Miami Run

Chapter Sixteen

“Don’t move, señor!”

Blade had risen as he spied Hickok exiting the infirmary, but he stopped, his body poised to run.

El Gato was covering him with the M-16. “Stay right where you are, Blade.” He waved his right arm at the infirmary. “Get Hickok!”

The ten mercenaries took off in pursuit of the gunfighter.

Blade reluctantly sat down, watching the tableau unfold. He saw Hickok shoot three guards, and then the gunman wheeled and ran to the north.

Where was Hickok heading? Blade thought of the front gate and smiled.

“What is so humorous about the death of one of your fellow Warriors?”

Paolucci asked.

“Hickojc isn’t dead yet.”

“He will be soon,” Paolucci vowed.

Blade listened to the gunshots coming from the north side of the house.

He could distinguish between the boom of Hickok’s revolvers and the lighter, more metallic chatter of the mercenaries’ automatic weapons.

“And for that matter, so will you,” Paolucci said.

Distracted by the noise of the running gun battle, Blade wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly. “What?” he asked belatedly.

“Your demise is at hand.”

With a conscious effort, Blade faced the Director. “What do you have in mind? A firing squad?”

Paolucci smiled. “Nothing so prosaic.”

“You’re going to feed me to the alligators?”

“Now there’s an idea!” Paolucci stated. “But, sorry to say, no. To tell you the truth, the manner of your death is not my decision to make.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Guess.”

Boom. Boom.

Hickok was still alive and kicking! Blade focused on the Director, reflecting. Insight struck him seconds later. “The Masters want to attend to my death personally?”

Paolucci nodded.

“Why am I receiving special treatment?” Blade queried. “Or do the Masters dispose of all of your enemies?”

“The Masters only involve themselves in the exceptional cases,” the Director said. “You’re receiving quite an honor.”

“How so?”

“The Masters will sacrifice you.”

“They make sacrifices?”

“Yes.”

Blade tensed as the automatic gunfire attained a crescendo. He envisioned Hickok being hit by a storm of slugs, and he shook his head to dispel the image.

Paolucci misinterpreted the movement. “You don’t believe me? I’m offended. I have no reason to lie to you. And I know whereof I speak, because I have personally attended fourteen sacrifices.”

“You stood by and watched the Masters sacrifice humans?” Blade asked in disgust. Out of the corner of his right eye he noticed El Gato frowning.

“Most of the sacrifices were Dealers gone bad,” Paolucci detailed. “The rest were troublemakers, people who couldn’t appreciate the essential social service provided by the Dragons.”

“In other words, they were against the Dragons and everything you stand for. They opposed your drug-dealing.”

“They were fools.”

“You’re the fool, if you think you can continue to control the people of Miami with drugs,” Blade said.

Paolucci did a double take, genuine amazement flickering across his features. “My compliments. Your perception is remarkable.”

“What’s so remarkable about the obvious?”

“You’re wrong, though,” the Director said. “The Dragons have controlled southern Florida for sixty-five years. We will control this area, and much more, long after your bones are bleached white by the sun.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Paolucci asserted. “Your problem is that you fail to understand the nature of the human condition. Most people are sheep, content to be led by anyone with the strength to assume command. All the average person cares about are the basics. Where is the next meal coming from? Where will the money come from to put clothes on their backs and keep a roof over their heads? And there’s one more consideration.” He paused. “What can help them forget all their cares and woes? What can alleviate the pain, if only for a little while? What can give them the illusion of being on top of the world, when in reality they’re in the gutter?” He smiled. “That’s where the Dragons come in. By feeding this need to feel happy in a world of suffering and sickness, by fostering their illusions, we supply an essential social service. And therein lies the source of our power.”

“You’re sick in the head,” Blade stated. “And your philosophy is perverted.”

Paolucci shrugged. “Perverted or not, the Dragons do control Miami and the rest of southern Florida. And soon we will extend our control to other areas.”

“Not if the Family can help it.”

The Director smirked. “But the Family can’t.”

Blade stared into Paolucci’s eyes. “Sooner or later, someone will come along and lead the people in a revolt against your manipulation. I know there have already been a lot who have moved away from Miami, rather than live under the influence of a drug-dominated culture. Not everyone is gullible enough to stupidly believe that pleasure is the only pursuit in life that matters. There are those who believe in higher values, in spiritual values of love and faith—”

Slapping the table in mirth, the Director laughed uproariously. “Love and faith? You don’t actually believe that nonsense?”

Blade’s eyes became flinty.

