The Sindicate

By J.S. Frankel

Nate Holliday and his girlfriend, Melanie Sarkosian, are back. This time, they’re fighting crime across the great state of Portland. While earthly law and order is Nate’s main focus—that, and graduating high school—he is soon contacted by a representative, Titanic Man, a member of a crime-fighting group from a parallel Earth.

It seems that trouble is brewing on Earth-Seventeen, a world similar to ours in terms of clothing and design, but with more advanced technology.

It seems that one member of the good guys has been captured by the opposition. Ukiko Monaghan, also known as Dividing Woman, has gone missing, and Nate and Melanie are the only ones capable of bringing her back.

It won’t be easy. Ukiko has fallen in with—or been taken captive by—Alvin ‘Big Boy’ Larpis, the most feared gangster who sends his minions to various Earths in search of materials to build the ultimate weapon.

However, when Alvin sends a hit squad to Nate’s and Melanie’s home world, things get darker, more personal, and Nate has to make a terrible choice of seeking vengeance or upholding the law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781487424596

Book preview

Achieving the impossible is only a thought away.

Nate Holliday and his girlfriend, Melanie Sarkosian, are back. This time, they’re fighting crime across the great state of Portland. While earthly law and order is Nate’s main focus—that, and graduating high school—he is soon contacted by a representative, Titanic Man, a member of a crime-fighting group from a parallel Earth.

It seems that trouble is brewing on Earth-Seventeen, a world similar to ours in terms of clothing and design, but with more advanced technology.

It seems that one member of the good guys has been captured by the opposition. Ukiko Monaghan, also known as Dividing Woman, has gone missing, and Nate and Melanie are the only ones capable of bringing her back.

It won’t be easy. Ukiko has fallen in with—or been taken captive by—Alvin ‘Big Boy’ Larpis, the most feared gangster who sends his minions to various Earths in search of materials to build the ultimate weapon.

However, when Alvin sends a hit squad to Nate’s and Melanie’s home world, things get darker, more personal, and Nate has to make a terrible choice of seeking vengeance or upholding the law.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Sindicate

Copyright © 2020 J.S. Frankel

ISBN: 978-1-4874-2459-6

Cover art by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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Smashwords Edition

The Sindicate

The Associates, Book 2

By

J.S. Frankel

Dedication

As always, dedicated to my wife, Akiko, and to my sons, Kai and Ray. Other people who have been so helpful and supportive, in no particular order: Sara Linnertz, Harlowe Rose, Emily, Joanne Van Leerdam, Helen Dunn, Suzie Carr, Annette Mori, Toni Kief, Trisha Kelly, Mirren Hogan, Eva Pasco, and Rose Montague. If I have left anyone out, my apologies. I am grateful to you all.

Chapter One: How Things Stand

Portland High School. Friday, noon, September twentieth. Fries and salad for lunch. Standard carb intake.

Like life, my senior school year turned out to be different than how I’d imagined it would go.

At first glance, a person would think I was normal, your average, nondescript, middle-class high school senior. I had a caring mother, and a lovely girlfriend, Melanie Sarkosian. Not too much different than anyone else.

As for my classes, I’d studied hard, crammed on every subject, and my grades showed marked improvement. On the surface, things were looking up. University seemed to be a reality, after all. My teachers had given me my props, and the feedback boosted my ego.

Scratch the surface, though, dig a little deeper, and the reality didn’t quite fit the picture of your average high school scholar wannabe...

Nate, what are you thinking about?

That question came from Melanie—Mel—my nickname for her. Tall, green-eyed, and lovely, she and I made a somewhat improbable couple. In high school, looks ruled. The good-looking guys went for the prettiest girls and vice-versa. Those who weren’t gifted in the looks department were relegated to a second-tier.

No, that rule hadn’t been written in stone, but I saw it every single day of the week. No one could ever tell me different.

Truth be known, I got by with my average appearance. The mirror told me the story—five-nine, lean, with a mop of dark hair, gray eyes, and a nondescript, hatchet face.

That’s the way it was, and I’d come to terms with it a long time ago. Short of plastic surgery, which wasn’t an option, this was how I would look forever, and then my thoughts turned to lunch.

Mel was in the middle of tearing through a sandwich. Me, the fries I had were soggy, and the salad was tasteless, but I had to have something in my stomach, and...

Nate?

Her question brought me back to Earth. Daydreaming could really throw a person off-target. Oh, uh, nothing special.

