Chapter 5: Where's Poochie?
Footage from the battlefield below filled the screen, the roar of the helicopter rotors filled the air as the Channel 666 newcopter circled overhead. Tom Trench's voice carried over the din.
"As you can see below, the Vees have committed a significant force to the taking of the Ba'al district. For those of you just tuning in, yesterday an incursion by the forces of the Ahuiateteo Gang butchered the Loblolly Gang and took the district. However, in doing so they greatly extended their lines into contested territory, creating what some of the more mature and dignified 666 staff members have dubbed the 'Ba'al Bulge'."
A round of snickers sounded from the camera crews and operators back at the station.
"Very funny," said Tom, his voice flat. "Anyway, as you can see, taking advantage of the situation, Overlord Valentino has dedicated a major portion of his forces to push the Ahuiateteo Gang back!"
"And if anyone knows how to handle a bulge, it's Valentino!" Katie Killjoy crowed.
Further laughter ensued, followed by a crisp rim-shot.
"Not helping, Katie," Tom Trench grumbled. "The fighting so far had been exceptionally brutal! No quarter has been asked nor given!"
The feed cut back to Katie Killjoy, perched behind her desk. "For those of you who don't know, the Ahuiateteo Gang are an upstart faction native to the Metzli Prefecture. They're led by the exceptionally brutal warlord… Mack-we… Macki… zoch…" She squinted at the teleprompter. "Did someone back there have a stroke?! How the fuck am I supposed to pronounce that?!"
There were some murmurs from off-camera, prompting Katie to snarl and throw her mug at the interloper, a pained grunt followed by a thud sounded from elsewhere.
"Anyway!" Katie said, snapping back to the camera with an audible crunch, rictus smile creaking like old leather. "Led by a brutal warlord named Miguel, the Ahuiateteo are both well-armed and highly experienced, having come from a splinter group of the Metzli Prefecture's former security force! They know the turf and have only the best bling-bling and bang-bang grabby, looting hands can get! This'll be a wonderfully messy battle, so stay tuned! Back to you, Tom!"
The feed cut back to the gas-mask demon hanging out of the helicopter bay door, hundreds of feet above the raging battle. "Thank you Katie. You couldn't be more right. Despite his relatively recent ascension, Warlord Macuilxochitl has more than made a name for himself and his gang for not only his sheer brutality and prowess in combat, but for his shrewd command and use of terror tactics! When I mentioned before that the Loblolly Gang was butchered, I wasn't exaggerating! Every member that didn't flee was hunted down and slaughtered like pigs! Their still-beating hearts or otherwise appropriate organs were carved out of their chests and burned, their blood used to paint the Ahuiateteo soldiers gear, and their remains used to decorate their vehicles and strongholds! Now, to our Channel 666 newsdrones for some up close footage!"
The feed switched to a low-flying POV, following a rush of four Aztec-styed Mastiff 2 battlewagons, flayed carcasses strapped to their sides and hoods as a dozen heads were mounted all about their rugged chassis, impaled upon long, brutally barbed spikes. The wagons rolled to a stop, their doors flying open as they disgorged a dozen soldiers. In their hands were blessed assault rifles and on their backs were wide, rectangular boxes. The soldiers wore standard security personnel armor, but had decorated their kit with golden chains bearing Aztec letters and tall frilled collars made from colorful feathers, the visors and chin guards of their ballistic helmets resembling the roaring jaws of fearsome beasts.
"I'm detecting a theme, here," Katie remarked.
"They are remarkably committed to the whole 'Aztec' thing," Tom commented. "Case and point."
The warriors came under heavy fire as a Vees contingent popped out from behind rubble, their crudely armed trucks blasting away with pintle-mounted machine guns. The soldiers scrambled behind any cover they could find. Concrete pillars, the burnt, gutted remains of cars, anything. Those that couldn't were ripped to pieces by concentrated bursts of automatic fire. The Ahuiateteo troops took position behind their cover, pulling out hinged devices with a raised notch at one end. Each one reached to the boxes on their backs and pulled out a short finned shaft ending in a bulbous, aerodynamic tip. They notched the darts into the thrower and heaved, the darts telescoping outward to over two meters in length as they did. The javelins launched through the air in a high arc, bridging no-man's land and streaking down upon their attackers. The Vees lines were peppered with explosions as the spear-tips, now very obviously packed with Hi-Ex, detonated. Blessed shrapnel shredded as concussions threw bodies and debris about. One javelin landed in the bed of the weaponized truck, scattering the gun crew and cooking off the ammunition.
"Grenade-tipped atlatls? Pssh!" Steppenwulf scoffed as they all huddled around the phone in his hands. "Fuckin' larpers!"
"I dunno," Pall said, thoughtfully. "The whole 'tacticool Aztec' style, I kinda like it."
