Ebb Tide Ch. 04b

I bumped into a place which looked like a spot they might let me return to and I deposited a tool for later. After I used the other weapon I had stolen it was a good bet they'd search me again. After that, I'd try to get back to this spot, given half a chance.

The manager came at me with a tablet. My hostess' face was center screen.

"For your first exhibition match tonight," she snickered, "you get to fight five of my prize Cane Corso. If you like, you can add the survivor of Round One to your side and I'll only add two more to mine."

"Surprise me. Do I get a weapon?"

"Your wits won't be enough?" she smiled.

"What's Round Two?"

"Thinking positive," she laughed. "I like that." The closest dog handler didn't.

"In Round Two you fight ALLLL the losers of our bare-knuckled brawl who are only just now finding out the penalty for anything, but first place during tonight's lineup is 'going to medical school' and not in a good way." As a cadaver ... how sweet, though that was unlikely, since even medical school students might question the damage their subjects endured before expiring.

"Round Three?"

"HA!" she shouted to the ceiling. "If you make it that far you get to fight the three champions of Sycorax,Archimago and Jareth with the one who kills you getting $1,000,000. Do you think that is enough?"

"Do I get $1,000,000 if I win?"

"I like your spirit," she beamed. "Yes, if you win, I'll pay you $1,000,000."

"Good. Let's get this over with," I sighed. "To avoid complications with the IRS, I'd like the money in cash – non-sequential $10's, $20's and $50's."

"Ha! You want a team mate?"

"I don't care."

"Fine. You get one. It is the girl. She fought off the Dobermans. I was quite impressed. I might see you later," she chuckled over my fate once more. I was shoved off along a set of tunnels. Soon enough, the scrawny girl appeared beside me.

[ROUND ONE: SYBIL CORRINE TREACHER]

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God," she kept mumbling.

"Hi," I did my best to sound sympathetic. "I'm Vance."

"They killed Jimmy," she looked up at me with traumatized eyes. "They killed Jimmy. They showed me his head."

Oh yeah, she was nearly a basket case.

"We are about to be fighting for our lives. Are you going to be of any use?" I asked her. Our five guards chuckled. I had already memorized their faces.

"What!" she focused on me. A positive sign.

"Yeah. You and me versus seven rather large dogs. Are you going to be able to help me?" I spoke in a soothing tone. She looked to them. "They are useless. I'll get around to killing them later. Are you with me?"

One ass-bandit volunteered to be the first to Hell.

He had a Taser out and shoved it at me. It took five simple moves. I blocked his strike at the wrist with my wrist then drove my knee into his crotch. As he stooped forward, I placed both hands on either side of his head and in my final move, snapped his head so hard to the right, it broke his neck. Dead.

We'd had a momentary hiccup in our travels. I began walking again with a gentle hand on the girl's lower back.

"Are you with me?" I repeated smoothly.

"You just ..." the next closest guard gasped.

"Did you kill that guy?" the girl looked up at me.

"Yes," I whispered. "I am going to kill all these sons of bitches because they all have it coming. Now, are you with me?"

Three guards, guns out, raced to catch up. The fourth knelt to check on the fifth.

"Stop!" one called out. We stopped.

"Yes," she whispered back.

"I should fucking kill you!" the leader shouted at me.

"I'm about to be torn apart by seven dogs. Killing me would be a favor," I preempted his next reaction.

"Wounding me won't make your boss happy either. She's expecting a spectacle. Either of us limping out there is going to make things pretty pathetic. Besides, if by some miracle I survive Round Three, you can have your shot then."

"You are going to die," he snarled.

"Probably. Can we get back to 'us' being torn apart by the dogs now?" I regarded him.

"He's ... he's dead," the fourth guard reported.

"I'm going to kill you," the leader threatened.

"You'll have your chance, alright," I agreed once again.

"I hope the dogs tear your nuts off," he growled ... and off we went. We waited in a small holding cell while we heard a muffled announcement about the upcoming 'bout' with the attendant odds. It didn't look good for me and my newfound pal.

"Don't I get a weapon?" the girl asked our captors.

"You've got him," the leader sneered. "Blame him."

"Don't worry," I winked.

Before the leader could mouth off, the gates opened.

I pulled the girl out with me to the arena floor. This was a converted warehouse, but they hadn't bothered to change the flooring – it was standard polished concrete. The area was a 45' by 30' rectangle with 12' steel panel walls. Above which, the happy mobs looked down upon us. By the way the thing was situated, we had two I-beams which rose up from two spots inside the arena.

