www.gringos.com
........Rio De Janeiro
El Diablo? 57 Suspected Drug Dealers Crushed
Residents of Vigário Geral, one of Rio's more than five hundred
favelas, or slums, are talking about last night's slaughter of
fifty-seven suspected drug dealers, some of whom were Rio state police.
The victims each died from a single blow that authorities can only
identify as some type of ‘spring-loaded cylinder’. “It’s definitely a
new weapon we have not seen before,” State Police Chief Emero Rodriguez
said in an early morning statement.
All the victims were
found with various amounts of cash, weaponry and drugs on their bodies.
State police spokesmen say robbery was not a motive, and believe this
was a ‘field test’ of a new weapon. A gang-related crackdown on
competition has not been ruled out.
Residents of the large,
square favela have made numerous reports of a tall gringoe they have
named El Diablo. Reports say he went from bar to bar buying bottles of
liquor, then sat in the street until someone attacked him.
“Dunkin!” Elle called out. “I think I’ve found him.”
Dunkin came into the bedroom. He was wearing a large Hawaiian shirt
depicting various species of colorful birds found in the rain forests
of South America. He was more than huge. More than a giant. He was six
feet, six inches and 450 pounds of hairless, pink humanity. A smiling,
animated statue of a Buddha who gave up all the heavy thinking, and
switched to heavy eating.
“Where is he?” asked Dunkin.
“Rio, would be my guess,” Elle said. “Look at this.” She swiveled
around in her chair, pointing at the laptop monitor on the table. She
was wearing nothing but a lacy set of blue undergarments. Elle was
built like a mad artist's rendition of the perfect woman and Dunkin
couldn't help stopping to stare at her. Dunkin had been a virgin for
sixty years until a few days ago. He’d been making up for lost time.
“Get dressed, please!” Dunkin said, lifting her up out of the chair by
her shoulders and holding her in the air while he kissed her lightly on
the cheek. He swiveled and set her gently down on her feet. “I can’t
concentrate with you looking that good.” Dunkin put a large hand, as
big her head, behind her neck and gently squeezed. “Blue goes very nice
with your skin tone.”
“Oooh,” Elle cooed. “You look at me like I was a creamy donut. I like that.”
Dunkin smiled and bent to read the monitor. “This was dated two days
ago, “ he said, straightening. “Devlin could be anywhere by now.”
“Crap!” said Elle, coming back into the room fully dressed in a tight
leather jumpsuit. “All I noticed was a section in the article mentioned
‘last night’. He’s probably on his way.”
“He must have lost
track of Mortimer,” Dunkin said, staring at the screen. “This article
seems to indicate he's in an even worse mood than usual”
******
Ash was at the security monitoring station of the compound when all the
lights indicating a perimeter breach went off at once. “Hey Dunkin!” He
screamed. “We got trouble.”
Dunkin grabbed his Vampire Club.
It was an unusual hammer-shaped stone, flecked with bits of silver and
gold, presented to him in the jungles of Brazil by an old chief whose
tribe had been guarding it for centuries. Its previous owner was
Dunkin’s ancestor, a mythical warrior who had used the hammer to kill
vampires. Dunkin was a vampire slayer and his first and only love,
Elle, was a vampire.
Elle was averse to wielding the silver
spikes used to slay vampires and wore gloves, which she slid on as the
couple rushed to meet Ash and whatever awaited.
They heard a
loud crash upon entering the living room area, and stopped as the heavy
metal-reinforced door flew inward, taking a good portion of the frame
and surrounding wall with it. The room filled with a dozen hissing
creatures who entered through the large hole.
Ash, a
five-foot, four-inch, four-foot-wide mass of hair and muscle, spiked
the first one to get within reach. The creature fizzled and burst into
a ballooning cloud of sparks. Ash continued forward and drove the nub
of the spike into another vampire. He was hit from behind and spun
around. Two creatures ripped at his chest. Ash stiffened upright, then
began to crumple. He was snatched up by Myra, who darted through the
crowd and into Dunkin’s vampire-proof panic room.
Meanwhile,
Dunkin clubbed two creatures with such force, they disappeared without
even the usual sparks. He roared and drove his hammer completely
through an approaching vampire and into the wall behind it.
Elle spiked one, then she was hit and sent flying into the far wall.
The one who struck her followed her flight, and snagged her by the neck
before she hit the ground. “Stop your resistance now!” the creature
holding Elle commanded, in a heavy Eastern European mangling of the
King’s English. “Or I destroy this one.”
Dunkin stopped his
destructive assault and looked to the speaker. The creature was tall
and built powerfully; handsome if you like musclebound Eastern
European, hooded-brow types.
“I have many more creatures from my
pack outside,” the vampire holding Elle said. “They eagerly await my
command. You have no chance.”
