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The Hip Pocket
G.J. Forza (Organist)
Being Shuffled Out of Buffalo
This was the year we would make it. Things were going well. Work was there for the choosing and what we choose this time was based completely on money. It was 1968 and we were being paid $1250.00 per night. We thought we were on top.
The Hip Pocket was a five piece "show band". In those days that meant you put on a theatrical presentation, not just played music. We traveled with a large truckload of equipment; many amps, speakers, lights and toys.
The lead guitar player alone had 12 four-speaker Marshall cabinets with four modified power heads. The bass player used 8 Bruce bass cabinets, which had built in 200 watt amps and two 15" speakers in each. This wall of speakers were so high that the drummer and myself, the organist, each had to be staged on risers many feet in the air.
Our light show was great. We carried all the toys. Lights, strobes, smoke and bubble machines, and projectors. We had flash boxes that used gun power to create flashes of light and smoke. A side line: One of these boxes with six charges was placed on the top of my B-3. On this particular tour we had some new road staff and they didn't have it all together.(to say the least) One of these Roadies was given the job of firing the charges on cue. The remote box had six switches, one for each charge. Well the time came for one of the charges to be fired, but the “Fool” hit all six switchers at once blowing me off the organ and setting my Afro ablaze. I came up from the floor with my huge round head of hair smoking, my eyebrows singed. The crowd went nuts; they thought it was all part of the show.
Back to Buffalo. The club we were booked in was the Glen Casino, a complex consisting of a club and an outer park with Coney Island type amusements. The club itself was Huge its capacity more than Two Thousand. The stage was also very big, the type you would see in an old theater, cat walk and all. It was a Saturday night and the place filled to capacity. We were doing our second set when I was “egged on” to do the Helicopter. I did…
Let me explain. The Helicopter was something that started in some hotel one night when we had a bunch of groupie girls there and as a test to see how serious they were about partying I took out the old wanger and spun it around. If they didn’t run they were down for just about anything! One of the guys yelled out, LOOK HE'S DOING THE HELICOPTER!! So it was named.
Back to the club. Unknown to us the clubs owner was watching the show on closed circuit TV and took exception to this exhibition. We found this out when the power to the stage was cut and he came out screaming, waving his arms in the air, threatening to kill me. (you can fill in the words, a fifty year old Italian club owner) Needless to say I zipped up and ran.
The club was filling with college students who in the spirit of the Sixties assisted me in my escape. A couple of them told me they heard the owner yelling for someone to call the police, so they put me on the floor of their car, threw coats over my body, and smuggled me off to my motel.
Out of work for the rest of the weekend (we had another booking in PA the following week) we decided to party. (surprise ha?) Leaving the work to the Roadie's, I dropped a couple of hits of acid and began to smoke and drink. In my room, which was a small cottage, were eight or ten of us. I had two girls, one on either side of me on the bed. I sat there in my underwear with a bottle of wine, a joint, and a pellet rifle between my legs. One of the Road Manager had gotten me pissed and I had him pinned down in his cottage across from mine. I had shot out a couple of windows and he was laying on the floor in fear for his life.
By now very stoned and anticipating an evening of sexual pleasure, I sat as described, music blasting and the walls melting as the trip began to peak. Suddenly the door flew open; State Troopers with their guns drawn stood there wondering to shoot or not; for seeing me with the gun between my legs they must have thought I was some sort of madman taking my last stand. They placed me under arrest, cuffed and off to jail.
What we didn't know was that I was being looked for, a mini manhunt of sorts. The owner of the club apparently had some pull with the local police and with the help of the Motel owner's call about the shooting and mention of the band's name, they put two and two together and came arunning. (aren’t the police intelligent)
The next morning the band paid my bail and we were told to GET OUT OF TOWN!!!
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I needed to step out for a while. Most of what happened after the match was a blur. Medical staff left me alone after they found out I only had minor wounds and instead focused on the more grievously injured. I doubted there were many survivors. I really hoped Hank was okay. I had no idea how that man could fight through those injuries. After I got out of the arena, I was hounded by rabid fans riding the high of the carnage. They still cheered me on even after the event, which had forced me to seek isolation outside along the shaded side of the warehouse. I needed time to think. I leaned back and gazed at the bustle of The Second’s Reverse Floor far above. At all of the lights flickering and drifting about. I could see the elevator I took down from here.
Tonight was filled with too many emotions. Both good and bad. The rush of authentic combat was something I haven't experienced in a long time, and never at the stakes I’d just endured. I knew being a Freelancer was dangerous, that’s why my parents spent a fortune on my augs in the first place, but I wondered if every job I’d end up doing would be this dangerous. Christ, this wasn’t even part of my current job, this was just me trying to find a setup! I was beginning to wonder if I was competent enough to be a Freelancer. The convoy heist was tomorrow. I spent all this time and I didn’t have any preparations done. Hell, I came here to find a Valkyrie and I might’ve ended up killing her or permanently damaging her in the process. She was my only lead. I might’ve really fucked this up.
I couldn’t afford to doubt myself though. Not after the money my parents sunk into me. Not after the eight years of arduous training I sunk into myself. Not after I sacrificed almost everything I held dear in life, including my body, so I could pursue this dream. I wanted this so bad, and I finally got it. This is where I wanted to be, so the only way I’d give up is if I went irreparably broke or died.
And with how much tiff I made in that match alone, I doubted it would be because of the former. With how things have been going tonight, however, the latter was seeming increasingly likely.
