Black Lagoon Fan Fiction / Hellsing Fan Fiction / Gunsmith Cats Fan Fiction ❯ Night Angels ❯ London Drift, Pt. 9 ( Chapter 30 )

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SLIVERSTONE CIRCUIT, NORTHHAMPTONSHIRE…

Despite the title, the Commonwealth International Automotive Exposition and Show was, in fact, an ‘open’ competition, showcasing the latest in worldwide automotive technology, as well as competition by owners of customized cars from the same sources. In the infield of the storied course, built from the footprint of an old World War II airfield, many of those enthusiasts milled about, getting their fill on the latest in car design, either corporate or private custom. In some other areas, many competed in noisy ‘burn-out’ contests.

Currently, on the circuit itself, two cars raced each other in a the first of the timed sprint events. One of them, a blue mid-80’s Honda Civic, raced an orange-red Ford RS-200 in a two-lap contest, with the Civic edging the Ford to the finish line. After the two cars made their cool-down lap, they made their way to the pit area, whereas the Ford screeched its way to a halt, as well as the Civic besides it.

As soon as the engines died down, two occupants from each of the cars exited their respective vehicles – the driver and the navigator. The driver of the red car – Bean Bandit – pulled off his black helmet and said to his navigator, who was clad in an identical helmet and black racing firesuit like him, and asked, “Sorta like old times, huh Rally?”

The navigator – Irene ‘Rally’ Vincent – her eyes disguised in their human blues, removed her helmet and replied with a laugh, “Yeah – only without Lt. Percy chasing our asses and cursing us because of the wrecked police cars behind us!” Turning to their opponents, who were dressed in royal blue helmets and firesuits, she added, “Hey Berttle, Master, congratulations on beating us!”

Seras Victoria, acting as a navigator as well, then pulled off her helmet and replied, “Well, you two did give us a good two laps there before we pulled ahead at the line!” Nodding to Berttle, who was checking out his car, she asked him, “So… any chance we’ll podium as a result of this?”

Noticing the time they posted, the Australian took note of it on the scoring pylon, was well as the other drivers getting ready. “I really doubt it, love,” Berttle replied. “We were only the first of the competitors and there are a whole lot of others ready to go.” He also noted the sponsorship labels on some of the cars. “And some of them have got a lot of money behind them as well. Personally though, I’m satisfied we’ve set the pace for the rest of them to follow.”

“Agreed,” a new voice put-in. Everyone then noticed Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, as well as Walter C. Dolnez, walking towards them. “At least having Rally and Seras act as navigators made your cover even more convincing. However, I must remind all of you that we still have a job to perform.”

“Right you are, Sir Integra,” Berttle agreed as he pulled his firesuit down to his waist, “namely finding that damned FREAK that caused the M-5 wreck!”

“Still,” Rally sighed, “it was too bad Moria couldn’t join us. She would’ve enjoyed this show.”

“My sentiments exactly, Rally,” the Hellsing leader replied. “Of course, she is still adjusting to how to cope with the nights of the Full Moon, so she could ill afford such distractions at this time.”

“But still, Sir Integra,” added Walter, “she is back at the mansion, aiding us there even as we speak.”

Rally looked at the two. “But still,” she said, “it would’ve been something if she could’ve come with us.”

HOURS BEFORE, HELLSING MANSION, SUB-BASEMENT LEVEL…

It had been a few hours since the misadventure involving the late Vic. Rally and Seras were busy getting ready to set-out to Northhamptonshire, knowing that the Royal Rockets, the car group that had a FREAK among its membership, would be attending the car show as well. Since the Draculina couldn’t bring her Harkonnen cannon with her, Seras was examining a MAC-10 that Rally had given her from her childe’s collection. Rally, as well, was checking out her CZ-75 and Purgatory, which she knew she could conceal easily.

It was here that the two vampires were distracted by a scratching at the door, as well as a canine-like whimpering. ‘Rally,’ Moria Hedgley’s telepathic plea sounded within Rally’s head, ‘let me in! The sun’s about to come up!’ The dusky vampire then quickly finished her examination and got-up to answer the door, which a large silver-gray wolf bounded through and settled on the coffin/bed.

As soon as the wolf settled itself on the bed, the creature began trembling, as well as whining painfully. Gradually though, the lupine features began to fade; wolfish limbs giving way to feminine legs and arms, fur becoming bare skin. As well, the whining was replaced by painful human moaning – until at last Moria, completely nude, was lying on the bed, panting as if she ran a marathon.

