As usual, here is your warning that this story has cursing, sex (not graphic), innuendo, and violence.  It’s my Rated-R action adventure called Derailing Bedlam.  This is the fourth outing (third official) for Cassidy and Lloyd, so feel free to click on one of the two covers to see how it started.  Each one is 99 cents!

Cover by Jon Hunsinger

Cover Art by Jon Hunsinger

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Trailing behind their jeep, Cassidy and Lloyd put up no resistance as they are escorted around the main building. Wearing gloves and a medical mask, a young woman sits in the driver’s seat and focuses on not damaging the vehicle. There is an air of tension that thickens whenever the engine roars, the nervous guards immediately glaring at their companion. For her part, the woman ignores them and gets the jeep to the entrance of a garage. When the doors flip open, they run along the polished grill and create an ear-wrenching screech that causes the driver to scramble out of the car. Having forgotten to put the vehicle in park, the young woman quickly finds herself rushing to get back inside and yank the gear shift. The ensuing noise is enough to cause those who are at the end of their nerves to run away, which leaves only a handful of guards to bring the infamous prisoners to their employers. They do not get very far before two gunshots ring out, one bullet hitting the driver in the stomach and the other killing the man who had opened the garage doors. Alive and in pain, the woman clutches her abdomen and hurries away in the hopes of reaching the local hospital before she bleeds to death.

Standing in the middle of the room, a middle-aged man in a pin-stripe suit and fedora blows at the barrel of his pistol. A pair of brass knuckles is on his other hand, the dented weapon showing signs of repeated use. Blinking rapidly, he takes off his thin glasses and holds them up to make sure they are clean. When he finds a few flecks of blood on the lenses, the man takes out a cloth to clean them and frowns at a new scratch. The gangster stands only a foot tall than his son’s wheelchair, which is being removed from the middle a bright yellow sports car. Running a crimson comb through his slicked blonde hair, he greets the boy with a handshake that turns into a hug. There is a tenderness between them that makes the child visibly anxious until the embrace ends and he can run his fingers through his tangled tresses. Before the patriarch can approach the prisoners, his son cuts him off and waves him away like he is the one charge. A flicker of amusement is on the gangster’s face as he bows his head and takes a step back.

“I can’t believe you two assholes thought you could fucking slip by Barrow Bulbosa,” the kid declares through his mask. A voice changer gives him an older, gravelly tone that makes the prisoners strain their ears to understand his words. “That’s me if you didn’t fucking know. As soon as I saw you step out of your jeep, I knew who you were. Only one reason Cassidy and Lloyd would come here. That bitch in LaSalle wants to take over our operation. Probably kill my parents too. Well, you can tell that cunt of an employer that she better send people we can’t recognize on sight next time. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I have this urge to wash your mouth out with lavender-scented soap,” Lloyd replies while he leans against the jeep. He uses his teeth to scratch in itch on his wrist, the nonchalant display making the boy scowl. “I really wonder how British spies do it. They blow stuff up, leave bodies everywhere, get hit by enough paternity suits to keep a morning show on the air, and people still don’t recognize them on sight. Maybe we’re far too attractive for stealth missions. Not so much my face, but I’ve been told my ass is the finest in the land.”

“I believe that bandit leader said you were the biggest ass in the country before you dropped him in the wood chipper,” Cassidy says as she crouches in front of her baby. She growls at the sight of several scratches on the hood, the noise earning a whimper from one of the nervous guards. “Think we can skip all the banter, threats, and inevitable waste of bullets on my part? We took this as a last minute job and window for completion is narrow. All we want is the key for the Hoppy Stage Express or whatever it’s called. Tyler McHale is the one who sent us. This doesn’t have anything to do with the Duchess of LaSalle.”

“You expect us to believe that when we’ve had problems with that bitch and you’re friends with her fuck buddy?” Barrow asks with a metal-grinding laugh. The gears in his wheelchair abruptly spin and he rolls back against his will until he comes to a stop next to his father. “I told you never to fucking do that, dad. I’m thirteen, which means I’m old enough to handle these bitches. They’re my prisoners since I caught them.”

