looking at this devastating sight. Unfortunately, Slade isn't here to pity these girls. He's here under personal affairs and he's not going to waste his time freeing them.
"The twelve-year-old is named Hua," the Vietnamese man says while showing him around, "She's from my home country. Her parents sold her for 200 đồng."
"They didn't seem to love her very much then," Slade says, "Do you have anyone older? I'm not comfortable buying someone so young."
"According to law around these countries, twelve is the age of consent."
"Not where I come from though," Slade contradicts. He keeps looking around the truck without being too obvious, searching for the right spot to place the tracking device. "Be honest, you must have someone around here of appropriate age."
"We do have a few girls around here in their early twenties but they're not bought as much as the younger girls," the Vietnamese man says. Slade notices the guy's name tag. Lavan. His name is Lavan.
"Could you show me?" Slade asks.
"Sure," Lavan nods.
Lavan shows Slade four girls that are the age between 19 and 24. A 21-year-old Thai girl named Chanhira Terdsak. A 19-year-old girl from Czech Republic named Ivana Vlachová. Another 21-year-old girl, this time African-American, named Darelle Benson from New Orleans. And a 20-year-old from Texas named Nyla. Slade doesn't catch her last name though.
Almost all of these girls look sedated, probably the only way to keep them from fighting or running. The Jackal isn't stupid then, Slade assumes.
He sees a useful spot in the corner at the back of the truck. A good place to hide a tracker.
Slade points at a dazed brunette at the far end of the truck. "What about her? The one in the back. The brunette."
Lavan, however, shakes his head. "Trust me, you don't want to buy her. She's crazy. A psychopath. She stabbed five of my boss' men with a fork trying to escape. Luckily we're able to keep her in a sedative state. No one will buy her though. Too old and aggressive for the clients."
"What's her name?"
"Megan Kuttler. She's 24 years old and she's Jewish," Lavan informs him, "We took her out of Starling City three weeks ago and so far she's been nothing but trouble. She tried to help some of these girls escape like she was fucking Moses or something."
"What happens to girls like her that can't be bought?" Slade asks, acting curious.
"Boss' orders. We shoot them," Lavan explains.
Like putting down a rabid dog, Slade thinks. It's a cruel way to deal with women that want to fight for their freedom, Megan Kuttler is no exception. She doesn't deserve what's coming to her. On the other hand, she's provoking her own death so there's nothing he can do about it without the Jackal's men finding out what he's up to. He'll need to get closer in order to put the tracker, even if it means getting attacked by Megan McStabby over there.
"It wouldn't hurt to take a look though," Slade insists.
Lavan simply shrugs his shoulders. "Your money."
Lavan accompanies Slade to the back of the truck to check on Megan Kuttler.
Slade crouches down next to Megan to get a better look at her, even if it's for simply to place the tracker without it being seen. Slade can't help but admit that she's really pretty despite being skinny (probably from the lack of proper feeding), frail and having a diminutive physique. The messy wavy dark brown hair reminds him of Adeline. Adeline, however, has brown eyes. This Megan girl has blue/green eyes. The black corset around her torso and the purple shorts leave very little to the imagination.
"She is quite lovely," Slade compliments while slipping the tracker the corner. The girl is mumbling incoherent words to herself like a crazy woman.
"She's not unattractive, I'll tell you that," Lavan scratches the back of his head, "You might want to take a step back -."
"Aargh!" The girl screams in rage as she lunges at Slade and Lavan while swinging an open pocketknife she has in her hand. Slade immediately takes a step back. How did she get loose and where did she get the pocketknife? "Bastard! I'm going to kill you, Jackal -!"
Lavan quickly snatches her swinging hand and backhands her harshly in the face, causing her to knock her head hard against the metal wall of the truck. Ouch. Slade looks at his right arm at the feel of a small sting and finds a small torn on the sleeve of his suit with a fresh red stain on it.
"Bitch," Lavan mutters before taking the pocketknife away and spitting at her before apologizing to Slade about the suit.
