Ch.12
Jojo Hale had simply never thought that he could be in the situation he was in. It was something out of a bad comic book, or a police procedural, or something like that. It wasn’t REAL LIFE!
Every part of his body hurt. He’d been walking home from school alone when a white passenger van had pulled up next to him, four guys had jumped out in ski masks, and one of them had tasered him.
I went down like such a bitch! I should have been moving the second the damned van pulled up next to me! Instead, I froze like a goddamned deer in the headlights... AGAIN!
He’d been furious with himself that he’d just frozen when Dimi and his boys had jumped Ray. He’d been even madder at himself when he thought about the fact that he’d been three FEET away from Dimi when he’d gone for his gun and taken a shot at Ray... and he was honest enough with himself to know he’d frozen then, too.
He’d just stood there and watched while someone who was basically a half-step away from being a family member had almost gotten killed... and he’d done nothing! He couldn’t believe it at first, channeling his anger unfairly towards Ray, but in the days that followed, he realized that, really, all of the anger and vitriol he’d spewed at Ray in his grandfather’s office that day had really been aimed at himself.
He hadn’t really been afraid, he didn’t think. It had all just seemed so surreal that he couldn’t convince himself it was really happening. He’d been so shocked, so busy telling himself that what his eyes and ears saw and heard was really happening that he hadn’t DONE anything!
That’s why I was such a dick to him in grandpa’s office right afterwards. Shit, Ray’s always been cool, even when I was a kid.
Jojo had no illusions. He was totally fucked, and he didn’t even dare think too much about who else they’d gone after. Dimi, Georgy, and four or five other guys who worked for the Fedorov's had taken turns beating him up. While I was zip-tied to a chair, of course, the damned cowards.
He laughed a little. It didn’t really matter, anyway. He’d overheard Dimi talking to the other guys that Ray had beaten up. Dimi, gimping around on crutches and freshly out of the hospital, jail, and court, had ordered them to go kill Ray, to, ‘Shoot him until he fucking stops moving, then shoot him some more. I want that asshole DEAD!’
Ray was a pretty good fighter, even by Hale family standards, and it seemed like he’d gotten a LOT better recently, but not even Hale family Kajukenbo can handle two dudes with shotguns trying to kill you.
Being able to handle one guy, who was a dumbass to begin with, with a gun trying to shoot you is not at ALL the same as handling two competent people with guns at the same time.
He glanced around the dimly lit warehouse. It was divided into two sections, a front section that he’d only seen for a moment and which reminded him of a sales area, with a counter and register as well as some old furniture.
The section he was in had a lot of old pallets covered in ancient-looking crates, some of them stacked ten, twelve feet high. The only light came from the sales area and street lights outside, coming through the large casement windows that opened outwards.
“Shit!” He felt something inside of him throb, followed by a stabbing pain.
He hoped it was just broken ribs and bruises... Not that it probably matters. My screw up has probably already killed Ray, and I doubt they’ll let me go. They didn’t even bother to try hiding their faces, after all. They basically have to kill me.
Dimi hobbled in on his crutches, but his face was beatific. “Welp, Jojo, your little bitch buddy Ramirez is a corpse! Just got the call. You really shoulda tried harder to get your gramps to sell, like we told ya!” He then started laughing, like what he said was the funniest thing in the world.
Jojo just glared at him, helpless rage the only thing keeping the tears away. Not giving Dimi the satisfaction of responding was about all the real resistance he was capable of. His arms were zip-tied to the arm rests of the metal chair he was sitting on, his legs were zip-tied to the chair’s legs, and his chest was tied to it with rope.
He knew damned well that Ray’s death was on him, now, and he hated himself even more. The thought of the man who’d taught him how to play Legends and Labyrinths and introduced him to most of the nerdy hobbies he grown up enjoying being dead because he’d done something so STUPID was almost too much for him to handle.
All he had left inside of himself was helpless rage and, for the first time in his life, Joseph Johnson ‘Jojo’ Hale truly understood what despair felt like.
“No more smart answers? No denials? No impassioned pleas that your little butt buddy was still alive? You’re no fun at all.” Dimi told him with a malicious grin obviously enjoying the moment despite what he said.
Dimi stayed there, occasionally slapping him around, until a minute later, Georgy walked in, took one look at Dimi, and sighed.
“Dimi, Dimi, Dimi.” Georgy shook his head at Dimi. “This kind of shit is why Vlad still doesn’t trust you. You take this shit too personally, the kid didn’t do shit to you. The Ramirez guy will be here soon, we’ll put a bullet in him, and that’ll be all there is to it.”