"Okay," I tapped the girl. "When the dogs come in, get at least one's attention and run to the far I-beam. Run around it. The dogs' claws will slip on the concrete. Put a foot inside the 'I' and your hands on the far side, cupping it then start climbing and don't look down."

"What are you going to do?"

"Kill them. You may have noticed that I kill things. But it would be nice to have one less to deal with for a minute or two," I grinned and squeezed her shoulder. She looked more confident than a sane person should. Considering the horror she'd recently faced, her being able to act at all was a good thing.

The door on the far side opened and on came the mastiffs (Cane Corso are an Italian mastiff breed and normally make excellent, perfectly safe pets ~ sadly, these poor brutes had been robbed of a 'normal' existence). My latest partner actually waved her arms and yelled at them, "Here! Here!" ~ garnering the focused attention of two of them.

Me, I ran a circuit the other way, cutting back toward her I-beam with the other five hot on my heels. At the appropriate moment, I tumbled, curled up and ended in a crouch. Going to ground was a feint. I had to distract the crowd and cameras from my true intentions.

On they came, doing what dogs do – going for my arms and legs before going for my throat. Unfortunately for them, my arms and legs had braces. Mind you, the crushing power of a mastiff's jaws would make short work of my defenses, but they bought me time. I fed them an arm and a leg, to buy me some coverage from the audience and cameras, while kicking one in the face and fending another off with the same knee. The final one was circling around because of the 'dog pile'.

Out came the knife I'd stolen earlier and I went to work. I could have killed all five dogs with my bare hands ... given time. Time was something the girl and I didn't have. She was slipping and would soon tumble down on her two attackers where they'd start tearing her to pieces. With a knife ... I was shoving it into the brains through the ears, or from under the throat in a blur of activity. Only as I pushed one dying on top of me away so I could get at the fifth, did the announcer realize something had gone horribly wrong with their scheduled amusement.

The dogs never knew what killed them. The fifth one came at me, took the offered forearm and I drove the dagger through its ear, into its brain. I was sprinting toward the final two as the first shouts rang out. The sixth Cane Corso I took completely by surprise from behind, slitting its throat. It would be dead soon enough. The last, its training having rendered it a monster, came at me and I dispatched it too.

"Hey, now. No one said he'd get a knife," was the chief complaint to shuffle through among the cries of outrage ... and the applause. The girl came down and hugged me as the guards came out with weapons drawn. I tossed the blade away. It had gotten me over the first hurdle.

"Don't say a word," I whispered to her.

"On your knees!" was the chief command. They had stopped being sloppy. "Hands on top of your head, fingers interlaced." I did so, as did the girl.

A guy came out, weeping over the dead dogs while the security types were figuring out how to deal with me/us.

"I can't believe we are still alive," the girl exhaled with exhilaration. The Dog-trainer overheard us, despite all the other noises. He got up from one of the dead mutts and came our way, murder in his eyes. He held his lash in the middle, clearly getting ready to use the knob to beat us with.

"Not him," one of the security types cautioned him. He laid into the girl.

"Move and we'll put a bullet in your thigh," the leader growled at me. After she was turned into a whimpering, blubbering, bloody mess, the handler turned on me.

"You'll get yours soon enough," the dog-guy frothed. I didn't say anything. I wasn't a medium, so I didn't talk to the dead. "You killed my babies."

"Back off," the security sub-chieftain ordered. Once another security guy yanked the dog-guy back, "Search him." Two guys did so while a third pressed a gun barrel to the back of my neck.

"What are these?" one of the guys was referring to my arm brace.

"I was in a plane wreck. I broke my Tibia, Fibula, Ulna and Radius ~ both sides ~ in multiple places, so I need braces to walk and do more than lift an iPhone," I told them. My excuse was utter bullshit and a decent Physician Assistant would have known I was lying. Not these guys though.

"Move and you die," the guy behind me hissed. They took one hand painfully shoving it behind my back. There went the other, then came the handcuffs. I was roughly manhandled to my feet. The guy behind me grabbed the unconscious teenage girl by the back of her shirt and dragged her along. They ended up depositing us in a 10'x20' cage, me still handcuffed. From the activity, it was the semi-finals of the bare-knuckled brawl.