"Deyz giving our boyz a poundin' tho," said Stompah. "Mebbe dere's sumthin to it?"
"If that's the same Macuilxochitl that I've heard of, we ain't seen nothing yet!" Puck said, perched on Stompah's shoulder. "Waitaminute… is that–?!"
The camera panned to an oncoming pillar of dust, zooming in to reveal a rapidly approaching column of Stryker AFVs, led by an armor-plated Rezvani Vengeance covered in weapon placements.
"It's Val!" Steppenwulf exclaimed.
The drone footage showed the column's approach from various angles as Tom Trench narrated. "It would appear that Overlord Valentino himself has entered the fray along with his personal guards!"
The Strykers unleashed a furious barrage of 7.62mm and .50cal machine guns on the entrenched infantry, with 30mm autocannons peppering their Mastiff 2s. Automatic grenade launchers joined in next, blasting apart their cover.
"Oooh!" Stompah cheered, pumping his fist. "Geddim!"
"What's Val doing on the field?" Pall said, flinching as a Hellfire missile sent a Mastiff sailing through the air. "Shouldn't he be coordinating?"
"Maybe he caught wind of something he don't like…" said Steppenwulf, smirking as Valentino popped out of the hatch of his Vengeance and began laying down fire with his 40mm autocannon. "Fuck 'em up, Boss!"
"Looks like Valentino's got company, Tom!" Killjoy said, cheerfully. "Here comes the rest of the Mayans!"
"Aztecs, Katie."
"Eat me, Tom."
"'Ere dey come!" Stompah said as a huge force of Ahuiateteo mechanized infantry crested a felled skyscraper, opening fire. "Dat's gotta be da whole shitteroo!"
"They were trying to pincer our guys!" Pall exclaimed as the sides exchanged furious fire. "But Val saw 'em coming! Badass!"
"Guess I know why Val's here," Steppenwulf said, pointing. "Here comes Miguel."
The drones circled around a demon sitting astride an enormous Wrathian stallion: Warlord Macuilxochitl. A huge and muscular demon, his rippling red-skinned body was bare save for a loincloth. Only his shins, forearms, and upper torso were clad in glittering gold armor. His horned head was adorned with a robust golden crenelated helmet, from the center of which sprang a tall bundle of colorful feathers. His glowing tyrian eyes locked on to Valentino as he charged ahead in his Vengeance, roaring as he swung his immense black Abyssal granite macuahuitl, its edges ringed with knapped, mirror-like blades, sparking and hissing with holy energies. He kicked his stirrups and the stallion broke into a gallop, flaming hooves carving molten craters into the ground as they did.
"Dat's one 'ard-lookin' bastid gunnin' fer Val," Stompah said, his tone wondrous. "Lukkee blighta!"
"What's that he's holding?" Pall said, pointing at the blade-laden club, the sparking edges. "What's up with that Shiny Shit?"
"That…" said Puck, frowning. "Is Bane-Steel."
"No shit?" Steppenwulf said, surprised. "I thought that stuff was a myth!"
"For a long-ass time, it was. But ever since PC Central went tits-up, all kinds of crazy kit started hitting the market," said Puck, pointing to the rippled, concave edge of the warclub's blades. "Look, see those edges? Somehow, they knock a chip off normal Seraphim Steel, causing it to fleck like obsidian. Word has it that doing this shorts out the energy field that lets normal Shiny Shit kill demons, causing it to surge when hitting demonic tissue. This means it doesn't just fuck with your immortality and regeneration, but actually shorts out your soul! Cut your finger, lose a hand. Cut an arm or a leg, gone. No grow-backs. Cut your cheek, slice your guts, anything near your vitals, and it's adios muchachos. And Bane-Steel ain't all, either! There's all kinds of crazy mystical shit in there that's just waiting to get snatched up!"
"Fukk me…" Stompah murmured, his tone wondrous. "I want wun! C'mon, Step! Letz jus leev da letta wit da ringscrapa an' head fer th'front! I gotsta get me wunna dem bane-steel choppas, I just gotsta!"
"Shaddup, Stompah!" Steppenwulf snapped. "Val told me to hand the letter to Red in person, and that's what I'm gonna do! Besides, I got some shit to set straight with that sonuvabitch–oh, shit, Micky's gunning for Val!"
The drones circled as the marauding demon slammed his mount into the side of Valentino's Vengeance, knocking the enormous armored limo off its wheels. Valentino grunted as he was thrown clear of the tumbling hulk. He skidded to a stop on the rubble-strewn ground, lips peeled back from his fangs in a snarl. Macuilxochitl bellowed like a jaguar and thundered towards the fallen Overlord, spinning his macuahuitl in his hand like a helicopter blade. Valentino raised his cannon-cane and fired. Macuilxochitl laughed gruesomely, his club swatting the 1kg shells away like flies.