It felt amazing to be back in the ring again. The nostalgia was overbearing and I had to admit that the raving fans were an ego booster, even if I wasn’t in the mood to interact with them. Everything has felt so liquid and unsure since I stopped fighting here years ago. I was happier back then, it was all so clear. Win the next fight and be with my friends. Now for almost a decade I’ve been pursuing something I wasn’t sure would even work out. God I hoped things would fall into place.
The thrill from this return wasn’t worth it. I wish I could’ve left this part of my life in the past. Seeing what it was now, seeing who someone I once called family has turned into was like a perversion of my memories. It turned what was once bittersweet into heartbreak. I’m pretty sure Uncle G hates me, and now I hate him back. He wouldn’t put me through what he did if he still cared about me.
I let out a frustrated growl and looked down. I could see the drying blood still coating my foot and I remembered the man whose life I took. It was so violent and excessive and unnecessary yet it’s something I did. Something I did confidently. The scariest thing was how little it was bothering me. I’d anticipated having to do this one day. Freelancers are paid killers, and he was only the first of many if this played out right. Still, I thought it’d be harder to cope with. Maybe I was just a sociopathic bitch.
“Nala!” My name drew my attention to the corner I was hiding around. Aubrey peeked over, making sure I was here. Her tired face lit up upon seeing me. “Ah! I saw you hide over here, but I thought you needed some space.” Her face softened. “You seemed really off after the fight. Do you need more time to yourself?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. My thoughts weren’t good and I knew being alone wasn’t the best for me right now. “Some company sounds nice actually,” I told her, shifting my gaze back towards the sky.
“Ah,” she began, sliding up next to me and leaning against the wall too. I could feel her eyes on me. “What happened? I thought you didn’t want to fight?”
“I didn’t,” I confessed with a growl. “But I came here for the Valkyrie, and Big G was only gonna let me see her if I fought. I didn’t expect things to go the way they did though.”
“I was worried something like this would happen,” Aubrey admitted sympathetically. “G has been through a lot since you left. You’re not the only one who…” she stopped herself for a second but still continued. “Everything has worn on him. Nala, he’s not a good man anymore.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that,” I sneered before turning my head back to her. “You hear anything about how the Valkyrie and Hank are doing?”
Surprisingly, Aubrey snickered. “Oh I’m sure Hank’s fine. He’s been through much worse and recovered.” I raised a brow. The man was stabbed in the head and impaled. How much worse can you get? Then I remembered the cyborgs that got popped by the Valkyrie. I guess that’s worse. You can’t recover from that.
“As for the Valkyrie, I’m not sure. How hard did you hit her?”
“Hard,” I grimaced. The magical harpy didn’t give me much choice. “But that first uppercut she took would’ve ruined somebody unaugmented and she still got up from it. Either she has some dermal implants or Valkyries are naturally tougher, but I’m no expert. I’m hoping she pulls through.”
“Why’re you after her anyway? Is it a contract?”
I laughed. “Nah, actually. Can you believe it’s not? I heard she’s after the same target I am, and I need help.”
“So you’re going to ask the person you just kicked the shit out of for help?” she cringed.
“That’s the plan.”
“I hope there’s a plan B.”
The two of us went back inside to pull up a pair of stools at one of the food stalls and catch up some more. Well more Aubrey gushing about my fight. And I didn’t eat. My mind was too conflicted and filled with gory images. Hell, and despite a trip to the bathroom to try to clean up, I know I had some giblets stuck to me somewhere. Food was the last thing I wanted. I could sure use a drink though. And a long shower. But I’d have to wait awhile for that second one.
In the midst of our conversation, somebody tapped my shoulder and a soft voice caught my attention.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Ma’am? I wasn’t nearly old enough for that shit. I turned, stunned to see the forest green hair and tattoos of the Valkyrie. She seemed off compared to when I’d seen her in the pit. Her hair was no longer flowing and her brown eyes were soft and gentle. Her tattoo like runes were a dull white instead of shining. She still wore the tank from the match, but had on a transparent jacket over it. About every second, a wave of bright color would wash over the piece of clothing, cycling through a selection of hues. Instead of normal leggings, now she wore a set of tight leather pants with combat boots. She also applied black lipstick and eyeliner. A bandage was wrapped around the top of her head, a little red seeping through. I couldn’t believe she was alright let alone up and moving already. What struck me most about her appearance, however, wasn’t the makeover or the fact that she wasn’t glowing. It was that she looked so meek. I noticed she was smaller than me in the fight, but now she just looked so… fragile.
“You’re up,” I forced out through my astonishment.
“Yeah, I heal very quickly,” she stated matter of factly in her quiet tone. “May I take a seat with you?”
“Sure?” I gestured to the empty stool to my left. She smiled politely and hopped onto the seat before getting the vendor’s attention to order. I gave Aubrey a glance and she just shot back a shrug, looking just as lost as I was.
Focusing back onto the Valkyrie, I noticed a small black battery on her back with a bunch of warnings of voltage and acid around the device. It was embedded in the jacket and was what the colored light spread from.
“I like your style,” I tried to break the ice once she finished ordering.
“Thanks! You look really nice yourself,” she returned with a sincere smile. “I love the hair.”
I was blown away. Not only that she was up and walking, but she was not at all what I expected. I must’ve sounded awkward as hell to her as I struggled to really take hold of the situation.