“That looked absolutly painful, Moria,” Seras finally said as Rally gently caressed the young woman’s cheek.

“It… is was, Seras,” Moria finally said, wiping sweat from her brow. “Father did warn me that something like this would happen when we return to our human forms.” Finally looking up, she noticed that her lovers were still dressed. “Not coming to bed with me?” she said wearily, sounding disappointed.

Rally looked at her lover sympathetically as she said, “Sorry, but me and Master have to get going if we’re going to get that FREAK at Northhamptonshire.” She looked for a box of ammunition for her favored pistol, stuffing it in an overnight bag. “Integra said that you should stay close to the mansion, being you’re still leaning how to fight these full moon transformations.”

Moria yawned. “I wouldn’t blame her, Rally,” she added sleepily. “Right now, I’m so tired, I wager I would sleep for ten years!”

“Just don’t make it too long, Moria,” Seras said. “Walter is going to be accompanying us to Silverstone, along with Sir Integra and Master, and she needs you to help us over here.” Moria groaned aloud. “Now don’t worry too much. You’ll still have your father nearby.”

“And besides,” Rally added, bending over Moria’s face, “we want you fresh after the full moon. Still gotta celebrate your birthday at the Locket, after all.” She then lightly kissed Moria on the lips. “Me and Master have already got your present ready.”

“That’s… nice…” Very quickly, Moria had drifted of to sleep.

Seras smiled as she pulled the covers over Moria’s nude body. “The poor dear,” she said. “But at least she looks so cute asleep like this.”

Rally chuckled as she set the alarm clock. “At least she’ll be able to get about four hours of it while we’re going to the track.” Picking up her bag, she added, “Let’s get going, Master. Don’t want to keep the others waiting.” The Draculina nodded, picking up her own bag.

PRESENT TIME, HELLSING MANSION…

Even though she had taken a bracing cold shower when she awoke, Moria couldn’t shake the crushing fatigue she was now experiencing. She had to virtually drag herself upstairs, where she was now at a laptop computer waiting for the data she requested from Sir Reginald Townstead. However, Moira couldn’t help but to nod-off occasionally, only to force herself awake.

It was during one of these ‘micro-naps’ that Moria felt a cold sensation against the back of her neck. Startled, she looked up to she her father, Kenneth Hedgley, standing over her. “Here, you should drink this,” he said, setting down a familiar-looking energy drink in a blue and silver can in front of her. “Have to be alert for the task, you know.”

“Thank you, Father,” Moria groaned, opening up the can and taking a sip. She didn’t particularly like the flavor, but it was better than nothing. “I don’t understand it. Even though I had some sleep, I’m having a tough time staying awake.”

Kenneth shrugged. “Our true wolf forms use a lot of energy, so normally we sleep an average of nine hours afterwards. Sorry I didn’t tell you this beforehand. Sort of slipped my mind.”

“Well lately,” Moria grumbled irritably, taking another sip, “your mind’s been slipping far too much in regards to myself being a werewolf!” She then turned around and glared at her father, “This is my life we’re talking about, Father! My survival may have to depend on whatever you know about our kind!”

Chastised by his daughter’s outburst, Kenneth could only wrap his arms around Moria’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, dear. I promise as soon as we get through the next two days I’ll put all I know on paper.” Smiling, Moria gave her father a peck on the cheek. “So Moria, waiting for an e-mail from Reggie?”

Moria nodded. “Rally gave me all she found about that FREAK she trailed the night Vic got her with that stake, including an address. I wager that he might have some record in Scotland Yard, so I asked Uncle Reggie if he could dig-up anything.” Then a beep caught her attention. “And it looks like he did!”

Opening the e-mail, Moria was able to locate the attachment on it, downloaded it and reviewed the results. Satisfied, she opened the instant messaging program, turned on the voice and webcam feature, and sent a notice to Sir Integra.

SILVERSTONE CIRCUIT, NORTHHAMPTONSHIRE…

Although it was cloudy, there was no chance of rain in the forecast – perfect weather for vampires to be about in the daytime. Both Berttle and Bean’s team had shared the same garage area, as well as the remainder of group. The Australian had removed his firesuit, and was now dressed in denim jeans, boots, an the jumper of his favorite Australian football team, the Adelaide Crows. As for Bean, he was now in his familiar jeans, boots, t-shirt and bulletproof leather coat. Rally and Seras were also out of their suits; Seras in jeans and the jersey of the Arsenal soccer club, Rally the same, but wearing a navy-blue Chicago Bears home jersey with the name and number of Walter Payton.