Save one.
A shell hit his steed between the eyes, killing the beast instantly. Its legs folded out from under it, sending the warlord tumbling to the ground.
"Aw, poor horsey…" Stompah muttered.
The crimson Aztec demon pulled into a roll, leaping to his feet as he streaked toward Val, shredding club raised over his head before bringing it down. Valentino swung out with his autocannon-cane, deflecting the blow but carving a chunk out of his magazine. Macuilxochitl swung again in a blisteringly fast upward arc. Once again, Valentino deflected, the rippled blades shearing chunks of metal out of the barrel. With a fluid roll of the wrist, the warlord wove the warclub back to center, locking it with Valentino's useless autocannon, the two glaring at each other across the lock.
"Bitin' off more'n you can chew, Micky!" Val snarled, hat askew on his head.
"You won't even get stuck in my teeth!" Macuilxochitl roared.
A surge of energy passed between them, Tom Trench gasped in excitement. "And it looks like we have an official duel, ladies and gentlemen! Overlord Valentino and Warlord Macuilxochitl have just put it all on the line! Winner takes all! I can't believe it, folks! Whoever wins here, wins not only the disputed territory, but the loser's entire assets!"
Macuilxochitl yanked down on his macuahuitl. The hissing, sparking blades bit into the metal one after the other, slicing it like cheese. Blade after blade cut deeper and deeper until, with a savage push, Macuilxochitl sawed the cannon in half and sent Valentino leaping back to avoid the slash, his armored robe sliced open.
"I'm going to prune you like a hedge, insect!" The demonic Aztec warlord rumbled, striding towards the disarmed moth-demon. "Then, I'll rip out your heart and eat it, taking what little strength you have for myself!" He raised the club over his head. "FOR ALL OF HELL TO SEE!"
The immense, heavy macuahuitl streaked down in a glittering arc, the sound barrier shattering as the holy-metal encrusted club struck with enough power to crush a tank. A high, musical 'ting' rang out as shockwaves pummeled the battlefield. Standing before him was a grinning Valentino, a Seraphim Steel kukri in one hand, its blade lodged between the teeth of the warclub, not even shaking under the immense strain.
"Didn't ya hear, Micky?" Valentino crooned, a second kukri flashing out and grinding between the blades, sandwiching the club and locking it in place. "I don't got a heart!"
Val's lower pair of arms reached into his tunic, drew a pair of blessed sawn-off double-barrel 8-gauge shotguns, and fired. Macuilxochitl roared in pain as his rippling abdomen was blasted by half a pound of #4 buckshot. The demon freed his club and staggered back, clutching his bleeding belly.
"OOOH!" Stompah bellowed, pointing as he hopped up and down. "DAS IT BOSS!"
"Snappy boast followed by a flawless gutshot!" Pall cheered. "Ten outta ten!"
"Shh!" Steppenwulf hissed. "Boss is talkin'!"
"Oh, please!" Valentino cackled, tossing the spent shotguns aside, drawing two more kukris. "Don't tell me a little lead pepper is too spicy for ya! I came here to fight or fuck! The choice is yours, Micky!"
Macuilxochitl snarled and reared up, the close-range blasts having torn bloody but shallow craters out of his sturdy, rock-hard abs. He readied his warclub and adopted a fighting stance.
"That's it, baby!" Valentino roared, spinning his four Seraphim Steel blades in his hands, grinning maniacally as he lunged at the warlord. "Make me work for it!"
"Phwoar!" Stompah said, wondrously, as they watched the deathmatch unfold. "Lookit 'im go…"
"I've never seen Val work with knives before!" Puck exclaimed. "He's like a coked-out thresher!"
"Man, I can't wait to fight alongside him," said Steppenwulf, wistfully.
"He's a surprisingly gifted fighter," said Red Nightmare, hissing through his teeth as Valentino slipped past his enemy's defense, slicing out an eye. "Fwoo! Nice counter-riposte!"
"Heh, you know it, Red!" Pall chuckled, looking over at Red Nightmare. "You don't become an Overlord by being a pussEEEEEEEEE!"
The three demons leapt away, weapons drawn.
Red waved with his fingers, smiling winsomely. "Hello~"
"Fuck!" Steppenwulf growled. "How'd he get behind us!?"
"Believe it or not, I walked." Red examined his talons, brushing them on his lapel as he strolled around them, keeping his distance. "Excuse me, that was rude. Hey guys! It's been a while! Stompah, how's the nose?"
The bulky green Sinner snorted and adjusted his blessing-tipped L-39, keeping it trained on Red.
"Pall, still chauffeuring?"
Pall tried to keep his blessed MP7 steady in a shaking hand.
"Puck…"
The little imp grimaced, readying his MPX.
