A Man Called Mongrel #2
"Do The Day's Work Well"
By Derrick Ferguson
Louisiana, United States of America
The Lossiu Family Estate located on The Atchafalaya Basin
The interior of The Bumblebee was illuminated by the many holographic readouts projected onto the clear upper half of the aircraft. Mongrel intently studied the blueprints of the Lossiu family home as well as the security systems specifications as he sat inside the aircraft, sipping from a Thermos that contained a concentrated protein shake of his own concoction. The cold drink went easily down his throat as he planned his strategy. He had landed maybe half a mile from the estate and had discarded a variety of approaches. He could have contacted the local authorities and asked for an official police escort to go with him. Or he could have called the Lossiu family before hand and asked for a meeting. Mongrel even had the name of the legal firm that handled their affairs. He could have contacted them. Neither method appealed to Mongrel. He much rather use the bold approach: just walk right in, take them by surprise and see who squealed the loudest.
He opened up the upper half of The Bumblebee and climbed out. The air was horribly heavy with humidity but Mongrel ignored it, taking stock of the weapons neatly racked in a small locker behind the pilot's chair. He unclipped the holster containing his .44 AutoMag and placed that in the locker, withdrawing several other items and slipping them into the pouches of his wide black Steranko belt. He kept The BOP Gun as he had gotten so used to carrying the versatile weapon that fired a variety of specially designed cartridges. He closed up The Bumblebee and headed off toward the Lossiu main house at a steady jog that looked deceptively slow but ate up the distance to the estate in a surprisingly short amount of time.
As he jogged, Mongrel guiltily reflected that there was a part of him that actually was delighted that this situation had come up. Of course, he didn't want to see any member of his family get hurt or injured but ever since he had come to work with his brother, there had been far too many briefings, meetings, seminars and presentations. He had known what he was getting into when he took the job and nothing delighted him more than being around the family again. He had been away from them and America for far too long, his nearly manic thirst for excitement and adventure driving him to many lands strange and exotic. And it was time that he thought of creating something that would last after he was gone and since he had no inclination to have children anytime soon, perhaps helping to build Alternative Technologies was it. Ever since El had died, his desire to have children had died as well. Even thought Mirella kept telling him that all he needed to do was meet the right woman to have that desire re-ignited, Mongrel doubted it.
There was no fence protecting the Lossiu family estate proper. Instead, buried sensors indicated the presence of intruders and activated automatic defense drones and hidden security systems capable of disabling said intruders. Mongrel wasn't worried about tripping the sensors. His outfit wasn't worn just because he thought it made him look cool. Woven into the fabric of his pants, shirt and vest was a micromesh filament weave that contained microcircuitry that effectively scrambled most sensory devices. There were many advantages to having a brother who owned a technological empire with an army of scientists at his beck and call. There had long been a small Weapons Research Division that had gone virtually unnoticed for several years due to it's relatively small budget and staff as Sylvester wasn't all that interested in developing weapons. Mongrel had taken over the Weapons Research Division, renamed it Troubleshooting Applications and Developments and set them to work on devices and armaments for his use.
The quiet was eerie and even for Mongrel, somewhat unnerving. Not that he expected junkanoo to be going on, but his research indicated that at any given time there was anywhere between twenty and thirty members of the family in residence as well as nearly a hundred staff members. With that many people living and working in one house, it would have been expected that some kind of noise would be heard. But it was as quiet as a miser's funeral. He had approached the house from the east. No expert on architecture he, but knew a grand old antebellum plantation mansion when he saw one and this was most certainly one.
He cleared a four-foot high decorative fence of purple and red hydrangeas easily and saw three tennis courts just ahead. The bodies lying on the tennis courts were very still and very red.
Mongrel cautiously approached the bodies. They were all lying face down in lakes of dried blood with tennis rackets in their hands. They had been split open. Clouds of huge flies were describing intricate aerial maneuvers over them. Their wide-open eyes held nothing but a terrible, sorrowful emptiness. Mongrel's expert eye told him that these people had been dead for some time. And whatever had killed them had done it with such terrible speed that they had literally died right in the middle of a game. He counted six bodies. Who or what could have moved at that kind of speed to kill six people so quickly that they still held their rackets in their hands?
Mongrel left the tennis courts, loping like a panther in and among the outdoors furniture surrounding the courts, heading for the front entrance of the house. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do. Maybe the killer or killers were still here. The corners of Mongrel's lips quirked upwards in a smile even he was unaware of as he increased his speed.
