Today
“Private jet from D.C. to Miami, corporate limousine to pick us up from the airport...yeah, a girl could get used to that kind of treatment.”
Priscilla Kitaen, known to her friends and enemies as Voodoo, stretched out in the back of the limo, her tight t-shirt pulling up past her navel as her arms raised to the roof of the vehicle. Sitting on her left was Mister Wax, enjoying the view beside him. Directly across from him was Cedric, last of the Beef Boys, who was more interested in smoothing down his spiked leather codpiece than the sexual display. Finally, sitting next to Cedric was their fourth member, the last of this ad hoc team of WildC.A.T.s.
“When we get there,” Cole Cash said as he re-assembled his newly cleaned pistol, “we may be entering into a fire fight. Knowing Rendozzo she’s probably got that compound of hers locked down for a long and lengthy siege. Since she knew that her fuck of an ex-husband was coming for her, I can’t imagine she didn’t have Hell a’waitin’ for him.”
“She had at least twelve hours to prepare,” Wax chimed in, “I left her the message with Ramon, so let’s hope the little shit took me seriously.”
“No one’s at the gate, sir,” the driver, fully compensated by way of the Halo Corporation, said as he pulled onto the Rendozzo compound.
“That’s a bad sign, gentlemen and stripper,” Cedric advised, prompting an unappreciative glare from Voodoo.
“Alright Cats,” the Grifter said as he pulled down his mask and slapped a clip into his handgun, “let’s get fucking wild.”
Cash and Kitaen leapt from the car as it swung toward the front doors of the house, guns ready as they fell into a roll across the concrete. Cedric followed, exiting the vehicle with a nonchalant stomp onto the ground. Only when the car came to a complete stop, however, did Wax attempt to exit, nowhere near as gung-ho as his teammates.
“So where’s the reception?” Wax said as he approached his partners, all of them standing confusedly in front of the doors that had been left hanging open.
“We go in quiet, kill anything that moves,” Cole ordered, and the four of them entered silently.
The inside of Rendozzo’s home looked as if a bomb had exploded within it, holes blown through walls while the floors were littered with the bodies of her hired help. Grifter and Voodoo stopped to check the first few corpses they came across, but stopped when they realized that all had died by the same way: multiple gunshot wounds caused by a heavy caliber weapon.
Not a sound was heard throughout the home as they searched, not until they neared Rendozzo’s main office. The closer they crept, the louder it became. Someone was crying, and it sounded like a little girl.
The Grifter stopped at the office door and waited while Voodoo silently counted down with her fingers. When she reached “one”, Cash threw his foot forward, connecting at knob and splintering the wood into shards when the door broke free of its hinges. “Don’t fucking move!” he shouted as he burst inside.
What he and the rest of the Wildcats found made each of them pause.
“I’m sorry, boss,” Ramon was whimpering from the corner of the room. “The shitheads lied to me, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
“Ramon?” Cash asked, honestly surprised that the kid had lived through what had obviously been a massacre. “What the hell, man?”
When they moved closer, they saw what the boy was crouched down over. Cecilia Rendozzo laid there, unmoving, bleeding onto the Persian rug beneath her. “She’s dead,” Ramon said, sniffling yet trying to hide his sobs. “She’s fuckin’ dead, yo.”
“No, she’s not,” Priscilla said as she knelt down beside him. “See her chest rising and falling, faintly? Step back, kid.”
Cedric reached down and pulled the boy away by the shoulder. “I would do what the hussy said, young man.”
Priscilla took Rendozzo’s hand in hers, then closed her eyes. Daemonite genes and telepathy weren’t the only skills the lady possessed; for a time, she’d studied the talents of her namesake whilst living in New Orleans. Magick of the darkest kind, pure and undiluted voodoo, was running through her alien veins, though it was a gift she rarely used. Healing the woman before her, though, was easy enough.
After a moment of being enveloped by a hazy golden glow, Rendozzo shot up into a sitting position, a flurry of coughs choking free from her chest. The gunshot wound in her abdomen stitched itself closed in a matter of moments, and when Voodoo opened her eyes C.C. Rendozzo was healthy once again...
Healthy enough to strike Priscilla in the throat and leap atop her startled body. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Whoa, hold on Rendozzo!” Cash yelled, he and Cedric trying to pull the hellcat away from the woman she was trying her best to beat to death. Rendozzo fought like a mad-woman, the last thing she remembered was being shot in the chest and left for dead. She wasn’t thinking clearly, for her only moments had passed since her assassin struck, and it was more than the two men could do to stop her.