“I’m sorry,” I explained. “I’m just-”
“Surprised to see me kicking?” she interjected. “Yeah, I’m lucky. Even with my healing factor you really gave my noggin a good whollup,” she ended with a giggle. “That’s part of why I’m here, actually. I could tell you were holding back. I wanted to thank you for going easy on me even though I was trying really hard to kill you.” That last part really didn’t sound right in her tiny voice. “It’s not everyday I find somebody who can beat me, but you saw right through my limitations. I need to be more careful for people like you.”
“I wouldn’t say I went easy on you,” I confessed. “It was a struggle to stay ahead of you. But still I wasn’t trying to kill you. You’re…” I trailed off, picking my words carefully.
“I get it,” she assured with a wave of her hand. “I’m a rarity. Half the people in Titan think I’m a precious gem that should be protected. The other half wants to kill me simply for the status of being able to kill a Valkyrie.” She spoke so casually, like that wasn’t a huge deal.
“I meant I didn’t spare you for totally selfless reasons, if I’m being honest,” I explained. “Not that I wanted to kill you in the first place. I was coerced into that fight, and didn’t know what I was getting into.” I shook my head and continued. “Anyway, I need your help.”
“Oh?” she tilted her head in curiosity. “With what?”
“There’s a Daitech convoy moving through the lower floors sometime tomorrow hauling important cargo. A prisoner. I heard you were after it.”
“Oh...” she looked like she was thinking for a second. “Hm, if it was anyone else, I’d tell them I don’t know what they’re talking about. But after seeing you in action, bringing you along might not be a bad idea.” It sounded more like she was thinking out loud to herself. “I’ve been wanting to find more people to hit it with anyways, but I’ve been hesitant to ask anyone.”
“Social anxiety?” Aubrey offered jokingly.
“No,” she turned back to us. “I’m not sure who wants to murder me or not. Like I said, it seems like half the people out here want to end me.”
“Sheesh,” Aubrey cringed. “I know The Second isn’t the safest place, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“Not for you maybe,” she sighed. The vendor returned with the Valkyrie’s drink and she took a sip. I noticed his eyes lingering on her with a nervous expression. “It’s quite tiring. Strawberry Thunder had the perfect chance to kill me, however, and didn’t take it. I suppose I can trust you. And you seem quite skilled. I’m sure you’d be useful in pulling this off.”
“Please, call me Plan B if you’re going to call me anything,” I directed. “Strawberry Thunder is an old name I’d prefer to leave behind me. Plan B is my Freelancer alias.”
“Of course. You’re a Freelancer,” the Valkyrie chuckled and shook her head. “I’ve thought about getting into the profession. Call me Syra,” she introduced with a nod. Oh yeah, I remembered Big G calling her that in the match.
“Why’d you go with Plan B as an alias?” I heard Aubrey query.
“Freelancers usually work in teams,” I told her the spiel I’d heard over and over during training. “Whether temporary or permanent. Tackling a contract alone is often suicide. You have to find someone to cover your weaknesses. Most ops are done with stealth and subtlety, but I’ve never been so good at that. I’m good at rushing in and doing damage, so when stealth goes out the window, I’m Plan B.”
“So I can assume information gathering isn’t within your skill set?” Syra teased.
“That’s why I’m here,” I told her. “I heard you might have some information on the target. The fact that you can blow shit up with your mind is just a bonus.”
“You’re in luck, I know some, yes,” Syra established. “What do you know?”
“Only that it’s a Daitech convoy going through The Third tomorrow. I don’t know exactly where or when it’s supposed to be moving or anything else for that matter.”
“Well some new things I can tell you is that the convoy begins its journey at 17:00 starting from the Lyndon Rail Yard and is scheduled to arrive at the Lenore Raven Sky Port at 18:20. I’ve already scouted all possible routes and the only one fast enough to line up with that time frame has two points of interest that we could use. A small overpass over the highway, or the construction site of a casino along the side of the highway.
“The overpass I feel is more risky because of the lack of cover and obvious point of attack, but the casino has its own slew of issues to bypass. The most pressing one being the crew stationed there. I doubt they’d let two civilians just stroll onto their site with intentions of starting a firefight with a Corp.”
I blinked, trying to take that all in. “Wow you really did your homework.”
“It pays to be prepared,” she held her head up proudly and smiled before that pride turned into embarrassment. “Although I have no information on the vehicles or numbers we’re dealing with. And I feel we’d be going in woefully under gunned.”
“Maybe I can help out with that last bit,” I offered. I’d already pulled one burned bridge out of the ashes, albeit in a much worse state than when it was left in the fire. What was the harm in dredging another one from its wreckage?
“Aubrey.” The stocky woman looked at me, gulping down some noodles from her bowl. “Where can I find the Street Breed these days?”
The old factory was massive, and very much still functional. I stood across the barren street of the multistory, rectangular structure. Large pyres of smoke shot out from stacks of obelisks lining the roof above. The building was lined with windows emitting dull light and, in the silence of the night, you could hear the hum of multiple air conditioning units that were latched onto the place. The Breed must be doing very well for themselves if this was their base of operations.
I felt bad leaving Aubrey again. Only because I felt like she thought I was never going to return to the Underdown now that my business there was finished. It wasn’t finished. I wasn’t going to let Big G get off scot free. I was going to watch that place burn. It was no place of happiness to me anymore. I’d be back soon.
For now though, Syra had followed my bike in an unassuming grey sedan. Something she said she stole from someone on The First to keep a low profile. She promised they deserved it. The car contrasted greatly from my vibrant, bulky motorcycle and considering what she was, that was for the best. If news of her existence wasn’t well known before, her appearance at a fighting arena would cause Titan to explode with rumors. Blending in was the best idea.