"...Nice hat." He turned to Steppenwulf, grinning. "And Poochie!"
Steppenwulf bared his fangs, hackles rising as he readied his battleaxes.
"Where have you been, buddy? All this time, I've been asking 'where's Poochie?' What's good? Did your bosses get that thing I sent them?"
Steppenwulf relaxed, heaving a sigh as he lowered his axes. "Took you long enough. These kids been giving you trouble?"
"Oh, you have no idea!" Red rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Like herding cats, I swear! But listen to me go on! What brings you fine gentlemen to my neck of the woods?"
Steppenwulf reached into his pocket, eyes going wide as he found nothing. He stuck his hand into the other one, again finding nothing. A whistle drew his attention, between Red's fingers was the letter bearing the Vees' seal.
Red's smirk blossomed into a grin. "Is this for li'l ol' me?"
"Give that back!" Steppenwulf snarled.
"Why?" Red looked honestly confused. "It is for me, isn't it?"
"Valentino told me to give that to you, so I will!" Steppenwulf said. "Give it back!"
"You want me to give it to you so… you can give it back to me?"
"Give it!"
"Nah." Red rubbed the letter between his fingers, smirking. "Ooh… lovely stationary. You may go now. Send Val my best."
Steppenwulf's knuckles popped as he gripped the hafts of his axes, pupils narrowing to slits as a vein stood proud on his forehead.
"Step…" Pall said, warily, eyes snapping wide. "DON'T!"
Steppenwulf roared as he hurled a battleaxe. The mirror-polished blade streaked through the air, spinning slowly, languidly at Red Nightmare's neck. The smiling sea-demon did not so much as flinch as the ax streaked by him, blade going wide and looping around his neck, missing on the backswing as it sailed over his shoulder. Steppenwulf smirked and summoned the ax back to him, his enchanted bracelets glowing. The ax returned in an arc, landing in his palm, bringing with it a young, blind imp, the collar of his coat snagged on the blunt edge of the blade.
"Give it back!" Steppenwulf bellowed, holding the struggling imp boy out in front of him, bringing his other ax up and tucking it under his chin. "Or peepers here gets a li'l off the top!"
"Syx," Red called out. "Don't."
'Syx' stopped struggling and nodded, dropping a baton that landed with a surprisingly heavy metal 'clank'.
"Is this how you Vees broker a peace?" Red said, eyebrow cocked. "And I thought I was a bad negotiator."
"The letter!" Steppenwulf said, his tone quiet and dangerous as he brandished his hostage. "Val said I had to give it to you as a peace offering. You don't take it from me and have it mean the same thing! Now. Give. Me. The fucking. Letter."
"Well, this is hardly fair. You've got an imp in one hand and an ax in the other. All I have is a letter," Red said, holding his hand out in front of him, his fingers splayed as though to catch something. "Mind if I…?"
"What're you–?"
Red's hand snapped back with impossible speed, the gunshot crack of the sound barrier breaking echoing through the parking lot. The sudden change in air pressure caused a small but intense vortex to form between him and the Vees, a conical surge of wind poured over their shoulders, concentrated on Puck. The little imp squawked as he was yanked from Stompah's shoulder and sent hurtling through the air, thudding right into Red's open hand.
"There," said Red, wagging Puck at them. "Now we both have an imp."
"Puck!" Stompah cried out, dismayed.
"Bad man has Puck! Bad bad man!" Puck squealed in his simplistic, bleating voice. "Please please help Pu-SQUEEEK!"
Red squeezed the little imp's ribs before locking him with a cold, mirthless glare. "That pickaninny act of yours is very offensive. You'll stop."
"W-whatever you say, Mr. Nightmare…" Puck groaned breathlessly.
"There!" Red said, turning back to Steppenwulf. "Now we have ourselves a nice little Wrathian standoff. Hostage exchange?"
Steppenwulf glowered at Red. "Give Puck the letter."
Red obliged. "Now, on the count of three, we let the imps go. One…"
"…Two…" said Steppenwulf.
"Three!"
They both tossed the imps out in front of them. Syx and Puck picked themselves up and brushed by one another.
"'Scuse me."
"Klk."
Puck returned the letter and Red pat Syx on the shoulder, bidding him to join the others near the trucks. The two parties stood opposite one another, the scant few meters between them a veritable gulf. Steppenwulf holstered his axes and started forward, back straight and head held high. Red smirked and folded his arms across his chest, looking down his gently sloped snout at the Sinner.
"On behalf of Overlords Valentino, Velvette, and Vox, I hereby offer you, Red Nightmare, our terms. Read them over on your own time. If you agree to the terms, sign the contract via Sanguine Seal and return to the address at the top. Understand?"
"I do."
"Then we'll be off," said Steppenwulf, turning around and heading back to his cohorts.
"Have fun at the front!" Red called after him as he headed back to the boxtrucks.
