Dr. Snip Ch. 04

She decided to humour him and watched as he slowly and dramatically walked around the Container, as he passed from her sight he shouted 'eyes'. Smiling she closed her eyes for a second, and felt a slight wind blow towards the location of the container.

She opened them again and her mouth fell open, it had gone. She walked over to where it had been standing; deep indentations had been made by its steel feet.

'David Copperfield eat your heart out,' she muttered as she walked back towards her children.

Steve was back in his kitchen; the container was out in his back garden hidden from the road. It would come in handy for storing any more gold bars he happened to come across. He was researching Oscar Stalin.

The man was originally from Jamaica, a place called Port Morant about 50k from Kingston. His mother had been a drug addict whore, and there was no clue who had fathered him.

He was reputed to be a berserker who lost all control when angry, and laid about wildly with a machete during his fits of rage. He started out as just another thug, and had joined a local posse as muscle.

During a police raid he had been shot in the head. Later in the prison hospital, they discovered that he had lost the part of his brain that held his emotions. His berserker fits ended, and he seemed a sane and intelligent man.

He spent a few years in jail, where he studied everything he could get his hands on. When finally released early for good behaviour, he made his way back to his old Posse's headquarters in the dock area of Port Morant.

He had been welcomed back by the Boss and after a few drinks and many puffs of Ganja, his boss presented Oscar with a brand new machete. It was nice and clean and shiny.

At least it was until without any warning, Oscar sliced off his Boss's head. The second in command stood shocked, as Oscar asked him,

' What's my Name?'

'It's Oscar.' The shocked man stuttered. The machete flashed again, and more blood sprayed onto the walls.

Oscar asked the Third in command.

'What's my name?'

'The man dropped his eyes and said 'Boss.'

What had cowed the man wasn't the violence; he had lived with violence all his life. It was the cold unemotional way that it had been carried out. It was as if an evil spirit had possessed Oscar's body, as he lay on the ground dying from the policeman's bullet.

From then on Oscar was in charge, and things were very good for his Posse. He became an expert in Machiavellian plots, that set the other Posses against each other in mindless drug fuelled vendettas.

As each Posse was weakened, he absorbed it into his own. After a few patient years of this tactic, he emerged as the uncrowned king of the Jamaican underworld.

He was a human robot, he had no weaknesses, he didn't drink, smoke or use drugs. He had no sex life at all, and didn't seem to need it.

He became the main exporter of drugs to the USA, and eventually moved to New York to oversee his business interests there.

None of this information interested Steve.

There were plenty of Drug Agencies in the USA, who were actively trying to get Oscar Stalin for various crimes. He was content to let them get on with it, without interference from him.

Steve was focused on one type of crime only, crimes against children. He was only one man; even with all his technological advantage he couldn't be everywhere. If Stalin had avoided getting involved with children, he would have been relatively safe from Dr. Snip.

Stalin lived in the penthouse of a very tall apartment block. He owned the entire block, and the floors below were filled with all the things necessary to run a worldwide business. On the surface everything looked legal and above board. All the legal businesses only existed, to launder the drug money that flooded in from almost every state in the country.

Like his main competitor Mr. Ho, Stalin was a multi millionaire who could buy anything that he wanted. Unfortunately what he wanted was to rule the world, and that would take billions instead of millions. Consequently he was branching out into every type of crime, to increase his wealth and power.

The only entrance to his penthouse was via private elevator. Only he had the key to it, and as his living quarters consisted of a desk, chair, computer and bed, it didn't need much in the way of cleaning. He believed in minimalism, to the extreme.

Steve jumped to the address given; it was just a block of apartments like any other. That is of course if all the others had a gang of armed Jamaicans, lounging about by the front entrance. He shrugged to himself and walked up the steps towards them. His way was blocked by a large Rasta.

'No visitors Mon.'

'I've come to see Oscar Stalin, said Steve politely. The man opened his jacket to reveal a machete sheathed at his waist.

'Go, while you have legs to go with.'

'It's really very important that I see him,' Steve persisted.

'Over our dead bodies,' snarled the man, his three companions closing in around Steve menacingly.