“Jesus,” Wax said with a sigh as he stepped forward to grab C.C. by the neck, lifting her face to his. “Calm the fuck down, we’re here to help you.”
Cecilia stopped in her tracks, instantly mesmerized by Wax’s hypnotic talent. Cedric lifted her up, allowing Priscilla to squirm free and get back on her feet. “How long will she be like that?” Voodoo asked as she caught her breath.
“Few minutes, unless I keep her under,” Wax answered, “why?”
Priscilla threw her fist forward, punching the other woman square in the face and knocking her down to the floor onto her ass. “No reason.”
The Grifter stepped over to Ramon, towering over the boy. The red and black mask concealed his features, but it didn't take much to see that Cole Cash was pissed. “Okay Ramon, what the fuck happened here? Thought you were some sorta prodigy who can make this place impenetrable?”
“It was that big FBI muthafucker, yo. Came in here like the Terminator, shootin' up the whole damn place.”
“Tyro?” asked Grifter. He looked over at C.C., who was now getting to her feet with the help of Wax.
“Had to be,” said C.C. “Agent Orange broke in here and took Donny. But he shouldn't have been able to get past the defenses so easily.” Rendozzo fixed an angry gaze on Ramon. “Someone had to open the door.”
Ramon started shaking his hands in front of him. “Whoa now, I don't like that look, boss!”
Rendozzo drew her revolver and aimed it. “You're the only one who could have disengaged the security system without setting off any alarms. You're the reason my son is back in the hands of that maniac. And if you expect to live to see puberty, you're going to tell me why you did this.”
“He was poison, yo. Tyro done fucked that boy up, no way he's ever gonna be the son you knew!” said Ramon. “That fucker, he told me nothin' was gonna happen to you. Said you'd be okay! Said he just wanted his kid back!”
“Good boy,” said Rendozzo, but she kept the gun trained on him. “Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your traitorous head.”
“'Cuz I know how you can find him,” said Ramon. “Tyro e-mailed me t' tell me when the shit was goin' down. I can trace it.”
“No you can't,” said Wax. “Tyro may be a fucking nutcase, but he's not an idiot. That IP address probably has encryption up the ass.”
Ramon smiled. “Don't insult me, dawg. I was breakin' FBI encryption when I was still in pull-ups, yo.”
“Do it,” said Rendozzo.
Ramon smiled and ran over to his computer.
“Oh and Ramon? One more thing.”
He stopped. “Yeah boss?”
“Once you tell us where Tyro is, pack your bags and get the fuck out of my house,” said Rendozzo.
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Miami Field Office
“Just so we're all on the same page—you do realize that we're basically waging war against the FBI by doing this, right?” asked Wax. He sat in the passenger side of the parked van, Cedric behind the wheel. In the back, the rest of the Wildcats prepared for said war.
Grifter checked the magazines in his guns and slammed them into place. “Yeah well, they started it.”
“No, technically we did,” said Wax.
“And who's fault was that?” asked Voodoo, glaring at Rendozzo out of the corner of her eye.
“If this is too much for you to handle, then you can just run on home and hide behind Marlowe,” said Rendozzo. Like Cash, she was checking her weapons, ensuring her revolvers were fully loaded. Not only had Tyro taken her son—again—but he had turned Ramon against her and he was responsible for putting virtually every single man of hers in the hospital or a coffin.
“You got money, you got skills, you didn't need Hadrian to get your son back. But I guess you're just too much of a chickenshit to get your hands dirty, aren't you?” asked Voodoo. “Far as I'm concerned, once Tyro's dead, you're the number one bitch on my shit list.”
Rendozzo twirled the gun in her hand. “Keep pushing, you cheap whore. You'll see just how willing I am to resort to violence.”
“Would everyone kindly shut the fuck up?” asked Wax, his eyes pulsing with hypnotic power as he looked past his seat. Rendozzo and Voodoo both put their hands to their heads to quell the light headache that just sprung up. “We can kill each other later. Right now, we've got a job to do and I'd really like to do it sometime in the next century.”
“Quite right, Mister Wax,” said Cedric. He started the van. “Shall we cause some violence?”
Grifter lowered his mask. “Fuck yeah. Hit it, Beef.”