"Oh, I will." Steppenwulf said, his expression dark and furious. "Oh, and Red?"
Red stopped and looked at him.
"This ain't over." Steppenwulf turned around and held up his right hand, Shoresy's enchanted band glowed on his ring finger. "Between us. Me and you, we got a score to settle. Not today, not next week, maybe not even this year, but the war will end and the Vees will remember the little pissant what spat in their eye. When that day comes, I'll be back, and I won't be alone. We're going to burn that orphanage to the ground and roast those little shits on a spit and feed 'em to you. Then? They say the last dipshit that pissed off Val is still dying, inch by inch, day by day. And I'll be there every step of the way. That's what's coming. I just wanted you to know. To live with that until it comes knocking on your door. Understand?"
Red said nothing, his expression flat, eyes piercing. Steppenwulf scoffed and snapped his fingers, alerting his crew. "Let's bounce."
As they set off for their ride, Red called out: "Steppenwulf!"
He paused, spinning around. It occurred to him, then, that Red had never referred to him by name until now, only ever with demeaning nicknames. Did he finally rattle the sea-demon enough for him to take him seriously?
"Just thought I'd say…" Red nodded to something over Steppenwulf's shoulders. "Nice wheels."
Steppenwulf snapped around, glaring at the humiliatingly basic LX600, his blood instantly flashing to a boil with rage.
"Very… genteel. Suburban.." Red's smile was back with full, mocking force. "It suits you."
Steppenwulf growled and moved as though to march over to Red, only to have Pall and Stompah grab him and haul him backwards towards the SUV. Steppenwulf jabbed a finger at Red as they did, muttering a string of obscene threats and vows.
"C'mon Step," said Pall, sounding exhausted.
"'E ain't werf it, mate," Stompah muttered, soothingly. "Yer savin' 'im fer later, yeh?. C'mon, weev a wagh ta foit."
They piled into the SUV and buckled up. Steppenwulf turned the key and the LX600's banal, milquetoast plant chundered before settling into an unintimidating hum.
Pall loosed an explosive sigh and slumped in his chair. "Fuck! That guy scares the shit outta me."
"Ya nevva wuz a foita, Pall," said Stompah, chuckling. "Once I get some proppa loot from the front, imma run back 'ere and make sum sooshi!"
"Preach, Stompah. 'Til then, let's get the fuck outta here," grumbled Steppenwulf, his powerful hands wringing the wheel like it was a certain someone's throat. "Fuck, could this day get any worse?"
"The kid stole your wallet," said Puck.
"What?!" Steppenwulf patted down all his pockets, finding his wallet was, indeed, missing. "FUCKING RINGSCRAPER BRAT!"
"Don't worry." Puck reached into his vest and pulled out a studded black leather wallet. "I snatched it back."
Steppenwulf sighed and chuckled, smiling as he took it back. "Puck… sorry about the ringscraper thing. You're the best hellborn I've ever met."
"You lot are the best fallers I know," said Puck, chuckling. "Besides, I may have done a little lifting myself~" He reached into his vest, his face dropping as his fingers brushed his empty pocket. "Huh? What… oh, that little bastard!"
"Huh?"
"I picked Red's wallet when he wasn't looking, like that kid did with you," said Puck, gesticulating. "But the brat must have picked it back when I picked your wallet from him!"
"Huh." Pall grunted. "I gotta say, the kid's good."
"So, itz a wash, den?" Stompah said. "Broke even, innit?"
"No." Steppenwulf put the SUV into gear, glowering in the rearview mirrors as Red conversed with his minions. "Not even. Not even close."
The LX600's tires squealed somewhat as it peeled out of the parking lot at modest speed.
Red and Kabby watched as the Karen-mobile 'sped' away, Kabby shooting Red a sour look. "Why didn't you answer your phone?"
"You know why."
Kabby sighed and shook his head. "You put way too much stock into that future vision of yours."
Red chuckled, nodding. "Perhaps. But, hey, you're still here."
"No thanks to you!" Kabby grumbled. "Why do you fuck with that guy, anyway? You know that'll just make him gun for you later!"
"He could be troublesome if left to his own devices," said Red, shrugging. "Now, the second he thinks he has an advantage, he'll come right back here and test it out."
Kabby eyed Red, a smile on his face. "And then you'll kill him?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Anyway…" Kabby sighed, rolling his eyes. "How'd the research go?"
Red frowned, uncharacteristically sincere disappointment on his face. "Poorly. Syx was doing so well, but then…"
Kabby glanced over his shoulder, Syx was standing next to the boxtruck, an older incubus boy at his side, signing to him like he did that cold-eyed girl-boss, Setty. "Then?"
"He failed to land the killing blow on that gutterrat over there," said Red, sneering. "Apparently he was one of them a few years back. A 'Donna kid."