'Fair enough,' agreed Dr. Snip, and drew his blade. They were just muscle, they loved to terrify anyone passing by. They loved to posture to the women; that chose to walk past on the other side of the street. No one ever challenged them; it was unheard of.

The three companions thought they saw a silver flicker, emerge from the back of the big Rasta. It was gone before they could identify it as the blade of a broadsword sticking completely through the man.

All they were sure of was their leader falling to the ground, his machete part drawn from its sheath. They must have mistaken the colour of the blade, it was no longer silver it was red.

The smaller of the three was very fast, he had drawn his blade and was in the air leaping high to bring it down on the intruders head. He landed sprawling on the steps, where the man had been a split second before.

Hearing a grunt of pain, he spun round in time to see a head bouncing down the steps towards him. The headless body was still standing, spraying blood from its arteries all over the men and steps.

The intruder was now standing behind the last man who was turning towards him. His machete poised for a stabbing blow to the guts. As the small man ran back up the steps to assist his friend, he heard the sickening crunch of vertebra parting.

Another head bounced down the steps. Blood was now flowing down the steps towards him, like a red waterfall. Fear flooded through him, something here was not right. He was not only the smallest and fastest; he was the most intelligent of the small posse.

'Respect Mon, I cannot let you pass.' He said quietly.

'Respect to you, I promise you if you tell me the number of Stalin's room I will not pass you, or go through that door that you guard.'

The small man considered this, he would tell this strange man where Stalin was. He would then phone up and warn him, before he could get anywhere near the penthouse.

Steve listened to the information, thanked the man politely and jumped to the location given. Seeing the intruder vanish in front of his eyes, the man decided not to phone Stalin.

Stalin had no visitors he had no friends, he spent most of his time keeping an eye on his businesses via his computer. He was studying figures relating to his vice interests, when he detected a smell of something familiar to him, blood. He slowly swivelled his chair round until he could see behind him.

Before he concentrated on the figure who couldn't possibly be there, his eyes skipped across the still locked door and the hermetically sealed windows. He even scanned the ceiling to check for open hatches.

Nothing was out of the ordinary, apart from the big man in the black greatcoat dripping blood on his cream carpet. He was simply standing in the middle of the room looking at him.

Stalin's first thought was Ho's Hitman; but there was no gun pointed at him. His mind scanned all his possible responses, from violent attack to talk. He slid his machete out of the bottom drawer of his desk, and attacked without warning.

Steve was caught flatfooted, he had expected at least a "Who are you?" His first warning was the flash of Stalin's shiny machete, as it was lifted in the air prior to slashing at him. Steve stepped back quickly avoiding the first slash, and reaching up behind his head drew Excalibur from its hidden sheath.

It took a lot to surprise Stalin, but the sight of a broadsword being drawn in his office, caused him to hesitate long enough for Steve to steady himself. His first wild slash having missed, Stalin went for his favourite decapitation stroke.

The blade of his machete whistled horizontally towards Steve's neck, with the full power of Stalin's shoulders behind it. It met Excalibur edge to edge, and the Star blade sheared through the Soligen steel like butter.

Stalin was thrown off balance by the sheer force of his swing, and sprawled to the floor still clutching his truncated blade. He would have sprung to his feet, but was dissuaded by the sharp point pressing against his throat.

'Naughty Naughty, stay on your back please and listen carefully,' ordered the man politely.

'My name is Dr. Snip, have you heard of me?' Stalin decided to try talking.

'Yes.'

'I have Good news and Bad news, first the Good news. Mr. Ho is dead, I killed him a few days ago. Now the Bad news, I hear you will be taking over his businesses.

I am not concerned about 90% of your businesses, but I am concerned about any that involve children. Do you follow me so far?'

'Yes.'

'I could kill you right this instant, but someone else would take over and I would have to kill them Ect. Ect. You would be doing me a great favour, if you promised to cease all activities involving kids. If you do you live, if you don't you die, and I have this conversation with your second in command.'

'If you don't kill me you will never leave this building alive' Stalin stated.

'Describe the view from your window please,' asked the man politely. Stalin thought for a second ' The Brooklyn Bridge.' Stalin felt a strange twisting feeling in his guts and blacked out.

When he woke he was cold, a wind was howling past his body plucking at his clothes like a evil demon.