The Valkyrie stood beside me, gazing at the factory as well. Her jacket changed its sheen from its previous see through form to a solid, glossy black, making it look like vinyl. She wore a pair of leather gloves to cover what little runes ran along her hands and zipped up, popping her collar to try to hide the markings on her neck and chest. I suggested she get a scarf to mask herself further. She took it into consideration but we didn’t have time to shop for accessories. Well, at least, not those kinds.
“The people here are trustworthy?” Syra asked, uncertainty in her gentle voice.
“I’m not sure after seeing Big G again,” I admitted. “But we need guns and gear, and these are the only contacts I know that can provide us with both.” I stepped forward waving for her to follow. We reached a reinforced door along the side of the place and I gave it a hardy knock. The metal on metal echoed loudly through the emptiness of the outside.
“Are you certain somebody will be here this late?” Syra’s eyes flicked around.
“They wouldn’t leave their assets unguarded. They’ll have somebody here at night.”
Right on cue, a small slit in the door about eye height slid open to reveal a blue, skeptical gaze from the other side.
“What do you want?” An unfamiliar voice interrogated curtly.
“We’re here to see Pup,” I informed him and the eyes grew more narrow.
“You groupies or something?” He didn’t wait for us to answer. “He ain’t here, he’s at home sleepin.”
“We aren’t groupies,” I growled, annoyed. “I’m an old friend of his. I need to speak with him. It’s important.” The man on the other side sized me up, still unsure.
“Old friend, huh? Give me a sec.” The slit closed and once again we were bathed in silence.
After only a moment the slit reopened and this time the blue eyes were replaced with what looked like two grey plates. There was a gasp from the other side of the door and the slit closed once more before the door swung open.
On the other side was an older man, looking dazed. He wore a leather jacket that covered most of his upper body, but his lower half had grey cargo shorts that showed off primitive, heavy set prosthetic legs that released steam around his joints. His head was adorned with spiky grey hair that extended into a pointy beard. A black bandanna with a circuit design wrapped around his forehead and his eyes were covered with a pair of metal plates. They somehow exaggerated his astounded expression.
“Nala?” He croaked out finally.
“Hey, Rot,” I returned with an awkward smile. “I’m back.”
My world was engulfed in the second hug of the night. A warm embrace that I couldn't help but return. I couldn’t have found someone better right off the bat. Rot was the biggest sweetheart back in the day. A little vulgar and cocky, but at the same time courteous and kind. He was one of mine and Pup’s biggest supporters when we got involved and probably one of the main reasons I was able to get so close to the MC.
After a good few seconds, Rot finally pulled away laughing in embarrassment.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “I just wasn’t expecting you to… well still be alive!”
“Well I’m here,” I announced, still feeling weird. I didn’t think I’d see him again.
“Come in! Come in!” the old biker stepped further in and waved for us to follow. We obliged. “Either of you want a beer?” he called out to me and Syra as he noticed her. He walked around the corner, ducking into another room. “Man I thought this would be a boring shift…” I could hear him murmur to himself as he went.
“Yeah!” I shouted after him.
“None for me, thank you,” Syra told him nervously at the same time I spoke.
To our side sat a young man in similar biker clothes, with short black hair and a septum ring. He eyed us suspiciously without a word. I did my best to ignore him for the small moment we had to deal with his stare, but I saw Syra sneer back at him, challenging him. The man didn’t seem to care.
Rot came back with two cans of Sierra Sunrise. My favorite brand! I couldn’t believe he remembered! He handed both of us a can, Syra looking almost offended. I eagerly opened mine up and took a sip while Syra looked at hers like it was a wounded puppy.
“So I bet you’re wanting to talk to Pup, eh?” Rot asked with a smile. “The boss’ll be thrilled to see you!” I felt a pit grow in my stomach and I took a deep gulp of my drink. I wasn’t so sure. Rot had always been an optimist, but I doubted Pup wouldn’t feel any resentment towards me after I ditched everyone. I know it must’ve hurt him more than anyone else. That was my biggest regret about what I did.
“Yeah, I bet,” I beamed back at him, masking my worry as best as I could.
“Yo, Rot, who’re these bimbos?” the young dude to our side snarled. Rot’s expression did a 180 and slowly adjusted his gaze to the guy with the attitude.
“I get why you’re distrustful, prospect, but this is the boss’s ex old lady, and a good friend of the club. So show some fucking respect.”
“If she’s Pup’s ex then I don’t see why she’s important enough to let her inside when we’re on alert,” the prospect shot back without skipping a beat.
“Hey, Nala’s done more for the Street Breed than you can fuckin imagine! She was practically one of us at one point!”
“Then where’s she been while we’ve been dealing with the Corps and The Pack?” It didn’t hit me until now just how tired they both looked. It helped explain why the prospect was so irritated. Rot’s cheerful attitude hid most of his exhaustion, but he didn’t carry himself the way he had before. He always had a pep to his step, but now he moved sluggishly and had a slight hunch. Of course, that could’ve just been him getting older, but I think there’s more to it.
“That’s a good question actually,” Rot turned back to me. “Though it could do with a little less sass. Where have you been? Does it have to do with that new steel you’re packin? Don’t think I didn’t notice that.”
“I’ve been training,” I told him honestly. “I’m a Freelancer now.”
“You let a Freelancer in here!?” The prospect rose, fury in his eyes. “I don’t care what kind of connection to us she had before, who knows who she could be working for!!”