Without a word, Parker Bulbosa puts a hand on his son’s shoulder and gently turns him toward the exit. The boy is about to argue again until he catches a glint of anger in the man’s blue eyes. Barrow takes a circular path around the garage and makes sure to run a hand along each of the sports cars that his wheelchair can be combined with. Going up the small ramp, he slams the door behind him and curses at the top of his lungs when it swings back open. A pair of attractive female guards hurry to catch up to the boy, neither of them daring to look directly at their employer. He waits for the noise to stop before waving the remaining soldiers away, the nervous squad replacement by two towering men armed with shotguns. Both weapons are drawn and the guards make it clear that they will shoot at the first sign of trouble.

“I prefer to use my own people instead of my son’s babysitters,” Parker says while cracking his fingers. Darting forward, he strikes Lloyd in the stomach with his brass knuckles and frowns when the other man doubles over. “That’s for the shipment your girlfriend destroyed last week. I didn’t expect such a big reaction, but I guess you’re more violent aggression than physical toughness. For all of his cursing and impatience, my son does have a point that you two coming here is rather suspicious. Not that you want the key. It’s just that I know the Duchess has taken an interest in that train. Did she make a deal to increase her territory?”

“Information like that is above our pay grade,” Cassidy replies, sidestepping a sucker punch to her gut. Seeing the guards shift their weapons, she goes limp and subtly moves with the next strike as it lands. “That’s going to bruise. I have to respect a leader who likes to get his hands dirty. Means you’re not a coward, so intimidation won’t work. Though, that goes both ways. Not much incentive to talk since you’ve already struck us. What’s the next level?”

“Broken bones and internal bleeding, but I’ve heard stories about those who try to torture the two of you,” the gangster claims, taking off his brass knuckles. Patting the sweat from his forehead, he moves out of a reach and draws his pistol. “My sense of self-preservation tells me that I should simply kill you. Why risk suffering the same fate as your previous enemies? Yet, my desire to grow my business and influence tells me that you are a gift. One that needs to be treated with care like a poisonous cactus. Such a conflict within my mind. Do I avoid the risk or try to get information on my greatest rival?”

“Considering your breath, I assume you want tips on dental hygiene. Lesson one is that you don’t brush your teeth with fertilizer,” Lloyd interjects with a grin. He is knocked to the ground when the butt of a shotgun is slammed into his stomach, the serial killer raising a leg after he rolls onto his back. “Totally worth it! Seriously, Captain Fedora, we aren’t told much. Katie gives us jobs, we do the jobs, and then the screen fades to black before we get the highest adult rating possible. Since we work for other people, she can’t share all her juicy . . . I should probably stop that sentence quickly. My point is that my friend and I are nothing more than hired guns who she uses fairly often.”

Cassidy clears her throat when Parker raises his pistol, the mercenary leaning down to help her partner up. “It still wouldn’t be a good idea to kill us. Whether Katie sent us here or not, you would make her mad. Not only for the loss of her most profitable partners, but she is banging Lloyd like a screen door. Sorry, buddy, but it does sound like she’s the one charge there. Killing him would bring down a biblical level of wrath from your great enemy. Looks like a standstill, so maybe we can make a deal for the key.”

“You jumped around a lot there and almost confused me,” Parker admits with a friendly chuckle. Putting his gun away, the man licks his dry lips and paces between his unmoving bodyguards. “A deal with the great Cassidy and Lloyd would be nice. I have enemies that I could have you eliminate and territory leaders that need some roughing up. On the other hand, this key is a present that I promised to hold for a mysterious benefactor. As soon as the Holly Sage Express fails, my wife, son and I will claim it for ourselves. That means you have something for me, but I have nothing I want to give you in exchange.”

“I can give you a wish list.”

“Of course, but I have no obligation to listen.”

“Again, we find ourselves in a stalemate.”

“Which means I need to hand you off to our resident tie-breaker.”

Lloyd sighs as he slips his cuffs and touches the bloody bump on his head. “Fine, let’s get this over with. Been a while since I was worked over by a professional. All I ask is that this person washes their hands and turns their head away from me if they have to sneeze. I’m getting tortured. Not asking for the common cold.”