In the interim, I got to see my ladies an a news update. Along with the slow-acting lethal poison, they'd slipped Jo a paralytic then disarmed her. Reagan had been apoplectic, or so they said. Kristoff had been silent and grim ~ 'me' grim. After showering me with feminine attention (and confirming the blood on me wasn't mine), G knelt down to see what she could do for the un-named teenager.

I could see the terror behind all their eyes, yet they were biting down on it and keeping themselves together, focusing on getting out of here as a team.

The Dog-handler came by with an equally-distraught buddy.

"These your bitches?" he rumbled passed tear-streaked cheeks.

"Reagan Cho sent us down to check on Mr. Vardanyan," G quickly answered. "He is her guest and her investment."

I could sense their confusion.

"Circe's Summa ..." I waited. "They don't look like call girls?" More eye-balling. If any of the ladies cracked ... but they didn't. "Do they look like something I could afford, you faggots? I wish I could get tail this nice," I sounded truly petulant.

"Sorry Sugar," Dabney sidled up to Sara and let her palm rub circles on the Indian lass' ass, "but you are what? A paramedic? We cost more in a night than you make in a month." Looking to G. "Mistress, can we go back now?"

"Yes," G stood up from the teen girl. "Reagan wants to know if the girl will be in play," she regarded the chief guard dispassionately. "It will affect the odds."

The two guards who had escorted the ladies down to me knew the score, but had been forced to remain outside our cell, so they'd played no part in the conversation. My watchers and the dog-guy and his buddy were ignorant of earlier events upstairs, so they weren't able to blow my women's lie to pieces. Instead, "She'll be there, though I don't know what use she'll be," my chief minder shrugged.

"Give her a shot of adrenalin," G told the guy, then went right into his space, ground up against him and then gave him a French kiss worthy of Dabney. "Please? We'll pay you back later."

"Sure," he grinned like a weasel.

"Do your best," G smiled over her shoulder. Out they went and away from the sadistic reach of my jailors for the time being. The leader sent off someone for the adrenalin and they brought back a medical kit.

"I'm a paramedic," I pointed out.

"I know," he seemed unimpressed.

"I'm more likely to get her standing," I pointed out. He considered the possibility of the risk I presented 'hands-free' versus the pussy he could get if somehow the teenage girl could stand unassisted in a few minutes.

It was a testament to the quality of the women in my life that, despite the dead fucker I'd killed with my bare hands, he let me loose.

"What's your name?" I inquired once I had her lucid.

"Jean."

"What's your real name and take into account I don't give a crap about the fact you are a runaway," I cheerfully enlightened her.

"Oh ... Sybil ... Sybil Corrine Treacher."

"Vardan 'Vance' Vardanyan. My friends call me 'V'. I'm a former Hospital Corpsman who served with the US Navy, Marines and SEAL Teams."

"Oh ... ah ... my Father was in the Army. He died in Iraq. My Mom never got over it, and I ended up living with my Grandmother. She was old ... got dementia ... went into an Assisted Care facility ..."

"I'm a Las Vegas native. My family left – moved to Florida while I was in Service. This is the only other home I've ever known. You've got some broken ribs and internal bleeding," I gave my preliminary prognosis. "There are certainly some therapies you should undergo to help your kidneys and liver recover from the beating you've taken. Is there a reason you can't go to a hospital?"

Her eyes looked past me to our gaolers, who chuckled evilly.

"Within an hour these pricks will cease to be a problem, I promise you," I winked. "Now, is there a reason?"

"I ... ummmm ... stole some things from a Wal-Mart in Wichita," she winced.

"I'm getting $1,000,000 for completing this nightmare amusement park. I'll split it with you 50/50. You think $500,000 will cover what you stole?"

"Yes," she sighed, rather depressed; dead boyfriend the most likely cause.

"I'll make the phone calls and send the money order then," I finished up. "All you need to do is duck and weave."

"We are going to die," she whimpered.

"Only if we give up," I counselled.

"Why?" she looked into my eyes. It was 'why was I giving her a damn about her'. For that matter, she wanted to know 'why was I risking my life and blood for her'. She was not a friend, child of a friend, or remotely related to me in any way, yet I was about risk myself again for her for no good reason I could offer. Life had taught her people were never gentle, or kind without a Goddamn selfish reason.

"Sybil, your Dad should have come home to you," I reached into the nothingness. "He should have come home to take care of you so shit like this never happened. He didn't, but other men like me did, so perhaps this is us paying back a tiny bit for the sacrifice he made."

