Mando Bk. 01: Good Ass/Badass Ch. 10

CHAPTER 10: MANDO THE COMMANDO

DANNY'S Story

It's hard to accept that my love rekindled so quickly, almost instantly, and I have to give him up again. Is that our destiny? I was in ecstasy when I was in his arms and in another atmosphere when that cock was in my mouth or filling my hungry cunt. Damn that was good.

But I couldn't stay another minute knowing the joy we were having couldn't happen again. Everything from that point on would feel hollow.

Oh, I love that man so much I get goose bumps all over just thinking about him. But why torture myself? I'll never see him again; I must let him go if I want to remain sane.

I'll do it starting right goddamn now. I'll cut our ties and go back to where I belong. Girls. I've had three partners since then. Why does he still trump and bump the others out of the arena? Why? They've got the right equipment; clits and tits. All he has is a big cock. I can't really want that more than the passion and compassion of a hot bitch, can I?

If so, is my same gender choice just that; a choice? Am I naturally bi-sexual? Or worse, becoming straight? I don't know, but the bastard left my bed but not my head.

Other than being heavily hung, what does he offer that my Sheila's don't? Am I so much in love that he stays in the top slot? Sort of like an addiction; quit for five years, take the drug of choice once, and the addiction is back as if I never quit? Am I addicted to him?

Damn it all to Detroit, Japan, and fucking Juniper! All these questions and not a single god damn answer. Fuck a rubber duck in a robber's truck!!

I don't really want to see him, do I? Maybe it's an obsession and not love at all. Maybe all I need to do to clear my head is to not see him ever again. I've got to shake this thing. It's a curse. It's evil. It threatens my lifestyle, my comfort level, and life goals. Hell's bells, that son of a bitch is a threat to my whole identity! Fuck a mule and kiss a snake!!! Shit fire and spare the lighter fluid! Damn I'm upset. Upset? I passed that before I left his apartment. Now I'm...I'm... what? Distressed? Destroyed? Dismayed? Dis-shit I don't know! Imploding maybe! On the eve of self destruction? NOT. No, I'm not undone and hopeless. Helpless to find a solution and devastated because of it. 

I pace from one end of the hotel room to another, thinking, thinking, and rethinking.' This love can't be real. Love is for idealist fools. It threatens my whole way of life. Letting these feelings out is self sabotage. A death wish. It's suicide. It's the last thing I need. I can't allow distraction in my line of work. Love is dangerous. I know I should ignore it; but it's killing me.

He is free to have a romantic relationship now, but his views about war and guns are keeping us apart. Why can't he give a little? Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that's the way it should be. I can't change what I do for mankind. This line of work is necessary to keep the bad guys from kicking the shit out of every good guy that's in their way or has something they want..

On the other hand, maybe it's time to let someone else be the action hero. I stomp my left foot and slam my fist against the table, shouting. No! Dammit This is what I do and who I am. Only a handful of people can do what I do and do it well. I save lives and protect good people from bad People. That's me and that's who I am and what I am. I'll just have to accept a life without him. If that's how it is, I'll suck it up and move on. Period.

I open the mini-bar, snatch up a bottle of Chevas Regal, twist the cap off, scarf it down in one gulp, and slam the bottle on the counter. Grrrr! That didn't help. I've got to deal with this without chemicals.

I began pacing rapidly while  speaking fast and loud. Shouting even. That's right. Suck it up Dan my whoa-man, and move the hell on. Shit girl; stop being a pussy. A wuss. A crybaby. Get that mushy idea of love out of your fucking head before it destroys you.

I stop pacing and face the bathroom mirror. There. Problem solved, bitch.. A collision course avoided. Atta boy, girl. Stick with the plan and dump the man. That's it. End of story. My love story. Over. The end. Kaput. 

I start pacing again, still talking out loud. I can still get all the pussy I want, so what's the problem? There's no problem, that's what! I'll never see him again and like any other wound, it'll heal. I've had enough wounds to know that, haven't I?

I stop wearing the rug out with so much walking to and fro and flop onto my bed.

All that will be left are the scars. No pain, just scars, that's all. I've handled gunshot pain, knife pain, fire pain, grief pain, and by god I can handle this pain! All I have to do is avoid the drug of choice; him. Gino. Avoid his cock like it's a poisonous viper. That's all.

