Post by Max f'n Daemon on Mar 14, 2021 12:09:57 GMT -5
“Matthias sure as shit had a lot ta' say about me. I don’t blame him. He’s the kinda guy who seeks people out who he thinks are easy targets and challenges them and bullies them in ways that he thinks make himself look better.
Hey if it works, it works, but I find it interestin that a guy with little things of note since losing a title on the same level as mine at Revolution has decided ta' criticize me for everything I’ve done since. Yeah, as if he didn’t just do the same fuckin thing.
Oh but he’s won against important people? Congratulations. I’ve still only lost three times, haven't been pinned once. The first was because my arm nearly got torn off, the second was when my partner decided to shit the bed, and the third was when my arm wasn’t even fully healed. But that makes me look weak, right? That I actually took time off to think about my future and let my body heal? Yeah, how dare I show weakness or some bullshit like that.
The way I see it, it’s better to leave your options open than stake a claim and be proven wrong. Not like I wasn’t guilty of that for a bit. Happened at Revolution, happened in the Battlebowl, happened again in that Steel Cage Match.
You and I Matthias? We don’t have a goddamn thing in common.
The Hardcore Division doesn’t have shit on the Pure Division.
In the Hardcore Division ya' have weapons and everything in sight at your disposal. Ya' might think that that’s fair and allows either competitor to take an advantage, but ya’ see, the Pure Division? The title ya' held first? And the reign that’s the longest of any Pure Champion?
I’d think you’d have more fuckin respect for a championship that involves more ability than substance, more quality than quantity.
Ya' have to square up against your opponent and put everything ya' have on the line and give everything ya' have against an unknown opponent.
I fought against natural athletes, young up and comers, monsters of men, mixed-martial-artists, and crazy fuckin psychos and nobody held a candle to my reign…not even you.
You mighta’ debuted that title but I’m the motherfucker who made it. Oh but you’re above that now? Gonna…move on over to the Havoc Rumble and win all that huh? Good fuckin luck. Even if it wasn’t obvious I was enterin that shit too, the idea that you’re gonna be the son of a bitch to win it all is fuckin hysterical. Don’t get me wrong, you have just as much chance as anybody, but the kinda guy that leaves his past behind him to always look forward? That kinda guy is the forgetful type. The type to not foresee something happenin even though everybody with a fuckin brain understands that anything can.
I don’t…forget…my past. I let it help me and learn from it. I let it guide me towards what I need ta' do and beyond Havoc Rumble, beyond that? I don’t know what I’m gonna do, and quite frankly Matthias, there’s not a chance in hell that you do either.
God, you’re an arrogant bastard, ya’ know that? Trust me, I’m an arrogant bastard myself, game recognize game, but wavin me off as nothin just because you’ve moved on up and defeated other people higher than us?
Motherfucker I’ve been doin that same shit since I’ve joined. Punchin up and provin why they ain’t got shit on me. Now unlike my other opponents, you’re one of the few who I know…is shit. The good kinda shit. The kinda shit that will probably be a legend five years from now and accept a hall of fame ring because you pissed too many people off who crippled you with age.
But you’re good, is my point.
I don’t care though. I’ve faced guys before who were inarguably better competitors and wrestlers and I beat them. You might be good, sure, but for all the shit you like to talk, you’re a goddamn idiot to think ya' know anything about me or how I fight. Yeah, scout my Pure matches, please. Try to see if you can get a specific style down.
Is Max a fighter? He is. Can Max fly? He can. Does Max do submissions? Son of a bitch, he does.
How can I outfight him? Good question. I don’t go down and stay down without a fight.
How can I keep Max down? Good question. Try to break my fuckin leg, see if that’ll work. See if you can.
How can I avoid getting locked into a submission hold? Well, with a guy of your size, I doubt it’ll be easy to lock it in, but hey, you’re also slow. I’m not.
You’re a smart guy Matthias. Or…at least I thought you were. Discrediting any opponent you face is a recipe for disaster. You, of all people, should’ve fuckin recognized that. But whatever. You’re an arrogant bastard.
So am I.
Let’s let our egos blind us for one night and see which one of us can actually make our words count.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
“Jesus Christ…who’d he piss of?” Rebecca asks on the bed behind him.
Max turns around and raises an eyebrow. Rebecca is sitting and fiddling with her Berettas.