"That right?" Kabby looked over the lad; he was young and beautiful as incubus tended to be, but by that same standard it made their age almost impossible to determine between their teens and 30s. "Were they friends?"
"What?"
"Syx and the new guy," said Kabby, turning back to him. "Were they friends back when he was a 'Donna kid?"
"Why should that matter?"
Kabby shook his head, smiling; sometimes he couldn't tell if Red Nightmare was absolute pure evil, or so completely oblivious that he honestly didn't know better. "People tend to not want to kill their friends, Red."
Red flinched at this, for some reason, something like hurt on his face. He rallied quickly, turning away. "The boy attacked them. He was an enemy. Regardless, Syx froze and that allowed the Greebles to get the drop on him and the others."
"The who?"
"Some nobodies who run the chop shops around here," said Red, waving him off. "I took care of it."
"So, what's the problem?"
"The problem," Red replied, leaning over so they were eye-to-eye, his voice low. "He hesitated. When the time comes to land the killing blow, I can't afford a capo who hesitates. Such a thing could be the difference between life and death."
"Jeez, Red," said Kabby, backing away. "You're just killing that fat bitch, right? Shit! Can't be that hard!"
"Kill Belladonna, Kabby," said Red, eyes glinting with amusement. "That's an order."
Kabby swallowed and coughed, averting his eyes. Red smirked and stood back up. "I thought so. Besides, Belladonna is just step one. You heard that blustering meathead, the Vees won't forget this. When this war ends and the dust settles, they'll be back and in force. I need a corps of capable, loyal, and ruthless capos to run my army. If Syx cannot kill someone who tries to kill him, friend or no, he's not capo material."
"If you say so, Red," said Kabby, looking over at Syx. "Damn shame, though. That kid's diamonds. I'm tellin' ya, he'll be useful."
"I don't doubt it," Red conceded, the two of them walking over to the trucks. "But I need capos right now, not soldiers. His time will come."
As they made their way over, Syx noticed their approach and scampered over, waving something in his hand. He walked up to Red and handed him a small, brown leather wallet. Red studied it for a moment before patting his pockets, a mildly affronted look on his face.
"Puck, that little shit, he must have nabbed that from you when you grabbed him!" Kabby chuckled. "But it looks like the kid came through for you."
"Klk." Syx drew their attention to him, pantomiming that he was opening the wallet.
Red did and saw a glittering gold rectangle sitting atop the pages. He picked it up and read the inscription: "VVV Employee Credit Card Gold."
Kabby and Red shot one another impressed glances, toothy smiles spreading across their faces. Red reached out and pat Syx on the shoulder, chuckling. "Good job, Syx. Now, get your friend in the truck, we're heading back to the 'Donna soon."
Syx nodded. "Klk."
They watched as the blind imp made his way back to his defeated frenemy, Kabby nudging him with his elbow. "Toldja."
"We'll see," said Red, turning around and pointing at something on the ground. "Oh, by the way, is he dead?"
"Huh?" Kabby turned around to see a prone Emerson, still lying on the ground, fainted. "Naw. Idiot's still out cold from that scare you gave him."
"Well, wake him up," Red grumbled. "Team Four and Two will be texting in thirty seconds with viable product and we need you two to go get it. After that, we'll have four full bays and can head back to the 'Donna."
Kabby sighed and kicked the unconscious Sinner. "Geddup, ya slimy little bitch! The bad guys are gone!"
They waited a few seconds, the Sinner did not wake.
"Huh. Sleeping Ugly's out like a light," Kabby grunted, turning back to Red. "Well, I ain't kissing him. You?"
"Oh for–" Red leaned over. "Get up, Emerson!"
"GAH!" Emerson gasped, sitting straight up, digital eyes wide. "Huh? Wha? Who's–"
"Emerson," said Kabby, tapping on his phone, sending the coordinates to the confused Sinner's phone. "Back to work."
Emerson got up and looked at his phone, shuffling off. "Yuh…"
"How long do you think that dipshit's gonna last?" Kabby said, walking over to the truck.
"If he lasts three weeks, I'll be shocked," said Red, stepping in, Syx and Zak sandwiched between them. "That said, if he does last longer… I don't know. I might even get a little attached. He'd be like a mascot or something."
"Ha!"