I bolt upright. That's all? THAT'S ALL? Cock or not, the son of a bitch still looms over me like thunder cloud raining pain in torrents.

I relax and lie back on two pillows. So what? All that's required to kill the pain and dumb-ass infatuation is to never see him again. Am I a Marine or not! Simper Fi and stay the hell away from him. Simply bye, special guy! 

I slap my hands together back and forth once and declare,  Done deal. Problem solved. It's over and out. Gone and good riddance.

The phone sings Chuck's ringtone the ABC song because of the different three letter agencies I work with. To me, they're the alphabet gang. When I answer the phone my resolve dissolves.

"Hello. 'sup Chuck?"

"Mando, this is Chuck. Here's the deal. A special crew is on their way from LA. They will land in two hours or so. Be ready in an hour and a half. We'll have spotters at the gate to let us know when they're on the ground. They'll pick up their equipment on this end.

"How many?"

"There are ten in the team counting the two drivers. A local gang will back them up, therefore I don't know the final count. Expect six or eight at the door. The look-outs can be anywhere, like fire escapes on any floor, or near the escape vehicles. That is an unknown factor at the moment. But we know if the team takes too long these boys will send the back up team to investigate. Do you need help?"

"Have a back-up team ready. Who is the client and where is he?"

"He is in the Presidential Suite at the Omni hotel. His name is Gino Marino."

I sit down so I don't fall down. I am so stunned I might fall off the floor. I don't know what or who I expected, but definitely not Gino. Not my Gino. Not the only person I've ever let my guard down and given myself fully to. No, no no! Please let it be his brother, or father, or his goddamn sister!

"Mando, the Machetes is the most violent gang in the world; they are the worst of the worst. They're cold blooded killers. They are alive and successful because they're in and out of their target's location in record time and leave no witnesses. This is the toughest assignment of your career to date, Mando, and possibly your entire life, which could be rather short if you don't have help."

I can't think straight. My mind is blind.

Get it together, hero.

My Gino needs me.

I. can. do. This.

Focus

"You listening Mando?"

"Yes. I've got this. Call the client right away. Does he know a bodyguard is coming?"

"No, but I'll explain it to him now. Call me if you need me."

I end the call, but not my shock. After a minute I snap out of my hazy daze and go to work.

I dress in tactical gear. The head cover, boots, chest plate, back plate thigh and shin guards are molded to my form. I wear hard shell body armor that's molded to fit my body. When a SWAT or agency backup team was on the schedule I'd wear the colored armor outside so the fools wouldn't shoot me. But not this time. It's flesh colored armor under my battle dress of black and gray. I won't look like bat girl or batman this time. More like a ninja, complete with swords. Tactical gear covers the body armor. If body armor is worn, they expect to see it. If the body amour is underneath clothing, they assume it is two thin to sustain multiple shots. They expect me to bleed when they shoot me. The blood vest over the armor looks like dark red bubble wrap. Each bubble contains two ounces of blood. Where the bullet hits, I bleed.

Besides that, seeing me shot to shit and riddled with bullets from pistols, Uzi's and shoguns, and then get up and keep coming at them too bloody to be alive confuses the shit out of them and scares them shitless. Even better, it spawns stories and legends that spread fear.

I strap on six pistols with extra ammo, throwing knives, two katana Samari swords, I sling my compressed air rifle over my shoulder, grab my trunk on wheels and strike out for the suite I left not long ago.

When I reach  the apartment the guard is expecting me and buzzes me in.

I set up my sniper's nest in the attic, made a gun port in the attic-crawl space with weapons, earphones and bullet-proof headgear. Next, I hooked up the two remote controlled super shrill, ear-piercing fire alarms, and two remote controlled strobe lights in the ceiling over the hall and apartment and tie a knotted rope to a rafter over the air grate. After doing an inventory check I scoot back down the scuttle hole in the kitchen ceiling.

Time to see Gino. I knock on his bedroom door before entering. Will he recognize me as a man with dark skin, mustache, and a Spanish accent? "Excuse me, Senior."

He looks up from his laptop when I speak and then leaps from his leather chair and approaches me with an extended hand. "Yes, of course. You're Commando, right?

"Yes sir. Mando is fine."

Great! How can I help you prepare?"

