Akashic Records
patreon
Quirky Row Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2024-07-04 17:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 10: Underground Deals
(Friday, September 10th, 2123)
It had been a week since the hostile takeover of Tee’N’Ay, and things had been going well for the Third Street Saints. The Saints had bitten off a bunch of Brotherhood territory in the Docks and Truckyard, just as Pierce had planned.
The Barrio was still firmly under Brotherhood control, but Maero and his goons had been focusing most of their attention on repelling attacks from the Sons of Samedi on the Apartment district while also trying to take over the Factory district, which despite being in the middle of Brotherhood territory was actually controlled by the Sons.
This gave the Saints some breathing room, which Playa appreciated. It let them recruit and consolidate power in relative peace.
At the moment, it was half-past nine in the morning, and Playa was in his office at the mission studying the reports from his Holy Trinity regarding the acquisitions they’d made in the last few days, as well as the movements of the other factions in the city.
‘It looks like we’re being ignored by the Big Three for now,’ Playa mused as he looked up from his desk and examined the map of Stilwater on the wall of his office, colored pins stuck into it revealing the state of which district was controlled by which gang. ‘Tiny nibbles here and there have let us take back a few of our old properties, while also staying under the radar.’
A frown crossed over Playa’s face as he looked at several notes pinned to the map. These were police patrol routes as well as information about several crooked cops that were taking bribes from at least one gang. That was the real problem. The corruption within Stilwater. That had been something he, and by extension Julius, had not seen at first.
The gangs had only been allowed to thrive because the city’s government allowed it. It was rampant, and infected everything, from the cops and heroes, to the public utilities’ workers!
‘In fact, the only two people in the city who seem to be clean are Troy and the mayor, to my utter surprise.’
Troy Bradshaw, as Chief of Police, was trying to crack down on the internal corruption within the police, but it was slow. And Mayor Monica Hughes, despite being Alderman Richard Hughes’ husband, appeared to be far less dirty than her spouse. Sure, she had quite a few backroom deals and was responsible for a lot of the terrible decisions that’d allowed corruption to continue to fester within the city, but honestly? Compared to her predecessor, she actually seemed to care about the people being caught between the gangs.
But that meant little when, every time a few gang members or villains were caught, they were out through the revolving door that was Stilwater’s justice system and back on the street in a month, tops.
That was why he was having the Saints collect as much dirt and evidence as they could to bring the hammer down on both the gangs and the corruption plaguing Stilwater.
“Still, it’s been really quiet all things considered,’ Playa thought to himself. ‘I was expecting something to happen between the Saints and the gangs by now.’
His musing was interrupted as his phone began to ring, and Playa picked it up, taking note of the caller ID.
“What’s up, Carlos?” Playa asked as he answered his phone.
“Hey, boss, Pierce wanted me to call you because something big has come up in regards to the Brotherhood,” the Hispanic gang member said.
“What is it?” Playa asked, grip tightening around the cellphone. ‘Oh shit, did I tempt Murphy just now? Is this where the shit hits the fan?’
“Hey, hey, be cool, it’s nothing bad,” Carlos assured Playa. “Maero just contacted us through official channels and asked to sit down and have a chat with ya. He wants to work something out before things go out of control.”
“Hmm, interesting, we’ve only hit him a few times and he’s already looking to set up a deal?” Playa asked, surprised. “Sounds suspicious. Why would he do something like that? He’s not a weakling or running a small-time gang, here.”
“Pierce thinks it’s a trap, too,” Carlos admitted. “That’s why he’s setting things up in case it turns out to be an ambush.”
“Smart,” Playa praised. “Where’s this meeting going down? And when?”
“Spelunkers at two pm today,” Carlos replied.
“That tourist trap that does tours of the old moonshiner tunnels and caves?” the leader of the Saints asked, surprised.
“The same,” Carlos said. “It’s technically a Brotherhood property, but it will be full of civilians at the time, so it shouldn’t be too dangerous to check out.”
“But I’ll still pack some heat with me just in case,” Playa said. “I take it there’s a no costume request?”
“Yes, Maero doesn’t want to meet up in full cape gear.”
“Hmm. Sounds like a truce,” Playa hummed. “Very well. Tell Pierce I’ll meet him at Spelunkers at one-thirty.”
&&&&&
It took a few hours to organize everything, and they cut it pretty close, but by one-thirty in the afternoon he had managed to drive down in his new, repainted purple Baron to the requested meeting spot.
