13

Third Reich Third Strike!!!

Three Reichs and you're out!

Adolf walked through the streets of New Orleans. He looked around at this city with a childlike fascination. Everything looked old, yet also very novel. Since arriving Adolf had felt very different. He felt better in every way; faster, stronger, and smarter. He felt exceptional. Adolf easily surmised the world he had known was long gone, and had given birth to the world he saw in front of him. He coyly grinned as he thought to himself perhaps I made this all happen, I helped birth this new world.

He knew he was in the United States of America, as he had already seen many miniature and large United States of America flags. The flagophile nature appeased Adolf and made him feel peculiarly comfortable as it reminded him of all the glorious cities in Europe draped with the Nazi party flag.
Almost an hour had passed without incidence. Adolf had walked through a residential area, then an industrial area, and then another residential area before finally coming to a busy commercial area. He mused how the Americans were not very good with conserving space, as almost all the building were sprawled out with too much space in between each unit. Also the buildings were not very tall which Adolf disapproved of.

Upon arriving at the commercial area, Adolf could see the road was much busier than he had previously seen. Most people so far had avoided eye contact with him or had simply pretended not to see him. He looked around taking in the sites of this seemingly magnificent civilisation. The streets were lined with a plethora of shiny automobiles; a testament to the consumer driven nature of the country. To Adolf it seemed like everyone had a car, and therefore all United States of Americans were rich.
Adolf thought to himself if the Americans are doing this well for themselves, the streets of Germany must be paved with gold!
Billboards and other forms of advertising spaces were unavoidable. No matter which way Adolf looked there were images that showed off happy beautiful looking people with the products that had improved their lives. This reinforced the image of a prosperous nation.
As Adolf walked towards one of the nicer looking buildings he was suddenly pestered from behind by one of those who society rejects.

Society is only good for those who can find a place within it

“Spare some change?” the homeless man asked.
Although Adolf did not understand the filthy bum’s words, he understood what was being asked. His illusions of a rich utopian United States of America were quickly shattered by the homeless mans presence.
Of course! It was all an illusion, a trick. The United States of America is as false as all these propaganda advertisements! Adolf mused.
“Spare some change?” The homeless man repeated.
Adolf turned and stared at the man who had no place in society.
“Spare Sss…” the homeless man went speechless when he saw Adolf face on.
Adolf raised one eyebrow at the man who could not find a place in society. The sight of this lowly peon aroused several thoughts from Adolf
This pitiful soul believes that he has a right to exist. He believes that I should hand over money to him, just because… It is strange how humans believe that they have a right to food and shelter. We are all animals and the only right this sub-human deserves is death.
He thought about strangling the life out of this misfit, but then considered it highly inefficient to retire each derelict individual one by one, and so instead he mercifully turned to carry on walking.
That’s when he saw it.

There was a certain twinkle in Adolf’s eye as he swore he had seen a swastika. Perhaps his symbol had changed the world even after his defeat… or maybe he never lost the war.
The nice looking building he had chosen to walk towards turned out to be a gun store, and it was in that gun store where he believed he had spotted a swastika. He entered the gun store and walked straight over to the small corner of the store dedicated to WW2 memorabilia. Posters slandering the Reich covered the wall, other random merchandise lay about, but it was a small book on the shelf that caught Adolf’s eye. Beside the book that caught his eye was something very familiar to him. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully picked up his book.
“Mein Kampf.”
It was a sign. His struggle was not over but had just commenced. He had been pulled through time and space to this very spot. God wanted more from him. He placed his book back on the shelf and then picked up a small book emblazoned with a Swastika. The book’s title was “Three Reichs and you’re out!” and without thinking he placed it in his left pocket.
“Don’t dare don’t think I didn’t see you put that one there in your pocket!” shouted the store clerk.
Adolf did not understand this bizarrely spoken man, but knew the man was shouting at him. Adolf slowly turned to face his aggressor. Repulsion was one of the many feelings Adolf incurred upon looking at this morbidly obese creature. The fat-American was standing behind a counter. In front of him on the counter was a white table fan. It slowly rotated, providing slight relief from the hot weather.
“Da Fook yous wearin’? You goin’ one of em er comic thons?”
As the morbidly obese United States of American inspected Adolf closer he noticed something was not right, and began to sweat more than usual. Without warning he grabbed a shotgun from under the counter. Adolf watched in wonder as this creature fumbled with the shotgun, before finally grasping it firmly and aiming it.
“Ge der fook outta ere before I call the PO-LEASE!” screamed the pitiful creature.
It suddenly dawned on Adolf that this was not the beautiful world he thought he had helped to create. It was a world out of order, so many mistakes, such as this thing in front of him; a man who gorged himself into a ball of fat. This world was disgusting but Adolf knew he could cleanse it.
Adolf locked eyes with the vile creature and shouted “Mein Kampf Ist Hier!!!”
He made several steps forward before the whale blubber pulled the trigger of the Shotgun. Adolf could see each individual pellet hurtling towards him. He felt that he had the speed to easily dodge the pellets, but instead something possessed him to just stand there. He felt invincible and he wanted to flaunt in the face of death. What felt like several minutes suddenly ended in less than a second as the shotgun pellets bounced of Adolf, shattering several windows and injuring the morbidly obese store clerk who was standing behind the counter. Adolf realised that he was not the same. He was invincible.