Dew winced as he hefted an electric impact wrench. Didn't matter he'd just been worked over by a couple of big bastards, this junker had to get parted out as soon as possible. He laid down on a roller, shuffling under the carriage as he set about unfastening the bumper. The car jostled on its stands as the other kids clambered all over it, stripping out the interior, picking over the engine, and whatever other preliminary stuff they had to do before the lifts got involved to fully gut the thing. Before long, the beater would just be a frame, a metal skeleton ready to get sold off to scrappers. Then the parts would be sorted by value, cleaned, and sold by the Shop foreman, a portly clockwork Sinner by the name of Diamanti. The thrifty old coot knew all kinds of shops and dealerships that would pay top dollar for basic parts. He seemed to relish hoarding more specialty ones, probably to sell off at opportune times to suck up to the Boss Lady. Somehow, he always could tell the exact value of any given part, seemingly at a glance. This never ceased to confound Dew, as the tubby fuck knew his way around a rig about as well as he knew his way around a stairmaster. Still, the guy made good money for the 'Donna so long as the bays were full, and once the bays were empty, they'd go out to fill them again. Rinse and repeat.
On a good day, all four bays would fill and empty four, maybe five times by day's end. It was long, hard work, but Shop kids ate better than any of the other kids, save for maybe the Carriage House girls.
But only if they made the money.
Dew cast a rueful eye over at the Dodge Viper sitting in its bay, untouched. Well, mostly, Red's new driver, the stinky hobo imp, was spending his time hovering around the Viper, occasionally working up the guts to touch it. The look on Diamanti's face when both the Viper and the imp driver rolled in was something he wished he could bottle and sell. A new ringscraper on staff was no doubt galling, but Dew could tell the greedy shuckster was focusing how much he could get for scrap from a fiberglass frame. It almost made Dew smile, though that meant a bay was full and the remaining three would need to bust ass to compensate.
His frown deepened as he undid the last bolt, the bumper not so much as shifting before it was plucked off its mount and carried away. Dew switched out the head on his impact wrench and moved on to uncoupling the crash bar. He picked the Viper because he wanted to drive it, to feel its power and fantasize, even for a second, what it meant to own such a thing. And while it was a rocket with lots of torque and a sexy-sounding plant, the thing shifted gears with all the organic grace of a clockwork assfuck. Poor Rolf almost dislocated his shoulder pressing the clutch while shifting into fifth gear!
To think, he almost got skinned for that piece of shit.
The alarms on bays one and two bleated as the last two trucks rolled in. Dew undid the last of the couplings and the crash bar was hauled away. He shimmied out from under the frame and wiped his hands off on a greasy towel, watching as the rest of the bays filled. A coffee-stain brown Honda Accord in bay-2 and a flaking green Ford Explorer in bay-3, neither models were from after 1995. Kabby and Emerson walked into the Shop and jotted down their paperwork. Kabby grinned and grabbed a pallet-jack before scampering into the open box, emerging moments later hauling a fully laden pallet. Dew squinted, able to make out various brand names and item logos: tools, the crabby old imp had bought tools. Nice ones, too.
The Shop's foreman, Diamanti, looked up from his work-station. While the kids worked, the tubby Sinner would simply pore over various unique or specialty parts as they were brought to him. 'Tubby' in this instance was not a pejorative, at least not completely, for the Sinner literally resembled a pair of brass tubs bolted together with an ugly, round, balding head plopped on top. Diamanti was short for a Sinner, maybe five and a half feet tall, and about as wide across the midsection. He looked to all of Hell to be the lovechild of a moonshine still and a grandfather clock. Bulbous and brass with spinning gears visible behind his shiny red-silk vest and pristine white suit top, the lower half of his spheroid body clad in equally fancy, equally white dress pants. It spoke to exactly how much work the waddling fuck actually did if he could keep a white suit white in a chop shop. Satan help the kid who smudged his pristine suits.
"Ay!" Diamanti exclaimed, tottering forward on stumpy spring legs that caught and bunched his fancy pants, his wide cup-shaped feet clad in polished wingtip shoes. "What is the meaning of this, Kabby!?"
"Just went shopping, boss," said Kabby, looking very pleased with himself. "Got the Shop some better kit."
Diamanti leaned in, gold-ringed brass fingers tapping against his spherical gut with metallic, machine-gun clanks, something he did when particularly agitated. His blue right eye narrowed as he scowled, his silvery, press-formed tin mustache canted downward over his nonexistent mouth, the speaker grate pulsating with wordless outrage. His left eye was a three-lobed swivel, each lobe terminating in a different kind of lens that would shift over his right eye when examining something. The narrowest lens clicked into place as he examined Kabby's new purchase, a red, fan-shaped beam scanning the boxes on the pallet, and then the rest of the pallets in the truck. His head spun about on his shoulders, the beam cast wide as the various ratty, fourth-hand tools being used by the kids glowed.
His glare snapped back to Kabby. "Your purchase just cost us two week's earnings! Not to mention that fiberglass monstrosity in bay-1 will fetch hundreds less at the scrappers! You better have a damned good explanation for this, Kabby!"
"We're moving in a new direction." Kabby shrugged. "From here on out, we'll be fixing and selling higher-end whips. For that, we need tools that are good for more than just breaking shit down to frames. Finer power tools, detailing kits, electronics, all that jazz. We can make ten times as much tuning and turning than stripping and scrapping."