Of course, he wasn’t foolish enough to just jump right out and head in. He parked a few blocks away from the Spelunker’s parking lot and walked the rest of the way. As he did, he spotted a few people loitering in the tourist trap’s parking lot, and he approached them, recognizing several of them.
“Afternoon, folks,” Playa greeted, nodding at everyone.
“Hey, boss,” Pierce said, speaking quietly. There were still a lot of civilians in the area, after all.
“I want to go with you, boss,” Carlos requested, stepping forward.
“You know that this is a peaceful meeting, right?” Playa asked, raising an eyebrow at the Hispanic teen, easily sensing his barely contained anger towards the Brotherhood.
“Yeah, but do the Brotherhood know that?” Carlos shot back.
“We haven’t seen any red shirts or skinheads in the area,” Pierce said calmly.
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t here,” Carlos pointed out, which was fair. Everyone here was not dressed in Saint garb, having ditched the purple for less conspicuous colors. It stood to reason the Brotherhood might have done the same.
“Alright, fine. You can come with, Carlos, but keep it chill. Pierce, you’re with me as well,” Playa requested after thinking it over. “We’re going in.”
Pierce nodded, then turned to some of the people standing nearby. “You heard the boss. Spread out and keep your eyes peeled for any dirty tricks.”
The Saints members all nodded then scattered off to do whatever it was they were gonna do to look inconspicuous.
Walking inside, Playa bought three tickets for an unguided walk through the deep, dark, and impressive connection of tunnels beneath the city’s southern side. Nobody paid them a second glance. They were just three friends out on a tour of the famous caves after all.
“Grab a flashlight, Carlos. Even if its lit, I still want another source of light,” Playa requested, gesturing towards a row of flashlights that could be rented for a small fee near the entrance to the depths.
“Gotcha,” the young Saint agreed, taking the money Playa handed him. A few minutes later and they were inside the old cave system, the air turning cool and moist, the dripping of water echoing throughout.
“Oh, this is neat,” Pierce said as he read from a brochure while they descended. “Apparently, some of the tunnel systems stretch all the way to the mainland. Bootleggers could transport their moonshine all the way to California without being caught thanks to these underground systems. It was how they evaded the cops in the old days. Though many of the tunnels were destroyed or flooded when the naval base was built here.”
“For real? Huh, learn something new every day,” Playa hummed, intrigued. ‘That’s very interesting, alright. Could the Brotherhood be using the tunnels down here to transport guns and other supplies around? The Saints could use these for the same purpose. Getting in and out of Stilwater without detection is valuable. I’ll have to let Pierce know to focus his efforts on finding out more about the caves and on taking over the docks.’
Several minutes of silence, broken up only by the dripping of water, came to an end as they ventured deep into the tunnels, finally reaching the spot Carlos had said Maero wanted to meet.
There was only one person down there, sitting on a bench in a rest area near some impressive stalactites and stalagmites. He was also hard to miss, given his bulk. The fact that the area had been cleared out was also suspicious, but perhaps it was evidence of this not being an ambush.
“You Maero?” Playa asked, eyeing the muscular, tattooed man in the red-tank top.
“I am,” he confirmed, his voice deep and echoing slightly in the cavern.
“Where’s your crew?” Carlos asked suspiciously, shining the flashlight at his face.
“I don’t need one,” Maero said threateningly.
“You sure about that?” Carlos asked, raising an eyebrow. “I could kill you right now.” He pulled a gun out and pointed it at Maero’s head, anger and hate flashing in the young man’s eyes.
“No… you couldn’t,” Maero growled, standing up, unintimidated by the weapon pressed up to his temple.
Playa shot a glare at Carlos, wordlessly ordering him to stand down. For a moment, Playa feared he would do something stupid, but Carlos complied, putting his gun away.
‘I’ll need to have a chat with Carlos after this is over,’ Playa thought darkly. ‘I underestimated his hate of the Brotherhood.’
“What do you want?” Playa asked instead, letting Maero explain why he’d called them out here.
“Listen, I’m not stupid, I know who you are,” Maero stated, looking down at Playa with an inscrutable expression. “Now, there’s no reason for us to tear each other apart.”
“I’m listening,” Playa said slowly.
“You’ve hit a few of my businesses, but I’ll that that slide,” the inked-up gang leader said. “So, here’s what I’m thinking. We divide Stilwater between us…”
“I hear voices this way!” someone called out, and three flashlight beams cut through the cavern’s gloom. A trio of cops soon appeared, guns out and pointing at the four criminals.
“You were followed?” Maero growled.
