Law and Order

By J.S. Frankel

The Nightmare Crew is on the hunt for their evil genius creator, but they find trouble that could spell the end of them all.

Paul Wiseman and his crew return to battle their greatest opponents yet—versions of themselves.

Paul has been transformed into a werewolf, and along with his girlfriend and the rest of the crew—a vampire, a sentient water being and a resurrected zombie—he moves out to the west coast to set up shop in the Sierra Madre mountain area in order to fight crime.

They also seek more information on Andres Peterson, a ruthless and clever industrialist scientist, whose company made them.

Peterson has fashioned his own version of the crew, but their methods of fighting crime are heavy-handed, cruel and unjust.

Things are never as they seem, and it will take a death and a winner-takes-all fight to settle it. Will evil triumph?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Finch Books
• Release date: Jul 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781786517623

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Law and Order

ISBN # 978-1-78651-762-3

©Copyright J.S. Frankel 2016

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2016

Edited by Jamie D. Rose

Finch Books

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Finch Books.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Finch Books. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2016 by Finch Books, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Finch Books is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

The Nightmare Crew

LAW AND ORDER

J.S. Frankel

Book two in The Nightmare Crew series

The Nightmare Crew is on the hunt for their evil genius creator, but they find trouble that could spell the end of them all.

Paul Wiseman and his crew return to battle their greatest opponents yet—versions of themselves.

Paul has been transformed into a werewolf, and along with his girlfriend and the rest of the crew—a vampire, a sentient water being and a resurrected zombie—he moves out to the west coast to set up shop in the Sierra Madre mountain area in order to fight crime.

They also seek more information on Andres Peterson, a ruthless and clever industrialist scientist, whose company made them.

Peterson has fashioned his own version of the crew, but their methods of fighting crime are heavy-handed, cruel and unjust.

Things are never as they seem, and it will take a death and a winner-takes-all fight to settle it. Will evil triumph?

Dedication

As always, to my wife, Akiko, and my sons, Kai and Ray. Thank you for making my journey complete.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

America’s Most Wanted: Twentieth Century Fox Television

Target: Target Brands Inc.

Rubik’s Cube: Rubik’s Brand Ltd.

Oliver Twist:

Candy Land: Hasbro Inc.

Aladdin: Disney Enterprises Inc.

Waldo: Classic Media Distribution

Frisbee: Wham-O

Dropbox: Dropbox Inc.

TASER: Taser International Inc.

Teen Wolf: Viacom Media Networks

Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company Corporation

Chapter One

Night in the City

Los Angeles, warehouse district

Five minutes shy of midnight

Paul Wiseman scanned the area, inhaled a breath of foul night air, wrinkled his nose at the various smells abounding—car exhaust fumes, sweat and the nasty stench of beer and vomit—then exhaled softly. Odors on a hot summer night, he reflected. What else did one get when patrolling a large city?

Turning to the matter at hand, he touched the tiny com-link inside his left ear. It gave a small beep, and he whispered into the intercom that hung around his neck, Is everyone ready?

From his position in an alleyway across from the target, he made sure to keep in the shadows. Nothing save a few rats looking for food disturbed the quiet of the night. Still, he kept an eye out for anyone who might happen by. This wasn’t the friendliest of all places to walk, but some homeless people occasionally turned up and he didn’t want their lives endangered.

Keeping the idea of a low profile in mind, he flattened his back against the wall, surveyed the area and stayed as motionless as possible. Night was his friend, his ally, and hiding in the shadows, crouching on rooftops and even taking to the sewers all had their merits, although the stench of the last hideaway nauseated him.

Tonight’s target sat on the surface and lay at the edge of town. It was a warehouse, large and aged, sandwiched between two other abandoned ones. Everyone knew it manufactured illegal drugs.

From preliminary reports, he knew it to be heavily guarded. Ironically, even though the police acknowledged its existence, they never went near it. They knew who ran the show, so did everyone else. It was a just a matter of who wanted to cross the line and take on the syndicate first.

