Darkness.
Flash!
Darkness.
Flash!
With the bass booming throughout the large room, the patrons of the dance floor noticed nothing in the smoke filled strobes of light that illuminated their writhing bodies in tune with the music. Head Automatica blared from the large speakers that littered the nightclub, pumping the youths into a wild chemical orgasm.
Bodies were hitting the floor, gaping holes blown into their chests. No one paid a bit of attention.
Henry Savant VIII walked confidently through the packed crowd, his pistol leveled at a man weaving through the people ahead. With two pulls of the trigger, the running man's back exploded in red neon. The strobe lights acted like stop motion photography. Henry didn't even stop to look at the man he'd just killed, instead lumbering on in his assigned task. He motioned into the air with his fingers, his actions watched by his one and only partner.
Licking his lips, Jerminy Cricket left the edge of the crowd, pushing and shoving people out of his way as he closed in on the club's front exit. A few noticed the hard steel bulge that ran down the length of his leather trenchcoat, but no one elected to stop the former body builder. Hollywood at night hanging around, if this is a must then dying is a must right now, the speakers spoke. Jerminy allowed himself a giggle before he walked out the front door.
Making his way around to the side of the dance floor, Henry positioned himself in front of a large oak door that was the entrance to the club's offices. After a step backward, he threw his massive leg forward, allowing his boot to strike the doorknob, snapping the locks inside the door. Wood splintered and shattered as the door flew inward, surprising the three men that were gathered in the hallway behind it. Three more pulls of the trigger. Three more dead men.
Henry strode down the hall with confidence, a bullet here and a bullet there adding to the already large death toll. Half a dozen men ran down the hall, successfully evading the gunfire that sounded off behind them. Breaking through the back exit of the club, the men were certain that they could escape.
"Oh... shit?" one asked as they emerged into the darkened alley, some of them bumping into each other as the pack leaders stopped on their heels a few feet from the door.
A smile on his face and Trick Daddy playing through the headphones of his MP3 player, Jerminy Cricket raised the large assault rifle from its previously concealed position. From two dozen yards away, the flare of a muzzle and the recoil of the gun brought joy to Jeremy's cold heart. A shower of steel death perforated the six men, spraying the wall of the building behind them with blood. "Ha! Trick luv da kids!" he shouted, determined to be heard over the roar of the machine gun.
Finally, he released the trigger, disengaging his love for violence as he saw Henry emerge from the club's interior. "Yo, H8!" he yelled, overestimating his own voice due to the music in his ears. "I even left one alive for ya! Merry Christmas, you fuck!"
Sighing softly, Henry glanced at the dead men strewn about the concrete. The bullets had sliced into them like a million tiny knives, severing body parts from torsos as they sliced through flesh like hot butter. Finally, he found one man still alive... coughing up blood due to the massive wounds to his chest and legs, but alive nonetheless.
"Mr. Crane," Henry greeted the man with a nod of his head. He crouched down in front of him and slowly took out his pack of cigarettes and Zippo lighter. Slowly, methodically, he lit the cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the man's face. "Mr. Cordova has a message for your employers."
Crane coughed furiously for several moments. "What... what's the message?" he finally choked out.
"You are," Henry replied with an emotionless voice. Pressing his revolver against Crane's forehead, directly between his eyes, Savant pulled the trigger once. A bloody cavity remained where Crane's face had previously been. Standing from his crouched position, Henry wiped at the blood on his black leather jacket.
Henry stared at the man he'd just killed, unable to take his eyes off of his victim. Jerminy announced his presence at his friend's side with a slap on his back. "Now that's hot."
ARTIFICE AMERICA
LUV + H8
Chapter One: "Baby, Is This LUV For Real?"
By Chris Munn
"C'mon, you bitch... work with me here."
Sweat formed on the brow of Fenton Frost as he tapped a command into the keyboard sitting in his lap. His tie had since come off his neck, tossed aside onto the carpeted floor of the lavish office in which he sat. He tapped again on the Enter key, again and again, with sufficient force to cause worry that he might break the board atop his legs. "That's it, that's it!" he yelled after his fourth attack on the key, his right hand raised in a pose of victory. "I am a God on Earth! Bring me cocaine and women!"
