Interlude II

The Heir to the Beast

It was time to end the suffering.

Pierce had been aware of where the Night Brigade kept Ferenzi for thirty-plus hours now. Over that expanse of time, he had been a busy man trying to keep himself alive, and unfortunately, his effort to enlist Annebél fell through.

He shook his head.

Annebél Sens Duarte.

It was his own damn fault.

Approaching her as he did, she would assume it was about the other matter. It was now put so far in the back of his mind that he had not even considered it.

There were no excuses. Villion was his child, too. Even if he was just the sperm donor.

How absolutely fucking thoughtless of me!

A woman, however, never forgets her own child. A career-centered man such as himself often did. He would have to find some way to approach her.

If she was back in Asunción for good, they would have to come to some agreement. He would have to tell her what he knew about Villion's disappearance.

He pushed the thoughts aside though she had been on his mind since she had arrived. He needed to concentrate. It was time for Beast mode.

Pierce parked the Aston Martin two blocks down an adjacent street from the small abandoned school building where the Night Brigade had formed a base of operations.

He truly loathed that group of nihilists who gathered their storms for whatever cause that at any given time was the most idiotic and hurt the most people.

Pierce smiled to himself while loading sixteen 10 mm rounds into the magazine of his Springfield Ronin 1911 before placing it back into the jacket holster.

He was going to enjoy this.

He moved swiftly down the street. There were a few clusters of people that moved about. He was even startled by the sight of the emblem of his homeland emblazoned on a motorcycle that drove slowly toward him.

She was a Def Leppard fan.

The lady who rode the bike possessed long and lovely titmouse brown hair, and the most British visage this side of their very own good Queen Charlotte.

He tipped his brogue's cap to the damsel.

Fond thoughts of Queen Moxie who ruthlessly deposed all of the heirs to the royal throne ahead of her came to his mind. It did not matter - brothers, uncle, one vicious aunt, father, even her much venerated and nearly saintly mother, all to the tower they went.

To save country and crown, it had to be done and only Queen Charlotte had the conviction and courage to do it.

Pierce strode on and put the high emotional state of patriotic feelings that swelled up in his eyes to the side. He wiped them with his vest kerchief.

It would not do to get all blubbery like that before he was to kill a bunch of, as the Americans would put it, subhuman scum.

He stopped when the structure came into view.

Though the abandoned school was in nearly dilapidated condition, the neighborhood itself was respectable and clean.

On the front side that bore a modest parking lot a sign stated El Más Brillante - The Brightest with a morning star over a green field beneath those three words.

You didn't have to be the Heir to the Beast to appreciate the symbolism in regard to the responsibilities of knowledge.

Pierce shook his head and chuckled.

"You have fallen a long way my brothers to let those daft tossers anywhere near ya."

Heavy and heavily rusted chains draped over a double set of doors that were also reinforced with wooden boards. It appeared no one was getting in without causing a scene that would attract more attention than it was worth.

Pierce took his AR specs out of another jacket pocket, checked its charge, and put them on. He grinned to himself. The visual enhancement always started with a projection of his holographic image standing in front of him.

From showing him in dapper formal attire, his military uniform, and even his birthday suit, the projection was always randomized.

This time it affected a classic Brit of another time and place who wore a velvet and leather cap, brown leather jacket, and old-time rugby gear covering the knees and shins of his stone brown colored jeans. Like a 1970s proletariat from Tit City about to set forth for a Saturday night's shitkicker rumble.

His pleasure was interrupted when the projection excitedly exclaimed back to him, "My droog!"

With a disgusted bearing on his face, Pierce dismissed the image with all due prejudice.

"No. No. We are not playing ultra-rogue Malcom McDowell. At least, not this eve."

Don't know how that got in there.

He ran a quick diagnostic to make sure nothing flakey was going on. Pierce was always careful about his equipment.

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Only he knew how much his mastery of operational AR specs sealed his reputation as one of the best operatives on the planet. When the diagnostics cleared and assured him his system was sound, he dismissed the bit of retro sci-fi thrown into his routine and turned once again to The Brightest school building.

Despite the boarded up entrance way, there had to be a means that the Night Brigade gained access to the building. Also, it was quite curious - how did they do so without alerting anyone in the public streets?

Pierce reached into his jacket. He pulled out a drone the size of his palm. In the middle of it, already set in place was an electronic reconnaissance grenade.

It resembled a flash grenade but was twice as large as one you would typically find. It went off like one normally did as well.

However, once its energy is released, its nanite machines latched upon energy sources both electronic and biological. When synced with the AR specs he could also penetrate the through-puts of computer systems and read data systems and cameras.

The Old Guard would certainly not approve of him being enmeshed in modern digital technology, but then, they were all dead. None had the means to be of any use to the cause now.

Pierce released the drone and had it climb in the air and center itself above the rooftop. Just before he hit the button on his PA, he caught wind that someone was behind him.

A young mestiza woman with a bobbed haircut tucked inside a sun visor and a cute dimpled chin rode a bicycle by him, slowly. She didn't hide her curiosity about his activities.

"Survey work to test the structural soundness of the building. Watch your eyes, my lady," Pierce said to deflect.

She went on her way after she gave him a few stray glances.

Back to his work, Pierce recentered the drone and pressed the button. When the flash dissipated, every element that gave off heat inside the structure became outlined in a shade of red with the surrounding walls made semi-transparent.

He counted seven Night Brigade gits milling about inside. Their captive sprawled out on a single-sized bed that was not very accommodating to Ferenzi's fat arse.

