American Albino, Chapter IV: Tactical Deception

It wasn't even the Goddamn evening and this day was already the utmost of shit. And I hated it. Fucking Matthews, that political scumbag.

Lincoln Loud was introduced to the members of this so-called Blacklist, the old friends of Patrick Matthews that he proceeded to backstab and betray for his title that played with the town's tiny law and politics; the man was a basic sociopath. The Blacklist took up their base in an abandoned steel mill, where they set up shop.

Members included Johnny Remender, a journalist who printed an antagonizing piece about Matthews not long ago, which got him fired of course, and at no doubt Matthews paid money to his superior for it to be. He was quite young, and devilishly handsome from head to toe. The designated leader of the Blacklist gang. Next was Michael Ramirez, a public speaker whom Matthews saw as a threat. Even before, Ramirez and Matthews were not truly the best on terms, it was only natural that Matthews dare attack Ramirez via public shaming, and also brought to light some pedophilia from under him. Plot twist, they were fake accusations, Matthews needed to win that desperately. Dale Jennings was a college student in Dadetown, a firm believer and supporter of Matthews right until the very end when the town official thought of Jennings as a pest and planted a leaking scandal onto his feet and cried out. Yeah, you know how that went.

These three were the main members, with tinier followers behind them, but only just. And nothing more, they were too few in comparison to Patrick Matthews and his connections.

Lincoln stayed and listened, gathering all the information on the big players around Matthews. He learned of them. He received names and occupations. William Philip Mausse, mainly Bill Mausse, a junkie you could identify with short blue hair, a scrawny little shit who carried out the planting of false evidence, mainly because Matthews would pay him for. Aleksei Rostovich, the hothead Russian, ex-Spetznaz currently a mercenary. How Matthews got a mercenary, Lincoln did not know. But Rostovich really sounded like someone worth blasting away with a 12-Gauge. Victor Morales was another friend of Matthews', a photographer and only that. Other friends included Darren Raymonds, ex-military and a championship swimmer. Howell Spice. Josue Mendez. Too many names in association, too many of these scumbags.

Targets. Targets to shoot, targets to kill. All he wanted, all that made sense for him again.

"What the hell did I do to Matthews anyway?" Lincoln found himself asking.

"Nothing," Remender shrugged. "Its what he does, just like all the others. You really can't think anyone is good nowadays. This world is fucking lost."

"Tell me about it-" Lincoln stayed lensing against the wall when there were plenty of scattered chairs- and bean bags- all over. His mind had raced back to Chloe, and now as he was going back, he realized that since the car he'd stolen from Rex's boys, they'd track it down and make the connection that Lincoln was the one behind the massacre of neo-Nazis. That meant that Patrick Matthews would know. Here, to these guys of the Blacklist, he made it known and confessed. "Hey, I'm not new to the world of death."

"What- What do you mean?" Jennings inquired.

"The man is a killer," Remender surmised quickly. "Skip wasn't the only one, I'm sure."

"How can you tell?"

"For starters," Remender pointed out, "you were the first one to make a move. We've been watching you but I was quick to notice the right signs. You knew what it was before we did, and you decided to act on it."

"Nice observation, I suppose," Lincoln complimented platonically. "Ugh, I didn't need all of this."

"Yeah?" Remender scoffed in a laugh. "Neither did we, but here we all are!"

"So, the goal is to get the info that proves what he's done?" Lincoln wasn't completely onboard with the plan. His one and only MO was sending all the poisonous putrid scum right into the gates of the underworld. Patrick Matthews and friends have all automatically earned their spot to burn forever- and when Lincoln died, when his own soul was damned there, he would be making them suffer even in death. "The man tried to take my life-"

"Yeah, but not with us," Remender burped out. "Didn't think he'd take it that far."

"Yeurgh-" Lincoln sighed, looking around for any weapons, or that which he could pass off as one. "Yeah, no, I'd rather have his head on a platter."

"What-?"

"Hey- No, we need to to this legitimately!" Jennings implored. "His death will make him a martyr!"

"Not if you collect and release the info out into the public!" Lincoln fired back.