The body of the butler, propped up against a pillar, one cold hand holding the door open for Mongrel was a grisly joke. Half of the butler's head was gone, pulped into a soupy mess that was now covering the left side of his body. Mongrel went on into the house. He left The BOP Gun in the holster for now. He was actually becoming intrigued with how this situation was developing. There was a lot more here going on than just somebody trying to get back at his brother. The foyer was empty save for more bodies and the antique white walls were decorated by great splashes and swoops of dried blood that looked almost artistic, as if the architect of this massacre was trying to give some kind of creative meaning to this meaningless slaughter. The air was thick with the heady smell of death.
"The ignominious usurper at last arrives; albeit perfunctory, his throbbing veins boiling."
The voice echoed through the silent mansion. Mongrel looked upwards. Two curving marble staircases led up to the second floor and he was sure that was where the voice had come from. His rust-colored eyes widened in disgusted surprise as he saw yet more dead and mutilated bodies draped over the once gleaming white banisters. The massive crystal chandelier was decorated with garlands of intestines.
Mongrel wasted no time in shouting; "Show yourself!" or even worse, "Who are you?" He knew exactly what he was dealing with: a homicidal madman who had decided to abandon sanity long ago. Mongrel ran up one of the staircases to the second floor. He saw that one of the room doors was opening, the flickering light of a television casting strange shadows onto the balcony.
The man who sat inside of the room was as still and silent as a tombstone. He wore no clothes and indeed, his body appeared to be encased in segmented bands of dull black metal. Thick metal cuffs accentuated his forearms and his calves. His arms seemed to be longer than normal as they rested on his knees. He turned his face to Mongrel. It was just about the only thing on him not covered in metal. Blank gray eyes looked into rust ones.
"The tribal triumph runs in both our suggestive sighs: uniform condescension, I'm afraid."
Mongrel cocked his head to one side. "You thinking about giving up your career as a mass murderer for one in really bad poetry?"
The man stood up. As he did so, blue circuitry sparked along his arms, legs and torso in a pattern that would have described actual flesh and blood veins if this man possessed them and a low humming filled the room. He flexed his fingers. "I am the unhopeful rider named Cabal. I speak angry boastful enticements; the uniform light of my shriekings are unholy."
"No shit?"
"Can you defer impersonality? Entomb the agnostic party?"
"If that means you want to know my name, I'm Mongrel Henderson. I'm here to help on behalf of my brother, Dr. Sylvester Henderson. If I can. And by the looks of things, I'd say it's too late for that. Why don't the both of us call the police and let them help us sort this all out?"
Cabal was walking toward Mongrel, waggling his finger back and forth in a chiding manner. "I may only capitulate dryly, you expectantly perfect usurper; perfect entry defines suggestive hostilities."
"I was afraid of that."
And that was when Cabal rushed at him like a black wind of death.
***
Dr. Zita Laranjo took a deep breath and placed her hand on the ID pad. It not only read her palm print but also extracted a small skin sample, which would be checked against the DNA sample she had to submit when she first came to work for Alternative Technologies as well as gauging her emotional state. If the ID pad had registered an abnormal body temperature or blood pressure, it would not have allowed her entrance into Dr. Mirella Henderson's office.
Dr. Mirella Henderson adapted a very informal style to her office. It was done in casual beiges and browns and the low leather couches were plush and comfortable. Zita walked into the office with her head held high and waited patiently as Mirella waved her to come on into Mirella's private conference room, a low-ceilinged room filled with a multitude of high definition screens surrounding a small round table. Mirella tapped each of the screens in turn, shutting them down as she talked.
"I'm going to get right to the point, Dr. Laranjo. You seem to have a problem with Mongrel and his position here at Alternative Technologies. Is this a problem that perhaps would interfere with your current duties?"
Zita adjusted the octagonal glasses on her cute snub of a nose as she replied; "I've never made any secret of the fact that I don't hold Mr. Henderson in much personal or professional regard."
Mirella's lips quirked in what might have been admiration for Zita's speaking her mind right off the bat but somehow, Zita doubted that. Since it looked as if she was going to be losing her job anyway, she decided to forge right on ahead and shoot all her ammunition in one last furious volley of defiance. "In my opinion, having Mr. Henderson here means nothing but disaster for Alternative Technologies. He's an opportunistic, headline-grabbing fortune hunter who's latched onto his brother's name to bolster his own reputation. There are any number of reputable security experts that could have been hired who could have done the job with half the expense and none of the flamboyance."
"I see," Mirella said slowly, motioning for Zita to be seated. Mirella sat also, smoothing out her skirt as she did so. "You really don't like him even though he recommended you for the position you now hold?"
"I'm just thinking of the good of The Institute, Dr. Henderson."
"I think for the purposes of this conversation you'd best call me Mrs. Henderson, Dr. Laranjo. It might help you to focus on your priorities."
"As you wish, Mrs. Henderson."