“Gecko, calm down!” Rot snapped back. “You really don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“I understand you’re too trusting, old man!” And with the flip of a switch, the prospect, Gecko’s face went white. “Oh shit.”
Rot, to his credit, remained neutral towards the younger man’s outburst. Yet as he stepped closer to Gecko, the prospect trembled.
“Look, Rot, I’m just wor-” he was cut off by Rot’s fist barreling into his face. The one swift punch was all that was needed to knock the prospect back in his chair, out like a light.
Rot shook his hand and flexed his fingers like he wasn’t expecting himself to hit Gecko that hard.
“Sorry about that,” Rot apologized. “Normally I wouldn’t resort to something like that so quickly, but it’s been a long few days and I really didn’t feel like dealing with his shit.”
“I’m not going to complain about talking without him,” Syra assured, still staring the unconscious man down.
“Yeah he seemed like an asshole,” I added.
“He’s just on edge,” Rot defended the prospect. “Like I said, it’s been a long few days. Anyway, you’re a Freelancer now! Wow! Given our trade, I’m guessing you’re here on business then?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, still feeling that pit in my stomach. “But I do want to see how Pup is doing.”
“I bet you do,” Rot chuckled. “He’s at home getting some rest, but I don’t think he’ll be upset at me for waking him when he finds out you’re here.” He pulled out a phone before adding. “Then we can talk business.”
Time went by agonizingly slow since Rot made the call to Pup. The old biker didn’t mention why Pup needed to rush over here, but he’d made it clear that it was good news. The three of us sat in a lounge area, Rot standing behind a bar and me sitting on a stool. Syra sat a little ways away tucking herself into the corner of a couch, shifting uncomfortably. She seemed paranoid.
Meanwhile, I was filled with dread. The closer it got to me seeing Pup again, the more scared I got. I loved Pup once. I might still, but I don’t know the person he was now. I used to be closer to him than anyone else I’ve ever known. And then I left. I left when he needed me the most. After Zephos arrested half the Street Breed and his dad, who was the leader of the club, Bison, got a life sentence. Pup had to take the reins and lead the struggling club at only twenty three, and I vanished without a word.
God, he’ll be furious at me. Will he hate me? Does he even want to see me again? I wish Rot told him about me over the phone so I could hear it from Rot instead of seeing it on Pup’s face when he gets here. What would he even think about my new body? Would he be disgusted? I tried to drown my thoughts out in whiskey and conversation with Rot, but it wasn’t working.
“So who’s your friend?” Rot asked in a friendly tone, gesturing toward the Valkyrie.
“That’s Syra,” I told him. “She’s not a Freelancer, but she’s skilled and helping me with my current contract.”
“Like hired help or something?”
“Not really.” That never occurred to me until now. “Hey, Syra?” I grabbed her attention. “Why are you after the convoy anyway?”
“Oh,” she began. “I need to talk to the prisoner.”
“That’s… vague. You’re not gonna kill them are you?” She gave me an earnest laugh, letting her loosen up for just a second.
“No, no. I assure you I won’t harm them. They were subdued while investigating Daitech and I believe they found out information I want.”
“Well okay then, as long as I can safely deliver them after.” I turned back to Rot who’s expression had turned dire.
“Daitech, huh?” His tone was more serious than I ever heard before. “So this involves them,”
“Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?”
“Considering they’re breathing down our necks right now, it seems pretty fuckin suspicious that a Freelancer shows up talking about knocking over a convoy of theirs.” Oh no, not this shit again.
“Oh my god, please, Rot,” I groaned, really not wanting to go down this road for a second time tonight. “Big G already mistook me for Corp and tried to kill me. I’m really not in the mood.”
“You’ve been to the Underdown? Why did he think you were Corp?” Rot interrogated accusingly. Oh shit, I fucked up.
“Because,” I sighed in resignation and waved to Syra, who looked up nervously. “I was looking for her.”
“Why’d he think the Corp wanted her?”
The Valkyrie and I locked eyes. She looked doubtful, but I gave her a nod. I could tell she still didn’t like it, but she reached back for the small battery on her back and clicked a button. The black, glossy material faded into its transparent form.
I could see Rot’s brow raise when he caught sight of her runes, astounded.
“Is she legit or are those only tattoos?”
Without the need to coax her, Syra’s eyes began to glow like they did when I was in the pit with her. Her runes illuminated in a color matching her glare while her green hair flowed and sparked with energy.
“H-holy shit…” Rot stammered. Once she decided the biker had his fill, Syra’s light simmered and her hair settled. She reached back to turn her jacket to its dark sheen once more.
“You realize,” Rot struggled, still clearly taken aback, “Almost all of the Valkyries are under Corporate control.”
“I’m not,” Syra took her turn to argue. “I went to Big G to earn some cash for supplies in this heist. Cage fighting sounded like easy money with my abilities. He promised me a fair sum if I just appeared in a surprise match to boost the Underdown’s reputation. He didn’t want me to stick around after that since he knew the Corp would come looking for me.” Her eyes were no longer anxious. Instead her anxiety was replaced with determination. “I can promise you, sir, I don’t serve anyone but myself, and my goals will harm no one but the Corps themselves.”
The look in her eyes would’ve been enough for me. There was something about the Valkyrie that struck me. Looking at her now almost made me think we were back at the Underdown, slugging it out again. I could tell Rot was still reluctant, however, but he relented.
“Fine,” he concluded. “I really want to believe you. So I’ll believe you. I hope I’m not killing this club by doing this.”
“Rot,” I promised, taking his organic hand in my cold, steel one. “I swear this’ll be fine.”
