Operation Zulu: Dos Page 6

  SEX DWARF

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  “Now, now,"—Mister Black raised a gloved hand to his lips—“just relax and listen to the music; this won’t last too terribly long… unfortunately,” he said to the young man who was gagged and strapped down on the surgical table in front of him. The dark-haired man struggled wide-eyed in his bonds. Black wagged a finger at him.

  “Don’t fight it, miho; it will only make the pain worse.” He shrugged. “Good for me. Bad for you.”

  The man’s eyes seemed to bug out at that. Black just shook his head and grabbed up the scalpel from the tool-laden tray. Bob the Butcher had been more than generous in outfitting his workroom. Maybe Black would let the self-righteous drug kingpin live… and maybe he could get a decent Bourbon here too. Chuckling to himself, he made a quick flick with the blade. The man mumbled something and jerked.

  “Quit moving, señor; listen to the music and concentrate.” He waved a blood-slick hand in the air. A weird, vocal-free version of Was Not Was’ Walk the Dinosaur played on a cut-rate sound system.

  Black wavered on the decision of whether he would have to kill Camacho when this was all over or let the little impotent criminal serve him as he made a few more slices with the medical blade. Satisfied, he dropped the scalpel on the tray. The Krokodil plan was moving along faster than he hoped. His head chemist, Volkov, had something he wanted to discuss. The Russian scientist was brilliant and quite mad, so Black could hardly wait to find out what he had planned.

  The man on the table moaned softly, bringing Black's full attention back to the job at hand. “Mariachi music?” He put his hand on his hips. “Would that help you stop squirming?”

  He scanned the tools on the tray until he found what he wanted—the bone saw. Black let out a heavy sigh as he held the tool in his gloved hands. Cheap. Very cheap. Camacho had fucked him over on his instruments.

  Black shook his head as he clicked on the sub-par bone saw. The electric cutting tool whined to life. This will take forever to cut and is going be really messy. Messes were something that the millionaire hated with a passion. Yes, Black nodded to himself as he leaned in at the man who was now screaming hysterically in his gag. Camacho will have to die.

  “Shhh!” he said quietly through his face mask. “Next time I’ll be sure to get some ay yi yi music. Now quit moving, amigo!” The phone on the wall rang, causing Black to jump along with the bone saw. A splash of crimson sprayed the white adobe next to the hanging landline. Cursing, he shut off the wet saw and dropped it heavily onto the tray then grabbed a thick compression bandage and quickly slapped it on the man. Angrily tearing off his rubber gloves, Black stalked over to the phone and grabbed up the receiver.

  “Yes?”

  “Black” Doctor Volkov said in a thick Russian accent. “I am sorry to interrupt you.”

  “Then why did you?” He glanced over at the table.

  “I have found something unique with one of the test subjects.” Volkov sounded anxious.

  “Yes?” Black impatiently tapped his hand on his leg.

  “It’s very concerning, Black. Please hurry.”

  The millionaire philanthropist frowned. Volkov had said he’d been working on something big; this must be it. “Hold on, Doctor. I need to put something to rest then I’ll be over.”

  “Da.” The chemist hung up.

  “Well, my friend.” Black replaced the receiver and walked over to a cabinet where he removed a syringe. He smiled as the music changed to Soft Cell’s ‘Sex Dwarf’. Black then opened up a large refrigerator and removed a small bottle. He shook the bottle then dipped the needle tip in and filled the syringe with some of its contents.

  “I’m sorry, miho, you had such promise.” He moved closer to the table. “I may be gone for a bit and, well… well, I need you fresh. Well, not you per se.” He smiled tightly as he gently injected the liquid into the man's straining neck. “You are now past your expiration date.” He watched eyes roll up into the man’s head as he convulsed. “I will definitely have to talk to Doctor Volkov about his timing.”