Sir Integra was seated at a table set-up in the garage, with Walter serving her tea. Alucard was seated across from his master, his booted feet lazily propped-up on the table near the laptop and webcam. “Have you any preparations for confronting that FREAK, Alucard?” the Hellsing leader asked, annoyed by her servant’s lack of motivation.

“I’m saving myself for the FREAK,” the red-clad vampire replied, “provided he’s worth my bullets! I just hope that he is too much of a disappointment to me.”

Irritated, Sir Integra was about to let-off with a retort when a beeping came from the laptop. “It’s Moria!” Rally said, everyone’s attention on the device, which the dusky vampire operated quickly. As soon as the webcam was activated, Moira’s face appeared in a small pop-up screen. “Can you see me, Moria?” she asked over the microphone.

“Clearly, Rally,” the maid replied. “Sir Integra, I have the information about the FREAK Rally trailed.”

“Very good, Moria,” Sir Integra replied, leaning over Rally’s shoulder – as well as the rest of the team.

Moria’s image just shrugged and said, “Really, you should thank Uncle Reggie for supplying the information. I’m sending an image of him right now.” In another window, the image of the FREAK showed up – a slender face with greasy-looking black hair and a pierced lip.

“That’s him!” Rally exclaimed. “That’s the guy I trailed! Moria, do you have a background on this guy?”

There was a pause before, “Harold Baker, a.k.a. ‘Heartbreaker Hal’,” Moria replied. “From the information, he was the founder of the Royal Rockets, and up until last year it’s leader.” Another pause, “He’s the son of a greengrocer and still lives with his parents at the flat you trailed him to, Rally. There are numerous roadways violations on his record, many including speeding, reckless driving and excess noise violations.”

“You said that his leadership with the Rockets ended last year,” Sir Integra inquired. “Anything happened to change that fact?”

“Indeed it had.” Moria gone over the file Sir Townstead supplied her. “The last accident he had which he was cited involved his father’s delivery van, where he had to pay for the repairs out-of-pocket. It was after that little episode that the club decided to strip him of his leadership, but kept him in the group.” She then made other inquiries, “I found who had replaced him.” Taking note of the web address, she copied it in a link and sent it to her lover.

At their location, Rally clicked on the supplied link, which revealed a portrait of a clean-shaven, red-haired young man with blue eyes. The dusky vampire had recognized it as the man that had led the wake for Stanley Hardwicke, the Rocket-turned ghoul from the M-5 incident. “Roderick Cheever,” she said.

“I know of him,” Sir Integra added, recognizing the picture. “Youngest of seven sons, gained a lot of his wealth using his own efforts. He also has a Master’s degree in automotive engineering and has an interest in Formula 1 racing. Eventually, he hopes to form his own team.” She studies the file further, “He was the one who had sponsored Mr. Hardwicke’s membership in the Rockets in the hopes of grooming him as a F-1 driver.”

“Automotive engineering, eh?” Bean added, looking at the picture. “Maybe I might look him up and get a few pointers on how to improve the Buff’s performance.”

“Somehow Bean, I doubt anything can be done to the Buff that hasn’t been done by you,” Rally smirked.

But then, everyone’s attention was riveted by a call from the public address announcer. “Harold Baker, this is your second call to register for the timed sprints! Repeat, this is your second call!”

“Hmm… seems our FREAK is not making his presence known,” Alucard observed. “Perhaps the coward senses our appearance here.”

“Not likely,” Walter added. “We were very careful to keep a low profile coming here.”

“But still, this is very disturbing,” Sir Integra further added. “We know the Rockets are here at the event, but we have yet to see their distinctive leather jackets.”

Taking a hint, Bean squared up his coat and departed the garage. Stretching, he said, “Seems like the perfect time to do a little scouting. Besides, it the perfect excuse for me to go check-out some of the new tech around here.”

“Just don’t go too far, Bean,” Rally added. “If you run into trouble, you might not be as lucky as you usually are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Bean as he left.

Returning her attention to the computer, Sir Integra then instructed, “Try find more information about this Baker, Moria. We need more to work with here.”

“I think I may just have it,” the maid replied.

“So soon?” Sir Integra inquired. Everyone was impressed.

HELLSING MANSION…

By now, Pip Bernadotte had joined Moria and Kenneth in the parlor. “I made an inquiry over the phone about the elder Baker and his greengrocer stand,” the girl said. “For some odd reason, the stand hasn’t opened for the past three days… which is unusual. I’ve shopped there myself and I know that Mr. Baker is very regular in his habits. He would even have the place open even if he was sick and should be in bed!”