The next few minutes were spent with small talk. The cheerful energy Rot displayed before we mentioned Daitech was gone though. And it only further served the growing worry inside me. Each second that ticked by brought me closer and closer to Pup.
Then the door opened.
“Rot, why is Gecko pa-” his eyes met mine and I could see those beautiful blue orbs light up. He looked so different. So much older. His short, black hair was messy and faded. I could see wiring and neural implants that weren’t there before. He had the new addition of gauges and wiring going down his shallow cheek down from his eye to his chin, telling me he had some sort of optical augment. He had a short, unkempt beard that I’m pretty sure he had because he didn’t find the time to shave. And much like Rot and Gecko, he looked so tired. Dark creases rested below his eyes, and his eyes themselves were those of somebody that had seen too much. Yet he still held himself tall and confidently.
I noticed he wore a messy flannel underneath the same jacket he had years ago. A jacket that had gotten many new additions much like the man who wore it. It was reinforced with armor. I could see the shapes of the plates beneath the old leather. More plates lined the arms and wiring ran down beneath the armpit and up to a small flashlight mounted on his shoulder. My gaze traveled down, seeing worn jeans and black combat boots with a long holster on his side. The wood grip of an old lever action rested within.
He looked ready for action. I wondered if it was because of Daitech or if he was always this armed and armored now.
I don’t know how long we just stared at each other like that, it felt like eons, but in reality it was probably just for a second. Eventually, Pup broke the silence, his wide eyes settling into a more neutral, tired look.
“Nala?” his voice was more gravelly than I remembered. “If I knew you showed up I would’ve cleaned myself up a little.”
Jokes were a good sign right? I could feel my heart pounding.
“Yeah, you look like shit,” I replied with a playful laugh. Fuck! The first thing I tell him after all this time is that he looks awful! But he gave me a small smile. It faded back to an indifferent stare.
“So, what do you want?” His voice was monotone and uncaring. I felt that anxiety creeping through me, causing me to stammer.
“I-I’m a Freelancer,” I told him in a shaky voice, taken aback by his tone.
“We need guns and armor,” Syra interjected for me, looking at me mildly confused. She didn’t understand my situation.
“They’re tipping a Daitech convoy tomorrow,” Rot added. “And don’t worry, I’ve talked to them already, they’re clean.”
“Yeah, what they said,” I finished, embarrassed. Pup stared at no one in particular for a moment, thinking.
“I’m gonna guess you need some higher level gear then,” Pup pondered, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket along with a lighter and lighting one up. When’d he start smoking? “How much money do you two got?”
“Between the two of us,” Syra answered, “we have a fair bit of tiff.”
“Well you’re in luck then,” Pup took a huff of his stick and blew out a puff of smoke. “We got our hands on a fresh shipment of valuable Daitech loot.” He seemed so business. I noticed he didn’t put his eyes on me since the initial shock of seeing me.
“If you’ll follow me,” he began walking towards another door, gesturing for us to come with him. Syra and I both rose, but Rot stayed behind at the bar, looking sympathetic.
We stepped through the door and into a much wider area. Conveyors and machines of all kinds surrounded us, all of which were currently on, filling the air with sounds of manufacturing. Catwalks were sprawled out above, all barren and connecting to various rooms on a second floor. I would’ve been more curious about it all if my mind wasn’t so caught up on Pup. I could see the man in front of me dropping embers from his cig, using the concrete below our feet as an ashtray.
From behind, I could see the patches on his back. The sharp stylization of Street Breed labeling the jacket along with the MC’s logo of the side profile of a brown wolf head snarling and an automatic rifle crossing behind it. I couldn’t help but give a little smirk seeing he was still shorter than me. It wasn’t very surprising, not many people were taller than me, but I found it amusing. He was larger than Syra, at least.
We stepped into an office that’d been converted to an armory. Pup unlocked the door and I could see the walls were lined with racks of guns of all shapes and sizes. Some were so large they looked like they were meant to be mounted on vehicles. Along the wall adjacent to the entrance hung a half dozen uniform outfits. They were all dull grey, heavy industrial looking coats padded out with thick steel armor. Matching pants hung beside each and even armored boots sat below every outfit. Gas masks were displayed above every one as well. A rifle that was partially dismantled laid across an old desk with various tools scattered about underneath a lit lamp.
“Shit,” Pup began, looking over the parts of the weapon. “Looks like Roo’s been playing with the goods.” It was clear he was thinking out loud and wasn’t directed to us. “Anyway, this is all our high end equipment courtesy of Daitech. If you’re planning on going stealthy, you might want to get a couple sets of these.”
He pointed towards the armored suits. “These are Daitech Covert Heavy Miner Combat Rigs. They’re meant for combat inside industrial and mining areas. Been seeing a lot of these being moved around for some reason. They’d still be very effective in the city, and would keep you masked. The armor covers most of your body, the masks themselves have tinted visors, and they have a setting to dull your colors so you don’t have to worry about your hair. They’re a thousand tiff per set. As for weapons, take a look around and see if something strikes you.”
He was so straightforward with his selling points, and still refused to look directly at me. With an internal sigh, I instead focused on the selection around me. I liked the .45 I kept on my hip, but no doubt this heist called for something with more kick. Convoy usually meant armored vehicles and lots of guards. I wanted something big, and thankfully size and power wasn’t a hindrance to me anymore. My augmented limbs, enhanced muscles, and reinforced bones meant I was several times stronger than any all organic human.