In front of him, sprawled out on the floor, was a perfect human specimen. Each curve of the girl's nude body was sublime, dazzling in its well-rounded beauty. If left to a passing glance, the young woman's physical perfection could possibly have caused one to miss the cables that ran from a port imbedded behind her left ear, barely visible behind her golden waves of hair. This is where Fenton had plugged in his keyboard and monitor, allowing the engineering prodigy access to the main CPU of the Lubricated Uninhibited Virgin. With his final keystroke, the girl's body twitched and suffered a tiny spasm. Frost was grinning from ear to ear.
"I take it you have good news?"
Fenton cocked his head to the side in response to the question, his line of sight rising to see the man sitting behind the large desk in the back of the office. Quentin Cordova had been waiting patiently for days, and it had never been said that the man at the head of organized crime in Atlantic City was a paragon of patience. He'd already begrudgingly postponed his "announcement of intent" that he'd prepared for the city, a declaration that he was running for mayor of the city. He wanted her on his arm when he went before the press, but the time taken to prepare her was causing him much consternation.
"Okay, it's like I said before," Frost began, finding it obvious that Cordova was not as impressed with his accomplishments as he was himself, "this baby didn't come preloaded with all the nasty stuff you have in mind. I'd outfitted her with the basic package, of course - expertise on oral and anal interaction, Kama Sutra recall ability, basic human anatomy read files (for both male and female, 'natch), etc. - but for all the shit that you wanted, well... I kinda had to go in and work some magic."
"Now, this part here is important, so listen up," Frost continued, turning back to his keyboard while motioning for his employer with a beckoning finger. "Lily here is outfitted with a first-contact imprint system, meaning that the first person she lays her pretty little eyes on will be her default commander. As per your instructions, I've uploaded your list of secondary users, so she won't act like a fuckin' slave or anything when she's out in public. But, for all intents and purposes, you're her fuckin' man. Anything you say will immediately counteract any previous commands by someone on the secondary list."
"I appreciate your assistance in this endeavor, Mr. Frost," Cordova said as he pulled a chair directly in front of the girl's face, "and it will not be forgotten."
"Hey, when I put this baby up on eBay," Fenton remarked as he returned to entering commands on his keyboard, "I included full installation as part of the sale. So, yeah, no problemo."
"So what do I need to do here, Mr. Frost?" Cordova asked while running a finger along the curve of the synthetic girl's bust.
"First Person Shooter," Fenton answered, the monitor reflecting on his glasses, "just make sure you're the first thing she sees. Alright, motor systems coming online... micro servers running..."
Frost hit one final key and grinned from ear to ear. "This is your wake up call, you sexy little hooker."
Slowly, almost magically, the girl's eyes fluttered open. "Initiating contact..." her silken voice purred, making even the most banal of phrases seem beautiful. Quentin Cordova towered over her face, taking up nearly her entire field of vision. "Contact acquired."
"My name is Quentin," the criminal entrepreneur stated authoritatively, "and I am your God. Does this comply?"
"Quentin..." she replied, her blank stare beginning to take on a sign of expression and emotion. "My God..."
***
"Hey, you know if Ol' Big Titty's working tonight?" Jerminy asked as he reclined back in the smooth leather back seat. The assault rifle was resting between his open legs, and the burly bodybuilder gave the muzzle a few sensual strokes. "Cuz, y'know, I might wanna look at some titties tonight. Might just be in the mood..."
"Dunno if she's on the clock tonight," the driver of the lavish Cadillac replied from the front of the car, "but if she is, give that ol' bitch a smack on the ass for me, huh?"
"Where's Greg at tonight, James?" Henry asked from his spot in the front passenger seat. "Don't you two usually work as a duo?"
"He had to take the night off," James replied, smiling that pretty-boy smile that more often than not made sure he wouldn't sleep alone at nights, "boy's a hardcore video game player. He said something about feeling the need to kill some people in the virtual sense instead of the more traditional manner."
"Hell, seein' people twitch, that's half the fun of a gunfight," Jeremy replied. He then sat up in the seat, poking his head between Henry and James. "Besides, ain't he like your heterosexual life mate or something? Every time I see you together you're like one step away from holding hands and exchanging promise rings."
Henry laughed despite himself. "I believe the term is Manpanion."