“Now that is unusual!” Sir Integra replied.

“Mon commander,” Pip offered, “do you think zese requires an investigation?”

“Indeed it does, Captain. Take one of your men and head-out to the Baker’s flat. Be discreet about it, though. Do not wear your uniforms to this.”

“Oui, commander,” replied the mercenary. “I think I might take one of ze rookies on zese trip.”

“Pip, why don’t you take Alfie along?” Rally suggested.

Pip smiled. “I think I will do zat! Thanks, Rally!”

“Oh Captain Bernadotte,” Moria added, “as another suggestion, you might want to have Uncle Reggie accompany you as well. Best to have some police back-up on this.” She then picked-up her cell phone and hit the speed dial. “Uncle Reggie?” she began.

“Yes Moria,” Sir Townstead answered on the other end. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes… your presence along with Captain Bernadotte in an investigation of the Bakers’ flat. Seems that the elder Baker hasn’t been to his stand for some time and I was wondering if you’ll accompany him and another checking out the place?”

“I’m way ahead of you, Moria dear,” the knight said. “Decided that, since you were working on the case anyway, I’d thought I would talk to the neighbours near the flat.”

“Oh how convenient,” Moria gushed. “So you don’t mind a little help?”

“Not at all,” Sir Townstead replied. “Just send the lads over and I’ll be waiting for them.”

“Thank you.” Moria then switched off the phone and turned to Pip. “Uncle Reggie is already there, so all you have to do is to meet him there.”

“Merci,” Pip replied as he left the parlor. “I’ll get Alfie and meet him there. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Moria acknowledged Pip’s departure, then returned to the laptop. “If Captain Bernadotte finds anything, I will report it as soon as possible.”

“Agreed,” Sir Integra added. “Use the cellphone to do it, though. We may be nowhere near the computer when you do.”

“I will do just that, Sir Integra.” But as soon as she switched the IM program off, Moria found herself thinking of something. “Father,” she began, “I do have one question I need to know right now.”

“Oh?” Kenneth quipped. “What is it?”

Moria was quiet for a beat. “Father… have any of our clan ever exhibited talents of… prophecy?”

“You mean to say the ability to see into the future?” Moria nodded in agreement. “Not to my knowledge; I’ve seen no one with that particular trait. Why? Have you experienced such abilities?”

“Well… yes, Father! The first one after the incident with that horrible child vampire Angela,” the young woman admitted. “It was after I had moved into the mansion – and before and during the mission in Roanapur – that I had a series of… rather bizarre dreams that involved Rally.”

“Exactly how bizarre, might I ask?” Kenneth implored further.

At that point, Moria’s face broke-out into the reddest blushes anyone has seen! “Well… uh… I’m… rather embarrassed to mention this,” she stammered, “but the scenes with me and Rally… well… rather intimate and…”

“Oh… that sort of dream!” finally acknowledged Kenneth, nodding understandingly. “Well… I imagine everyone has that sort of dream every now and then, so I wouldn’t be too embarrassed about it.”

“Right!” Moria then took a deep breath before continuing. “But the bizarre thing was… after me and Rally made love… I allowed her to drink my blood until I died!” Finally looking her father in the eye, she added, “For the longest time, I thought those visions indicated a desire of mine to become a vampire! It wasn’t until later, after Rally was badly injured by Radinov with holy water that I realized that I was meant to share my blood with her, and not becoming a vampire!”

Kenneth didn’t say anything, listening to his daughter’s story before saying, “Interesting story, to say the least. Well regardless, it could also mean that you and Rally were meant to be lovers, so I wouldn’t worry about it much.”

“But that’s not the only vision I had, Father!” Moria added, now looking distressed. “About a week after we returned to England, I had two other visions – waking ones!” Making sure her eye contact with her father was unbroken, Moria continued. “They… they were horrible, Father! I saw images of London burning, being sacked by FREAKs dressed like Nazi soldiers from World War II, as well as armoured troops dressed like the American Ku Klux Klan – but with blood-red crosses on their chests and hoods, much like the Knights Templar from the Crusades!”

A look of concern came over Kenneth’s face. “Anything else?” he asked.