The morbidly obese store clerk had been doomed to a life of fattitude. Physical education programs had been cancelled where he grew up before he was even born. All the food he ate from his school days till now had been filled with high-fructose corn syrup. He had been fattened like cattle, like the rest of the populous, and now he stood there behind a counter resting his wounds, hyperventilating with his fat body unable to keep itself fully oxygenated. His country had abandoned him, him and everyone else. He had been sold out for profit by the very politicians who kissed him when he was a baby, and now he found himself looking down the barrel of the shotgun he had just fired.
Adolf pulled the trigger ending the life of this pitiful beast. Blood splattered the walls as the fat body slumped over. The white table fan had been coloured red. It continued to rotate flicking blood across the counter.

Despite the entire ruckus, no alarms were raised. Adolf could see people casually walking past the store. This world is less than pitiful he thought to himself as he scanned the store looking at the arsenal he had just gained in order to further his Kampf, his Reich…

14

Angelo el Diablo!

To say Goodbye

The Man is still dreaming. His dreams turn from recollection to reflection. He is now at a familiar yet foreign saloon. He sits at the bar.
“I’ll have a whiskey” says the Man.
“You’re asleep” retorts the Boy.
The Boy stands behind the counter of the bar.
“I am? I’ll have a whiskey anyway.”
“What happened?” asks the Boy.
“I was with my Father; we were ready for battle with White Hair.”
“He didn’t tell you what the device does?”
“No, he just told me they stole it from a traveller… Why are you asking me? We already know what it does?”
“I’m testing your memory” the Boy responds.
“Testing?”
“Yes. Was there anything odd about the battle?” inquires the Boy.
“The snow… monsters… wraiths…”
“Was that normal for your world?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”
“You’re asking me in a dream if I dreamt something?”
The Boy pauses for a second.
“What is your name?” the Boy asks.
“What do you mean?” the Man replies bewildered.
“It’s a simple question. What is your name? What did your parents name you?”
The Man is in a state of consternation. He cannot answer this basic question.
“My name is ******!” exclaims the Man.
“Think about it, you’re not saying anything.”
“How long have you known this?” asks the Man.
The Boy does not respond.
“Why can’t I remember my name?”
“Ask yourself when you awake what your name is. If you can remember that you don’t remember” the Boy says cryptically.
The Man is puzzled.
“When you were pulled from your snowy grave, you said the world had changed. How did you know it changed?” the Boy questions.
“I just knew. Things felt different. I felt different… exceptional.”
The Man notices someone from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to see White Hair sitting in the corner of the saloon playing cards.
“Why is he here?” the Man asks the Boy.
The Man looks back at the Boy, but the Boy is no longer behind the bar. In his place is her…
“Close your eyes” she softly speaks.
The Man complies. When he opens his eyes the saloon is now filled with faces of ghosts from his past.
He is still sitting at the bar. A barkeep with a handlebar moustache now stands behind the bar looking at him. He wears a dirty white shirt covered by a black waistcoat; a bowler cap covers his balding head. The Man looks around observing the room. Several cowboys sit in the corner playing cards. There is no sign of White Hair; he has vanished.
“So what will it be?” asks the barkeep.
“I’ll have a whiskey” says the man.
The barkeep half fills a glass and purposefully places it in front of the Man.
“It’s on the house… So Nathaniel tells me you are leaving soon. Heading west?” the barkeep questions nervously.
The Man sits there silently staring into the whiskey.
The barkeep presses “I mean… is it really that important for you to leave?”
“I have to” the Man stoically responds.
“You don’t have to do anything kid, you need to stop walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders. Things aren’t going to fall apart if you decide to live your life by your own accord. You’ve done a lot of good for this community…”
The Man interrupts the barkeep “good for this community?”
The Barkeep ignores his question and continues talking as if the Man has said nothing.
“You showed up out of nowhere with those red Indians on that day, and within a week you saved this town. I know no one has ever said it to you, but you saved this town. We were struggling to survive with our caravans constantly being raided. I was going to pack up and leave, most of us were… I guess what I’m trying to say kid is I’m going to miss you, and I hope the sheriff’s men can cope without you intervening every time there is trouble, Hah!”
The Man finishes off his whiskey and then gets up and heads for the exit. There is almost nothing anyone could have said to him to change his mind. His resolve is absolute.
“I hope you find what you are looking for!” shouts the barkeep.
Everyone in the Saloon watches as the Man leaves. They all know that they will never see him again.