Max looks around at the hotel room. Still dingy, still dirty, still cheap.
But hey, that’s Roanapur.
A city of gangs and violence for those wanting a piece. And for any not strong enough to survive, the only true way out is through death or corruption.
Max feels at home.
“Stop fuckin monologuin and let’s go. Nathan’s ready for this,” Rebecca says.
Oh Revy. Always classy.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The three of us—Max, Rebecca, and Nathan Miles—enter the room down the hall and up the stairs of where Max was staying at. The pistols and rifles are all pointed at them, but they don’t pay them much mind.
Precautions, standards, blah blah blah.
At the end of room sits a Russian lady.
Actually, is she even Russian? Her gang’s called Hotel Moscow so I’d assume so but I don’t think anybody’s bothered actually asking. A big lady with a cigar in her mouth and a tendency for violence is not someone you often want to inquire about. That’s usually how you end up a corpse sinking into the ocean.
Anyway, this Russian woman sits behind a desk, letting the cigar smoke float about the room and the men with guns pointed at them doing the introductions.
“Well well well…what pleasure. Tell me, what did I do to warrant the Trio of Two Hands entering my domain?” she asks.
Both Max and Rebecca roll their eyes. Nathan subconsciously gives them a quick slap on the back of the head.
“Apologies for our disturbance, ma’am, but I believe you were looking to speak to us?” he inquires.
The Russian woman nods towards a taller and buffer man to her right. He hands her a briefcase and sets it on the desk. She opens it and turns it towards them. Inside is a pile of cash as well as tablet that has a video playing.
In the video a group of soldiers in full-on military uniform are seen attacking a firing at group of citizens. The person taking the video is obviously hiding.
One of the soldiers walks up right down the sights of the camera. The person—a man—talks on a bulky cell phone.
“Look, I understand you made the call, but these are innocents. If you wanted to make a splash you should’ve started with David and his crew,” the man says. There’s a brief pause before he resumes. “Fuckin…fine. Tell Spicer we’ll have his shit, just…this stays silent, okay?”
Nathan narrows his eyes. Max and Rebecca both put a hand on his shoulder as Nathan’s fist clenches.
“Great,” the man in the video says.
He looks up and sees he’s being filmed.
“Shit…”
He takes out a pistol and fires it at the camera, which turns to static not long after.
“As you can see, gentlemen…a new group has made itself known on our shores,” the Russian woman says.
“Why the fuck are the Peacekeepers here?” Nathan asks.
“Better question: why the fuck did O’Connell agree to that?” Rebecca asks.
“Even better question: why is the Council suddenly makin claims on shit? Even before Spicer or Hunter became members, they never bothered actually makin moves like that,” Max states.
“All great questions,” the Russian woman says. “I’m sure the answers will be just as great. Revy, take your two comrades and the Lagoon Company and find out.”
There’s a small moment of silence. A small moment where all present attempt to understand just what exactly was asked of them.
It’s actually Nathan who speaks up first.
“Um…ma’am…are you entirely—”
“Fuck that,” Max interrupts.
Or not.
“Max,” Nathan warns.
“Nah. I didn’t come here to saddle my horse to that fuckin ship again. I came here to figure out why the Others were knockin at my door gettin me to join.”
Max turns around and barely takes a step before every gun in the room (except for the big man’s, the Russian lady’s, Nathan’s, and Rebecca’s) is cocked and pointed at him.
“Oh, you gonna shoot me? That really how you want this to go down Balalaika?” Max asks.
He doesn’t even turn around to look at her.
“If I have to, yes. You came to me and asked for a place to stay. I told you I’d give you your information, but that was not a part of our deal. This is. You stay in my facility for as long as you need to and you agree to do any job I offer. Plus…” the Russian lady says, tapping the tablet sitting on the pile of money. “Are you really saying you’re going to let this piece of information go?”
Max glances over his shoulder at Balalaika. She raises an eyebrow at him.
Max groans.
-----------------------------------------------------------
“So…what dragged your ass back here?” a big black man asks as they get onto the ship.
It’s not a good ship. Hell, it barely drives. But it’s mostly inconspicuous and gets the job done every time they need it to.
He still hates it though.
“My idiocy and curiosity,” Max says.