“You’re too idealistic, my friend,” Paolucci declared patronizingly. “The world is not governed by love and faith. It’s dominated by greed, lust, and power. Nothing else counts.”

A sole mercenary was approaching the table at a trot.

Blade gazed at the guard apprehensively, worried about Hickok.

“Report!” El Gato barked.

The mercenary halted and saluted. “Hickok escaped.”

“How?”

“Over the gate.”

“And our casualties?” Cat questioned.

The mercenary averted his eyes. “Eight dead.”

“Eight!” El Gato snapped. “One man killed eight of our men!”

The mercenary did not respond.

“Where are the others?” Cat queried angrily.

“Hickok ran into the woods to the north,” the mercenary answered.

“Corporal Kingsley is leading a search sweep right this minute.”

“Tell Kingsley to track Hickok down,” El Gato stated, “or not to show his face in the command again. Understand?”

The mercenary nodded.

“Why are you still here?” Cat demanded.

After a brisk salute, the mercenary pivoted and raced away.

“Now where were we?” Paolucci asked, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, yes. You were indulging in whimsy.”

Blade said nothing.

The Director looked at El Gato. “Do you know what we have here?”

“No, señor.”

“What we have, Cat, is a throwback to an earlier age, an age when so-called decent types believed in basic values like the importance of the home and family life.” Paolucci chuckled. “Blade is archaic and doesn’t even know it. He’s out of step with the times. And he would have been out of step with the society existing before the war.”

“How do you figure?” Blade was prompted to ask.

“Study history,” Paolucci said. “Take note of the conditions just before World War Three. Crime was rampant, social diseases proliferated, corruption in government was commonplace, and the average turkey on the street was either an addict, a couch potato, or a vain mental midget.”

“I don’t share your low opinion of them,” Blade stated.

“Then you’re denying reality again,” the Director said. “I’ll cite one example I read about in a library in Miami. Did you know that the educational system was in complete disarray? That the students achieved lower and lower grades on aptitude tests each year? The students just didn’t care. And who can blame them? When they had a choice between studying a stuffy old book and partying with their friends, between acquiring knowledge or living it up, the book would lose every time.”

“What’s your point?”

Paolucci smiled condescendingly. “My point, Warrior, is that no one gave a damn about the values you honor. No one cared then, and no one cares now. Oh, there are a few misguided souls around. But Miami is living proof of my point. If people are given a choice between their own selfish interests and the common good, they will pick their selfish pursuits every time.”

Blade pursued his lips, contemplating.

El Gato stared at the Warrior with a strange expression.

“I’ll hand it to you,” Blade said after a minute. “Even with your warped perspective, you’re more intelligent than I’d expected. But you’re totally wrong. People are not inherently selfish, and if you give them half a chance, they’ll prove it. The Elders teach us that a lot depends on the leaders of a society. If there isn’t wise leadership, the society will suffer.

And many of the leaders before the war were…” He paused. “How shall I say it?”

The Director grinned. “They had their heads up their butts.”

“They lacked wisdom,” Blade amended. “And worse, they were more concerned with lining their own pockets than with public service. They tried to promote a system without values, and such systems produce people without values. They saw everything as a shade of gray, when reality is a contrast of white and black. They prided themselves on a neutral educational system, not realizing that neutral systems breed neutered citizens.”

Paolucci slowly rose, smiling. “Fascinating! Everything I was told about you is true. The Warrior with an intellect. What a pity you must be terminated!”

“When?”

The Director stared at the rising sun. “You have about six hours to live.

You see, I radioed the Masters last night after I received the call about Barbish. They ordered me to contact them again at sunrise with an update.” He smirked. “They are quite interested in learning the reason for your presence in Miami. An emergency session of the Directors has been called for noon. I imagine the Masters will interrogate you personally, and no one ever survives an interrogation.”

“The Masters are coming to Happy Acres?”

“No,” Paolucci said. “The other Directors will come here, then we’ll travel by airboats to the Shrine.”

“The Shrine?”

“You’ll see for yourself, soon enough,” Paulucci commented. He glanced at El Gato. “Keep him covered while I make my calls and change.”

“He will be here,” Cat promised.

The Director strolled toward the portico.

Blade looked at Cat. “How can you live with yourself working for a man like that?”

El Gato’s mustache curved downward. “I suggest, amigo, that you keep your mouth closed until the Director returns.”

Blade started to speak…

“Unless, of course, you do not want to enjoy the six or seven hours of life left to you.” So saying, Cat aimed the M-16 at the Warrior’s head.

Blade shifted in his seat and stared at the fiery orb in the eastern sky.