"Y'know, you guys can always just bail out from the speeding car when he get to the club," James replied, accentuating his statement with an upturned middle finger stuck in Jeremy's face. "And you know Greg's a blackbelt, right? Might want to reconsider questioning his manhood."
"Yeah, but yours is still totally up for ridicule," Jerminy yelled as he flopped back onto his seat.
Henry turned toward the window, deciding to tune out his companions for the remainder of the drive. James, along with his partner Greg, were the most trusted wheel-men in Cordova's organization... crazy as all fuck, don't believe in traffic laws, and not afraid to shoot a man in the testicles with the shotgun hanging from the car's ceiling mount. Great men, Henry had long ago decided, and it had in fact been he that had recommended them to be the operators of the Black Taxi experiment.
The Black Taxis were Cordova's way to smuggle operatives and investments across the city without calling undue attention. Instead of relying on a hitman or a chemist to do a job then get the fuck out of dodge, the Black Taxi would take them in and out of dangerous situations, providing them both a way to concentrate on their job without fear of being caught and a stable back-up team that could pull them out of a hot zone. James Williams, for example, was the driver that Henry chose to pick him up from the Crane job... there was no one else (minus the other half of the James/Greg duo) that he would trust to have his back during a getaway.
"Yo, H8," James said for the third time, finally slapping the older man on his shoulder to get his attention, "what's this I hear on the rumor mill about you being the new boss?"
"No comment," Henry answered firmly, "and don't call me that."
"Whoa, sorry, man," James replied, placing both hands back on the steering wheel.
"Ah, he's on the rag right now," Jerminy stated, "don't worry about it, Jimmy."
"No harm, no foul," James responded as he pulled the car to a stop aside the street curb. "We're here, boys. Want me to keep the meter running?"
"We'll call if we need a ride out," Henry said as he threw open the car door and extended a leg to the sidewalk, "take it easy, James."
Henry took a long look as he stepped off the curb, toward the roped off sidewalk entrance to Open Slots. The "gentlemen's club" was far from the classiest joint in Atlantic City, but it was also far from the seediest. It was there that the Cordova Boys assembled to kick back and kick ass.
And the girls weren't half bad, either.
The doorman, a large mammal called The Slab by those unfortunate enough to make his unpleasant side, smiled and nodded at the two men as they strode past the growing line at the front door. "Very Important People, mother fuckers," Jerminy commented to the crowd as he and Henry walked inside.
"Looks like Saph's on the clock tonight after all," Henry stated to his friend, his voice raised to be heard over the booming sound system. Jeremy gave a sly grin and a impish wink as his reply, and both men's attention immediately went to the young woman on the stage.
Water dripped off her curves as she wrapped herself around the pole positioned in the center of the stage. Massive Attack loomed in the background, adding to the ambience of the girl's dance. Her name was Sarah... Sapphire Sarah...
You... are my angel...
The bass vibrated the audience, drawing them in to the girl's sensual movements. Wrapped around the pole like a python, she was sure to make eye contact with every patron she could. She moved like poetry.
Love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, the singer's voice repeated. It was true. They loved her... every curve of her body, every inch of her flesh, and every soaked strand of her hair.
Henry turned to look at his partner, somehow managing to take his eyes off the show on stage. Sapphire was the one Jerminy had come to see - the one he always came to see at the club - and it was easy to see his love for her. Instead of what he expected to see on the man's face, however, he couldn't help but notice the scowl twisted on Jerm's lips as he looked over toward the bar.
"You see that?" Jeremy asked as nodded toward a group of four young men that sat entranced at the bar. "Fucking 80's New Wave shit coming back, making everyone dress like the Flock of god damn Seagulls. Pisses me off, man... you know, those people you immediately want to kill the moment you set eyes on them? God damn retrosexuals."
"They're just kids," Henry replied, "let it go. We've met our quota for the night already."
"Fuck that, man," Jerm said as he took off toward the bar. Henry immediately followed after him, afraid of his friend's hair trigger temper.
"That's some beautiful shit on stage, ain't it?" Jerminy asked as he took a seat next to one of the boys, the one with his hair slicked down to a point across the bridge of his forehead.
"Ain't a man alive that can take that home tonight, brother," the boy replied with a goofy grin on his face. Jerminy Cricket smirked mischievously.