"We aren't murderers, man!" Remender shut down. "We are not like him, not like either of them-"

"This Russian guy's a merc- Why does Matthews need a merc?" Lincoln hit the spot. "Because, at no doubt, does he make enemies on a daily basis! A man of politics will have too many a people that disagree with him! Of course he needs himself some sort of bodyguard, when in light, the regular type meant too little for his taste. A top dog, a master gunner who could make all the noise he wanted as long as it was away from Matthews. "A paranoid one?"

"Shouldn't be too hard to figure it out," Remender laughed nearly broken. "Lord knows how many enemies he'd made in his career."

"And you're wrong about one thing..." Lincoln moved around without a plan, looking at all that the Blacklist had accomplished. Nothing. Nothing but collected files, articles and newspapers- doing it all by the book and not like some backhand CIA goon.

I'll get a gun and I'll come gunning for everyone involved, how hard can that be? The guy was right, this world is lost, but only if you don't sink down, drown with the animals- become one yourself. In this world, it's survival of the fittest, and not one ounce of flab is recognized in my body. Sure, I may die, but not today. Not this fucking decade, ha.

"And what might that be?" Remender played along.

"You guys might be clean, but I'm not, and I'm accustomed to the death," Lincoln stated, filing the room with this edge.

"You some veteran from Afghanistan?" Remender crashed down and fell upon a green bean bag. "Come on, tell us about your exploits. Surely you have some history around the way of the gun. Bet your best friend is a concealed Colt tucked behind your back on a regular basis."

"Bad people, countless guns," Lincoln shared. "That's all there is to it."

"Wow, what a vaguely cryptic answer..." Remender brought himself to smile, albeit in the dark. "I don't like that answer, I wish to know more about who we let in onboard this... Alliance."

"What, paranoid I'll defect on you?" Lincoln eyed the man Johnny Remender with observant eyes. "What was the point of coming to my aid if you were just going to ask these questions? You saw me kill that Bart person, was that not much of a red flag for you?"

"Nothing of the sort, I'd just like to know who my friends are and what they've done prior to this-"

"And you won't like what I've got to say..." Lincoln looked down upon Remender, towering right over him. "Bad reputation that means nothing right now. I won't dare bullshit your head with false lies and stories, I've murdered and shot people, but these guys, all of them before Skip Bart- They were all of the monstrous variety. Waves of scum and maggots who've lost their right to live."

"What-?" Remender signaled to Jennings and Ramirez. "Dale, Mike, we've- We've got some vigilante up in this place! Can you believe that?"

"What a pointless crusade," Jennings scolded. "Yo, man, you can't kill crime! You can kill criminals all you want, but it'll never end. Crime is not people, it is a concept, an idea that continues to spread! So long as there are people, there will be evil, and one man cannot possibly succeed, let alone make a dent!"

I didn't need to rid the world of evil, I knew that it was pointless, but this here- Matthews and shit- This pointed me, the living gun, right at them. No, I'm no Goddamn vigilante, I'd never dedicate myself to fire away at every piece of shit in the world. But...

There were people like the old Freights. Brought harm to them. Never cared for what they did, only doing what they did so that they could benefit from it. And looking at Patrick Matthews, it was looking too much like that. Just another criminal, but one who utilized his word and his people to do his own bidding.

A spineless coward, you are, Pat.

"I don't know who you think you are," Remender spoke down to the albino, "but you're no Punisher. That's all fiction, man, let's be real. And don't even get any funny ideas, you aren't some hero. You killed Skip Bart, that is good for us all but in general? You're going to be wanted, and they've seen your face, they'll be looking for you now. Matthews and Sheriff Wheete-Glass are on buddy-buddy terms, of course that'll earn you an ABP."

"Yeah, thanks for telling me."

"Want my advice?"

No. "Sure, what do you have?" Lincoln gave in.

"Cut your hair, get some dye. They're looking for some anime faggot, so let's make you a blond man."

"Come again?"

"Do-"

"I've gotten arrested before I came to Matthews' place," Lincoln revealed. "Met the sheriff, he knows my face- And he's a real piece of work, that one."

"Oh, so you've met him up close and personal, huh?"

"What the fuck?!" Jennings went noticeably berserk. "You mean you got yourself arrested?!"