“No, you were followed!” Pierce shot back, speaking up for the first time. “I saw no blueshirts when I was up top!”
“Hands up and on your knees!” one of the cops shouted.
Maero scoffed and reached under the bench he’d been sitting on, where he pulled out a 12-gauge shotgun that’d been taped to the underside. He aimed at the cops and opened fire, shooting the cop on the right in the chest.
That broke down all peaceful possibilities, and the two remaining cops starting shooting.
“Jesus!” Carlos shouted, diving behind the bench with Playa and Pierce, the latter of whom placed a hand on the piece of furniture and used his Quirk to render it invincible. Bullets pinged off of it, but it was Maero who stole the show.
His skin seemed to ripple and writhe, before peeling off into tendril-like strips, but in truth it was just his tattoos coming to life. They flailed about, lashing out at the bullets and knocking them aside while he pumped fire from his shotgun into the remaining police officers.
They went down in showers of blood, and Playa wasn’t sure if they were dead or not. He wasn’t going to go find out, either, as there were more important things to do.
“We need to get outta here!” he said, standing up once the cops were down and Maero stopped shooting.
“Yeah, but which way?” Pierce asked, looking around the cave nervously. “If we go back the way we came, there may be more cops. But if we follow the path to the end, we could run into civilians!”
“Stop or we’ll shoot!” a pair of officers shouted out from the direction the original three police had come, and Playa grimaced.
“Seems like they’ve made the decision for us,” he said. “We push forward! Avoid hurting anybody who isn’t a police officer!”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Maero grunted, but all the same, he lowered his shotgun so it wasn’t pointing up.
All four of them then ran, heading for the exit. They made their way uphill, hurrying away from the police who were chasing behind them.
They made it to a bridge over a deep chasm, but found another group of police was waiting for them on it. It was clear this meeting had been a trap, but one from the boys in blue instead of the Brotherhood.
“When I find who did this, I will use their blood as part of my next tattoo,” Maero vowed, before raising his left arm. The red snake tattoo coiled around his bicep came to life and slithered off while a crimson eagle took flight from his shoulder. The two ink monsters charged the police line on the bridge, and were immediately shot full of holes.
But they were just a distraction for the main event, as Maero and the Saints didn’t rush the bridge but instead went to the left, where a metal walkway was concealed behind a bunch of stone formations.
The four ran along the walkway that was suspended over the rough, uneven floor of the cave until they reached some stairs which were guarded by more police.
“We’ll have to force our way through them,” Playa muttered as the screams of the scared and startled bystanders echoed eerily through the tunnels.
“Once we do, we’ll be home free,” Maero declared, loading his shotgun.
“Lemme do this,” Playa requested, and he focused on his Quirk, turning sweat into fog to hide them. It filled up the tight corridor quickly, providing some decent cover.
“We rush out on three,” Playa said as the cramped space in the cavern filled up with blinding layers of greyish smoke. “One… two… Three!”
On ‘three,’ the quartet ran out, guns blazing. Playa shot one of the cops guarding the stairs in the neck, and another was hit several times in both legs. Carlos was less accurate, but he still managed to wing a cop, while Pierce and Maero were at the front, using their Quirks to tank the shot.
It was an effective team-up, as the police were disabled quickly, leaving the way to the exit unbarred.
“Okay, we go up from here, we can hit the streets,” Pierce said, looking around at the signs on the walls.
“Or we could go down, and leave by boat,” Maero suggested.
“Ah, so that’s how you came in, you used the old smugglers’ waterways,” Playa guessed. “Probably a speedboat or something else small.”
“What’s it gonna be?” Maero asked, folding his arms impatiently.
“We’ll be going up, in that case,” Playa said after thinking it over. “I doubt your speedboat has enough room for all of us.”
“It’d be a tight squeeze, but you’re right, easier for me to go it alone,” Maero declared. “And I suppose it’d be bad to be seen with me. Wouldn’t want people to think we’ve formed an alliance or anything.”
“Damn straight,” Playa said with a nod. “Thanks but no thanks, your offer just won’t work. The Saints will run Stilwater and clean up the trash, or we’ll die trying. We can’t have another gang around ruining all our hard work!”
“I suppose it’s war, then,” Maero shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the prospect of facing the Saints. “You better be prepared to lose, Skunk.”
“We’ll see about that, Ink Demon,” Playa smirked.
The group then split at the stairs, Maero going down while the Saints chose to go up.
“Damn, the exit leads straight through the gift shop,” Playa muttered, looking at the cheesy merchandise on sale, his eyes lingering on a stalagmite hat as they came up through the underground passageway.
