《Eliot Ness for Mayor》Chapter 18.
Advertisement
Chapter 18.
When, lo, Metatron’s Morons thundered over the horizon, darkening the sky like a swarm of eagles. They landed on Hough, creating a hurricane-force wind, sending discarded papers and fast-food containers swirling down the street. The Morons stood shoulder to shoulder along the center lane, a granite fence between the opposing forces. Both Maquis projectiles and Partisan shells bounced off the granite angels, the ordinance dying on the street and injuring no one. After several minutes of useless fire, both sides gave up. The Maquis retreated to the shadows, and the tanks went silent their hatches popping open, disgorging dazed soldiers dressed, not in the Army greens and camo fatigues Frank had expected, but in navy blue, with ‘POLICE’ stamped on the back of their uniforms.
Unaware he’d been holding his breath, Frank breathed out, glad the angels had stepped in. They’d stopped the rioters from vandalizing businesses, thus sparing the innocents, who scurried away from the fighting and their burning homes.
The Maquis sympathizers were lucky that American Partisans drove the tanks and planes and weren't commies, Frank reckoned. Unlike Soviet leadership, who killed citizens for sport and sent dissidents to freeze and starve to death in desolate Siberia, Cent-Com would not order a slaughter on their own people.
Sure, there was collateral damage, with Partisan troops firing on unarmed Maquis. Frank assumed Cent-Com must’ve made an honest mistake. After all, Americans were the good guys, defending liberty, freedom, justice, and democracy. GIs weren’t brutes. They loved baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and Jimmy Stewart in It’s A Wonderful Life, not violence. So firing on innocent people had to be a regrettable mistake. Had to be. Cent-Com wouldn’t have ordered wanton destruction like that.
It seemed un-American.
But Frank replayed the battle in his mind’s eye and bit his lip.
Those retreating American citizens counted for more than American property to Cent-Com… Right?
Confused and doubting government, which he’d been doing more since Nixon shenanigans, Frank stared into the middle distance, his throat bone-dry. He realized Metatron had saved Americans from American troops and leadership. That was ghastly because, without divine intervention, the cops would have gunned down families fleeing the destruction Cent-Com had wrought.
Despite the heat, he shivered, wondering.
Metatron derailed Frank’s train of thought by raising his flaming sword in a stony-faced greeting. Frank nodded in reply.
Advertisement
With a solemn mien, Metatron took a knee and said in his deep, thunderous roar, “All praise the Lord of Hosts, the God of gods, the Nameless One who contains all names and reigns over the living and the dead. Thou shalt have no God before Him. And remember, ye bags of worm food, that whatsoever you do to the least amongst you, that you do also unto Him.”
Frank considered the bible passage… if it was scripture. Regardless, the speech sounded scriptural, and scripture got him all the time. So Frank beat his chest and lowered his eyes, replying with a reverent, “Amen.”
The Morons raised their swords in agreement, and Frank hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, leaned back on his heels, and grinned.
He sorta liked these idiots.
Sure, they were dumbasses, dense as the granite they were carved from, but they had gumption, valor, and the courage of their convictions. They’d show up and fight the good fight, ignoring the risks.
That took stones.
Feeling safe under the angels’ protection, Frank sauntered towards the alley, aiming to resume his rearguard post. But his breath caught, and he stopped, dead in his tracks halfway up the alley, glancing back. The blood drained from his face.
Because the Morons’ swords all pointed his way.
His heart skipped several beats as reality sunk in. The Morons weren’t protecting Club Seventy-Nine. Instead, they were protecting innocent civilians from him and the Partisan Army.
Yikes.
Horrified at the discovery, Frank scurried towards Club Seventy-Nine’s door, planning to turn in his gun and grab his discarded jacket when Metatron said, “Stop,” his booming voice rattling windows.
Frank halted, his face and neck flashing hot with annoyance. “Jaysus, Metatron, chill out. I get the message. I’m done, turning in my gun and heading home.”
Metatron said, “Not now. Look.” His gaze flicked towards the Eliot Ness campaign ad, and he chin-pointed to where Zac and the beefy slob kicked and stomped a defenseless man on the sidewalk.