"I think that whatever resentment you have towards Mongrel may actually be residual resentment you have towards my husband that you're taking out on his brother. In any case, your attitude toward him is deplorable and you will take immediate steps to correct it. Is that clear?"
Zita's throat tightened with anger and she was barely able to keep her voice under control as she said, "So far, I've taken orders today from you, your husband and Mr. Henderson. There's a lot of bosses to contend with on this job, I'm thinking."
"And as long as you work here, anybody named Henderson is your boss. And let's get one thing straight and clear right up front: what happened between you and my husband was a long time ago and he and I have worked through that. If you've still got feelings for him and imagine that he feels the same: forget it. As long as you do your job and stay clear of my husband, you'll be fine."
"Does that include the children as well?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You just said that anybody named Henderson is my boss. I take that to mean that I'm to wipe the children's noses when they demand it?"
Mirella's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous. You knew exactly what I meant when I said that."
"Thank you for the clarification. May I go now?"
Mirella waved a hand in what was almost a royal gesture of gracious dismissal. "You certainly may. You've got a lot of work to do. And in the future, you will not give the impression that Mongrel is working for his brother. He's not an employee. He's a Henderson. You'll treat him as such."
"I will adjust my attitude accordingly, Mrs. Henderson."
"You may go."
Outside in the corridor, Zita's heels angrily clacked on the tiled floor like a series of rapid gunshots as she strode toward the bank of elevators, her anger so great that she actually was seeing red. She vaguely remembered reading that something like that could actually happen because small blood vessels inside the eyeball were breaking. Now, whether it was true or not was another thing altogether but right now all she could think of was her overwhelming rage against Mirella Henderson and Mongrel. For the life of her, Zita could not imagine what Sylvester had done to deserve two such self-centered, egotistical, arrogant assholes such as those two. Couldn't he see that all they were doing was trying to ride his train of well-deserved glory? If left to their own devices, they would destroy Sylvester. The both of them were unworthy of him. Zita knew enough about Mongrel to realize that for all his supposed genius and his so called skills, he was plainly living in his brother's shadow and resented it. Why the hell couldn't he have stayed in Outer Mongolia or Abu Dhabi or wherever the hell it was he had run to when he couldn't take being outshined by his plainly superior brother.
And as for Mirella...it was clear to Zita that she had more brains and talent between her legs than between her ears. The two of them would destroy Sylvester unless something was done and steps were taken to protect Sylvester.
And Zita Laranjo was precisely the right person to make sure that Sylvester Henderson was well protected indeed.
***
Mongrel leapfrogged backwards onto the marble railing as Cabal came at him, his hands vibrating like mad at such a rapid rate that they were mere blurs. Mongrel back flipped off the railing as Cabal's hands came down, pulverizing the section of railing into a cloud of fine white powder. Mongrel easily somersaulted and landed on all fours on the polished floor as Cabal leaped down after him, hands blurring and a-buzzing as he slashed downwards into empty air.
Mongrel just wasn't there. He had sprung to one side, tumbling like an acrobat, spinning through the air. His booted feet thudded on a wall and he pushed off, streaking right at Cabal, who was turning to meet his attack.
Mongrel drew his BOP Gun even as he sped through the air at his foe. Using his right thumb he flipped the chamber to the right color co-ordinated cartridge and fired. The shell burst from the barrel of the gun and cracked open, a polymer filament net-like mess expanding, returning to it's original size, which was large enough to entangle Cabal it it's folds. Snarling, he struck out at the net but it gave way, absorbing the force of his blows and by then, Mongrel had twisted in mid-air, spinning and gaining more force to smash Cabal in the side of his head with a booted foot.
Cabal grunted, falling backwards to slam into the nearest wall, plaster cracking, the remains of the pulverized marble railing falling to smash to bits on the floor around him as he tore free from the net.
"You oughta sit there and let me handcuff you or something," Mongrel suggested. 'If you resist, it's gonna hurt. A lot."
"Foul vowels will entomb your finality!" Cabal was getting to his feet, throwing the remnants of the net away.
"But of course they will." Mongrel had noticed that Cabal's hands had stopped their buzzing and vibrating. Was that done on purpose to conserve his internal power? Mongrel was pretty sure he was a cyborg of some sort, but-
-he ceased his analysis as Cabal came rushing back at him again, his hands not vibrating but still providing a huge wallop as evidenced when his huge fist whistled past Mongrel's head like a mace to slam into the wall behind him with enough force to make the entire room thrum. He rolled clear as Cabal yanked his fist out of the wall, a considerable amount of it being torn free in the doing so. Mongrel brought his BOP Gun around but Cabal moved with easy, surprising speed and slapped the gun from Mongrel's hand with such force that the arm went numb all the way up to the shoulder.