The black man raises his eyebrow. Max is pushed forward onto the boat by Rebecca. He stumbles a bit but recovers in time to stand in front of a Japanese man in a nice shirt and tie.
“Both of those go hand-in-hand, dumbass,” Rebecca says.
She tosses the briefcase Balalaika gave us to the Japanese man.
“Dutch, take a look at the video on that tablet. Rock, get the money added to our account. We have a job,” she says.
“We?” Rock asks.
“Yeah. We,” Rebecca says.
She points with her thumb over her a shoulder at Nathan. He nods his head at the two men who nod back.
“Great. The whole gang’s back together,” Dutch says with a smirk.
He glances over at Max who just flips him off in response.
“Hopefully Nio doesn’t show up to fuck it up this time,” Rock says.
He subconsciously touches his rib in response. Rebecca just narrows her eyes towards that same spot.
“Right. Gonna have ta' tell that story to me sometime. Anyway, I’m gonna hit the booze. Let me know when we’re there,” Max says.
He walks down below deck leaving the remaining people up top to get to work.
-----------------------------------------------------------
“It’s fuckin empty,” Max says.
He tosses a broken picture frame of a dog and young girl to the side. It breaks even further when it hits the concrete road beneath him.
“Not a single soldier in sight,” Nathan says.
“They hightailed their asses out of here once Hotel Moscow got a whiff of ‘em. The Peacekeepers don’t fuck around but they’re not idiots,” Dutch says.
Rebecca, Max, and even Nathan snort at that.
“I think I found our guy!” Rock calls out.
They join him down an alleyway where they find a man's corpse dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, orange flip-flops, and brown khaki shorts. He’s clutching at air with both hands, almost like he’s playing a Switch or something…or—
“He was holding the tablet then,” Rebecca says.
Nathan takes out his two Berettas which means that both Rebecca and Max have to do the same with their two handguns.
“Keep on your toes. O’Connell sometimes leaves some men behind to watch. If what Spicer was after means they had a battle against civilians than that means Paradox is not fucking around,” Nathan says.
The five of them begin walking down the street, looking through every window and up at any vantage point. Rock is in the middle whilst Nathan and Rebecca take point, leaving Max and Dutch at the rear. Dutch’s machine gun might not be as accurate as the others’ weapons, but then again, is anybody truly as accurate as them?
Eventually, they reach a broken window display. Rock walks out of the huddle to approach it. Rebecca follows suit, never keeping her eyes off their surroundings. He reaches through the window and takes out a thin, black piece of fabric.
“Well…this isn’t inspiring,” Rock says.
“What is it?” Rebecca asks.
She glances down at it but doesn’t turn her head.
“Hey Nathan! Max!” Rock calls.
The remainder of the group approach the window display. Nathan and Max look at the piece of fabric that Rock holds up.
“Aw shit…” Max mutters.
“I thought Raimundo had all of them but a few,” Nathan says.
“He did,” Rock says.
“But if that’s here…than that means…” Nathan mutters.
“Didn’t Raimundo and the monks join up with David?” Max asks.
“That’s what we thought. But if Spicer was able to get his hands on the Shroud…” Nathan mutters.
“…than there’ something deeper here that we’re not seeing. Like what other Wu do they have? And why did they miss this one on their clean-up?” Rock ponders.
“Maybe they were in a hurry?” Dutch asks.
“Maybe. O’Connell tends to miss things when he’s in a rush,” Nathan says.
“So, what? This is a bust?” Rebecca asks.
“Nah. At least…not for me,” Max says.
He puts his pistols away before making his trek back the way we came.
The rest of the group start to follow him. Rock matches his pace, handing over the Shroud and allowing Max to put in his jacket pocket.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Once they make their way back to the Lagoon boat and have had a few sips of various alcohols, Max speaks up.
“You four should stick around and see if you find anything else around here. Maybe signs of what Spicer was looking for and why the Peacekeepers dipped out when Balalaika was on their ass,” Max says.
“And you will be doing…?” Nathan asks.
“Some outside investigative work. I got a few important players that owe me favors. Plus, I gotta figure out what Rai’s up to and how Spicer got a hold of the Shroud…and what other shit he might have,” Max says. “Plus…this isn’t my only gig guys. I am a full time worker.”
“Oh yes, one day a week dedicated to wrestling other dudes. Real impressive,” Rebecca says.