A tour of the apartment is a good start, then make a dummy to replace you in your bed using pillows from other beds. Under the covers the shooters will think it is you and waste a few rounds which could alert me as to where they are. Turn out all bedroom lights and lock the doors. I'll turn off the main lights. You go to the bedroom with reinforced walls, close and lock the vault door.. That's your safe room.  Take a chair to the shower to sit in and stay out of harm's way until this is over."

"Right."

"When you go there, remain in the bathroom until you hear the words, All Clear Mr. G, or this is the FBI, it's safe now. All clear. This is critical, Sir. You may hear lots of shots or lots of silence. Do nothing. Don't leave the room. If I see movement I'll shoot now and check ID's later."

I turned to go and stopped mid turn. "I know you are a martial artist, and so do they. Therefore expect at least eight fully automatic weapons firing fifteen hundred rounds per minute traveling at twice the speed of sound to perforate your body, shredding it in seconds. "

Gino' Raises his hands in submission."OK, I'm convinced. I won't think about fighting odds like seventeen thousand to one with only my hands and feet."

"Good. Follow those instructions even when the quiet dead air seems deafening. Be curious, but stay put. Will you do that, sir?"

He seems rattled by those stats. "You bet I will.' The answer zips past his lips so fast and weak I barely hear him. "Sir?"

"You bet I will. " He declares. I won' t' budge until you guys give me the all clear sign," He says thru tight lips."

"Good. No lights outside the shower, and no sound. In Half and hour I am going to get into position. It may be an hour and a half or more before we're attacked, but I doubt it." 

He nods his understanding.

"Remember sir, when you hear noise do nothing. Don't even call my name. Turn off your phone, remove the batteries, and stay completely quiet and still. Meditate, read or use your laptop to keep your mind off what's happening out here."

."Yes, of course. You're the expert here." He's quick to acknowledge his understanding. He seems anxious.

"Good. Keep it that way. Now go make the dummy so the shooter thinks it's you, and tuck him in for the night while I do other things."

I hurry to set up for a fire fight. I put spare weapons and supplies in the kitchen for easy access.

*****

I'm in the attic on top of two Kevlar blankets facing my gun port. That plus my body armor should keep me bullet free.

I took full advantage of the home court advantage by setting up a kill zone, or KZ, with strobe lights to distort vision, and generate confusion and chaos in a dark room. The blaring, piercing, shrill noise of the fire alarm interferes with the killer's concentration, shocks their central nervous system, forcing it to reset which delays the perps reaction time. The clincher is that their hands don't know whether to shoot or cover their ears. The alarm plus the strobe light creates instant absolute disorientation. That definitely gives me the home court advantage.

When the fight is over I'll remove all props. The feds will see the bodies, but won't have a clue what happened. This is how legends are born. As long as the use of strobe lights and ear-splitting alarms remains secret no one will guess how I defeated armed men without firing a single bullet. And that's how I want it.

******

The fight is over. The plan had a few hiccups, but nothing I hadn't anticipated.

When four men entered thru one of two fire doors and five men through the opposite end of the hall, they walked briskly toward the center of the plush carpeted hallway, spacing themselves in three lines of three across, leaving one man free to pick the entrance door lock to the apartment.

A voice shouted, "Sanitize now!" The three on each side peppered the walls with rapid fire from their automatic machine guns equipped with drums that held two hundred bullets each plus extra ammo strapped on the shooters belts and chest. The center column simultaneously systematically stitched the ceiling with thousands of bullet holes from their  automatic weapons. Anyone in the attic should be mincemeat, but my custom body armor kept me out of the mincemeat factory and morgue, but I, my chest and face shield were peppered with so much artillery fire I was a led carpet from stem to stern. I quickly recover from the volley and start picking off the shooters while they pepper the walls and ceiling. I shot the lock picker at the apartment door first, then started from the opposite door shooting the shooters with cyanide coated pellets from a compressed air pellet gun. Depending on the angle and direction the shooter faced, I shoot either the ear, back of or side their neck. Then I flip on the strobe and blaring 'I-can't- hear-myself-think' alarm, and drop into the room with sword ready and sprint to the men I shot first. Just as their knees give way my Japanese sword speaks. Swish! I swing my sword in a practiced arch between the two neck vertebrae directly below the head for smooth slices. I leap, dance and glide from one man to the next, decapitating each of them with clean, smooth strokes. I decapitate one and spot the next target with the next strobe flash. I dance from killer to killer in a lethal ballet, hopping and chopping.