  WORKING AT JUGG’S

  LADO DEL RIO, MEXICO

  “Son of a bitch!” Tommy Leeland looked over at Tanya, who quickly slammed the door shut and locked it. She flipped over the sign in the window from open to closed. Seeing all was clear, the attractive brunette curtly nodded at the big man in the orange Hawaiian shirt. Leeland rolled his eyes then turned his attention back to Ricky, who was standing next to him. Without saying a word, he smashed a meaty fist into the man’s right cheek, driving him easily to the floor. Ricky fell into a glass shelf; knocking several old VCR’s onto the worn tile.

  “Jeez, Leeland!” Tanya said, hurrying over to help the injured man. “You didn’t have to hit him!”

  “The hell I didn’t!” He pointed to the body of the pawn shop owner, who was sprawled out behind the counter with his brains spread all over the wall and floor. “I told Ricky no one gets hurt.”

  “Fuck mate.” Ricky got to his feet with the help of Tanya. He rubbed his bruised cheek and looked sheepishly over at Leeland. “Bloody twat was goin’ for a weapon!” he said in a clipped British accent.

  “Yeah?” Leeland reached behind the counter and came up with an empty hand.

  “Well, fuck.” Ricky rubbed his chin. “He was acting squirrely, mate.”

  “Never mind.” Leeland snatched the .38 out of the Brit’s hand and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans shorts. Frustrated, he looked over at the sultry woman in the form fitting dress. “You okay, Tanya baby?”

  “I’m all right, Leeland.” She smiled through her bright red lipstick. “Don’t know why you had to punch Ricky.”

  “To get his attention,” Leeland said as he rubbed her exposed shoulders. “We don’t need the policía on our asses before we reach Passado.”

  “Come on, mate, we were robbing this place.” Ricky protested. The Brit straightened out his black pencil thin tie and fluffed with his dark suit coat. Ricky always fancied himself as akin to an extra in ‘Reservoir Dogs’.

  “Robbery and murder are two different things. At least in America they still are.” Leeland looked down at the dead man’s brains as they continued to slowly slide down the dirty wall. . “Ricky, drag his body in the back and see if he has any money on him, I’ll check the register. Hopefully there’s enough cash to make this worthwhile.”

  “You should have brought some of that money from your last bank job,” Tanya said pouting.

  “Yeah, well the Feds were keeping a good eye on where we hid that stash. Why the fuck do you think we had to leave so quickly?” he said in a quiet, menacing voice. “Jeff said he’d send me some money when things cool down. Don’t worry, baby, we still got some of the strip club money left. This next job will pay big. You won’t ever have to go back to working at Jugg's.”

  “I don’t trust Jeff.” Tanya frowned and blew a strand of hair out her eyes.

  “I don’t give a fuck. Now watch the door so I can see if I can get this damn register open. Make sure Baylie is still waiting in the car.” He stepped around the counter and tried to avoid the wet mess on the floor.

  As Leeland tried to get the cash drawer open, he threw a quick glance over at Tanya who was watching the parking lot for the old, black, Chevy Impala. He chuckled to himself. Strippers. Someday my taste in women will have to evolve, he thought to himself as he hungrily stared up and down Tanya’s skin tight dress. But not today.

  DRUGS KILL

  PASSADO, MEXICO

  Payaso stumbled across the garbage-littered street. His chest ached like never before as he tried to stay upright. Needles shot through his body as white-hot, unholy pain erupted in his head. The skinny drug user grabbed the poster-covered wall of the small bar for support. Breathing heavily, he tried to ease himself down to the ground using the well-worn wall as a brace. With a loud thump, Payaso dropped the last few inches to the dirty sidewalk. Closing his red, swollen eyes, he tried to relax for a few minut
es. The druggie couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. He’d just shot up with a hot batch of Krokodil. He should be doing just fine; really fine. It felt like withdrawals but only a hundred times worse. Payaso groaned and slowly opened his eyes in the sweltering heat. Tears ran down his drug ravaged face as he tried to fight the horrific pain.

  “Cruz!” Payaso croaked through broken teeth. “Cruz!”