'The Brooklyn Bridge, linking Manhattan Island to Brooklyn completed in 1883, careful you don't fall off it.' Yelled the man; over the noise of the wind and traffic far below.

Stalin climbed gingerly to his feet, and held on to a stone plinth.

'I can see your house from here,' yelled the strange man happily.

'You are like me, possessed,' yelled Stalin.

'No fooling you is there,' yelled Dr. Snip. He was tired of yelling, so jumped them back into Stalin's office.

Stalin awoke this time in his chair, he could see Dr. Snip standing patiently waiting for him to recover.

'What are you?'

'They say I am a Loas from Haiti, possessing this body,' replied the magical man.

'They say those who cross me Die, if you cross me you can ask Mr. Ho how he died.'

This made perfect sense to Stalin, and his entire demeanour changed to one of equal respect. Jamaica was only 200 k from Haiti, and he had been brought up in the Vodun religion.

'You have the word of a Rasta, brother. However I know that my partner in the USA, will not understand our agreement.'

'Let me worry about that brother,' replied Steve ' I will reason with him.'

Stalin's partner was a hardnosed gangster from New Jersey, based in Atlantic City. He was out and out Mafia, and Steve knew he wouldn't be able to use any of his superstitious tricks on 'Crusher' Carnelli.

Carmine Carnelli had started off as an immigrant worker; who found a low paying job in a junkyard. The owner was an old man with no family, who took a liking to this good looking young Italian. Over the space of a few years, he had taught him all about the scrap metal business.

Their main source of income was scrapping cars, and sending the metal to the steel mills for reprocessing. To this end the Junkyard operated a car-crushing machine. This was a hydraulic behemoth; that could crush a car into a block of steel measuring only one cubic foot.

One day the old man was the victim of a robbery. Although he handed over the contents of his wallet, the drug addict thief still shot him dead. On hearing a gunshot Carmine ran from the other side of the yard, but arrived too late to save the old man.

He wasn't too late however, to beat the young killer unconscious in his rage. The thug woke up in a car, his hands wired to the steering wheel. Carmine was sitting cross-legged on the bonnet looking at him. When he judged the killer to be able to comprehend his words he said.

'You awake; you little fuck? I hope whatever drug you're on is wearing off, cos I want you to know what's happening to you every second.

You killed Luigi; he was the only guy who gave a fuck about me. Now he's dead; cos of you. When you meet him, tell him Carmine says he's sorry he was to late to save him.'

With that Carmine jumped off the bonnet of the car, and walked to a control panel.

'Hey, wha'da fuck ya doing man?' yelled the thug vainly pulling at his bonds.

The coughing roar of the Car-crushers diesel drowned his words out, and anyway Carmine wasn't interested in the screamed excuses pouring from the doomed mans mouth.

'Dis is for you Luigi,' he said and pushed the button.

If he listened carefully, he could just hear the frantic screams issuing from the old car as it was slowly crushed. The screams stopped, but the crusher kept on crushing until a small block of metal was pushed out of one end of the machine. It sat on a steel grid, dripping blood onto the dusty ground.

Carmine used the magnetic grab to pick it up. He dumped it with all the others, in the freight car waiting on the spur line that ran into the yard.

He reported the shooting to the police, but told them that the killer had escaped before he arrived. To his immense surprise, he was informed later that Luigi had left the Yard to Carmine.

He was a bright man and realised that as no one had ever found the remains of Luigi's killer. It appeared an excellent way of disposing of unwanted bodies. It had taken all his courage, to ask to see the local Godfather.

Carmine confessed to Marco Gambeni that he had killed Luigi's killer. He explained how he had disposed of the body, and offered his services to the Godfather.

Marco was very interested indeed in a safe way of disposing of bodies. Lately the introduction of forensic science, combined with the increased interest of the police in DNA, made it too dangerous to simply bury bodies anymore.

They needed to be destroyed, flesh, bones and teeth in order to protect the Mafia. He accepted the young mans offer, and over the next few months various bodies would arrive at the yard and be crushed to a bloody pulp.

Sometimes a body would arrive at the Yard that wasn't dead. It would be accompanied; by Marco and his squad. They would use the Crusher as a torture machine, to extract information from their victims before finishing them off.