Since coming from the Bronx five months ago to live in the mountains of Sierra Madre near Los Angeles, Paul had studied the topography, learned every street name, scouted the hotspots and knew as much about the area as any native Los Angelino. From researching files on America’s Most Wanted, he also knew the police wanted to take down this particular manufacturer of death. He was also after the same target, a kingpin, the drug lord known only as ‘Azuras’.

Little was known about this man. He might have come from Colombia or from Canada. Paul had seen one picture of him. In his forties, he stood around six-four, weighed in the neighborhood of four hundred pounds, and always traveled in a limousine with bodyguards—lots of them. If the chance came, then he’d—

His earpiece crackled.

Ready. The reply came from Angela.

Casting his gaze upward, he saw her lounged against the brick railing of a building opposite the warehouse, six stories up. Even in the darkness, he saw her costume—a black leather outfit, leather boots, and a long cape the color of the night that she’d tricked out with an edge that glowed in the dark and illuminated her slender figure as she flew along. In contrast, he wore jeans and a T-shirt and felt positively underdressed for the occasion. Superheroes had capes and creative costumes. He used Target throwaways.

For any ordinary person, to see someone from so far away would have been impossible, yet Paul could not be considered ordinary in any way. A hybrid of a teenager and a wolf, he had enhanced night vision, among his other assets of speed and strength.

Right now, he wasn’t thinking about what he could do. Instead, he focused his gaze on Angela. A slow, shy—yet sexy—smile spread across her face, and it never failed to give him confidence in whatever assignment they’d decided to tackle. I’m good here, she added.

He waved his hand in a quick, sharp motion. She gave him the thumbs-up sign and went back to her patrolling duties.

Another voice came through Paul’s intercom. It was Ooze, and he also gave a one word reply—Ready.

Ooze always sounded as if he were underwater. Though, considering Ooze was made of water and lived in a containment suit, how else would he speak? Positioned in a van about two blocks away, he’d parked in a place where he could observe, yet still be out of harm’s way. I’m watching things. Haven’t seen any movement yet.

From that distance, Ooze had his eye on everything, courtesy of some heat-imaging equipment that could track anything within a thousand meters. He also had a radio transmitter, removable license plates on the van so the authorities wouldn’t be able to trace them and other assorted goodies that he’d dreamed up in his spare time.

I’m hungry.

The voice, gravelly and low, came from CF. Dressed in dark pants, heavy workman’s boots and a shirt barely able to contain his bulk, he lurked in the shadows of another alleyway a block away to the right. When aren’t you hungry? muttered Paul into his intercom, as he got himself into position for the strike.

The intercom he wore was indeed a marvelous device. No larger than a pin, it was capable of picking up and transmitting the faintest sounds within a five-hundred-meter radius—very useful for when the group had to be on the move.

Always, came the answer.

Did you bring enough food? Paul whispered.

I’m out.

That’s just wonderful… Paul shook his head in frustration, as well as with a tinge of respect for the zombie’s size, strength and willingness to get hit. CF stood for cannon fodder. It was amazing, another medical miracle, in fact, that something so large—in the realm of seven feet high and around three hundred pounds—could eat so much, never get rid of it and still ask for more.

Hang on. We’ll be finished soon, he whispered.

Okay.

Turning his eyes back to the warehouse, Paul took note of the location, the time and other sundry details. Checking for movement up and down the street, he found none. Previous reconnaissance had revealed that no one inhabited those abandoned warehouses, and that was an added bonus. Good thing, as there was likely to be gunfire, and he didn’t want anyone hurt. Civilians were innocent. They needed to be protected.

In the quiet before the upcoming storm, he reflected on the name the press had given them—the Nightmare Crew. He didn’t think of himself as some kind of superhero or his friends as being anything but people with extraordinary powers. All the same, though, they were different and special. The media? They liked to stick monikers on everyone.

Since they had a moniker, the Nightmare Crew had also adopted a mantra. ‘Protect the innocent. Take down the guilty. Leave no traces.’ He thought the nickname was cool and the mantra even cooler. Who cared if it sounded corny? To him, it totally rocked, and the people along with the mass media seemed to groove to it as well.