  Silence greeted his dying pleas. His partner in crime, Cruz, had disappeared the day before. His fellow junkie had staggered off after shooting up and had just simply vanished. Grabbing his thin stomach in pain, Payaso rolled over onto his side. It felt like knives cutting into his guts as he rolled over onto his back. He raised his thin arms—damaged with flesh falling off them from Krokodil abuse—and reached for the cloudless sky. A terrifying shriek emerged from his damaged mouth as he collapsed into darkness.

  PASS THE DUTCHIE

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  Black cleared his throat as he stepped into Volkov’s small office. “So what was so important that you had to interrupt my special time?”

  The Russian chemist looked up from a chart on his messy desk and pushed his bifocals back onto his alcohol ravaged nose. The scientist motioned for his benefactor and partner in crime to shut the door behind him. Annoyed, Black grudgingly closed the thin wooden door. “So?”

  “Yes, yes.” Volkov stood up and thrust an open folder at the millionaire.

  “What is this?” Black took the folder from the disheveled man and just stared at the strange equations and scribbled notes. “What the hell is this, Volkov?”

  “The Krokodil, there is a problem.” He grabbed the folder back from Black and tossed it on top of his cluttered desk. The chemist sighed, frustrated. He quickly walked over to his office door and made sure Black had closed it all the way. Satisfied the door was indeed secured, he turned back to the other man. “The preservative; there is a problem.”

  “It doesn’t work?”

  “No… it works; just not exactly the way we intended it too.”

  “Hmmm.” Black almost growled. “Just get to the point, Alexi; I’m already in a bad mood.”

  “Okay, okay.” Volkov sat down on the corner of his desk, his skinny ass knocking over a pile of files. “I designed the preservative to keep the junkies alive way past their drug-induced expiration dates.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “When we ran the test in Russia without the preservative, the test subject's lifespan was a year; here in the States it was two.”

  “I know.” Black nodded. “So?”

  “With the Krokodil, the tissue at the injection site dies then the flesh rots and falls off. Filling your body full of codeine, red phosphorous, and gasoline tends to kill you off faster and nastier than most things.” He pushed his glasses back on his nose. “The stuff I’ve created gives you a better and faster high.”

  “And the preservative added to the stuff you’re cooking keeps our customers alive longer so they can buy more and more. A brilliant idea, Alexi. You said it works so what is the issue?”

  “It does work. It works a little too well.” The chemist wiped some sweat from his forehead and stood up. “Follow me to the test rooms.”

  “All right.” Black frowned. Intrigued, he was no longer annoyed with the chemist. Volkov led the curious man out of his office and past the Krokodil cooking lab. Several other chemists were busy working a fresh batch of the yellow liquid, oblivious of the men as they passed by. The two made their way down a long corridor lined with thick wooden doors. Volkov came to a halt at the last door. He slowly turned to Black, a worried expression on his face. “You know this is ten times stronger than heroin and almost three times as toxic.”

  “That and its cost is seventy per cent less to buy and even cheaper to make. Everybody wins.” Black smiled. “So what is going on?”

  “I will show you then explain. Don’t stand too close.” He unfastened the padlock and carefully pulled the heavy door open. “Remember, not too close.”

  “Okay, Alexi,” he said, sliding past the Russian. The first thing Black noticed in the brightly lit room was the smell; the air was filled with foulness of death. The odor of rotting flesh made Black’s pulse start to race. Fighting the urge to get excited, he noticed a man violently trying to get out of leather straps that held him securely to a table. The test subject was letting out some kind of primal growl as he tried to tear himself free. The man had a greenish tint to his skin and there were horrible lesions all over his arms and legs.

  “What the fuck is this, Alexi?” Black couldn’t take his eyes away from the man squirming crazily on the table. “I expect arms and legs to fall off but what the fuck is this?” He noticed that at the sound of his voice the man's eyes turned hungrily toward them and he ravenously snapped his teeth together in their direction. A chill ran down Black’s spine.

