Don of the Dead's Mansion, Outskirts of Wichita, Arizona
The shirtless man with a wheel tattooed on his chest walked behind his new employer, as the man paced down the corridor and into a room filled with DVD cases and CDs, the cases supporting a skull like face with a thin moustache pencilled in above the lip. Turning the gang boss looked up at his hireling, his face mirroring those on the cases, before with one swift movement he thrusted a CD into the larger man’s hand.
“As promised Senior Salamander, the latest of my songs all on a CD and signed by the most beloved Don of the people, me.” The smaller man stated. “All of my men get one as a signing bonus, now onto business. We have much product to shift and many…” He stopped as an earthquake rattled the house they were in.
“Senior is that normal here.” Salamander asked as his employer grabbed another CD and stuffed it into the pocket of his black trousers next to the handgun stuffed there between the red sash round his waist that doubled as a waist.
“No, you know what you stay here while I go…” The Don ordered before running out of the room, just as flames engulfed the room behind him. Not daring to look back, if he had he would have seen fireballs flying as Salamander fought back against his sub-terrain attackers, before sprinting after his cowardly employer, the floor burning away as he ran. Heading upstairs the two men reached the top floor, the building burning beneath them, before coming to a balcony that overlooked the estate. “Senor if we are to escape we need to jump.” The Don announced as he pointed to a three story water tower next to the building. With the longest jump the Don could muster he cleared the gap and managed to catch hold of one of the struts that supported the antique structure. “Come on!” He called, as he pulled himself up, just as flames washed over the balcony across Salamander’s body.
“Keep them off me!” Salamander yelled as he leapt off the edge of the balcony, only for a bullet to impact with his shoulder, the blow staggering him and sending him tumbling back into the house. Within seconds the house was being dragged down into the earth, the ash swirling round the ever increasing sinkhole as Salamander was pulled down below the surface.
“Sorry senor, it was you they seemed to be after.” The Don stated as he holstered his pistol. “You have been very costly, even if you didn’t mean to be. And now I have to find seniors and senoritas to replace you if I’m going to get my amigos package across the border.”
**
I35 just North of Temple, Texas
“Got any last words boy?” The slightly portly sheriff asked the Native American man dressed in jeans and an Arizona Cardinals shirt he was forcing into the back seat of the car, just as his deputy turned over the tomahawk the two officers of the law had confiscated from him, before placing it next to the handgun they had also taken off him. “What’s that speak up?”
“My partner will come for you.” The Native American replied. “You have to catch us both, to stop us.” He added, his words causing a big guffaw to roll out of the sheriff’s belly.
“Who do you think you are boy?” The sheriff snorted. “That Iron Man that’s going around at the moment? Grow up, you are nothing, no wait less than nothing.” He added, as he pushed the prisoner into the car, a smile growing on his face. “What you smiling about boy, you’re going nowhere save for county.”
“It’s Iron Mask, and I’m not him, that would be the man behind you.” The prisoner replied, his words causing the sheriff to slam the door in his face.
“What do you think I am stupid?” The sheriff stated.
“Yes.” A voice behind him replied, one that sounded echoed, almost as if had been said from behind a helmet. Turning round slowly, the sheriff and his deputy took in the figure dressed in homemade plate-mail with a power pack connected to his back, a bucket like helmet covering his face and a pistol in his hand. “You’ll be letting my partner out now I imagine.”
“You think I’m going to roll over for you?” The sheriff spat as he unloaded the entire magazine of his pistol into the man, only for the rounds to bounce off the steel plating.
“My turn.” Iron Mask replied as he fired a single shot into the sheriff’s leg, the law man going down cursing and squealing about his bullet wound. “Deputy if you would please give my partner his effects back, we’d be much obliged.” He announced as the deputy nodded and opened the door, before removing the cuffs and giving the former prisoner back his weapons. “Nice work Bobby, you want to do the honours?”
“Sure hoss.” Bobby replied as he took his tomahawk and smashed it into the boot of the car, the blade slicing through the lock and the metal. Lifting the lid, he pulled out a number of bags filled with white powder, a wad of bills and a pair of shotguns.