My eyes settled on a long, boxy rifle. It looked to be a long ranged weapon if the scope told me anything. The rounds it used must’ve been gigantic with its thick clip size and it sported a vertical hand grip for stability. It was also painted a soft, dark blue which I thought looked nice.
I hefted it off the wall and turned to Pup, who for the first time since he walked into the lounge, looked me in the eyes. “How much for this?”
“Ah, the Daitech .50 cal marksman rifle. Semi auto featuring an adjustable zoom scope, vertical grip, and laser sight. That’d run you about fifteen hundred.” I was really happy I got that extra spending cash from the Underdown. “You sure you want that?” Pup asked, still masking any emotions towards me. “Nobody here has the augs to properly use that thing. Think you can handle it?”
“Trust me, it won’t be a problem.”
I sat in the lounge with Pup. I told him I wanted to talk. Syra had already left with a newly purchased AR as well as her armor. She told me she had a safe place to hide out until tomorrow and we made plans to meet up at the east elevator to the Third at noon. Now I stood at the bar with my freshly bought rifle leaning against the counter beside me. A case filled with my armor and a dozen clips for my rifle, running me fifty tiff each rested to my other side. Big G more than paid for the gear for this heist. At least something good came out of the Underdown mess.
“So,” Pup began after pouring us both a shot of whiskey from the other side of the counter. “I don’t think this talk will go how you’d hoped.”
“That’s fine,” I told him, taking the shot and downing it. The burn helped me a little. “I wasn’t hoping for much anyway.” We both stood in silence for a little bit while we tried to articulate our feelings.
“This was a really bad time,” the biker started finally. “For you to show up I mean. Daitech has been on our asses, we’re all worn out and on edge. A Freelancer showing up on our doorstep doesn’t help. The others will likely be pissed once they find out, and it’ll just add to their stress when they find out it was you.”
“I’m sorry,” I gave him. “I didn’t know. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to with this kind of deal.” There was another bout of silence. “That’s not all I’m sorry for. I know I fucked you over and-”
“Save it,” Pup snapped back. I flinched at the response. I think he was harsher than he meant to be, because once he saw my reaction he softened and gave me an apologetic look. “You hurt me a lot. More than I could ever say.” He poured another shot and twirled it in his hand for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s nice to see you’re okay after so long. I worried about you so much. But, Nala,” he looked into my bright green eyes, “I don’t love you anymore.” I knew that’d be the case, but it still stung to hear those words. I clenched my hand so hard the shot glass in my grasp cracked and I let my gaze drift down to it. “And, frankly, I don’t think you’d love who I am now. I don’t know what’s gone on with you in the past eight years and, honestly, I’m not sure I wanna know.”
“I…” I fished for words. I don’t know what I was expecting. Nothing good. But even knowing that, hearing what he was saying was no less difficult. It felt like all of my nervousness that’d been piled up since I got here exploded in a nauseating wave of depression. It was like my chest wanted to cave in on itself and I couldn’t think of what I wanted to say.
“Got nothing then?” Pup asked, disappointed. I drew a blank, all I could focus on was the emotions washing over me. “Alright,” the biker leader walked around the counter. “I’m going back to bed.”
As he reached the door, however, he turned around. I gave him a side glance as I propped up my forehead with my palm.
“Just because I don’t love you like I did, doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you.” He opened the door but didn’t leave yet. “I know somebody else that’ll want a stake in your op. I’ll give him a call and give you a little more backup. And once all this shit’s blown over…” He paused tentatively. “Come by again. Maybe we could start over as friends... Get some sleep, Nala.”
Then he left.
Joseph Valachi, an admitted member of La Cosa Nostra, in testimony before the United States Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, Committee on Government Operations, during 1963, stated that Vito Genovese and Meyer Lansky had common holdings in gambling casinos in Las Vegas and Havana, Cuba. Valachi, a close associate of Genovese, testified that Lansky and Genovese were very closely associated in racket activities over the years and that wherever Lansky operated, Genovese had an interest.No doubt vast sums passed through Lansky’s hands but little of it was his to keep. His lifestyle hardly suggested any accumulation of great wealth. He owned a modest home in Hallandale, FL and drove a rented Chevrolet. The simple living was not an elaborate ploy to keep the IRS at bay but an accurate reflection of his financial means. Indeed, in conversations secretly recorded by the FBI Lansky made it clear to associates that he worked out of necessity. For example, while staying at the Volney Hotel at 23 East 74th Street in New York in May 1962, “LANSKY complained that the necessity of making a living was taking a lot out of him,” and “remarked how lucky people are that ‘fall into it.’” In another conversation he remarked how “some people became millionaires since the War,” and “they shouldn’t hold a job.” Lansky clearly did not consider himself a man of independent means who could afford a life of leisure.
When pressed for particulars LANSKY advised he was not in a position to furnish facts. * * * He stated he could not name any individuals in the present government who had publicly described themselves as Communists nor could he offer any facts which would set one person aside from the others as a Communist.Frankly, Lansky’s purported concern about a communist Cuba is laughable. Neither Lansky nor his Mafia overlords cared a wit with whom they conducted business. In fact, while still in Havana, on January 5, 1959 Lansky gave an interview to Alan Jarlson from The Las Vegas Sun who reported that Lansky “talked freely” about his hope “that the new government will emerge from Fidel Castro’s liberation of Cuba and will continue to permit American gamblers to operate.” Similarly, when Lansky left Cuba on January 7, and arrived at Miami International Airport, the casino operator told Joseph Manners, a Special Assistant to the Attorney General, that “he expected to continue in business, and did not anticipate trouble from the new government.” Lansky developed his anti-communist animus only after it became clear that Castro was refusing to allow the American mobsters to continue their exploitation of Cuba.