The clockwork Sinner reached out with a skeletal metal hand and grabbed Kabby by the collar, pulling him close. "Listen here, imp. I don't care what you think you know about this business, this is my shop. I'm the boss. Next to the Carriage House, I'm Ma's top earner. If you think you can come in here with your lingo and know-it-all attitude and upend my system, you've got another thing coming!"
Kabby held up his hands and smiled in that practiced, obsequious way that all Hellborn learned early. "Hey, man, relax! I didn't mean to step on your tail! I was just following orders, see?"
"Who's orders?"
Kabby's 'don't kill me' smile shifted into a malicious 'lube up' leer as he pointed to something high above Diamanti's shoulder. "Who do you think?"
Diamanti paused and turned around, his entire upper half spinning with a churning clockwork sound. Standing behind him with an incubus in hand was Red Nightmare, his expression neutral. "Is there a problem, Mr. Diamanti?"
"As a matter of fact," Diamanti snarled, his tinny voice rising to a reverberating boom that cut across the Shop. "There is, Mr. Nightmare! I understand you authorized a major purchase?"
"I did."
"By my estimation, buying all these tools cost over ninety thousand $ouls, yes?"
Red nodded, pulling out the receipt. "Ninety four thousand eight hundred and eighty, to be exact."
Diamanti clanked in outrage. "Do you have any idea how long it will take for the Shop to earn that back?!"
Red pursed his lips together, glancing upwards as though crunching the numbers in his head. "With double-shifts, all four bays full, with four-cycle turn-out per twelve-hour shift… six days."
"Six–!" Diamanti began, stopping when he processed the response. "Er… yes. If we fill all four bays four times every twelve hours, eight times per twenty-four, round the clock, it'll take almost a week just to break even! What were you thinking?!"
Red reached into his pocket and produced a golden credit card, handing it to him. "I was thinking 'free lunch'."
Diamanti looked over the credit card, his patina-blemished bronze face blanching. "A-a Vees Employee credit card?!"
"A gold employee credit card. Some Vees henchmen dropped by and were feeling very generous…" Red said, before shrugging. "Or were very careless. Either way, it took them a few hours to realize the card was gone and cancel it. In that time I think we made some very astute purchases, wouldn't you say?"
Diamanti boggled at the card and then at the new tools, Dew could practically hear the gears turning in that upturned mixing-bowl he called a head. "Won't the Vees retaliate?"
"Oh, that's already a given." Red chuckled, airily. "Don't worry about it. Just chip apart these junkers and keep on keeping on. If that'll be all, get rid of that card, will you? I need to talk to Ma… muh… ugh…" His voice dropped to an unmissable tone of absolute loathing. "Her Ladyship."
"Uh…" Diamanti looked back down at the card, realized what he was holding, and dropped it as though red hot. He looked up to see Red and Kabby walking off, the incubus in tow. "Right."
"Macks," Red called out. "Come."
The scruffy, filthy imp driver grunted an affirmation and scurried after the Sinner, casting a longing look back at the Viper.
"Don't junk the rocket, okay Big D?" Kabby called back. "Gonna talk to Ma, she'll wanna see it! Oh! Right! Emerson!"
Emerson looked up from his phone, confused and a little nervous. "Y-yeah?"
"Lunch time!"
Emerson nodded and hopped to his feet, running into his truck and emerging with a pallet stacked with cardboard delivery boxes, the logo of 'Belphegor's Burgers' emblazoned on the side, the stink of grease and salt and cheese cutting the acrid Shop miasma.
"Lunch time, kids!" Emerson crowed. "Get it while it's-FUUUCK!"
The ravenous children descended upon the feast like starving animals, burying Emerson in a sea of watering mouths, gnashing teeth, and scrabbling hands.
"Cardi!" Emerson wailed from the throng. "Help!"
"Sorry, Slug." Cardi sat on one of the benches, munching on a cheeseburger as she flicked at her phone. "No hard work on a full stomach. Cramps."
Dew watched as Red and Kabby left the shop with their new Hellborn acquisitions in tow. Part of him wanted to follow, but a bigger part of him was starving.
A sound came from behind him. "Klk."
He spun around to see Syx, in one hand was two full bags, from the look of the stained paper they were overflowing with cheeseburgers and greasy fries, in the other hand was one bag, presumably his. He handed the two full bags to him, nodding knowingly. Dew grunted in appreciation and took the pair, adroitly stuffing one into his backpack. Syx sat down away from the crowd and began to eat, his dour face holding a certain downcast energy about it.
Dew shuffled his backpack back into his cubby and dug in, not sure what to make of this peculiar anxiety blossoming in his chest.
Things were changing. Into what, he couldn't say.