Moria nodded. “Over the last few weeks, I also saw visions involving Sir Integra, Rally, Seras and Alucard – and myself, all in battle with these forces! And all through this… I saw an image of a bloated blonde figure in white, wearing glasses around his yellow eyes, laughing at the whole spectacle! And one other… an image of Rally bowing before Seras like a knight before her queen! Seras was also drastically changed, wearing a blood-red version of her uniform – and her left arm replaced by some… blackish mass, that’s all I can say! And there was something else.” Moria centered herself before continuing, “There was one other vision I found very disturbing – of myself openly weeping over two bodies covered by sheets!” Now tears started leaking from the girl’s eyes, “Oh Father… I dread to think that these visions are of a coming event too terrible for any sane man to behold!” She then threw herself into Kenneth’s arms, “I’m… I’m scared!”

“N-now take it easy, Moria,” Kenneth reassured, patting her on the back. “It might be nothing, although they do seem so vivid that it has you alarmed!” Setting her back into the chair, he added, “I suggest you take a break from that laptop for a while until you get yourself settled-down. Hopefully we’ll get word from Reggie and the others on the Bakers’ situation.”

“Hopefully you’re right, Father,” Moria sniffled while she taken another sip of energy drink, “but from the appearances of these visions, I don’t feel convinced!”

“Please, try to put things into their proper perspective, Moria dear,” Kenneth offered as he made his way out. “I’ll pop back into the kitchen and get us a couple more cans, while you get a hold of yourself.” However, as he made his way out, several of the descriptions began to eat away at his mind. ‘Hmmm… Nazi FREAKs… a blonde man in white… and armoured crusaders! I’ve got a bad feeling Moira perfectly described the Major of Hitler’s Millennium order! But Walter and Vlad destroyed their operation in Warsaw back in the war! They could not have survived… or did they? And those crusaders… does that have any inkling to Iscariot being involved as well?’ Deciding not to think too much of the situation, Kenneth continued on to the kitchen.

NEAR THE BAKERS’ FLAT, AT THE SAME TIME…

“Well now th’t y’ think about it, gubner,” a bewildered neighbor said to Sir Townstead, “I haven’t seen Old M’n Baker or ‘is wife in quite o’ while. Funny thing, though… th’ guy’s so regular, y’ can almost swear th’t Greenwich sets its time t’ ‘im, even with th’t no-good son of theirs!”

“That’s what I’ve gotten from the rest of the neighbours,” the chief inspector mused, seeing Pip and Alfie Henderson arrive. “Very well, I’ll be leaving you to your business. Sorry to bother you.”

“No problems, gubner! Cheerio!” the man said as he closed the door.

Squaring his shoulders, Sir Townstead decided that, from the gist of his inquiries of the Bakers’ neighbors, he better get to the business of direct investigation. And it was right about then that Pip and Alfie Henderson arrived. “Oh, so you’re here, lads,” he said.

“Oui, we’re here, Chief Inspector,” the one-eyed mercenary replied. Then he thumbed over to Alfie and added, “If you’re wondering, he’s one of ze rookies to ze Wild Geese.”

“Alfie Henderson,” Alfie said, tipping his hat. “So, what have we got?”

“Well… for the last half hour I’ve been questioning the Bakers’ neighbours concerning their habits,” the inspector added.

“And?” Pip asked.

Sir Townstead just sighed. “And I got the same answer from all of them: the old man’s so prompt it would put Greenwich to shame, not to mention the couple’s are pillars of the community – and their son a complete bastard who only cares about his car!”

“Charming!” Alfie snorted.

“Right.” Sir Townstead then made his way to the door of the Bakers’ flat. “If the couple’s alright, let me do the talking.” He then went to tap on the door – and all three were surprised when it opened slightly, as well as almost being overcome by a powerful, rotting stench!

“Merde!” Pip choked, reaching for his machine pistol.

“Did… did that fucking bastard kill his mom and dad?” added Alfie, fighting the urge to vomit.

“Maybe,” Sir Townstead answered, also reaching for his gun. “But owing to the circumstances, I highly doubt that, young man! We’re going in, make sure you’re armed!” Reluctantly, Alfie also reached for his gun as the knight opened the door fully, with all three entering.

It happened very quickly – Alfie noticed two shambling forms advancing to the side and opened fire. However, it seemed the gun had little effect; the forms paused slightly before continuing their advance.

“AIM FOR ZE HEART AND HEAD, MON AMI!!!” Pip shouted before he and Sir Townstead took-out the first ghoul – a man. Recovering his wits, Alfie aimed for the female. This time, his shots had the desired effect, the woman going down.

It took a few seconds for everything to calm down. “Shit!” Alfie gasped, his nerves jangling.

“Nice going, kid,” Pip congratulated. “You’ve taken-down your first ghoul!”