"Bet you 100 bucks I can get her number," Jeremy answered. The boy smirked, hesitated, then took the killer's hand in a firm shake.
"You're on."
Henry sighed when he saw what was happening. He'd seen the hustle a million times before, a classic if there ever was one. Jerm made his way to the stage like a bullet, arriving just as Sapphire was finishing her time in the spotlight. "Hey, puss puss," he greeted, motioning her to come closer with an upraised index finger.
"Hey, baby," she replied while kneeling down to collect the many bills that had made their way onto the stage floor, "do I even have to ask?"
"Just write 'em on the hand, doll face," he said with a wink, "and we're getting our dinner Super Sized tonight."
Savant could see the expressions on the group's collective face change when the dancer began to write on the man's hand. Trouble was brewing, and once again he knew he'd have to bail his friend out of the shit. "I suggest you pay the man," Henry said to the boys as Jerminy made his way back toward them.
"Fuck that," one of the youths spoke up, "and fuck you. You're trying to fuckin' scam us... ain't no way that bitch was gonna pony up her digits to him unless they was already tight!"
The guns were drawn without a moment's hesitation, a blur of movement revealing the shafts of solid chrome. His twin pistols leveled at the boy's eyes, Jeremy narrowed his eyes before he spoke. "I don't think I heard that right. Did I, H8? Did he just say what I think he just said?"
"Again," Henry said as he motioned for a shot from the bartender, all the while keeping his eyes locked on the four young men, "I suggest you pay the man."
"Here... here!" the boy that made the bet shouted nervously as he shoved a crumpled wad of bills in Henry's direction. Counting it slowly, adding to the tension that had caught on to the rest of the club, bringing the party to a grinding halt, Henry finally nodded his head in approval.
Jerminy's guns wavered for a moment before he finally pushed them down to his waist. Before the boy could breathe a sigh of relief, the bodybuilder's head jerked forward. Jerm's skull crashed into the child's nose, snapping cartilage and bone like dry twigs. Blood exploded from the boy's face as he fell to the ground, screaming and crying.
"Now get the fuck out of here," Henry said nonchalantly before draining his shot of Beam, "before someone gets hurt."
Collecting their injured friend, the group ran toward the exit, leaving a trail of blood and tears as they left. "You need to cut that shit out," Henry said to the grinning Jeremy, "'cause I ain't always gonna be here to keep you from doing something stupid."
"Yeah, right," Cricket said as he turned back toward the stage, holding the money up for Sarah to see. "Look, babe... no dollar menu for us tonight!"
***
The test drive had been a rousing success... that, Quentin Cordova could not deny.
Smoke filtered out his nose following a draw off his cigarette, forming a cloud directly above the bed. Cordova allowed himself a look at the girl lying perfectly still beside him. The perfect woman, he mused silently, not a word after and she goes straight to sleep with zero desire to cuddle.
The phone on the night stand beside him rang loudly, but he took his time in reaching over to retrieve it. There was no fear that Lily would awaken, as per his specifications uploaded into her user files. "Cordova," he answered gruffly as he placed the receiver to his ear.
"It's Henry," the person on the other end replied, his voice filtered through the resumed music of the strip club, "we finished early tonight."
"Good, good," Quentin replied after enjoying another slow drag on his cigarette, "I take it Crane got the message, then?"
"With crystal clarity," Henry answered from the pay phone in the back hall of the bar, one hand cupped over his free ear.
"No questions, Henry?" Cordova asked. "This is two you've killed with no complaint... you usually at least ask me why."
"No need to question my place on the food chain, sir," Savant responded.
"Well, let's talk about that, then," Quentin continued as he stubbed out the cigarette butt in the ashtray that rested on his hairy chest. "Have you thought about my offer?"
"It's a lot of responsibility," Henry answered with a bit of hesitation, "I don't know if I'm up to it, honestly."
"Bullshit," Cordova spat, "there's no man I'd choose over you, Henry. Let me give you some advice: you need to stop being such a follower and learn to be a leader. I can see your future, my friend... and I'm afraid that if you don't step up you might wind up dead."
"...is that a threat, Quentin?" Savant asked, his voice cold and stern.
Cordova sighed before speaking again. "No, Henry... it's just some friendly advice. Can I count on you to step up and help me with this?"