“That’s how they getcha,” Carlos chuckled.
“True. I should take notes for our own line of merchandise,” Playa mused, looking over the racks of baseball caps, t-shirts and keyrings on sale. “Hmm, do you think action figures would sell?”
“I think we should probably worry about the police outside,” Pierce suggested grimly as he peered out a window at what lay beyond.
Crowding the Spelunker’s parking lot were a bunch of cop cars, alongside a bunch of police officers who were busy escorting civilians away from the scene. There was also a man in a garish costume.
“End of the line, criminal scum! You Brotherhood bastards won’t get past me!” a minotaur in a green and black wrestler’s costume bellowed pompously from in front of the police blockade.
“Who’s that?” Playa asked under his breath to Pierce. “And why does he think we’re with the Brotherhood?”
“Stampede, the Number 10 hero here in Stilwater,” the member of the Holy Trinity replied in a low voice. “What you see is what you get. Heteromorphic quirk that makes him a minotaur. Super strength and durability. Colorblind, though. Can’t see the color red.”
“As for why he thinks we’re with Maero… dunno. Could be the mole who tipped the police off is wearing red, so to speak.”
“Makes sense,” Playa grumbled, mind flashing back to Troy. “If they knew I was here, they’d have said so.”
He then spared a glance over to Carlos and Pierce. “Can we break out? Where are our own members?”
“Still spread out and from the looks of things, hanging back to watch what happens,” Pierce mused. “We might be able to rely on them, but I wouldn’t count on it. We planned for a few Brotherhood goons, not a dozen cops and a hero.”
“Then it seems we’ll have to make an exit our own way,” Playa decided. “Time to put on a show!”
“Be careful, boss,” Carlos urged Playa. “Stampede used to be from Texas, but got transferred to Stilwater for excessive violence back in his old stomping grounds. Every villain he’s caught has ended up with at least one broken bone when he’d done with them.”
“Good to know,” Playa praised. “But this is something we’re going to have to do if we want to make it out.”
“We could double back, try and get out the same way Maero did,” Pierce offered, but Playa shook his head.
“No. It’s a good idea, but we can’t swim that far. Besides, who knows what the waterways are like down there? We could get lost, or drown when the tides shift. Easier to get out this way, even if it means we have to punch our way past a police cordon and a hero. But, no time like the present to show off, right, fellows?”
“Ah, what the hell? I’m with you, boss!” Carlos said, and Pierce nodded firmly in agreement.
“Then let’s get ready to rumble!”
Preparations took a bit, but a few minutes later, they were ready to bust out. Part of which involved Playa jogging in place to work up a sweat so he could fill the whole gift shop with fog.
“Just in time, too, the police look like they’re about to swarm the place,” Pierce muttered, peering out the window.
“Let’s go, then!” Playa declared, and kicked the doors leading to the parking lot open. Thick, greyish fog billowed forth, causing the police to tense up.
“Looks like your information is a bit wrong, Stampede. Or should I call you Mr. Bullshit?” Playa taunted as fog swirled around him as he left the building. “I mean, I’m clearly way more handsome than that brick shithouse Maero!”
“Skunk!” Stampede growled. The officers guarding the blockade line shifted, clearly surprised and not expecting this change.
“No gas masks or anything to handle the smell… yeah, these chumps were totes waiting for Maero,” Carlos murmured to Playa from his spot behind him, still obscured by the cloud of fog.
Playa gave no indication he’d heard, instead he kept talking, taunting the hero into attacking. “I guess it’s true what they say!
Playa smirked at Stampede. “What’s wrong, little cow? Did the farmer give you the ol’ snip-snip? Is that why you can’t perform as well as you used to?”
“THAT’S IT!” the hero roared, and he charged forward, head down and horns forward.
Playa pivoted out of the way, letting the bovine Heteromorph barrel through the open door into the fog cover. However, Stampede’s headlong rush into the gift shop was abruptly halted as he crashed hard into a
Pierce had hidden deeper inside the fog, and used his invincibility Quirk to turn a big poster depicting the cavern into the equivalent of a steel wall. Stampede slammed right into it, and though Pierce was knocked back a few steps, the hero had it much worse, his head ringing loudly from the impact.
“What the-?!” Stampede groaned out, only to feel a hand brushing across his arm from out of the fog. It was Carlos, stealing as much fat from Stampede as possible. It wouldn’t really do much on its own, but suddenly losing a couple pounds of mass would disorient anybody, especially a hero who relied on their strength and weight to toss villains around.