“I… I don’t believe this!” Alfie managed to say. “That bastard, he… he did this to his own parents!” Turning to Pip and Sir Townstead, he added, “The others at Silverstone better be told of this!”

“First things first!” the chief inspector said curtly, going to his cellphone. “I’m calling my squad over at the yard. They’ll see to it that the scene’s locked-down and the neighbours isolated! Can’t have news of ghouls ambling about in a house get out!”

“And I better contact Mademoiselle Moria and relay ze news to Sir Integra as well,” Pip added, also going to his cellphone.

Meanwhile, Alfie positioned himself at the doorway as some of the neighbors began to look around, hearing the shouting and shooting. ‘So this is what Rally has to deal with,’ he thought privately. ‘I hope she and the others get the bastard who did this1’

SILVERSTONE, AT THE SAME TIME…

Roderick Cheever, dressed in a Royal Rockets jacket, had a look of panic on his face as he hurried over to the garage area the group had rented, which was near the burnout contests. Not feeling distracted by the bellowing engines and the smell of burned rubber, he entered the garage and found ‘Heartbreaker Hal’ Baker, lounging lazily near the table. “Thank goodness I was able to find you!” he said. “The public address already made the second call, we have to get you to register for the timed sprints or you’ll be disqualified!”

Baker seemed to ignore his companion, saying instead. “Hey Rod… ‘ave y’ ever eaten champ before?”

“What are you saying, Hal?” Cheever gasped, incredulous. “We’ve got to get you registered!”

Again, Baker ignored him. “Th’ Irish ‘ave this lovely way o’ preparing mash. See, y’ make mash as y’ usually do, boilin’ the potatoes an’ all.” Frustrated, Cheever decided to listen on. “Then… here’s th’ good part… they heat th’ milk with a knob o’ butter, chop-up a couple spring onions, then put th’ white parts in th’ heatin’ milk. Then th’ milk an’ whites are mixed in th’ potatoes, add the green parts as well as an extra knob o’ butter, put th’ whole mess in an iron pot, pop it in th’ oven – Bob’s y’r uncle, it’s done! Best compliment t’ a side o’ bangers!”

“Well I’m certain that’s a nice recipe, Hal – and I might consider making it one of these days, but there’s no time!” Cheever finally got out of his chair that he set himself in during Baker’s story. “We still have to the registrars’ table before final call!”

“As if I care, y’ fuckin’ bourgeois twit!” Baker snapped, bolting out of his chair.

“WHAT?”

Baker just stared bullets at Cheever as he advanced towards him. “Jus’ because y’ wear th’ colours,” he jabbed at Cheever’s jacketed chest, ‘doesn’t mean y’re a Rocket! If y’ fuckin’ recall, I was th’ one who founded them in th’ first place – t’ ride fast an’ ‘ard, an’ piss-off th’ pigs!”

“Well,” Cheever began delicately, “I believe it was that last part that your fellows decided to have your leadership of the rockets terminated…”

“An’ you stepped into th’ fuckin’ picture, as well as bringin’ th’t loser Stan on y’ fuckin’ coattails!” Baker countered. “It wasn’t long before th’ boys forgot their purpose in th’ Rockets by th’ way y’ been fillin’ their ‘eads wi’ dreams of bein’ Formula 1 drivers! Y’ only kept me on as y’re own little whippin’ boy if things went wrong – especially after I wrecked me ol’ man’s delivery van and ‘ad to pay for it’s repair using the cash I saved for a nitrous kit!”

“That’s… that’s not true, Hal!” sputtered Cheever, bewildered by Baker’s display of wrath. “You’re a legacy of the group, a connection to the group’s wild-and-wooly past!”

“Th’ past, ‘e says,” Baker sarcastically remarked. “Well Rod… let’s just say th’ past is returned!” He then held-up his hand and snapped his fingers.

Immedietly, a group of shambling ghouls made their way from the back room of the garage – all of them wearing ‘Royal Rockets’ jackets. “My god!” Cheever gasped, recognizing the group. “Hal… what… what…?”

“What else d’ y’ think, y’ bastard… I’ve taken back th’ fuckin’ Rockets!” Baker crowed. “I’ve got t’ admit tho, ol’ Stan kinda got out o’ ‘and an’ caused th’t big muck-up on th’ M-5 – but th’t’s the fuckin’ breaks!” He grinned evilly as the ghouls continued to advance. “An’ now… it’s time t’ terminate your membership!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

9/11/01
FDNY-NYPD-THE REAL HEROES