“Hey there’s more than just dudes there! Plus I got a girl to keep an eye on,” Max says.
“Which reminds me…we need to have a talk about her before things get too serious,” Nathan says.
“Yeah, gotta have her meet the family,” Dutch comments with a smirk.
Max responds by flipping him off once again.
“She’s already met Miranda. If shit gets too serious I’ll think about it,” he says.
“Yeah I am not bending on this. The next time we see you we are having a conversation about her,” Nathan says.
Max sighs and taps off whatever’s left in the random bottle of beer he grabbed from the fridge.
“Okay dad…” Rebecca mutters.
She smiles and is looking away from the group, but it’s enough for Max chuckle.
Nathan sticks out his hand and starts to pat Rebecca’s head.
“I am sorry for caring Rebecca. You know how I feel about the safety of you two,” he says.
The moment is just so jarring and out of nowhere that nobody really knows how to react.
At least for a moment.
The moment passes.
Rebecca slaps Nathan’s hand away.
“What the fuck Nathan?” she shouts.
The blush on her cheeks does not help the situation at all.
Max’s chuckle evolves to a full-on laugh as Rebecca tries to calm herself down by yelling at a nonchalant Nathan.
Huh. His family…
-----------------------------------------------------------
Max enters his trailer in Tucson. As the door closes, he looks over at Miss Lindbergh, still sleeping in the bed. He sighs, locking the front door. He walks towards the bathroom. The metal on the door opens with a soft creak, but is much quieter when it closes. Max locks the bathroom door with a small thud before leaning against the sink.
The metal of the bathroom walls should be enough to ward off anybody hearing and Trudy should still be asleep for a bit longer.
Plenty of time to hash out some favors…
Max sighs and closes his eyes before speaking.
“I call upon the Lutece Twins,” he says.
When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in his bathroom. Instead, he’s at a place the likes of which nobody has ever seen or heard of. Well…nobody who would openly talk about it anyway.
The sky is a dark red. The clouds are pitch black. The dirt below him is black like granite and course like sand.
Nearby, a finely dressed woman and man stand in front of a run-down shack. Their arms are behind their backs.
“Hello there Mr. Daemon,” the woman says.
“Came to cash in on that favor?” the man asks.
Heh. As if the bastard doesn’t already know the answer…
Hey if it works, it works, but I find it interestin that a guy with little things of note since losing a title on the same level as mine at Revolution has decided ta' criticize me for everything I’ve done since. Yeah, as if he didn’t just do the same fuckin thing.
Oh but he’s won against important people? Congratulations. I’ve still only lost three times, haven't been pinned once. The first was because my arm nearly got torn off, the second was when my partner decided to shit the bed, and the third was when my arm wasn’t even fully healed. But that makes me look weak, right? That I actually took time off to think about my future and let my body heal? Yeah, how dare I show weakness or some bullshit like that.
The way I see it, it’s better to leave your options open than stake a claim and be proven wrong. Not like I wasn’t guilty of that for a bit. Happened at Revolution, happened in the Battlebowl, happened again in that Steel Cage Match.
You and I Matthias? We don’t have a goddamn thing in common.
The Hardcore Division doesn’t have shit on the Pure Division.
In the Hardcore Division ya' have weapons and everything in sight at your disposal. Ya' might think that that’s fair and allows either competitor to take an advantage, but ya’ see, the Pure Division? The title ya' held first? And the reign that’s the longest of any Pure Champion?
I’d think you’d have more fuckin respect for a championship that involves more ability than substance, more quality than quantity.
Ya' have to square up against your opponent and put everything ya' have on the line and give everything ya' have against an unknown opponent.
I fought against natural athletes, young up and comers, monsters of men, mixed-martial-artists, and crazy fuckin psychos and nobody held a candle to my reign…not even you.
You mighta’ debuted that title but I’m the motherfucker who made it. Oh but you’re above that now? Gonna…move on over to the Havoc Rumble and win all that huh? Good fuckin luck. Even if it wasn’t obvious I was enterin that shit too, the idea that you’re gonna be the son of a bitch to win it all is fuckin hysterical. Don’t get me wrong, you have just as much chance as anybody, but the kinda guy that leaves his past behind him to always look forward? That kinda guy is the forgetful type. The type to not foresee something happenin even though everybody with a fuckin brain understands that anything can.