While still delirious from the failed headbutt, Playa raised a hand and filled the gift shop with a brand-new scent, clogging up Stampede’s nostrils with the new smell.
Cows had far more sensitive noses than humans. Which was pretty common for mammals, really. But there were a few smells cattle couldn’t stand, like the stench of their own dung, saliva, oddly enough, and of course, blood.
Many people with animal Mutation Quirks tended to have similarities to the species they mimicked. People with Cat Quirks could get drugged by Catnip or Silvervine, Elephant Quirks had impressive memories, Reptile Quirks needed more heat and could tolerate less cold, etc.
The smell of blood was a fairly universal scent, but cattle in particular hated it. It caused them anxiety, and could invoke fear.
With his head spinning like it currently was, Stampede had no way to resist, and his eyes bugged out in terror as the coppery stench of blood wafted over him.
“MOOO!” he cried out, backpedaling from the fog in an attempt to escape it and the stink. Playa casually stuck a foot out as he ran, tripping the hero and making him fall backwards in a tumble. A few civilians who were watching from the sidelines laughed out loud at the sight.
Stampede scrambled to his feet, panting heavily, with his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. He saw Playa standing there, unharmed, and let out a bellow of pure rage before he tried to punch the gang leader’s block clean off.
In response, Playa simply jinked to the side, easily dodging the telegraphed attack. The blow was not as fast as the hero had wished, partly due to the sudden weight loss curtesy of Carlos, and Stampede had overextended himself with the blow, the motion caused him to stagger forward drunkenly when he missed.
Playa didn’t bother to wait as he kicked the back of Stampede’s left knee as he passed by, bringing him crashing down to the ground.
“Looks like you’ve got some ‘calf’ troubles,” Playa snickered, causing everyone in earshot to groan at the horrible leg and cow-based pun.
“For the love of God, just put me out of my misery already!” Stampede wept.
“Can do,” Playa agreed. He then pressed a hand over Stampede’s face, unleashing a concentrated burst of Nitrous Oxide. Stampede giggled a little, then slumped over. He wasn’t unconscious, but combined with his injuries and general tiredness from the fight, he would be out of commission for a while as he was thrown for a loop by a face full of laughing gas.
“Alright, we’re done here,” Playa said aloud, glancing towards the police. “Defender? Where my get-away car at?”
“Almost here, boss!” Pierce called out to assure him, silently relieved Playa had used his villain name, and not his real one. “When I called them, they said they’d be here soon!”
“They better get here soon, because those cops don’t look happy,” Playa shot back, eyeing the police warily.
All of sudden, a loud truck horn blared through the area, and a massive truck barreled down the street towards the police car line.
“Holy crumpets!” Playa exclaimed, grabbing the insensate Stampede and dragging him up onto the sidewalk. Meanwhile, police officers screamed and scattered, some even using their Quirks to escape the 18-wheeler bearing down on them.
Just in time, too, as it slammed into the police cars blocking the parking lot, sending glass and metal flying as it shoved them aside before screeching to a halt in front of the gift shop exit.
“Hop in!” someone wearing purple shouted down at us as the back of the cargo container the truck was hauling swung open and a few Saints popped out.
“Thank was crazy, reckless, and just the way I like it!” Playa praised with a laugh as he, Pierce, and Carlos hopped into the back of the truck.
With a honk and loud beeping, the 18-wheeler backed up, then spun around, knocking over more police cars in the process, until it was able to drive away. Meanwhile, Pierce’s Quirk provided protection from the hail of bullets that plinked off the side of the truck as it drove off into Stilwater.
“That was a rush!” Carlos cackled.
“Sure was!” Playa snickered.
“So, how’d it go, boss?” one of their rescuers asked. “Did the Brotherhood surrender?”
“Afraid not,” Playa said with a shake of his head as he slumped against the side of the container. “They weren’t smart enough to do so, which means war.”
Instead of making them nervous, his words only made the Saints grin viciously.
“Just the way we want it, boss,” Carlos said darkly.
“We’ll follow you to hell and back, boss,” Pierce chimed in.
Playa smiled softly at that. “I won’t let you down,” he promised.
He then frowned as his stomach rumbled. “Oh, and, uh, tell the driver to stop by Freckle Bitches. I feel like celebrating our victory with a greasy heartclogger with extra cheese, no pickles. Heck, let’s all get burgers. My treat.”
That earned a cheer, and Playa grinned. Nothing like a victory burger from Freckle Bitches after a job. It was starting to feel just like old times again.