He first walks to the smiths to pick up his rifle and two revolvers, and then he heads over to the stables for his ride out of town. He unties his horse and brings it out onto the street. He checks to make sure he has everything. He is wearing black boots with spurs, a black overcoat to hide his guns, a black hat to protect his face from the sun, and to hide is true nature. He has a satchel he wears over his shoulder, and the rest of his supplies are packed on the horse. He takes out a ledger from his satchel and inspects it. Written on the ledger is a list of names. It has taken him all this time to get that list; the list is important, he needs it. He puts the ledger containing the list of names back into his satchel. He is about to mount the horse when she shows up.
Her hair is long and flowing.
“Not going to say goodbye?” she says sullenly.
Her cheeks are sun kissed with freckles.
“I…” the Man is not usually lost for words.
He had hoped to avoid this goodbye, because in truth he does not want to leave her.
“I understand. It’s what you have always been talking about. I knew this day would come… but God damn it ******! You weren’t going to say goodbye?” She screams.
She has a tough demeanour, but she is soft on the inside.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I don’t have time…” the Man says indifferently, hiding his longing, his yearning, and his desire to be with her, forever.
“You don’t have time to say goodbye?”

Time is relative

“Take me with you” she pleads.
Her perfume floats through the air.
“I can’t” he responds.
“I know how to use a gun, I can help you!”
She wears a derringer around her thigh.
“It’s too dangerous.”
The Man’s resolve is close to breaking. He has to leave, before she changes his mind. She is the only one with power over him. Everyone else bends to the Man’s will, but not her. She is strong, and that is what he loves about her. She is the one thing he cares about, but the Man has a certain responsibility; a person to kill.
“When I’m finished I’ll come back for you” the Man says as he mounts his horse.
“You better come back!”
She can see right through empty promises.
“…”
She looks deep into his eyes, and he looks back.
“I love you” she says.
Her smile is enchanting.
“I know” he replies.
The Man rides off carrying everything he would need, and a heavy heart.

15

Action Blackson!

A rap tap tap

A rap tap tap goes the Grimace

Maris closed the briefcase and slowly turned around in response to the sound of eurythmic tapping. The tapping was almost hypnotic. It evoked fear in him. There was a rap, followed by two melodic taps, repeated constantly with no break in beat. Maris was on edge. His heart started to beat faster in response to the tapping. The Grimace lurked in the shadows, sizing up its prey.
“Who’s there?” shouted Maris.
As if in response to his question the tapping started getting faster and louder until reaching a crescendo. Without warning the tapping suddenly stopped. Maris scrambled towards his gun and picked it up. He desperately looked left and right, searching for what had been making the noise. The desolate warehouse was for the most part empty apart from a few crates and barrels here and there. The corners of the warehouse were obscured by darkness. The only working lights resided in the centre of the warehouse. Maris stood in the centre of the building where White Hair once was, next to the remains of the Russian. His vision was too blurred from the alcohol to make out any objects in the corners of the building. After a few moments Maris began to calm himself down. He thought that he must have imagined the tapping, and there couldn’t be anyone else here. He surmised that the explosion must have been from a flash grenade which caused his ear drums to hear things that were not there. Maris was pleased with his explanation, but before he could exit the building he had to reassure himself verbally.
“Must have been some old pipes tapping… or most likely my hearing was affected by the explosion.”
Maris smiled. He felt safe to leave this building, and to head back home to his safe haven. Maris made one step forward towards the exit when he heard it.