Dimi’s eyes lit up, insanity blossoming across his face like some kind of hideous allergic rash. He started laughing like a maniac.
Georgy looked unhappy. “What did you do, Dimi?”
“I sent my boys to go take care of him at his house! I already got a message from them telling me it was done! Oh, and I had them pick up burgers and shakes for everyone!”
Georgy’s face turned ugly. Between gritted teeth, he said, “You. Did. What?”
“I had Brucie and Tark go whack the little shit at his house. What? He’s dead!”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Georgy took a moment to collect himself. “Did they take his phone?”
Dimi blinked. “What?”
“Did. They. Get. His. Phone?” Georgy asked, each word precise and clipped.
“Uh, I dunno? Who gives a shit?”
Georgy slapped Dimi across the face hard enough to knock him down. Dimi looked up at him, furious. “What the fuck, Georgy?!”
“You stupid... remember me taking that picture of the kid? Writing the address for the warehouse and taking a picture of it? Remember me saying I was texting it to him, and that was how we were going to get him to come here?”
Jojo almost laughed, watching Dimi put it together. He held it back, though, because as sweet as it would be to laugh at that jerk, the two Russians gangsters had both completely forgotten about him, at least for now, and drawing attention to himself would just be adding another layer of dumb to his recent spurt of moronic decisions.
It was still hard to hold himself back. He’d been pretty sure that Dimi was an idiot, but this... this would be completely hilarious if not for the whole part of it where Ray was already dead and he was probably about to join him in the Underworld.
Dimi groaned. “Fuck. The cops will check his phone. They might be on the way right now?”
Georgy gave him an exaggeratedly slow golf clap. “You’re a fucking moron, Dimi. Vlad is gonna lose his shit; he told us to do it HIS WAY, and you went behind his and MY back to do it YOUR way! Again. For a stupid fucking selfish reason. AGAIN!”
Dimi’s eyes got really wide. He wasn’t very smart, and he knew that, as an actual member of the Federov family, that he could get away with a lot. Even HE was smart enough to realize that going directly against Vlad’s orders and having it backfire in a way that hurt the Fedorov's was not making healthy life decisions.
They all heard the door open. Jojo heard a familiar voice, Brucie's, the guy that Ray had kneed in the face and instantly knocked out at the dojo.
“See. They’re back. With food. Let’s go get it while its hot, then we’ll take care of business and get out of here.” Dimi said.
Georgy rolled his eyes and followed Dimi into the forward section of the warehouse, leaving Jojo alone.
After all, tied up like he was, there was no way he was going anywhere.
The moment he was alone in the back room, seemingly out of nowhere, a hand was placed across his mouth. Jojo almost peed his pants.
In a whispered voice, right next to his ear, he heard. “Come on, let’s get you out of here, Jojo. You think you can walk?”
It sounded just like Ray; but Ray was supposed to be dead?
“Ray?” Jojo said in a whisper, eyes focused on the area where Dimi, Georgy, and the rest were.
A figure all in black, wearing sweats, a hoodie, work gloves, and a ski mask nodded at him. Jojo felt the ropes go slack, then felt the zip-ties restraining first his arms and then his legs pop, freeing him.
The pain from the returned blood circulation made it almost impossible for him to move for a few seconds.
Jojo’s phone was sitting on a nearby table, alongside his shirt and the rest of his personal effects. Jojo noticed Ray put them all onto his t-shirt, and then tied the t-shirt into a bundle.
Ray’s voice whispered to him, “I bet you probably can’t move right now, huh? I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder and get us the hell outta here, then we’re gonna call the cops, ok? I need you to be as quiet as you can.”
Jojo was having a hard time believing that what was happening was real. Then, despite how much it hurt, he lunged forward to hug Ray!
Jojo still had some doubts that it really was Ray, but he hardly cared whether this was really Ray or if it was his spirit returned for vengeance!
The man wearing all black convinced him it was probably Ray, though, when he awkwardly returned the hug, gave him a gentle pat on the back, and said, “I’m glad you're ok, too, Jojo. Be quiet, now, this is probably going to hurt.”
Jojo nodded his understanding, though, and Ray picked him up, fireman’s carry style. Jojo’s body was draped across Ray’s shoulders and back, with Ray holding onto his right arm and leg.
Oh, god, this hurts like HELL, Jojo thought, his ribs screaming, but if this isn’t just some delusion brought on by fear and pain, I’ll gladly put up with it if it gets me out of here... and if it means that I didn’t get Ray killed! The thought that Ray was still alive was almost too much for Jojo to handle. Going from the depths of despair to this chance at hope again left him feeling confused more than anything, and a little afraid that it was some horrible practical joke being played by the Federovs.