Frank hesitated, considering the odds. First, he had tons to lose: his life, his wife, his family, and his granddaughter’s concert at Severance Hall, to name a few. Which made point two devastating: his chances sucked. Alone, Zac and Beefy outnumbered him two-to-one and outgunned Frank’s squirrel gun with two large-caliber hunting rifles. Frank’s odds plummeted when he factored in Partisan soldiers and cops.
Advertisement
Million-to-one? Maybe even a billion-to-one.
“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” Frank said to Eliot Ness’s unmoving visage under his breath.
“Now,” Metatron said, his voice quaking the earth and shattering the front windows of the duplex nearest him.
Frank snapped to, trotting up the street towards the Partisans as they kicked the Maquis. The man played possum, covering his face and head.
Zac and Beefy stepped back. With a flash of white coat and tight-checked pants, Frank halted, recognizing the chef. Frank’s eyes widened as Zac raised his rifle. Frank hollered at the top of his lungs to get their attention. No dice, so he sprinted fast as he could muster to stop the encroaching tragedy.
His legs burned. He gasped for breath. He tried moving faster, but couldn’t. And yet, he tried reaching deeper. Had to.
An innocent man’s life hung in the balance.
With Frank now half a block away and closing fast, Zac smirked sidelong at Beefy and cradled the gun to his shoulder before eyeing the sight. The safety clicked ‘OFF,’ and Zac finalized his aim. Now within ten feet, Frank launched himself like a linebacker at Zac as his hand tightened around the trigger.
The powder ignited as Frank hit Zac full in the ribs.
The gun fired, and they tumbled to the ground in a tangled mass of limbs and guns. The blast rang Frank’s ears, and the burned sulfur stench of spent powder polluted his nostrils. Afraid he was too late, he sprang to his feet, dashing to the chef’s side. The man sat up, alive, and Frank’s gaze swept over his body, finding no bullet wound. Frank heaved a sigh, and his heart leaped in his chest, relieved. Zac had missed.
Standing between the chef and his attackers, Frank raised his hands and said through short, gasping breaths, “Wait. I was there. This guy’s innocent. Just trying to get home. To protect his kids.”
Zac stood, leveling his gun at Frank. “How do you know? Cops told us a black man in a chef’s uniform torched my car, and this scumbag’s a black man in a chef’s uniform. Can’t be many n****r cooks floating around.”
His breath steadying, Frank snorted. “I’ll tell you what I told the cops: it wasn’t him. He was helping me, and we watched the firebombers torch your Caddie. Together. No way it was him.”
His face pinched with disgust, Zac sneered at Frank, his eyes black and emotionless in the dusky summer night. “Bullshit.”
Frank squared, glowering at Zac. “The fuck it is, asshole. I saw what I saw. I’d testify in any court, swear on a stack of bibles.”
Zac snorted, aiming the barrel at Frank, who raised his hands.
Frank said, “Hold on there, boss. Don’t shoot the messenger, for Christ’s sake.”
With a rustle of fabric, the beefy slob also leveled his rifle on Frank.
Fuck.
“I call bullshit, too,” Beefy said, pointing across Hough. “You on their side? A turncoat, a n****r loving traitor against your kind?”
Frank narrowed his gaze. “Look, I ain’t got time for this schoolyard crap. I’ve got things I gotta do. Grownup things. Responsible things.” He raised his arms, his rifle pointing skyward, a threat to no one. “Look, guys, I’ve got to go. My granddaughter’s playing with a youth orchestra tonight, and I promised I’d be there, watching. So—”
‘Click.’ The beefy slob cocked his gun, saying. “Well, ain’t that just sweet. We got us a n****r-loving family man here. And a real swanky one at that, going the Severance Hall like a freaking Rothschild.”
‘Click.’ Zac also cocked, aiming.
Frank’s heart fell, his throat gone dry as the Mohave Desert. And then, he heard a roar from Club Seventy-Nine as a horde of Partisans accompanied by a legion of skeletal bikers on dragons swarmed their way. In the lead and riding a dragon that flew above them, the rail-thin man, his face pale as a carp’s belly and sunken eyes glowing red, bee-lined straight for Frank, his bony fingers outstretched like the claws of a carrion crow.
With a rush, Frank remembered the thin man’s words on Coventry: “They don’t need you,” meaning the coloreds. The thin man was wrong. The colored chef had needed Frank. Still did, since they'd beat him bloody and senseless.