A long pause lingered in the midst of the conversation. "Yeah," Henry finally replied, "sure, I'm in."
"Excellent," the mob boss said with a smile. "I'm having a gala thrown in my honor tomorrow night. I'd like you to attend, to make some contacts. Are you available?"
"I work by the schedule you give me," Henry stated, "I'll call you tomorrow morning."
Hanging up the phone, Henry Savant VIII braced his arm against the wall and cradled his head in the crease of his elbow. What was he getting himself into? He wasn't up to such a position, to such a task...he was a follower, no matter what future his friend had envisioned for him. Throwing his head back with a jerk of his neck, Henry raised the beer bottle and finished the remainder of his drink. Fueled by alcohol, he made his way toward the back exit of Open Slots, needing the fresh air like a remedy to his problems.
Entering the desolate back alley behind the bar, Henry staggered against the brick wall on his right side, it being the only thing keeping him from falling over. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that was making him weary, or if the thought of what he'd agreed to do was causing his brain to shut down prematurely. He was oblivious to his surroundings, but he was thankful for the peace, quiet, and solitude that the alley provided him.
The crack of the wooden baseball bat against his back crushed his hope of solitude, and he hit the ground in a heap. He rolled over, just as another pair of bats struck him on the left side. He kicked his leg in a sweeping motion, catching a set of knees with the toe of his boot, causing them to shatter from the impact. One man fell down beside him in screaming agony.
The twin Desert Eagle pistols emerged immediately after, and another pair of kneecaps found themselves bursting in an explosion of blood and bone. A bat came crashing down on his right wrist, causing the gun to fall limply from his hand. He spun around while sitting up, a bullet flaring from the other gun's muzzle straight into the third attacker's genital area.
Slowly, he stood to his feet, three of his four attackers all on the ground - two of which bleeding to death as they writhed around on their backs and bellies. The fourth man had backed into the shadows of the alley, but Henry could hear his labored erratic breathing.
"Step out," he ordered. "Step the fuck out!"
"Shit, dude, don't kill me," the boy pleaded as he stepped beneath the street light. Henry blinked his eyes rapidly when he saw the youth come forward, and a downward glance at the bodies strewn around him gave him pause.
"The fuckin kids from the bar?" He asked in disbelief. "You had guns shoved in your faces and you still thought this was a good idea? Do you know who I am?"
"No... no, we don't," the kid answered, the bat dropping to the ground.
"I'm a follower," Henry answered, his eyes narrowing, "and I'm a survivor."
He pulled the trigger on the weapon. The boy's brains coated the alley wall, and the bullet's impact with his face caused his body to fly backward onto the ground. Savant turned around quickly and pulled the trigger three more times.
Picking up his other pistol from the blood-soaked ground, he turned to make his way out of the alley. "I just saved you from a life of bad decisions," he commented to the four dead men he left behind him, "be thankful."
***
A short time later, Henry fell through the front door to his apartment, nearly collapsing as he turned the key and released the latch. James had arrived as quickly as possible after the frantic call Henry had placed to him, needing a ride home after the disaster at the club.
Clicking the lights on and off as he went, he moved toward his bedroom. He saw the blinking light on his answering machine, but he already assumed what the messages entailed. Jerminy, most likely, wanting to know why he'd went on a kill spree without his partner. He could count on the employees of the Slots to keep quiet about him, about who he was and what he'd most likely done to the four dead men discovered in the alley behind the establishment. They were all too afraid to say anything.
Falling onto his bed face first, not even bothering to remove more than his coat and boots, Henry wanted nothing more than to fall into a blissful sleep. The ringing phone on the bedside table sounded as if it was a million miles away, but still he managed a desperate grab for the receiver.
"Hello?" He groaned out, but there was no answer. He could hear nothing on the other end of the line, not even shallow breathing. He threw the phone over his shoulder, smiling as he heard it crash against the wall.
"Fuck 'em..."
***
She slowly placed the phone back onto its cradle, being careful not to awaken the man that was lying in the bed beside the table. She didn't understand why she'd felt the desire to place the call, or why she had been running the search program while in use by her activator.
Quentin had programmed a list of secondary users into the L.U.V. unit's command files, and she had finally found who she was looking for.
His name was Henry Savant VIII, and she had seen him before... and it was love at first sight.
To Be Continued...