I don’t…forget…my past. I let it help me and learn from it. I let it guide me towards what I need ta' do and beyond Havoc Rumble, beyond that? I don’t know what I’m gonna do, and quite frankly Matthias, there’s not a chance in hell that you do either.
God, you’re an arrogant bastard, ya’ know that? Trust me, I’m an arrogant bastard myself, game recognize game, but wavin me off as nothin just because you’ve moved on up and defeated other people higher than us?
Motherfucker I’ve been doin that same shit since I’ve joined. Punchin up and provin why they ain’t got shit on me. Now unlike my other opponents, you’re one of the few who I know…is shit. The good kinda shit. The kinda shit that will probably be a legend five years from now and accept a hall of fame ring because you pissed too many people off who crippled you with age.
But you’re good, is my point.
I don’t care though. I’ve faced guys before who were inarguably better competitors and wrestlers and I beat them. You might be good, sure, but for all the shit you like to talk, you’re a goddamn idiot to think ya' know anything about me or how I fight. Yeah, scout my Pure matches, please. Try to see if you can get a specific style down.
Is Max a fighter? He is. Can Max fly? He can. Does Max do submissions? Son of a bitch, he does.
How can I outfight him? Good question. I don’t go down and stay down without a fight.
How can I keep Max down? Good question. Try to break my fuckin leg, see if that’ll work. See if you can.
How can I avoid getting locked into a submission hold? Well, with a guy of your size, I doubt it’ll be easy to lock it in, but hey, you’re also slow. I’m not.
You’re a smart guy Matthias. Or…at least I thought you were. Discrediting any opponent you face is a recipe for disaster. You, of all people, should’ve fuckin recognized that. But whatever. You’re an arrogant bastard.
So am I.
Let’s let our egos blind us for one night and see which one of us can actually make our words count.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
“Jesus Christ…who’d he piss of?” Rebecca asks on the bed behind him.
Max turns around and raises an eyebrow. Rebecca is sitting and fiddling with her Berettas.
Max looks around at the hotel room. Still dingy, still dirty, still cheap.
But hey, that’s Roanapur.
A city of gangs and violence for those wanting a piece. And for any not strong enough to survive, the only true way out is through death or corruption.
Max feels at home.
“Stop fuckin monologuin and let’s go. Nathan’s ready for this,” Rebecca says.
Oh Revy. Always classy.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The three of us—Max, Rebecca, and Nathan Miles—enter the room down the hall and up the stairs of where Max was staying at. The pistols and rifles are all pointed at them, but they don’t pay them much mind.
Precautions, standards, blah blah blah.
At the end of room sits a Russian lady.
Actually, is she even Russian? Her gang’s called Hotel Moscow so I’d assume so but I don’t think anybody’s bothered actually asking. A big lady with a cigar in her mouth and a tendency for violence is not someone you often want to inquire about. That’s usually how you end up a corpse sinking into the ocean.
Anyway, this Russian woman sits behind a desk, letting the cigar smoke float about the room and the men with guns pointed at them doing the introductions.
“Well well well…what pleasure. Tell me, what did I do to warrant the Trio of Two Hands entering my domain?” she asks.
Both Max and Rebecca roll their eyes. Nathan subconsciously gives them a quick slap on the back of the head.
“Apologies for our disturbance, ma’am, but I believe you were looking to speak to us?” he inquires.
The Russian woman nods towards a taller and buffer man to her right. He hands her a briefcase and sets it on the desk. She opens it and turns it towards them. Inside is a pile of cash as well as tablet that has a video playing.
In the video a group of soldiers in full-on military uniform are seen attacking a firing at group of citizens. The person taking the video is obviously hiding.
One of the soldiers walks up right down the sights of the camera. The person—a man—talks on a bulky cell phone.
“Look, I understand you made the call, but these are innocents. If you wanted to make a splash you should’ve started with David and his crew,” the man says. There’s a brief pause before he resumes. “Fuckin…fine. Tell Spicer we’ll have his shit, just…this stays silent, okay?”
Nathan narrows his eyes. Max and Rebecca both put a hand on his shoulder as Nathan’s fist clenches.
“Great,” the man in the video says.
He looks up and sees he’s being filmed.
“Shit…”
He takes out a pistol and fires it at the camera, which turns to static not long after.