“Who are you?” Dunkin asked.
“I am Arno,” he said. “Pack leader for Klaatu of the Vampire High
Council. You have caused enough trouble and I have been ordered to
bring you before the High Council. We have captured a woman named Aggie
and your silent assistant, Smiley. Surrender and they live.”
Suddenly Arno gave a startled, full-body shiver and released Elle; who
darted to Dunkin’s side as soon as her feet hit the ground. In walked
ten ugly creatures; these were the lowest form of vampire, the
sniffers. Foul vermin given just enough of their master’s blood to make
the change, but not enough to regain their human form.
Sniffers'
were vicious creatures created for ‘sniffing’ out prey and sacrificing
themselves in conflicts. They regained their human form and became more
powerful by being ‘promoted’, or allowed to drink blood from their
master.
Arno was visibly alarmed by their entrance. He stared
at the first of the creatures, obviously trying to regain his mental
control. “I never summoned you,” he cried. “Why do you enter?”
“I told ‘em to move their ugly asses,” a voice said from outside. A man
walked in and looked at Arno. As if sizing up a weak opponent.
“Devlin,” Dunkin said, smiling. “Good to see you.”
Devlin smiled, and that smile was terrifying. He was tall, six-four and
over two-hundred pounds. A lanky, weathered, sinewy man, forearms alive
with tensing cables, and wrists the size of beer cans. His face was
handsome, if you preferred faces that held the promise of violently
redistributed body parts. Devlin was mean-looking when he was
happy—indescribable when he was angry.
“In trouble as usual, I
see,” said Devlin, eyeing Arno. “Well bust-a-move Arno Shortzenegger,
terminate me.” Devlin stood, empty-handed and placed his arms outward
as if welcoming a friend. “Come-on chickenshit,” Devlin goaded, tapping
his foot. “I want to show Dunkin my new ‘heart-exploding, jelly-donut,
kung-fu, iron-knuckle blow. I been studying this for a couple days now.”
“Wait Devlin,” Dunkin said. “They have your mother and Smiley.”
“These clowns obviously stay cooped up in their coffins too much,”
Devlin said, lighting a cigar. “They are woefully ignorant of
successful conflict resolution. I usually don’t smoke inside but look
at the hole in the door, the smoke should go out. All right with you,
Arno the Asshat?”
Arno streaked forward at Devlin, who
apparently never moved. Arno stopped, seemingly right up against
Devlin, and crumpled to the floor. Devlin stepped on Arno’s ass cheeks,
quickly grabbed both the creature's legs, bending them until they broke
and laid against its back. He wrapped a rope around them several times
and looped it around the thing’s neck, making a complicated knot.
“Timing this?” Devlin asked. He continued by breaking and pulling both
Arno’s arms and twisting them in an impossible angle behind its back,
then made another complicated loop around the arms with the rope. When
finished, he hopped up and shouted, “Time!”
Devlin looked
around the room. “Nobody timed me,” he said, looking disappointed.
“It’s my new rodeo calf/vampire roping move. I saw those cattle farmers
in Brazil doing this and had an idea it might be less messy than all
that chopping-off-the-extremities stuff I usually do. Ruining all my
colorful shirts. I like your shirt Dunkin. Tasteful.”
“They have your Ma and Smiley,” Dunkin repeated.
“I heard ya,” Devlin said. “Geez, nobody appreciates my attempts to
learn, grow, become a better creature stomper. Is it because I’m
obnoxious?”
Devlin kicked Arno over so he was facing up. He
felt around his pockets and pulled a cell phone out of Arno’s front
pants pocket. “Don’t get excited Arno,” he said. “I’m not looking for
your wang, don’t have that kind of time. All the steroids you’ve done,
the freakin’ thing has probably disappeared. Har!”
Devlin pocketed the phone and lifted Arno by the rope. “Where’s Ash?” Devlin asked, looking around.
Dunkin and Elle looked back and both took off at once for the panic
room. Devlin came up behind them. Dunkin opened the door and the three
stepped inside to see Ash on the floor, his chest torn open and blood
bubbling up from his mouth. Myra sat cradling his head in her arms,
tears slowly wending their way down her caramel cheeks.
Myra,
was the Brazilian tribal chiefs daughter, she had been taken hostage by
two fleeing vampires. Since she and Ash had grown fond of each other,
in an act of spite aimed at Ash a master vampire turned Myra into a
vampire. She hated her condition and would do anything to help find the
cure Dunkin said was out there.
Ash looked up and saw Devlin. He smiled and coughed, bringing more blood up from his lips. “We have to turn him,” Elle said.
“Let him go,” Devlin whispered. “He told me he wanted to die a man.”