Carmine was paid handsomely for every body disposed of, and was invited to join the local Mafia. Years later he had risen through the ranks, to become a force to be reckoned with in his own right.

This was the type of man that Dr. Snip had to deal with. Steve thought he would keep it simple, and just ask Crusher to stop the trade in kids.

Carmine was laying in his bed reading, late at night when he saw a flicker in his peripheral vision. Looking to his side he was stunned to see a big man in a black greatcoat. He was just standing by the side of his bed watching him. Dr. Snip I presume,' he said watching the figure warily.

'My partner Oscar warned me that you could call on me, he also jabbered on about voodoo and magic etc etc.

'There is nothing Magical about me, Mr. Carnelli. I consider myself a very prosaic man,' replied Dr. Snip calmly.

'Did Stalin explain my request to you?'

'Yeah, you want me to extricate myself from the Slave trade in kids. I assume there is an "or else" in there somewhere?'

'Stalin limited his collateral damage, to only three soldiers by seeing reason.' Replied Steve. Stalin wasn't expecting you, thought Crusher to himself.

'OK go and see one of my captains, here's the address,' he said handing Steve a piece of paper.

'Tell him Crusher says to close it down.'

'Is that it?'

'Yeah, what did you expect?'

Crusher saw the man turn and walk out of his bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, he pressed the call button by the side of his bed. Within seconds two guards rushed into his bedroom, and stood looking at him expectantly.

'The fact you are still breathing, leads me to believe that you didn't meet the man who just left this room a few seconds ago?' he asked them.

'If anybody had been in here we would have seen them. There is only one way out of here and we guard it,' stated the senior man.

He sent the guards back to their post and made a note to look up the title "Loas" in the morning.

'Sweets' Gastonia was a happy man, he was in charge of lots of foreign kids, who had better do as he said or else. He got his nickname from his habit of offering small children sweets.

He and his crew; were waiting on this fool Snip's arrival in their warehouse. He had ten armed soldiers spread out in an arc, covering the only door to the building. As soon as the idiot appeared he was to be blasted, no mercy.

CCTV showed a man in a black coat standing just out side the door.

'Get ready boys, here he comes,' whispered Sweets.

Three things happened, the steel door swung inwards; the crew opened fire, the lights went out.

'Cease fire for fucks sake' screamed Sweets, over the ear-numbing racket of small arms fire in a steel warehouse.

When the last nervous trigger finger had relaxed, the silence returned. It could be seen that the thin steel door and the walls either side of it, had been riddled with bullet holes. Nothing for six feet in either direction, could have escaped such a withering volley of lead.

'Bones, check out the body,' ordered Sweets.

The designated soldier approached the door warily.

'Can't see no body Boss,'

'It must have been blasted back outside, check it out.' Bones stepped outside.

In the silence following the gunfire, the sound of meat being chopped, echoed through the steel building. Bones didn't return.

'You two, check on Bones,' Sweets ordered. These two were more cautious and covered each other, as they sprang out of the doorway on to each side.

'Clear,' they reported.

While all attention was riveted on the door, another chopping sound was heard from the area to the right of Sweets. He turned his head to look, and saw a big guy with a fucking great sword.

He was standing in the middle of the group of his men, who had chosen firing positions to his right. A headless body was in the act of falling to the ground.

'Shoot the fucker,' Sweets screamed in horror.

The group of guys to his left, opened up on the man with everything they had. The slaughter was incredible; all five soldiers on Sweets right hand side were thrown backwards by the storm of bullets. They lay in bloody tatters where they had been thrown. There was no sign of the man with the sword.

Again the sound of flesh parting violently was heard, this time from outside the building. Two muffled thuds then silence returned again.

'You stupid fuckers, you shot our own men.' He yelled at the two remaining soldiers.

'Gather round me and face outwards,' he rasped in consternation.

'Put down your weapons and you can live,' said a dark shadow to their right. As one both soldiers spun and fired at the voice's location.

Sweets saw a sliver flicker approaching his soldier's necks, in a horizontal arc. Without slowing even slightly the flicker sheared through both the men's necks, causing their heads to seem to spring from their shoulders.