“As you can see, gentlemen…a new group has made itself known on our shores,” the Russian woman says.
“Why the fuck are the Peacekeepers here?” Nathan asks.
“Better question: why the fuck did O’Connell agree to that?” Rebecca asks.
“Even better question: why is the Council suddenly makin claims on shit? Even before Spicer or Hunter became members, they never bothered actually makin moves like that,” Max states.
“All great questions,” the Russian woman says. “I’m sure the answers will be just as great. Revy, take your two comrades and the Lagoon Company and find out.”
There’s a small moment of silence. A small moment where all present attempt to understand just what exactly was asked of them.
It’s actually Nathan who speaks up first.
“Um…ma’am…are you entirely—”
“Fuck that,” Max interrupts.
Or not.
“Max,” Nathan warns.
“Nah. I didn’t come here to saddle my horse to that fuckin ship again. I came here to figure out why the Others were knockin at my door gettin me to join.”
Max turns around and barely takes a step before every gun in the room (except for the big man’s, the Russian lady’s, Nathan’s, and Rebecca’s) is cocked and pointed at him.
“Oh, you gonna shoot me? That really how you want this to go down Balalaika?” Max asks.
He doesn’t even turn around to look at her.
“If I have to, yes. You came to me and asked for a place to stay. I told you I’d give you your information, but that was not a part of our deal. This is. You stay in my facility for as long as you need to and you agree to do any job I offer. Plus…” the Russian lady says, tapping the tablet sitting on the pile of money. “Are you really saying you’re going to let this piece of information go?”
Max glances over his shoulder at Balalaika. She raises an eyebrow at him.
Max groans.
-----------------------------------------------------------
“So…what dragged your ass back here?” a big black man asks as they get onto the ship.
It’s not a good ship. Hell, it barely drives. But it’s mostly inconspicuous and gets the job done every time they need it to.
He still hates it though.
“My idiocy and curiosity,” Max says.
The black man raises his eyebrow. Max is pushed forward onto the boat by Rebecca. He stumbles a bit but recovers in time to stand in front of a Japanese man in a nice shirt and tie.
“Both of those go hand-in-hand, dumbass,” Rebecca says.
She tosses the briefcase Balalaika gave us to the Japanese man.
“Dutch, take a look at the video on that tablet. Rock, get the money added to our account. We have a job,” she says.
“We?” Rock asks.
“Yeah. We,” Rebecca says.
She points with her thumb over her a shoulder at Nathan. He nods his head at the two men who nod back.
“Great. The whole gang’s back together,” Dutch says with a smirk.
He glances over at Max who just flips him off in response.
“Hopefully Nio doesn’t show up to fuck it up this time,” Rock says.
He subconsciously touches his rib in response. Rebecca just narrows her eyes towards that same spot.
“Right. Gonna have ta' tell that story to me sometime. Anyway, I’m gonna hit the booze. Let me know when we’re there,” Max says.
He walks down below deck leaving the remaining people up top to get to work.
-----------------------------------------------------------
“It’s fuckin empty,” Max says.
He tosses a broken picture frame of a dog and young girl to the side. It breaks even further when it hits the concrete road beneath him.
“Not a single soldier in sight,” Nathan says.
“They hightailed their asses out of here once Hotel Moscow got a whiff of ‘em. The Peacekeepers don’t fuck around but they’re not idiots,” Dutch says.
Rebecca, Max, and even Nathan snort at that.
“I think I found our guy!” Rock calls out.
They join him down an alleyway where they find a man's corpse dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, orange flip-flops, and brown khaki shorts. He’s clutching at air with both hands, almost like he’s playing a Switch or something…or—
“He was holding the tablet then,” Rebecca says.
Nathan takes out his two Berettas which means that both Rebecca and Max have to do the same with their two handguns.
“Keep on your toes. O’Connell sometimes leaves some men behind to watch. If what Spicer was after means they had a battle against civilians than that means Paradox is not fucking around,” Nathan says.
The five of them begin walking down the street, looking through every window and up at any vantage point. Rock is in the middle whilst Nathan and Rebecca take point, leaving Max and Dutch at the rear. Dutch’s machine gun might not be as accurate as the others’ weapons, but then again, is anybody truly as accurate as them?