It was the middle of June—June seventeenth, to be precise—and checking his wristwatch, it read eleven fifty-five p.m. The strike would happen at precisely midnight. The weather was hot, almost stifling, but he took no notice of it. From his vantage point, he surveyed the warehouse and noted twelve machine-gun-toting guards patrolling the perimeter. There were probably more inside, and he wondered if the team was ready.

They’d been training for the past few months, first in the Bronx, then moving out west to the sunnier climes of California. Never mind they couldn’t go to the beach or stroll down Hollywood Boulevard or visit Grauman’s Chinese Theater in the daytime. It would have caused a panic. While the ordinary citizens liked being protected, they weren’t really sure of who or what was protecting them…

Are we almost ready? Angela’s voice crackled over his earphone, interrupting his musings. It held a note of anticipation.

Just about, he answered. Wait until it’s twelve, then go.

Gotcha, she said. After that, can we do something together?

Suggestiveness laced every word in her question. It wasn’t as though they had done anything to be ashamed of—not yet. He was two weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, and she was roughly the same age. They’d been dating since they’d met six months ago. Could they do something?

Well, yes, most definitely doing something was on the agenda. Um, what were you thinking of? Trying to sound cool and in charge, instead his question came out with a hint of uncertainty, and he cursed himself for his dorkiness.

I thought that we could have a little us time.

Oh… The concept of having us time would indeed be worth waiting for. Uh, sure, he answered, suddenly tongue-tied. An incredibly hot chick like Angela always made him choke out his responses.

Was this love? Maybe and maybe not, but he knew one thing. It was a lot more than like, and he’d figure out the whys and wherefores of it all later on. They made a good pair. He liked being around her, so he knew enough not to mess with a winning formula.

Fine. I’ll be waiting for your signal, she said and clicked off.

As he hugged the wall, he took note of where everyone was and thought back to the day when he’d been in an alley very much like this one, about to be toast courtesy of some gangbangers. Alleyways were dark and dirty places, often dangerous, and he’d gone down the wrong one. In the nick of time, a vampire girl had happened along, and the rest was history.

People always called vampires and zombies myths. Ancient, as well as modern, literature and movies and television shows portrayed them in a variety of ways. However, all of that was make-believe. The so-called experts had never met one, befriended one…or fallen for one of them. They said vampires didn’t exist, but science had made it possible to create that which had heretofore been legend…

* * * *

Her name was Angela. She’d told him her name when he’d found her in an alleyway, just as the gangbangers had closed in for the kill.

Actually, it’d happened the opposite way. Call it luck or by design. It didn’t matter. She’d come along when he’d needed help the most. When a person got help from an unknown source, they never questioned why.

Running away from the orphanage where he’d been living had proved to be the worst mistake of his young life—and the best. He’d gotten trapped by the gang members and Angela had come to his rescue. Blasting them with wind—she could somehow control it—and fighting them like a demon on steroids, she’d saved him then taken him back to her house in a small city called Angelica, which was located in upstate New York.

It was a quaint-looking Georgian-style house, and he’d stared at it in awe. To live in a house—a real house with four walls and meals and basic comfort—came as a shock. Having lived in foster homes didn’t count. This…might be different. You live here? he’d asked, once he’d recovered.

With my friends, she’d answered.

And with friends like hers, enemies wouldn’t stay around for long. A doctor named Bolson, who was also a scientist and a visionary, had created four beings from his own stem cells.

Ooze—a thinking being made of water—lived in a containment suit and had the power of any liquid at his command. He also served as the brains of the outfit, putting together intercom devices, computing logistics and more. He possessed an almost encyclopedic knowledge of most things, courtesy of an information download from his creator. This almost limitless amount of information allowed Ooze to dream up and create more devices and innovations than any human ever could.

Sandstorm, as his name implied, controlled sand. While he couldn’t speak, he was sentient and formed words with his body. He went where others couldn’t, slithering along the roadways, landing faster than the eye could follow and allowing the air to take him when distance travel was required.

CF was a zombie. He served as the muscle of the team, was incredibly strong and took the hits when necessary. He had the ability to regenerate, as long as he ate. Of a calm and simple nature, his only other passion besides eating was cleaning, and the house where they’d first stayed remained spotless under his careful eye.