Cedric smiled beneath the leather mask and slammed a heavy foot on the gas pedal. The van charged towards the field office and slammed right into the lobby. The rear doors opened and Grifter jumped first, leaping from the van, his arms extended and his guns firing round after round into the surprised FBI agents.
Rendozzo was out next, calmly walking through the carnage and firing methodically. Voodoo however was out with her arms partially shifted into Daemonite claws and she used them to tear through flesh and blood and bone.
Cedric kicked open his door. He grabbed the first agent he saw, twisting the man's neck around with a crack. When another came forward, Cedric put his fist through the man's face. Wax on the other hand took a different route. Like Rendozzo, he calmly stepped through the carnage, his eyes glowing brightly and catching the eyes of three agents.
“Human shields on.”
The agents turned their backs to Wax and fired at their cohorts. As Wax moved, so did they, continuing to defend him. Once the lobby was clear, Wax looked at one of the surviving men under his thrall. “Take us to Fagin Tyro.”
“Yes sir,” said the agent, his eyes still glazed over. Wax looked at the other two. “You guys have been working too hard. You should take a nap.”
The two agents collapsed and instantly fell asleep. The remaining agent led them to the second floor of the field office. Cedric stepped forward and kicked the door down. The door flew off its hinges, but shattered against something big—the broad chest of Agent Orange. Behind him was Fagin Tyro, his gun drawn and Donovon stood behind his father.
Cedric threw a punch at Orange, but the massive FBI agent caught the Beef Boy's fist in his grip. He squeezed and Cedric was shocked at the ease which Orange was able to break every bone in his hand. Orange whipped Cedric by the arm into the far wall.
Orange drew his weapons and prepared to fire at the remaining Wildcats. The Grifter moved forward and whispered a word, just low enough for Orange to hear it—“Khera.”
Orange lowered his arms and from behind him, Tyro began screaming. “What the fuck are you doing? Fucking kill them!”
In response, Orange collapsed to the ground. Rendozzo raised her gun and fired in a quick motion, putting a bullet through the hand that held Tyro's weapon. “Argh, you fucking bitch!”
Donovan grabbed the discarded gun and took aim. “I'm gettin' sick of your shit! I'm gonna kill you now, you stupid cunt!”
“Donny, I tried, but Ramon was right. You've become too much like your father,” said Rendozzo. “I'm sorry.”
A gunshot rang out. Donovan Tyro fell down, his eyes wide open and blood seeping from the bullet wound in the center of his forehead. Rendozzo turned the smoking barrel on Fagin once more. “And you will pay for that.”
“Don't think so, this shithead's mine,” said Grifter.
Tyro grinned. “Think you can just show up at a goddamn FBI Field Office and walk away? Think again, assholes!”
The sound of guns cocking came from behind them, Rendozzo, Wax, Voodoo and Grifter found themselves surrounded by dozens of FBI agents, many of them wearing bulletproof vests and holding shotguns trained on them. Grifter tightened his grip on the guns, his fingers straining against the triggers.
“Wax, think you can help us out here?”
“There are too many of them, I can't control them all,” said Wax.
“Then do as many as you can,” said Grifter. “Alright 'Cats, looks like we're gonna pull a Butch an' Sundance!”
Before either the FBI agents or the Wildcats could jump into action, pink energy surrounded the four Wildcats as well as the deactivated Agent Orange and unconscious Cedric. Grifter recognized what was happening and he tried to push through to Tyro first. “No, not now, dammit!” As he pulled the trigger though, his surroundings changed from the FBI's Miami Field Office to an office of a different kind, with large windows overlooking the Los Angeles skyline.
The bullet flew from the barrel right after the transport and crumpled against the open palm of Jack Marlowe, standing before them with his other hand behind his back and dressed in a silver, reflective suit.
“You sonnuva bitch!” shouted Cash. “I had the bastard dead to rights! I was about to put a bullet in his fucking head when you decided to step in an' play god! We were doin' just fine without you!”
“Cole, we were facing a fucking firing squad!” said Voodoo. “We weren't anywhere near fine!”
“Not the point, Pris! Point is I had a score t' settle, until Mr. High-an-Fuckin-Mighty decided to stick his android ass where it wasn't want—”
In a monotone voice, Marlowe spoke two words—two words which silenced the Grifter and cut off his rant instantly: “Zealot's dead.”
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