Eventually, they reach a broken window display. Rock walks out of the huddle to approach it. Rebecca follows suit, never keeping her eyes off their surroundings. He reaches through the window and takes out a thin, black piece of fabric.
“Well…this isn’t inspiring,” Rock says.
“What is it?” Rebecca asks.
She glances down at it but doesn’t turn her head.
“Hey Nathan! Max!” Rock calls.
The remainder of the group approach the window display. Nathan and Max look at the piece of fabric that Rock holds up.
“Aw shit…” Max mutters.
“I thought Raimundo had all of them but a few,” Nathan says.
“He did,” Rock says.
“But if that’s here…than that means…” Nathan mutters.
“Didn’t Raimundo and the monks join up with David?” Max asks.
“That’s what we thought. But if Spicer was able to get his hands on the Shroud…” Nathan mutters.
“…than there’ something deeper here that we’re not seeing. Like what other Wu do they have? And why did they miss this one on their clean-up?” Rock ponders.
“Maybe they were in a hurry?” Dutch asks.
“Maybe. O’Connell tends to miss things when he’s in a rush,” Nathan says.
“So, what? This is a bust?” Rebecca asks.
“Nah. At least…not for me,” Max says.
He puts his pistols away before making his trek back the way we came.
The rest of the group start to follow him. Rock matches his pace, handing over the Shroud and allowing Max to put in his jacket pocket.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Once they make their way back to the Lagoon boat and have had a few sips of various alcohols, Max speaks up.
“You four should stick around and see if you find anything else around here. Maybe signs of what Spicer was looking for and why the Peacekeepers dipped out when Balalaika was on their ass,” Max says.
“And you will be doing…?” Nathan asks.
“Some outside investigative work. I got a few important players that owe me favors. Plus, I gotta figure out what Rai’s up to and how Spicer got a hold of the Shroud…and what other shit he might have,” Max says. “Plus…this isn’t my only gig guys. I am a full time worker.”
“Oh yes, one day a week dedicated to wrestling other dudes. Real impressive,” Rebecca says.
“Hey there’s more than just dudes there! Plus I got a girl to keep an eye on,” Max says.
“Which reminds me…we need to have a talk about her before things get too serious,” Nathan says.
“Yeah, gotta have her meet the family,” Dutch comments with a smirk.
Max responds by flipping him off once again.
“She’s already met Miranda. If shit gets too serious I’ll think about it,” he says.
“Yeah I am not bending on this. The next time we see you we are having a conversation about her,” Nathan says.
Max sighs and taps off whatever’s left in the random bottle of beer he grabbed from the fridge.
“Okay dad…” Rebecca mutters.
She smiles and is looking away from the group, but it’s enough for Max chuckle.
Nathan sticks out his hand and starts to pat Rebecca’s head.
“I am sorry for caring Rebecca. You know how I feel about the safety of you two,” he says.
The moment is just so jarring and out of nowhere that nobody really knows how to react.
At least for a moment.
The moment passes.
Rebecca slaps Nathan’s hand away.
“What the fuck Nathan?” she shouts.
The blush on her cheeks does not help the situation at all.
Max’s chuckle evolves to a full-on laugh as Rebecca tries to calm herself down by yelling at a nonchalant Nathan.
Huh. His family…
-----------------------------------------------------------
Max enters his trailer in Tucson. As the door closes, he looks over at Miss Lindbergh, still sleeping in the bed. He sighs, locking the front door. He walks towards the bathroom. The metal on the door opens with a soft creak, but is much quieter when it closes. Max locks the bathroom door with a small thud before leaning against the sink.
The metal of the bathroom walls should be enough to ward off anybody hearing and Trudy should still be asleep for a bit longer.
Plenty of time to hash out some favors…
Max sighs and closes his eyes before speaking.
“I call upon the Lutece Twins,” he says.
When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in his bathroom. Instead, he’s at a place the likes of which nobody has ever seen or heard of. Well…nobody who would openly talk about it anyway.
The sky is a dark red. The clouds are pitch black. The dirt below him is black like granite and course like sand.
Nearby, a finely dressed woman and man stand in front of a run-down shack. Their arms are behind their backs.
“Hello there Mr. Daemon,” the woman says.
“Came to cash in on that favor?” the man asks.
Heh. As if the bastard doesn’t already know the answer…