Pierce could tell from the blue coiled outline, indicative of an object at room temperature, that they had him chained to the front board irons.

Now, where was their secret entranceway?

After a few solid minutes that he committed to surveying the outer park, Pierce figured it out. On the other side from where he first stood was a utility shack that appeared at first sight to be part of another property given a chain link fence separated it from the school building.

The fence was a false front. It was easily slid to the side. Pierce also had to push aside thick copses of bushes and trees to get to the walkway that led to the utility shack.

The door lock was not a problem even though he did not bring picks. Pierce shoved a gel cap inside the mechanism.

It burst into a gas that stayed localized inside the locking chamber until it solidified like concrete and forced all the tumblers to split apart.

His AR specs warned him that just behind the door was a motion sensor.

He checked with his PA to see if its AI had breached the security system.

An animated wheel slowly turned around the outer parameter of a caption box that read out text one phrase at a time:

A Moment Please . . . Shall I Play Something Soothing While You Wait?

"Alfie, what gives?"

The AI played a muzak version of, 'Love is in the Air.'

"You met someone?"

She is the most ut.

Was his AI chatting it up with a girl spy trying to penetrate his security?

"Oh, Alfie. Poor bastard. She has got you all kinds of discombobulated and unfit for fieldwork. We are in the stink, my boy. Get your head out'cha arse."

That explained the Clockwork Orange reference earlier. All the smarter and finer trollops loved that movie.

The animated wheel went green.

He opened the door to the utility shack. It was merely a false front for a set of stairs that lead down to the school basement.

Pierce attached the sound suppressor to his 1911. Before entering, he studied the Night Brigade tossers who showed up in full volumetric red outline.

They were entirely too comfortable with their surroundings, each spread out and doing their own thing. They were not prepared for what was about to occur - not in the least.

Pierce found the key to the chains on a cabinet beside the bed. He stared down for a moment to take in the sight. The big man's skin was beet red all over.

In his best Malcolm McDowell impression, Pierce raised his voice.

"What a horrorshow, mate. An absolute bukake nightmare. I feel for my clean-up crew."

Ferenzi turned to the Beast with a deep laugh.

"I thought that was the muffled sound of your 1911 popping back heads. At least I hoped it was."

Pierce smiled.

"Hope bleeds eternal. Hey, I saw some Earl Gray in the kitchen. You get yourself cleaned up and I'll make us a spot of tea."

"Sad, really. A complete waste of some nice brown Oxfords."

The one man he shot in the kitchen sat with his head sunk on the center table. Blood dripped down from his head wound and saturated the nice pair of shoes. Hell of a thing to happen to nice craftmanship.

Pierce planned to scope the IDs of all the Night Brigade dead so he could terrorize anyone associated with them. After the previous week of dealing with them, he was in no mood to fuck around.

He checked out the ID in the back pocket of the dead man in the kitchen. A former university professor who lost his job when the endowment was seized nearly twenty years before.

He'd been on the angry pill for pillage ever since.

Pierce shoved the body aside to free up the chair. He placed it on the side of the table without a bloody pool beneath so there would be a spare seat for Ferenzi.

Pierce sipped from his cup while he read the newsfeed on his PA.

Ferenzi finally entered the kitchen after several minutes. He wore a robe and held a warm, unopened bottle of malt liquor in his hand.

On the label were the words beneath a globe, Haz girar el mundo - make the world spin.

A demanding little label!

Pierce leaned against the back of the chair and tilted it.

"I made you tea. No need to go about your business sauced in the middle of the day."

Ferenzi shook his head as he twisted the bottle cap.

"This is most definitely not 'bout day drinkin' and getting drunk."

He threw the bottle back and gargled the contents that missed his chest and hit his throat. He repeated himself once more.

"So, I gather you are not fond of the taste of cock?"

Ferenzi squinched up his brows and assessed the question.

"Some of the things a man discovers about himself at later stages of his life - I just turned forty-eight, are quite something else, and yes that is certainly one of them. Not even in the least."

He chugged down the remainder of the forty-ounce bottle.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Ferenzi snorted, dismissively.

"My boarding school hazings and college pledge were much worse than anything those priss-pots could throw at me."

Ferenzi was about to sit down when he stopped for a moment.

"Oh, It's been up there so long I forgot it was still there."

"What is it?" Pierce asked.

"I don't know," Ferenzi answered as he reached behind and pulled up his robe. "Gimme a sec."

Pierce's eyes bugged as he saw the greased-up bundle of six bottle rockets that were now held in Ferenzi's fist.

"They stuck that up your bum?"

"Apparently so."

Pierce stood up. The circumference of the bundle amazed him

"They were going to shoot that off in here?"

Ferenzi sat down, and shook his head.

"I believe they intended to take me to the gymnasium. But the plan fell through. Something about some bad dope."

Pierce nodded his head. A stringy-haired blonde bird he intended to shoot along with the rest of them had been thrown in the janitor's closet.

She wasn't even dead yet, but blue in the lips and comatose.

Ferenzi smiled as he sipped the tea.

"How is it that we all have the same ingredients but only you Brits know how to make good tea?"

Pierce sat back down

"Simple. No one believes us when we tell them you have to start with the milk or cream on the bottom."

Ferenzi closed his eyes and enjoyed the cup.

"So what's new in the world since I have been out of the scene?"

Pierce nodded. He definitely wanted to see Ferenzi's response to this news.

"Your lovely ex freed August Javierra. She got him some help. He's now unreachable even if we wanted to stop him."

Ferenzi boomed a hearty laugh.

"Fuck 'em, I say. The entire city could use an enema!"