Dimi’s definitely a big enough asshole to do something like that! Jojo thought as he was being carried. Not sure he’d help me leave, though.
Jojo was suffering from emotional whiplash more than anything right now, unsure of how he should feel.
At the window, Ray put him down, then bodily dropped him through the outward opening casement window, it's pivot being at the top left enough room for him to crawl in and out without much trouble.
When did Ray get that strong? He just picked me up like he used to while I was still a little kid!
It was lazy of the Russians to leave the windows open, but the nearest place that was open during the day was over a block away, and at night, there was no one for over a mile, except maybe someone driving by on the road.
Suddenly, Ray cursed. A moment later he handed Jojo back his bundled t-shirt with his wallet and cell phone. “Call 911, tell them you were kidnapped and managed to get hold of your phone. Then call your grandpa. The 911 people will want you to stay on the phone, just hang up on them, call Kai, then answer when they call you back. While you're talking to them, text the address of this place to them – it's on the picture they sent me from your phone. Gotta go! Get away from here before you call 911.”
Then, Ray was gone.
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I told Jojo to call the cops and Kai, then hid and started moving towards the front office area. I had heard the noise of what had to be a pair of crutches headed towards me.
I might not be able to punch people with lightning bolts right now, but Efreet Vision was still working, and its IR vision plus my Enhanced Senses let me easily see Dimi gimping through the door into the back warehouse area I was currently in.
Iron Palm Stance came online with a thought, and I could feel my Qi and Pneuma start rotating through me, as I began stalking silently forward. It didn’t actually cost any of my power, it was more like running water through a watermill that fell and then got pushed back to the top to fall through the watermill again.
Dimi was busy gobbling down a cheeseburger, from the smell, and a strawberry shake.
I need to make a pair of shield gauntlets as soon as I can... oh shit, my skills all work here! That means I know all of the crafting stuff, too! How much can I sell a real, mastercrafted sword to a collector for? A few grand for 8 hours of work?
Hell, that might make me more money than doing IT and being a Network Admin!
Is it weird that I’m feeling almost nothing while I’m about to kill a man? That I was just thinking about cool, new prospects for making money? I mentally shrugged it off... because FUCK Dimi!
Dimi was a criminal, the very definition of murderous scum, and he totally deserved what was about to happen to him.
His enjoyment of his burger stopped when I hit him for 1d8+1d6+13 points of damage, meaning an average, non-crit hit of 21 points of damage. Those shotgun blasts, according to the game, was 5d4, an average of 12.5 points per hit.
Yup, I hit close to twice as hard as a shotgun with my bare hands!
Also, I can’t do elemental damage right now, so I wasn’t using Djinni Style with Dragon Style Right now. I was using Outslug Style instead. Outslug Style probably wouldn’t be very useful, as I didn’t expect Dimi to be able to survive even one hit, but Djinni Style was completely useless for now. I also used Versatile Unarmed Strike to let my unarmed strike do piercing damage. That’s right, right now, hitting Dimi with my bare hands was basically the same as impaling him with a sword!
I punched a spear hand through the back of Dimi’s head with no more regret than I would have had for killing a cockroach, then moved into the shadows after taking a beat to make sure he was actually dead. My Perception mod was a +21 and I could see in the dark, now, so it was pretty unlikely I’d be wrong.
To give you a point of reference as to how good that was, in order to hear a whispered conversation from 10’ away, you needed to hit a 15 on your Perception skill check.
Every 10 feet further away raised that DC – Difficulty Class – by +1. If I ’take 10’, which means intentionally getting an average roll, something you can’t do under duress – being in combat counted as ‘under duress’, I could hear a whispered conversation from over half a football field away!
I could do it IN combat, too, I’d just need to make a d20 roll, instead – even a crappy roll would still let me hear it from 70’ away!
Things like finding a secret door is only a DC 20, while hearing a gopher burrowing beneath your feet was only a 25.
So, I could hear everything they were saying like I was standing right next to them. Walls? Poor acoustics? None of that mattered.
Dimi collapsed to the ground, dead with his brain sliced and pulped before he even had a chance to make a noise, but his crutches banging down did make a clatter.
I considered hiding Dimi’s body, but I decided using it as bait was a better idea. After all, I owed Ex-Pretty Boy and his sidekick still. This would make it easier to get them to come to me!
“Oy! Dimi? You ok back there?” a voice with a Russian accent asked.