"I served too, Asshole," the leader chuckled. A few others did as well. They really should have handcuffed me. I was on him in a flash, gun out and a shot to his chest. He was hurt, not dead – not yet. I got two more before they got their guns out. I kept the leader's body tight to me as we exchanged fire all within 4 yards. They shot him three times. I downed them then nailed the dog-handler and his bro before they could scamper away. I let the leader drop down my body to his knees.

"Say you're sorry," I told him deadpan.

"I'm ...," he grunted.

"Not to me – to her," I directed him.

"I'm sorry," he inadvertently vomited some blood.

"Fuck you," I then blew his brains out. I laid his gun on his body as I knelt beside the wide-eyed girl. I picked her up and moved us to the far side of the cell as the sound of boots coming our way got louder. I set her down then sat beside her.

"Why aren't you running for it?" she asked.

"I can't get out of here. All the doors are remote controlled and I don't know where the control center is, or where the main power conduits are. I can't blast my way out, so we wait instead," I replied. More guys with guns out arrived. The downside to Sycorax's security protocol concerning guns was her people didn't have serious hardware to come after me with.

"Don't you fucking move!" a nervous voice screamed at me. He was one of three bunched up in the nearest hallway.

"I am unarmed," I told them.

"Ummm ... lie down, arms spread out to your sides," he demanded.

I did as I was told. Two entered the cell while the third began checking the bodies. Five more armed folks appeared plus a problem arouse.

"Frank, Matías, Columbo and Travis are all hurt pretty bad. Eric and Jayson are toast," came the casualty report.

Yeah, I had only critically wounded the other guards. I had killed the dog-handlers because I wanted to be damn sure they were dead. The rest I were gambling on being an object lesson.

"Hanson's ... well ...," that would be their leader.

The guy with the multiple body bullet holes and the entry and exit wounds in the skull which made any hope of his survival a fairy tale.

"I should fucking kill you," one of the two new assholes seethed. He put his boot heel on my head for added emphasis.

"As opposed to letting eleven fuckers beat me to death within an hour ~ by all means ... and make sure you explain your initiative to your Boss when she wonders why I'm a 'no-show'," I grunted.

"It is fifteen," the other guy enlightened me a moment later.

"Oh ... I'm sure the last four will make all the difference," I sighed.

"You are really making tonight expensive, aren't you 'V'?" the Evil Tranny spoke. He and two superior level enforcers had arrived while I'd been eating concrete.

"I'd walk out right now and forget any of this happened if you'd let me," I responded. He snorted.

"We've got some guys badly hurt," one of the guards informed him.

"Who?" was the preamble.

"Trav ..." he got out. Seven shots followed. I assumed he wasted a bullet on the corpses.

"They all look dead to me," he spat at the underlings. "They couldn't do their fucking jobs, so they are fucking dead. Do you have a problem with that?"

Oh, they had a problem with that alright, but none of them had the stones to be the one to court death first. The boot came off my head unbidden. My tormentor decided he'd better keep both eyes on the real psychopath in the room.

"Oh," and the Tranny shot the girl. I wished to Hell I hadn't had more experience with people so needlessly cruel. I wished I hadn't become so callous to the death of the innocent and near-innocent. I wished someone would even weep for the dead girl, because I knew I wouldn't. I had the living to worry about.

I went from face first to a lotus positon very slowly. The Evil Tranny was staring at me, gun leveled at my face.

"Nothing to say?" he addressed me in a mocking tone.

"We've already had our chat. I've got nothing new to say to you," I told him.

"Oh," he pouted, "not going to split the money with her anymore? Not paying off her debts? Not going to pay her hospital bills?"

The next words out of my mouth would be my last. This monster was on the cusp. I could sense it. One flippant remark and he wouldn't care what Sycorax wanted, even though it might mean his own rather painful demise.

"Nothing?" the Monster was disappointed with my caution. I waited ... waited for the flinch in his demeanor which told me his leash had just got yanked, then ...

"No. Jo will give me your name when I ask for it. You and I are already headed on a collision course, so threats are a waste of breath."

"I'm struggling to keep myself and my friends alive; while you are clearly willing to screw with a guy with over a dozen dead bodies in Vegas in under a week and you are willing to casually kill your employees and helpless bystanders in the process. We have nothing to discuss," I unloaded in the most stable voice I was capable of.