LITMIR.BIZ

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hers.

      “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

      Despite her trepidation, she buried her head into his chest and arms as she considered the gravity of his sentiments. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore a small ebb of dread that washed over her.

      Draven pulled her in tight, their naked bodies fusing into one. He inhaled the fresh flowery fragrance of her hair. This always had a calming effect on him. Still, he was tense. His eyes swung back and forth from the wall clock to his cell phone laying within arm’s length on the bed.

      A mission of great importance was taking place across the country, and he had not yet gotten his phone call. Though his best men were on that job, it was getting late and they should’ve contacted him by now.

      * * * * *

      Homan Square

      Police Black Site

      Chicago, Illinois

      David Ramirez’s open hand swept through the air and connected with the hulking suspect’s face again. SWAKKK!

      “Talk, asshole!” bellowed Ramirez, callsign Zebra 7. The man, bleeding from the nose and mouth, brought his head back to the front to face his interrogator and spat blood and phlegm on the ground.

      “Fuck you, traitor!” the massively muscular man shot. SWAKKK! The man spat again after the impact.

      “Do I have to beat it out of you?” The big man giggled.

      “That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it, 7? Beating?” retorted the suspect, tied to a chair next to another.

      “Fuck you, Synikil! Look at you, the big man of PIPER’S, Inc.,” mocked Ramirez. “Big, strong Synikil! He can snap men in half with his bare hands!” Ramirez grinned. “What do you bench, 370, 375? Too bad that doesn’t mean shit when your ass is tied to a fucking chair, bitch!”

      “That’s the only time you can hit me,” Synikil sneered. “Tell you what, 7, let’s put your SWAT training to the test. Untie me and let’s dance, you traitor cock!” Ramirez was about to slap him again when someone else spoke.

      “What happened to you, 7?” asked the man tied up next to Synikil. Ramirez moved to the other man who was equally filled with rage for his antagonist.

      “What about you, Shade? Are you going to talk or do you want your shit beat, too?”

      “It wasn’t enough, Brother?” asked the quiet African-American, “what we were paid? Now you’re running with these corrupt fucks? How much are they paying you?” SWAKK! Ramirez’s hand connected with the right cheek of Gary Kent, callsign Shade. Shade didn’t seem to feel it. Standing around him and Synikil were no less than 17 of Chicago’s law enforcement officers staring indifferently down at them. He recognized one of them in full police uniform, a face that had been in the news countless times.

      “Chief Carlton Lotts,” he called. “Now what could Chicago’s most controversial and most investigated head of law enforcement be doing here? Did your corrupt boss, Mayor Ron Manuel send you to partake in this festivity?”

      “Shut up, PIPER’S, Inc. scum!” the police chief snarled. “We’ve finally found someone to rat all you cop-killing fucks out.” He looked at Ramirez. “It didn’t take all that much money to bring him in. He’s a cop to the core, after all. He said he couldn’t stomach taking down his brothers in blue no matter how corrupt they were, and no matter how much you paid him.”

      “So, you’re the mole!” Shade spat glaring at Ramirez. “We’ve been looking for the traitor for months. I never expected it would come from one of our best Ghosts.”

      “Face it, Shade. We’re fading out,” answered Ramirez. “We did our job for king and country. Yeah, we got paid, but we did our jobs and now it’s ending. Turnbull’s setting us free. We’re disbanding! Retirement papers, severance pay, new identities – we get it all. It’s over. Ghosts are leaving in droves. Time to take a side, bro.”

      “This place,” started Synikil, “this is where innocent people were beaten, tortured and held for no cause for decades under the old police regimes. How appropriate that you lead us here, 7!”

      “Yes, the old regimes,” said Lotts with a tinge of melancholy. “They made this place notorious. I was one of them, the interrogators. How do you think I was promoted up?” He took a step towards Shade and leveled malevolent eyes on him.

      “Ain’t nothin’ like beatin’ a nigger until he’s beggin’ for his pathetic life!” he spat.

      “You’re lucky this nigger is tied up, fat man, or you’d be beggin’ for your whore mother to come let you suck on her titty!” Shade shot back. SWAKKK!

      Lotts stepped back and rolled up his sleeves, showing several tattoos of White supremacist symbols on one arm and Masonic symbols on the other. He showed them off to the other men who grinned admiringly.

      “We used this place to beat confessions out of them. If they were witnesses to a crime involving a cop, we beat them to keep their silence; and if they refused to testify against someone we wanted, we kept them in a cell for days without food and water. We held their cell phone, so not even their families knew where they were.

      “In the back of the building we had ten fake graves, dug just deep enough to put in a body. We would show them and say we’d kill them and bury them back there. Told them they would just simply disappear.” He cackled. “You’d be surprised what that does to a man’s conscience while he’s left in solitary confinement.”

      “Well, I hope you have enough graves back there for all you mother fuckers,” spat Shade. SWAKKK!

      “You fucking bastard,” seethed Synikil at Lotts. He looked at all of them. “You’re all COWARD FUCKS!” SWAKKK!

      “Everyone, get your gloves on.” At Lotts order, the men stretched on rubber surgeons gloves. “PIPER’S, Inc. did a good job shutting us down a couple years ago. I lost a lot of good friends thanks to your fucking leader, Tim. . .Tam. . .Tom- Ramirez, what’s his fucking name?”

      “Temujin.”

      “That’s right, Temujin.”

      “And what do you intend to do with us?” asked Shade defiantly.

      “Homan Square was where I got my start. Like these men standing around you, this is where they’ll get their start.” The men, all White, then began taking off their uniform jackets, caps and duty belts. Some slipped on brass knuckles or pulled out their night sticks.

      “PIPER’S, Inc. killed or put away hundreds of our brothers in blue and shut down this facility. But those days are over. We’re going to open this place back up with a vengeance, and thanks to Officer Ramirez here, you two are going to be part of the grand re-opening ceremony.”

      “Seven, you fucking coward!” spat Synikil. “What a fucking mistake it was to take you in!” SWAKKK! Synikil dropped a wad of fresh blood at Ramirez’s feet.

      “The mayor is going to enjoy the fact that we took out a couple of Ghosts, especially two heavyweights,” said Lotts. “He promised me another promotion if I ended your scourge.” He looked at Ramirez. “He promised you one, too. He said the more you deliver PIPER’S, Inc. scum, the higher your career in the force is going to be.”

      “Thank you, sir. I will deliver more, you can count on it.” Ramirez’s answer was firm as he checked an incoming text on his cell phone. Lotts took a step back and looked at his menacing group.

      “You boys take your time. Then put their bodies in the graves out back. Ramirez, you’re in charge.”

      “Roger that, sir,” Ramirez answered. “Freeman said he needs you out back.”

      Lotts walked up to Synikil, grinned, then hammered a right cross onto his jaw. Synikil barely flinched, he just looked at him and spat another

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