Angela, the only female member of the group, was the first to be born, and she was probably the most powerful. A vampire, she could fly, but only at night. In addition to her power to control the wind, she possessed super strength, and at the height of around five-six, she owned a slender, sexy figure and a pretty face with long, shimmering black hair framing her porcelain white skin in lovely midnight waves.

Reflecting on their first meeting, Paul had initially been terrified. Who wouldn’t have been when coming face to face with legends and creatures only the oddest and most inventive minds could dream up?

After the fear had faded, he’d come to know them not only as people, but also as friends. There had been a few rocky starts, to be sure, but he’d finally found a home with them. He’d also become one of them, due to a transformation chamber designed by the late Doctor Bolson.

In an abrupt memory shift, the events came back to him as clearly as if it were yesterday. He’d been shot, dying, and his friends had taken him back to the house where they’d tossed him into a chamber. It had altered him in such a way as to make him less than human—and more.

I’m a werewolf? he’d asked, after emerging from the chamber.

Checking his appearance in a mirror, he’d had a light coating of brown fur, yellow eyes, a still human-looking face—although with a slightly wolfish appearance to it—and a more muscular appearance to his body. He also had the gifts of speed, strength and endurance. When he’d gone for his first run, he’d discovered his powers were almost off the charts—and they were growing. In addition to his aforementioned gifts, he healed at an accelerated rate, like Angela. However, he’d yet to test it in full combat.

Once he’d fully transformed, he and the others had held a meeting. The authorities would be looking for them. Reports of vampires, zombies and more abounded in the nightly news briefs. It wasn’t a good idea to expose their whereabouts to the world, not yet. Where should we go? Paul had asked, while looking at a spot on a map of the country.

I don’t know about you, Angela had replied, stabbing her finger at that very spot, but I’m thinking of Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, the city of angels, and the home of Bolson’s old company, Rallan, Inc., a company engaged in bio-genetics research. The company background said they were into cross-breeding vegetables and fruits, making hardier and more colorful produce According to the bland, generic literature on their website, it contained nothing to indicate they’d ever gotten into the business of creating people.

Of course the company wouldn’t publicize it. Why invite trouble? Things like this had to fly under the radar. The government would never sanction it, and the public certainly wouldn’t understand it.

However, one man—Andres Peterson—had not only sanctioned it, but had also gone beyond what anyone had ever dreamed of. The founder of Rallan, Inc. was a shadowy figure, and Paul and company had gone to Los Angeles in order to try to find him. Tracing him had proved to be impossible, though.

They had a name, but no face. The background on Peterson—born in Omaha, Nebraska, received doctorates in bio-chemistry and applied sciences from UCLA at the age of twenty-four—gave the basics, but provided no pictures, nothing after he graduated university save his founding of Rallan—nothing.

We’re not going to find any information on him, Ooze had said, after an exhaustive search on the Internet. Number one, the company shut down around three months ago. They sold their stock to a few other companies, and those places check out, so cross off looking for him there.

Is it possible they hid the information somewhere else? Paul had asked, wondering how someone could simply disappear. Checking his thoughts, he’d realized he and his friends had also gone undercover.

Ooze had waved his oversized hands in frustration. If they have, then it’s on someone’s personal disk at home. I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve even gone to the Darknet. A lot of scientists and military personnel hide stuff there to keep their secrets off the grid. I got nothing so far…but I’ll keep looking.

While Ooze continued his search, practicality intruded. They needed somewhere to live. Finding a home had proved to be a problem at first, but after scouting around, Angela had flown in to inform them of some good news. I’ve found the perfect place. It’s in Sierra Madre, near the mountains, she’d said. The spot I found is pretty inaccessible, even to the hitchhikers.

How far is it from Los Angeles?

Angela had beamed. That’s the great part about it. It’s about seventy-five miles away from downtown L.A., and by car, it should take about an hour. I can get there in twenty minutes when I fly at top speed.

Paul had already been thinking of how long it would take if he ran. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like flying with his girlfriend, but he enjoyed the freedom of running. Angela had continued with her list. "It offers access to the city