"This very fucking morning-"

"Hang on..." Remender rubbed his chin. "Reports about a shooting across from Town fucking Hall... Y-you mean...?"

"Guilty," Lincoln confirmed for them. "Killed a guy who attacked a friend while we went to visit Matthews' office."

Remender was quick to exchange glances between the other two. "Two today? That's...-"

"Don't you dare come after us," Jennings warned, expressing worry. "I mean-"

"Well, don't let me sniff the fear off of you," Lincoln teased. "Both events are unrelated. You come in and attack someone in my sights, damn right I'm not gonna sit that out. It doesn't sit well with me."

"I see..." Remender got back to the point again. "Listen, there doesn't need to be bloodshed for this. Matthews can fall without falling, I- We want him to lose everything he's worked hard for. That's our mission- None of that pointless shit-flinging, we're legit."

"The drone we've used was to capture and record viable footage we can get, to turn into dirt," Jennings added in.

"So, again, are you or are you not ex-military?"

"Nope," he answered simply. "As if you needed a veteran when you've made it clear you don't want the easiest solution to be pulled out of the hat."

"And I stand by it," Remender stated. "We can win back our lives and maybe get praise for this, too! Matthews has wronged us all but we'll turn the tide! We're not cowards, we're not spineless fools whom we'll let be walked all over as if we're nothing! He thinks we'll take it like good little boys and that's it! Him and his friends, they're all insane, and they ridicule us as if we are losers!"

And he vented off as much as Matthews had given him that hate-boner. I didn't want to, really but he needed to- These three strangers were fucked over just like that, and they had enough of it. I wasn't part of all of this so I felt the least affected- And the most eager to shoot Matthews in the fucking face because of that, I gave no remedial shit about their politics or the game.

Nope, didn't matter to me, but to Remender, the condescending, Jennings, the rager, and Ramirez, the open-minded. First off, I needed to get ahold of a gun- Any gun- And have it loaded. Next step- Well, I'll figure it out.

"Right, I never explained my idea here..." Remender cleared his throat. "We need someone to sneak into Matthews' mansion. A simple grab-and-go mission for the hard drive. His computer is a basic gold mine worthy of being exploited. That's it, that's how we do it! That's how we win! I'm sure he has dirt in there we can make, I can feel it! I can feel the tide on the verge of turning!"

"Break in and out with the computer's hard drive?"

"We've got that covered, too!" Remender proudly pointed to Jennings. "He can provide with the tools to transfer-"

"Transfer, download, whatever you wish to call it," Jennings tossed it. "It's that simple, we've done the groundwork and discovered the times routes his private guards take. We've been at it for weeks, watching them all rotate, move and maneuver at- You know, the whole nine yards! Come over here, let me walk you through it."

Lincoln took a tour of the monitor station, gazing upon the setup they've established for themselves. Jennings was eager to be nerdy and show Lincoln a blue square-shaped device, port of it connecting to the computer's hard drive. "I humbly introduce you to Sprocket-3. This baby is high-tech. All flash drives in existence can only copy or transfer files, but Sprocket-3 is destructive. Plug it into your computer and press this button here-" Jennings held a finger above a red button on the device. "It will take all the data and pour all out into the internet, just like that."

"Sounds even more simple," Lincoln thought. "Plug it in, and press that button?"

"That's it, man," Jennings nodded. "That simple."

"Simple..." Lincoln nodded, but did not like it, planned not to resort to it. "I like it."

"Of course you do!"

"In the meantime, you can just relax or whatever you wish, we're bunkered down for a season," Remender insisted, flashing out a thumbs-up. "We've got stuff aplenty, knock yourself out."

"That drone-" Lincoln looked to Jennings. "I'd like a turn on it."

"Oh..." The man scratched his head, somehow looking rather guilty. "Uh, yeah, sure!"

"Stop being weird, Dale," Ramirez went. "Give the man a turn."

Night

Lincoln took control of the drone for the rest of the day. He flew it all around town at a high angle where it appeared overhead as a bird to the latter population. The plan here was for him to locate the police precinct, and he did. And he watched and waited for hours, introducing himself to the officers of Dadetown, Wheete-Glass' friends and comrades, but the main objective was waiting for Wheete-Glass go sign off of his shift- And Lincoln had finally seen to it that the racist copper leave.