A rap tap tap goes the Grimace

The tapping was coming from behind him. He spun around and took aim, but there was nothing there. Maris began to breathe heavily as beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. All was silent once more. Maris stood still, looking left and right by only moving his eyes. The pool of blood from the corpse was still spilling out, and the blood reached where Maris was standing. The blood quickly began to ebb its way around the shape of his shoe. Maris was frightened, and he knew he was in no condition to run for it. His reflexes were too slow from the alcohol, and if anyone came at him he would be done for. He had already had his quota of luck for the night when the lights went out and the explosion of light killed the Russian who was close to shooting Maris. He couldn’t expect random chance to save him again. He was on his own.

A rap tap tap goes the Grimace

The tapping came from behind him again. He turned quickly but once more there was nothing there. He held his gun tight, aiming into the darkness with hands that would not stop trembling.
“Where are you?” he screamed.
There was no response. The tapping had ceased. Maris felt like he was being toyed with by some sort of malevolent force. He couldn’t take the anticipation. The wait for the tapping to resume was too much. He knew it would start up again. Maris was trapped. He stood in the dimly lit centre of the warehouse. The edges and corners of the warehouse were too dark for him to safely venture out into. Maris’ heart was racing. He continuously kept checking all around him for any sign of anything. The lights above Maris started to flicker. He knew he had to act fast. The gloomy warehouse would not become Maris’ place of death. He would not allow it. Maris knew he had to do something. He couldn’t wait for whoever or whatever was out there to come for him. His gun gave him enough solace to attempt an escape.
He was too agitated for any intricate plans and decided that the only thing to do was to make a run (figuratively) for the side door. He slowly ebbed his way back towards the door, carefully moving around the corpse.

A rap tap tap goes the Grimace

Maris quickly spun around carefully gripping his gun. His left foot slipped on the blood and his right foot gave way. It felt like slow motion as his legs lifted into the air. He fell onto his back while managing to keep hold of his gun. He looked up in horror. The Grimace clasped to the ceiling like a spider. Shrouded in darkness it stared down at Maris who was staring right back at it. For Maris it was fight or flight. He was on his back and in no position to run. Maris immediately fired several shots at it. It seemingly fell off the ceiling and into a darkened corner. Maris stood up.
With a trembling voice Maris said “Come out…”
The Grimace slowly walked out from the shadows and into the light unveiling itself. The Grimace was a tall thin pale thing with a crooked face. It wore a top hat and held a black cane. A dark cloak wrapped around its body only exposing its long fingered hands. Maris stared at it with repulsion. There were no marks on its body indicating that it had been shot, although it was hard to tell from the dark cloak it wore. Its eyes looked human and its nose was bent. It began to tap its fingers on its cane, slowly making its way over to Maris.
“Don’t come any closer!”
The Grimace carried on tapping and floated closer to him. Maris fired a warning shot but the Grimace kept tapping.
“Your choice” stated Maris.
Maris fired three shots directly into the Grimace’s face when it was a metre away from him. He immediately holstered his gun after, satisfied that he had neutralised the creature that stood before him.
“I warned you motherfucker” he said while still trembling.
The Grimace had come to a halt. Maris thought it was over but he was soon dumbfounded when the creature began to spit bullet after bullet out from its mouth. The Grimace locked eyes with Maris and began to widen its maw. It had no teeth. Fear had overcome Maris, turning him into a frozen statue. All he could do was stare at the Grimace as it slowly opened its dark maw, getting ready to swallow him whole.
A radio transceiver in the Russian’s overcoat activated.
“We’ve heard gunshots… we’re coming in…”
Startled by the noise from the transceiver the Grimace turned to investigate the disturbance. Maris saw his opportunity and ran (literally) for the door. He got outside the building and glimpsing the Grimace right behind him, he swiftly closed the door on it. His heart was beating hard and fast. He quickly closed the padlock on the door and took a sigh of relief. Maris could feel the strong breeze from the wind on his body. It was slowly gaining potency.
“Who the hell is this?”
Maris was now surrounded by a group of armed officers. Most of them were carrying semi-automatics.
“Get the fuck down on the ground!”
Maris complied while trying to explain that he was a detective, but unfortunately he could not find the words to explain himself. The adrenaline had brought him somewhat back to his former self, but he was still too inebriated for clear thinking. He had no idea what was going on.
“What’s going on?” he tried to ask.
Before he could get reply he saw that one of the officers was using bolt cutters to remove the padlock from the side door.
“Don’t go in there!” He screamed.
“Shut the fuck up” said one of the officers.
No one would listen to Maris’ pleas. They were walking towards their deaths and they did not know it.