"A boastful strutter concocts expectantly balmy partyisms, no?" Cabal was grinning as he strode forward purposefully.
"I suppose you can't just say you're going to make me look like a bag of smashed assholes like everybody else, can you?" Mongrel was shaking his arm back into life as he reached to something he had tucked into a large loop on the back of his Steranko belt. Something that came free with a snap and a hiss, popping like an electric live wire.
The metal nunchakus that whistled through the air trailed azure energy as they whipped through the air, held firmly in Mongrel's right hand in the traditional overhand grip as it described a figure 8 before striking Cabal about the head and shoulders with devastating force. Fat red and blue sparks seemed to exploded from Cabal's body as bits of metal flew around the two men like angry hornets.
The high, womanish shriekings that came from Cabal's mouth certainly didn't seem like the kind of sounds Mongrel would have expected from the sort of killer who had slaughtered a mansion full of men, women and children. Mongrel's smiled with cruel humor as his crackling nunchakus were a blur of azure energy and they whipped over his shoulder, up under his armpit to take Cabal in the jaw, around and down on his shoulders, back around over and up again, pressing him backwards. And now blood and broken bits of teeth were joining the bits of metal.
Mongrel's leg lashed out, kicking Cabal out through an eleven-foot high picture window onto the twelve-acre front lawn in an explosive storm of glass that twinkled and sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Cabal lay there, panting, his eyes full of pure molten hate as Mongrel lightly landed on the ground, bits of glass crunching under his booted feet, twirling his nunchakus around his thick neck, where they hung.
"How did...the electricity....it didn't..."
"Didn't affect me? Natch." Mongrel held up his arms, turning them back and forth to display the fingerless gauntlets that came all the way almost to his elbows. "I don't wear these just because I think they look cool....well, that's not entirely true. I do think they look cool but they also protect my hands from my own weaponry such as my chuks." Mongrel took them from around his neck and lazily twirled them. "What happened to the bad poetry?"
"The throbbing rider shrieks his finality; this ignominious party has been sullied most hysterically. Black degeneration sucks triumphantly."
"If that means what I think it does, I'm gonna give you such a kick in the ass." Mongrel leaped at Cabal, who bounded backwards like a man of rubber, his abnormally long arms stretching outwards and a wave of sheer concussive force burst from his thick metal cuffs, slamming into Mongrel, catching him in mid-air, expelling the air from his body even as he tumbled helplessly to smash into the wall of the Lossiu house with enough force to cause his vision to double.
Whoever this Cabal was, he was tricked out with enough weapons grade cybernetics to be of interest to several government agencies, Mongrel thought. Maybe it was time to stop futzing around with him and just take him down and get him back to Alternative Technologies so Sylvester could have a field day picking him apart. Mongrel whipped out The BOP Gun and aimed-
-Cabal grinned; strings of blood hanging from his chin and lower lip as he stood up straight and incredibly, his body seemed to...flatten. It was as if something had shifted his body from three dimensions to two as his physical form became as flat as a sheet of paper. And that wasn't the end of it either; his arms and legs began to fold into his torso with sharp, metallic pops as his limbs folded along the segmented rings of metal that covered his entire body. His torso fell to the ground as his head folded into his chest and his torso collapsed upon itself until in 57 seconds flat, what had once been Cabal was now a cube of black metal maybe ten inches square on all sides.
Mongrel dashed over to the metal cube, which shot straight up, into the sky with a pwingggggg! Sound that reminded Mongrel of the gunshot sound effect in spaghetti westerns. The cube went straight up and was lost to his sight in a frighteningly short amount of time.
"Well if that don't frost the stinkin' cake," Mongrel muttered, holstering The BOP Gun and touching his earpiece, turning it on. "How many messages received from Sylvester?" he asked, the sensitive microphone easily picking up his words.
"You have 1 message from Sylvester Henderson. Shall I play it back?"
"No. Dial his number."
The headpiece did so and Sylvester picked up on the first ring. "What's going on down there, Mongrel? Have you talked to Joseph? Has he explained what's going on?"
"Nope. And he won't be either. He's dead. In fact, the entire family has been murdered."
"WHAT?!"
"I just went three rounds with the killer. He got away. I'm going to call the local authorities and get them in on this but I think you ought to fly down here, Sly. There's a lot more to this than just you curing a sick friend. And Sly-"
"Yes?"
"Come by yourself. Trust me, you don't want Mirella or Mom and Dad seeing this."
***
NEXT ISSUE: The mystery of who or what has killed The Lossiu Family deepens as Mongrel begins to piece together a threat that may not only affect his family but the world as well!