Swish! "One Cock Killer"

Swish! "Two Cock Killers"

Swish! "Three Cock Killers

Swish! "Four Cock Killers"

Swish! "Five Cock Killer"

Swish! "Six Cock Killers"

The last three men were beginning to sag, but they had enough time to empty their machine guns and a shotgun toward the sounds I made. Those three hundred plus slugs and seven blast of double ought buckshot stop me with jolt and hurls me backward. I stagger and trip over the body behind me and slam against the wall with a vengeance. In a daze I spring to my feet and rush the shooters. The cyanide claims the men one after the other. I reach the first one in time for a clean swing of the sword before he drops. Swish!

I set the last two bodies upright leaning against each back-to-back with heads facing down for easy sword action. I prefer being a surgeon that slices heads, rather than a butcher that chops them off. Swish!-swoop. "So long, cock killing savage motherfuckers."

Satisfied, I told the bastards, "That's nine of you cock sucking, cock killing, Motherfucking, head chopping, baby killing, raping, murdering, Machete sons of bitches."

I move away from the door and drop into a crouch, huffing, puffing and soaked with sweat. I wait for their rear guards to come investigate. "Give me two more minutes to catch my breath, you machete mothers. Two more minutes before I kick your cock killing asses." They give me my two minutes, but not a second more. I turn off the alarm and leave the strobe flashing.

The two fire escape doors opened quietly admitting two men each. Before they could step away from the light of the open door I throw one knife after the other at the killers farthest away before springing toward the two nearest me like a tiger going for an antelope. Swish, swish! "Take that you cock killing dick sucking shithead mother fuckers!"

I back against the wall in a crouch and wait for any other back up. After a three minute lull, a fire escape door farthest from me is jerked open and two men drift through the door. The chaos that greeted them stupefies them because the strobe light distorts the scene before them. Whoosh, whoosh! My knives catch them in the larynx like the two men before them. Cut throats don't scream or call for help. I snarl at them. "Gino' s cock is still alive to fuck again, Shit for Brains; but your pussy days are over!"

I turn toward the other door and wait. When the door eases open, two men slip in. I pounce, swinging my sword in high arcs. Swish! Spin-Swish! "For Gino, you cock killing, ass fucking, lowlife swine."

I crouch again and wait. The other door opens cautiously. Two men come in a crouch and stand away from the door. Smart cookies. But not smart enough. They kept their heads erect enough to expose their silhouette head and shoulders before the doors closed. Too bad for them, but excellent for me. Whoosh! Whoosh! Both knives were bullseye hits. The money shots! But my arms are tiring from the sword and knife play. I guess blood loss could have zapped and drained my energy a little bit, but who gives a shit.

Still crouched, I eased a forty caliber Lock pistol out of its holster, screw a silencer on it, balance it on my thigh and wait. I don't want to fire my gun because muzzle flashes reveal me to the shooter. But I may need back up.

I wait. One minute, two minutes, three minutes, four-all quiet. I waited ten more minutes. Nothing.

Time to return to the attic to retrieve my gear and props. To avoid stumbling over bodies I exited through the ceiling hatch I came through earlier.

Next, I quickly return to the KZ with a rare earth magnet having a 500 pound pull. First, I attach the magnet on the end of my sword and use it like a Geiger counter to scan the floor and lower walls for the cyanide coated pellets, kicking the guns out of the magnet's paths as I go. Since those pellet shots were in the ear and neck, they should have been jarred out when the head fell and smacked into the floor, or forced out by the sword.

Click, bing, bing, thud. I count them. Six. Three to go. I check the bodies with the magnet on target areas and pull out the other three. Great. The evidence is history, and all traces of the cyanide will be gone in four to six hours. The stage for the mystery is set. The heavily armed machete head choppers lost their heads without being shot. A thousand bullets couldn't stop their enemy. Chuck would leak the tale to his snitches and it would go viral. The down side is they may send a battalion next time.

***

Next I take all but one loaded magazine from each man's belt together with their back up pistols..The spoils of war. I toss the ammo and unregistered firearms in with my other gear and stow it in Gino's room.

I text Chuck. "It's over. The package is safe. Your guys can come up. I need a vacation."

He must have laughed before he  replied. "Ha! Time to buy a private island and build yourself a fortress."