Death is ignorance

Maris had unknowingly walked in on a sting operation. The officers were all part of an anti-terrorist unit set up after the events of NINE-ELEVEN! They had recently caught Yuri who was a weapons smuggler. To reduce his sentencing he had agreed to be part of this sting operation to help catch the mysterious man only known as White Hair who was suspected of being involved in nuclear terrorism. It was supposed to be a simple operation. They were meant to wait for White Hair to arrive and make the deal. After this Yuri would use a codeword indicating it was time for the officers to storm the place and secure White Hair along with the materials. Nothing went according to plan.

Most of the group entered the building as Maris was being searched outside. Luckily he had his detective badge with him and so was not handcuffed. He was asked what he was doing in there, but could not give any real answer. He had only begun to be interviewed when one of the officers came out of the building shouting.
“The buildings secure. There is a lot of blood… but no sign of Yuri!”
There was no mention of a body. Maris pieced together that Yuri was probably the Russian. He had walked in on some sort of sting operation. A bad feeling crept over Maris. Anxiety hit him like a sledgehammer. Would this turn out to be another incident similar to that of the Hitler one? He wanted to leave. Some whiskey and some sleep is what Maris craved.
Maris told the officer interviewing him “The Russian… Yuri? He exploded!”
“A bomb?” inquired the interviewer.
Before Maris had a chance to reply, a symphony of gun fire and screams resonated from within the building.
“What’s going on in there?” shouted an officer from outside.
Some officers ran inside only to propagate the orchestra of gun fire and screams.
“Call for back up!” someone shouted.
“Radios not working!” someone replied.
“Cover the door!”
Everything went quiet. The remaining officers had taken cover outside, watching the door for any sign of movement. They knew there was no other way out; they had chosen this place as the meeting point for that reason; one entrance and one exit.
Maris hid behind some bins. He was shaking. He had never been so frightened in his adult life. He wanted to run, but he found himself unable to move. All he could do was watch. Just like before…

Every second that passed seemed to last a minute. None of the officers could get their radios to work or get any signal on their phones. The situation was dire.
“Is someone coming out?”
A shadowy figured limped out from the building wearing a top hat.
“That’s it!” screeched Maris.
The officers opened fire and the figure fell forward onto the ground. The top hat rolled along the ground in a semi circle back to the entrance of the building. One officer ran over to investigate.
He distraughtly shouted back “It’s fucking Ramirez!”
Maris’ heart sank. He was just after getting an officer killed. The officers shone their flashlights on Ramirez’s dead body. He had been cut up pretty bad by some sort of blade, and his tongue was missing. The rest of the damage present had been caused by the gunfire. Laughter echoed from inside the building.

A long fingered bony hand extended out from the side door. The Grimace remained in the shadows and picked up its top hat placing it on its misshapen skull. It ignored the officers demand to identify itself. They were now less gung-ho after shooting one of their own. The wind once more began to gain gusto. The officers waiting outside could hear a faint rapping that seems to resonate within the fierce breeze.

A rap tap tap goes the Grimace

TO BE CONTINUED...

Chapter 10-12

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The Beautiful Triumvirate

@RiskDebonair
Irish Writer, Poet, & Lover