You now have residing in your territory one of the very most important individuals in the national crime picture in the person of Meyer Lansky. Information developed in Bureau investigations over a period of many years indicates strongly that Lansky is a very important individual in a segment of the criminal element. In pursuing investigations in your Criminal Intelligence Program, you should not overlook the possibility of employing extraordinary investigative techniques with reference to Lansky. Because of the loss of the lucrative Cuban gambling situation, Lansky is presently in a position of having to make decisions as to his future course of action. This may be a propitious time for close coverage of Lansky.The memo further reflects Hoover’s lingering questions about the existence of the Mafia, and its relationship to non-Italians such as Lansky. Already contemplating the distinction between a mob member who must be Italian and a mob associate who can be of any ethnicity Hoover writes:
It is desired also to point out to you the need of continuous alertness to develop the existence or nonexistence of the “Mafia.” Persons who furnish information in this field should be thoroughly interviewed for a determination of what they mean by the use of the term “Mafia.” It is the Bureau’s desire to determine whether or not this is a mere term used to characterize criminal groups made up of a preponderance of persons of Italian birth or extraction, or whether it is a term denoting something of greater significance. Complete details of any facts available should be obtained from any persons contending that it is an actual organization which can be characterized as being a “Mafia.”The federal investigation on top of his Cuban losses added insult to injury for Lansky, and was a constant source of stress for Lansky and his wife. When the G-men visited their South Florida home on May 2, 1961 for a spot check Mrs. Lansky “went into a tirade about the ‘harassing tactics of the FBI,’” and when agents again returned on May 17 the mobster “said he felt he was being persecuted because of his name.” FBI bugs caught Lansky routinely kvetching about the prying eyes. For example, in May 1962 while staying at the Volney Hotel in New York City Lansky described the G-men as “racketeers” and the “new mafia”:
They’re nothing but racketeers, every one of them. After five years they get out, get on a big corporation’s payroll. Now what happens, you and I . . . let’s say I work for IBM. You came. They say [redacted] is doing the same business. He has no FBI guys working for him. Pop, they chop his legs off. They find him with a sweetheart, they find him with this, they find him with that. This thing’s gonna get an investigation. It’s a new mafia. The investigators are going to get investigated. It’s just a matter of time. It’s the same with those senate investigators. You remember those McCarthy hearings. That lying (obscene) with the pictures.Lansky directed most of his anti-government enmity towards the Kennedys which was fueled by Bobby Kennedy’s mob busting campaign and Jack Kennedy’s refusal to back the Bay of Pigs invasion to topple Castro. However, Lansky also was a terribly insecure man who undoubtedly felt like a bug under the long-cast Kennedy shadow. Lansky grew up poor on the Lower East Side in New York City, his education topped out at the 8th grade, he was a national pariah with whom no person of good standing would associate, and the poor thing was short, slight and ugly. Lanksy was nothing more than a greedy troll living under a bridge in the Kingdom of Camelot, and his bitterness was palpable at the mere mention of the revered Kennedy name. For example, FBI eavesdropping on the Lansky couple at their New York City hotel room in May 1962 captured on the following conversation on the Kennedys:
[Redacted] in discussing wiretapping bill presently pending, remarked that wiretapping is okay against the Communists, but otherwise is most sickening. She stated she believed the “KENNEDYs” were acting sincerely and in their best beliefs. When LANSKY disagreed, she reminded him that he came up “on the wrong side of the fence,” to which subject replied that he was brought up on the “unhypocritical” side.On another occassion Lansky referred to Bobby Kennedy as “an arrogant punk” who had no right to judge the mob life:
Let me tell you something. Anyone who hasn’t lived, hasn’t the right to tell anyone else anything. He’s a young boy, 37 years old. He hasn’t lived yet and he wants to tell others how to live. He’s an arrogant punk.“Arrogant punk” or not, the mobsters feared Bobby Kennedy. An FBI bug installed at the Lansky home in Hallandale, FL picked up an associate telling Meyer on August 18,1962 that “the person everyone is afraid of is BOBBY KENNEDY. ‘He is the hatchetman.’”
LANSKY bragged about his ability to read several books at one time. He stated he is presently reading a history book, a grammar book, and a book on French quotations. He stated these are the things you need with no education because you can get mixed up. LANSKY expounded on various subjects and his listeners expressed awe at his knowledge.On another occasion during his stay at the hotel “MEYER remarked that Saturday or Sunday he intends to go over to the museum and buy a photograph of ‘Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer’ which is selling at $12.50.”
If you find a person stealing who doesn’t have enough to eat, there a reason. But tell me why you steal if you’ve got money in your pocket. You see these n***** [n-word] kids stealing. Their parents are ignorant, no education. There’s a certain spark in them.He further stated that “n****** [n-word] are getting even with white people through welfare and they’re laughing at the white people.”
They’re not only physically healthy, but their lives are more healthy. They’re cleaner. They’re not as criminal as some of the other nationalities. The Latins are more criminal. They had to steal to subsist.Apparently Lansky conveniently forgot during these racist tirades that he was a former enforcer with Murder, Inc. Lansky may have read the classics and got his nails manicured but he still was nothing but a common thug with blood on his hands. Indeed, when Israel sent Lansky packing from the Promised Land towards the end of his life one wonders whether he had the courage and honesty to ask “what profit it a man to gain the world but lose his soul?”
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