  “The effects of the preservative,” Alexi said proudly.

  “A little crazy but hell, if they still buy the shit.” Black shrugged.

  “More than a little crazy, Ian.” Alexi took a few steps forward but not close enough for the crazed man to grab him. Black could hear the man forcefully snapping his jaws together. The millionaire could swear he heard the man’s teeth shatter. “This man, he’s… he’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Black scooted forward a little. “No.”

  “Yes.” The chemist nodded as he studied the squirming test subject. “He died yesterday. You can plainly see he’s been using the Krokodil for a long time.” Volkov glanced down at his beat up Timex. “He passed twelve hours ago. Lee and Bebb were readying his body for disposal when he came back to life… or I should say, was reanimated.”

  “Unbelievable.” Black stared incredulously at the angry corpse.

  “Quite.”

  “Amazing.” Ian pursed his lips and smiled at the Russian. “We have us a gold mine here, Alexi.”

  “I wouldn’t get excited yet,” Volkov said cautiously. “The test subject reanimated. No vital signs. No breathing. But it had a strong urge to feed.”

  “What?”

  “The test subject attacked Lee and Bebb. It ripped out Lee’s throat and tried to kill Bebb. The test subject succeeded in biting Bebb on the right forearm before we were able to subdue it and strap it to the table.”

  “Shit,” Black said, returning his stare to the dead man.

  “Five minutes later Lee was dead and reanimated like the test subject. She bit Bebb on the other arm and Trejo on the chest.” Black frowned and shook his head. The Russian continued, “Lee was also strapped down and secured in the room next door. So were Trejo and Bebb as a precaution.”

  “What kind of bullshit is this, Alexi?”

  Volkov scratched his day’s old growth of beard. “The preservative has somehow brought the dead back to a kind of manic reanimated state. Apparently, their bites are infectious and turn the living into whatever they are within minutes. Some turn faster than others. I don’t know why.”

  Black sighed heavily as the corpse still tried to break free from its bindings. “What the hell was in that formula you used?”

  Volkov shrugged. “It was a chemical I procured from an old German scientist in Argentina. It is something they created during World War Two but never used. Some kind of eugenics treatment they shelved before it could be tried on people. The allies got to them before it could be tested.”

  Black shook his head. “Can we make money off this? Do they still crave the Krokodil?” he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around it.

  “They crave flesh, Ian. They’re dead.”

  “So?”

  “Ian.” Alexi motioned for Black to follow him out of the room.

  The millionaire glanced over at the reanimated corpse then quickly followed Volkov out into the hallway. The chemist shut the door and secured the padlock. “There are three more dead people in the next room. They are reanimated but shouldn’t be. All they want to do is eat live human flesh and infect them with whatever virus they spread.�
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  “No interest in Krokodil at all?”

  “No.” Volkov narrowed his eyes. “They are dead, Ian. The Krokodil reanimates them with a hunger for humans,” the taller man said tiredly.

  “But does it keep them alive longer before they turn?” Black extended both his manicured hands out, palms open.

  “Well, yes.” Volkov scratched his shaved head. “Some.”

  “Good.” Black clapped his hands together. “That’s what I wanted to hear comrade. More time alive is more money we make.”

  The Russian cleared his throat. “That is all well and good, Ian, but this… this side effect.”

  “Does it happen one hundred percent of the time?”

  “Well, I don’t know. This is the first occurrence since we started using the preservative.” Volkov crossed his arms. “Ian, we have already sent out shipments.”

  “Where to?” Black asked as he straightened out his suit tie.

  “Russia, Africa, the United States… here.”

  “You told me you didn’t know if this was a common side effect.”

  “True, but…”

  Black raised a finger to cut him off. “Since we don’t know, this could be just some isolated incident. Right?”

  “Right,” Volkov said halfheartedly.

  “Then we continue to make the product.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

  “Maybe we should put a halt to the preservative?”

  “No,” Black said sharply. “We continue as planned. Watch those bodies and keep a lid on this.”