“That much cocaine suggests intent to sell.” Iron Mask announced as he propped the sheriff up against the car. “That’s some dirty business lawman, that’s why we are here, to make the law lawful and the criminal well darn criminal. I suspect you won’t mind if we take this for our own uses?” He asked.
“In other words we’re taking your shit.” Bobby replied. “And if anyone asks, its Iron Mask and Cobalt Tomahawk, not Iron Man and ‘Boy’.” He added, as Iron Mask took a shotgun and walked over to the beat up Chevy Impala that the cops had stopped Bobby in.
“You won’t get away with this!” The sheriff yelled as the two men put their loot in the boot and got in the car. “That busted tail-light will attract every cop between here and Austin.”
“What broken taillight?” Bobby asked as he flipped a switch under the steering wheel before pulling the car away, the rear lights both shining one final insult to the lawmen as they drove east into the sunset. “Ah so usual guys when it comes to flipping this stuff off?” Bobby asked as they thundered down the highway.
“Got a call while you were away, the Don wants to hire us.” Iron Mask replied. “And you know what that means?”
“Lots of money, cheap beer and fast women, totally worth putting up with the bad singing.” Bobby answered with a smile on his face as he slotted the Don’s CD into the CD player as in the passenger seat Iron Mask rolled his eyes as a catchy beat began to play before being accompanied by a voice that sounded like a cat being flayed alive. While he liked money, women and beer, he wasn’t sure anything was worth this.
**
Lay-by, I17, Arizona
It was night by the time the Chevy Impala arrived at the roadside verge, a number of vehicles already parked there, alongside a brand new RV, painted with a mural of the Don’s face surrounded by musical notes. Getting out slowly, their hands on their weapons Iron Mask and Tomahawk approached the vehicle, and the group of people sitting around a small barbecue behind it. The two men recognised the faces of the five people sitting there, even though out of all of them they’d only met the Don, the others they knew from the wanted posters, usually sitting right next to theirs.
“Ah all my friends are here.” The Don announced as he reached into a bag and threw a signed copy of his CD to each of the people he had invited. “Sit and eat, but listen as you eat, there is much work that needs doing and as Jerry Lewis says ‘You have a long way to go and a short time to get there’.”
“Introductions may be required first.” Bobby suggested as he sat down next to a woman dressed in silver leather pants and a metallic grey tank-top, her platinum hair tied into a long ponytail. “You can start miss.”
“Silver Sidewinder.” The woman replied in a voice that suggested boredom. “And I suggest you slither back to where you came from.” She added, her words causing Billy to get back up and sit elsewhere, a slight silver tinge to his brown eyes visible to all the others until he was clear of the woman.
“Watch your tongue with that one boy, she’s meaner than you can imagine.” A man dressed in a black suit and a tie with a red X emblazoned on it. “I think we all know each other by reputation, and that’s all I need.”
“Maybe for you lawman.” A man dressed in a lab coat over nurses scrubs hissed. “I’m not thrilled about working with a former member of ATF not to mention a man who calls himself the Executioner.”
“And I should be thrilled by working with you ‘Scorpion’?” The Executioner asked. “You still wear your mask, I threw mine away a long time ago.”
“Enough, enough.” A tall woman dressed in the stereotypical cowgirl outfit, her red hair tied into a bun sighed. “Why do you need us Don, you have men that can handle your errands.”
“I did, but alas tragedy struck.” The Don lamented. “Still business needs to be done, even when death rears her unwanted head. I have a package that needs to be delivered to an associate across the border.”
“So this is a milk run to Mexico?” The Silver Sidewinder asked.
“Guatemala actually.” The Don answered. “I of course will pay you. A million a piece for ten days sounds reasonable. Anything else will be negotiated when you bring my bus back.”
“Wait the bus.” Scorpion asked, as he jabbed a finger at the RV. “Tell me we’re not taking that thing?”
“Ci that is your transport.” The Don replied. “There is one thing about the package, one important thing that you must know.”
“And that is?” Iron Mask asked.
“You never open it.” The Don replied. “Not even if it’s on fire or sinking to the bottom of the Rio Grande. Open it and you’ll wish you hadn’t?”
“Why is that?” Bobby asked.
“Because either I’ll kill you.” The Don replied. “Or the man you are delivering this to will make you wish you were dead!”
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