"It's a'right," Slade assures him, "I'll have it washed and stitched when I return to Australia."
He then tells Lavan he'll have to think about it before deciding which girl he would purchase from them even though he'll just be thinking of an excuse of how not to buy them without making the Jackal's lackeys angry. He'll need to talk to his supervisor, which is total bullshit.
While heading back to the Jeep (which is still being guarded by the Kiran kid like instructed), he looks over his shoulder every now and then where he sees Lavan and one of the three men dragging a struggling and screaming Megan Kuttler out of the truck. She is backhanded in the face again, knocked out cold this time, before carried to a Hummer H1 parked in front of the truck where she is placed in the backseat. Lavan instructs to the two remaining men to stay and keep an eye on the delivery while he and his colleague take care of Megan.
They're going to kill her. Slade knows it. They'll probably rape her first and then kill her. Then they'll leave her body for the animals to eat. Sorry kid, Slade thinks while shaking his head and sighing in disappointment. Such a waste. But it's not his problem. It's hers.
That's when he hears the tracking device beeping. Frowning in confusion, he takes out the device that shows where the tracker is. It's been activated. Odd. It's not supposed to turn on by itself. It can only be activated by him or Wintergreen. Yet Billy doesn't even know Slade planted the tracker. Someone must have activated the tracker manually. And it's moving. What the fuck? The truck is still there. How the - ?
"You little bitch," Slade growls to himself while storming back to his own Jeep and pushes Kiran roughly out of the way.
"Hey!" the boy snaps.
Slade takes out the money gives it to Kiran. "There. 400. Just like you wanted." Then he drives away to follow Lavan's Hummer, leaving Kiran in a state of confusion.
Slade drives the Jeep as fast as possible, trying to catch up to the Hummer. The bitch of Megan Kuttler found the tracker and took it. She took Slade's only chance of finding the Jackal. He needs the tracker back. He only has one.
The Hummer makes a left turn, driving down another road, heading for a dirt lane that leads to the forest. It looks like they're going to kill her there, the place where no one would find her except for the animals. Slade follows the vehicle into the dark road, slowing down to keep a distance and keeping the headlights off so they won't see him coming. He puts on his mask and load his gun.
Once they are far from civilization, Lavan drags Megan out of the Hummer by the hair, ignoring her yells and struggles. She kicks and claws at Lavan's wrists but his colleague grabs her legs to keep her from kicking.
"The boss is going to kill us if he finds out we're killing her, Khalan," Lavan says.
"We'll just tell him she ran off," Khalan says, "Simply as that."
They toss Megan to the ground and Lavan kicks her hard in the stomach to keep her from getting up. She gasps as the air got knocked out of her. The two men laugh in amusement with Khalan pouring a bottle of vodka all over her.
"So what do you think?" he asks, "Should we just put a bullet in her brain or set her on fire?"
"How about we fuck her up first and then we'll decide how to kill her?" Lavan chuckles before approaching Megan. She tries to crawl away but gets kicked in the stomach again, more than three times. Even a rib can be heard cracking, causing her to cry out in pain.
"Go to heeeeelll!" she screams.
Lavan and Khalan laugh at this. Lavan pins her face-down while Khalan is pulling her pants down.
"Let her go."
The two men look up to see a man dressed in armor and wearing a black-and-orange mask, and aiming a gun at them.
"Fuck off," Lavan hisses at the masked man.
Of course, this is responded by getting shot, his head nearly getting blown off, blood and brains splattering on the ground, the body following afterwards. Khalan panics and tries to make a run for it, only to get his head blasted off as well.
Slade approaches Megan and aims the gun at her head.
"Give me the tracker," Slade commands her.
Megan breathes heavily, in strong wheezing gasps while staring at him with wide eyes. "Please...Help me."
"Why should I?" he asks.
"...I know where the Jackal is."
Chapter 2 is here. Finally.
Hope you guys like it.