And Lincoln guided the drone after Wheete-Glass, trailing him to the man's house, getting an address. Bingo...

In between, there had been no further contact from Matthews yet, but word had to have been out. The inevitable manhunt for Jerry Cruise to go underway. There was a joke in there somewhere.

Time to go hunting now...

It was too easy, just as easy as the Blacklist members were planning. Exposing the political criminal with no blood being shed- And that was never the method he would have chosen.

Yeah, how do you know the man won't just rebound and start over again? You can only stop someone for so long until they rise from the ashes again. Those three are wrong, death is the only way to resolve this. My way. Returned the drone and these guys gave me no lip about draining the battery. No one was really watching what I was doing, guess they were under the impression I did further surveillance on the mansion. Yeah, that's more better an answer than what I've got. Steal me a police car or at least a CB radio. We'll see if I can turn this around.

So much for not making noise.

Lincoln walked around in the dark, following the address where he knew the sheriff lived. Twenty-one streets upward, seven blocks to the left, and the fifth house after one right before the crosswalk. Sturdy little house of a tan color, one floor, wide backyard. All he could see until he was up close and personal, and he was by then.

Better have you a gun somewhere, sheriff cocksucker.

Lincoln came into the front, knocked on the door without a word.

First rule of thumb, and contradictory to popular belief, you don't have to break in to a home you've set in your sights. You can come into the front door so damn easily and in a welcoming manner if they do not know you- Now, Wheete-Glass knew me, makes this ineffective for me-

The second the sheriff, in a tank top and shorts, opened up, Lincoln said hello by punching and pushing him back into the house and closed the door with a back swing of his leg.

I beat him silly, had him down on the rocks.

Lincoln dragged Wheete-Glass down to the kitchen, where he then proceeded to load his hands with a pair of kitchen knives as the sheriff bled away over the kitchen tiles. "Now then..."

"Y-you again! How dare you...!"

"Shut up and beg for your life, worm," Lincoln spat, driving one of of knives right above his left kneecap, making him scream wildly in pain. "What are you doing in my name?"

"What!?"

Lincoln dropped down to bend, facing Wheete-Glass closer on ground level. "What is Matthews pulling here now? What's the deal with me?"

"You- You motherfucker, we'll find out who you are, and we'll lock you up! One or the other, if not both!" Strangely, the man laughed through the pain, and the blade was still stuck in his leg. He dared not move about now, but the man found something gravely amusing. "You're going to lose! It doesn't matter if you've been framed or not, you're fucked as it is now!"

"How so?"

"Have you not considered that we anticipated this move?"

The atmosphere changed, and Lincoln was soon facing the balcony, seeing how wide it was, and how exposed the inside could have looked from the outer angle. And when he looked down to his chest, he saw the red laser. Son of a bitch!

"It was strategically smart of you to come for me!" Wheete-Glass complimented. "Guess what? I made no move on you just yet! You coming here, breaking in and trying to kill me! Doesn't that just scream-?" Lincoln kicked his face in, shutting him up.

Damn it! I walked into a fucking trap! Now they've got what they want out of me, they can play it out A, B or C and I'll never look good. Damn it, why didn't I consider this?! How did I-?

Whoever the shooter was, they fired and hit Lincoln right in the chest, blowing him back into the fridge, spiraling downwards right across from the unconscious sheriff. Not a kill shot, but one where he was needed alive. Alive for their own gain, for them to have a greater advantage. As luck would have it...

Heather Eleanor White, the pale-skinned teenage girl older than any of them, came limping out of the dark. A doll-like grin of great joy formed her face, and hef smell, sniffing away like crazy, had led her to the scent of spilling blood. The vampire girl was delighted that her captor, the pedophilic sheriff, had kept his half of the bargain made. "Oh splendid! A fresh corpse to ravage!"

"What- What the fuck-?" Lincoln kept his hands to the gunshot wound, eyes shooting back and forth between the hole and Heather. "A daughter?!"

And Heather grabbed Lincoln by his feet, dragging him with a secret amount of super strength, taking him into the basement. "A girl's gotta eat..."

AN: Who could have expected the deadly Gloom to enter stage? Four of eleven done, seven more to go.