Didn't matter, though, Frank reckoned, since they’d both soon be dead.
Fuck.
Advertisement
Dragon's Soul
Synopsis of my story, A young boy faces the end of his life, born a genius, gifted with an incredible memory and a passion for knowledge. As he takes his last breathe his life flashed before his eyes , from an early age he had been like a sponge soaking in all the knowledge around him, science, history, culture, literature, and even military strategy he absorbed it all. But as his life was coming to an end he scorned all his knowledge, what was the point of knowing everything when you weren’t even able to protect yourself or the ones you loved. As the boy closed his eyes for one final time,he laughed at how blinded he had been about the world and people and thought that if there was indeed a next life he would obtain power, power to protect himself and his loved one. And so this marked the end of his life, but for some, the end is only the beginning. My first story so it won't be too great so bare with me as I try to get better.
8 392Dark Base written by Travis Willier
A black government military operation kidnaps four individuals and brings them in a deep military underground facility for military operation experimentation and deep mind memory analysis. Little did they know this base would become their Hell
8 124The Dragon King
Cyril was once the son of a rich family hell bent on perfection. Back then he was known as James Bell. A trouble maker from New York who would roam the streets looking for a fight to get that adrenaline rush to escape from the abusive parents he had at home. However, one day he attracted the attention of an unwanted individual, resulting in his untimely demise. Now in this new world he is reborn as the most hated species of them all, a black dragon, he finds himself in a similar sitiuation. Only this time, it's a lot more than just one person. Explore this brand new world through the eyes of the Dragon King himself as well as his friends, family and foes!
8 134The Before Of Afterlife: A tower climbing Litrpg
What happens after death? Alaric sought the answer to the question all his life, only to reach the conclusion that many had... "Whatever is to happen, will happen." "Heaven is a permanent, eternal divine reward reserved for those who lived morally upright. Whereas Hell is a permanent, eternal divine punishment for those who have committed moral transgressions and have remained unrepentant. " But he was wrong, so very wrong. What awaits you after death is... Ding! « Welcome to ' The B-... » Heaven? Hell? Reincarnation? Rebirth?.. Bullshit!! All these things amount to nothing more than mere fantasy. Equality doesn't exist after birth, but rather after death! On the stage, where performers give their best performance to please the audience above, Alaric is the odd one; he doesn't care about these so-called 'audiences' or his fellow 'performers'. To him, all that matters is his goal... to gain Absolute power! To stand above everyone and below none. Anyone who stands in his way is an enemy, and he will gift them what he is most loved by... Death! Since he got the second chance he has always desired, he is ready to climb any height or fall to any depth to achieve his goal. But! Things are not as simple as they appear. The curtains behind the stage hides secrets as mysterious as the origin of everything. To pull the curtains back, there is only one way in sight... To reach the top! Follow Alaric as he climbs the stages giving the performance no one had ever expected, uncovering the secrets that should be known to no mortal, as he asks himself... What is Afterlife? ******************************************* Current release schedule: 3 Chapters/ Week Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
8 108Knight’s Fate: Knight and Princess
When war finally ended, the Arcadians sought retribution from the nightmares they had suffered from demonkind. A noble Princess had taken her mother's mantle in order to uphold peace between the two races so humanity could co-exist with their fellow demons in a kingdom without strife, but war paved the road to peace in blood and such path is but a fragile thread awaiting to be ignited by the flames of hatred. Another great war awaits, but will she be able to avert it?Second iteration of the Knight's Fate saga chronologically speaking. Yes I'm starting from the second because the first was an utter failure when I tried to write it, it just didn't fit the mood of a fantasy novel unlike this one. Though don't worry this doesn't mean you can't enjoy this one before I write the first. This is the first story I've actually published so I appreciate any feedback, be it good or bad just let me know what you think.
8 197Demon Archon Of Naferanam
Did you know the story of other side? I mean the underworld. Teyvat have their own crisis when the demon roaming their land until 1 person come out and controlling those demon. She is the one that people call Demon King or Demon God. She created another new place where all of her subject can live in there. This place called Neferanam. Thousands of years pass and she still the absolute ruler of the Neferanam for all of the demon only forever accept her order.
8 153