Right, lie and hope she’ll believe it. A quick glance around the cafeteria told me the story. People were staring at us. No, not blatantly, but they were staring—and whispering.

Mel stopped eating and gazed around the room. I followed her head movement. Sure enough, those who’d been looking in our direction quickly went back to their meals and their lives.

They hadn’t been staring at Mel, pretty though she was.

They hadn’t been staring at the fall weather through the windows.

No, they’d been staring at my right hand.

It seemed that everyone had a backstory. Mine was that I’d been born without a right hand. Up until three months ago, I’d been forced to use a prosthetic, which only invited more gawking, gaping, and the aforementioned staring.

Then Ukiko Monaghan came along. She went by another name—Dividing Woman. A resident of a parallel Earth—that was a mind-bender in and of itself—she’d come here with her powers and tech, and Mel and I had helped her capture two extremely dangerous criminals.

Ukiko’s powers included exceptional strength as well as the ability to divide her body’s atoms and send copies of herself to other places nearby.

Looks-wise, call her a perfect chimera. The left half of her face was Caucasian, with a bright blue eye and short, spiky black hair.

In sharp contrast, the right side was Asian, along with a brown peeper and silky black tresses. When someone talked about being biracial—her father was Irish and her mother, Japanese—she was the perfect symbol of it.

Her appearance had freaked me out at first, but then it dawned on me that she was genuine. Due to her looks, she’d also suffered, and in a kind and wise manner, she’d helped me to realize that having a handicap was really no handicap at all, not if I let it get to me.

At any rate, in a showdown against the main criminal that she was trying to nab—his name was Astral, and he was a truly bad hombre—she’d given me something called Neural Metal.

Here came another mind-trip—Neural Metal could form itself into any shape or thing, flesh or metal that the wearer could imagine.

Initially, I’d formed a hand, a real, human hand, but quickly found another use for it. My first construct had been a plasma cannon—conceive and achieve—but for the past three months, there hadn’t been any burning need to form any weaponry, unless I went on patrol.

For the time being, I amused myself by forming a flower pot, a replica of the Enterprise, the old space shuttle, and a samurai sword.

Each construct was perfect, conceived by my mind’s eye and my imagination. The first and second-year kids thought it was cool—at least, most of them did. In contrast, the seniors looked upon me with suspicion.

In the past, they’d stared at my prosthetic hand, and the obligatory Stumpy or Captain Hook comments had come my way.

Now, though, the looks were ones of trepidation. Would I turn it against them? In a way, I couldn’t blame how they thought, and truth be known, I was tempted at times. Payback. Revenge for past slights. Kick their butts.

However, Mel kept me grounded, and I willed my hand to the form of a catcher’s mitt, and then back to normal.

Mel grinned at the sights. You’re really having fun with that, aren’t you?

Well, yeah. You don’t like it?

A thoughtful expression replaced her grin. I’m still getting used to it, to be honest. Not that I’m not happy for you, she added hastily. But—

But what?

She bit her lip. It’s just that, when we were kids, I got used to you having no hand or wearing your prosthetic. Now, you’ve got some kind of alien tech I can’t understand, and...

It would come to this. People either viewed me as a freak or a cyborg, which really amounted to the same thing in their eyes. I was still me, still human, and just because I had a hand that could become anything I desired didn’t make me any less human.

Mel, I’m still me, the geeky guy you’ve known since first grade. To me, this hand’s a gift, and you don’t return gifts, you know?

Her pensive look vanished. I guess not. And you get a kick out of it, don’t you?

The question made me smile. Truthfully, yes.

Admittedly, it was a trip, although I only used the constructs when necessary.

When necessary meant when helping out the police. After a series of incidents involving another alien, being chased by the authorities, and almost losing our lives, Ukiko had stepped in to arrange a meeting of minds.

The authorities, wishing to get their hands on some alien tech, had agreed. The FBI had taken charge of my well-being, and an agent, Arthur Calumpet, became my personal advisor and liaison with the local authorities.

Chief Morton was another liaison, and just the other day, he’d called me. Nate, we got notice from two of our officers. A robbery is going down as we speak.

That happened at around five in the afternoon. I’d run from my house downtown—ten minutes away—and spotted the action. A group of policemen were keeping the innocents back, while the sounds of shots echoed from inside the bank.

Keep back, one officer yelled at the onlookers. He then bellowed, Is Nate Holliday around?

Way to advertise my presence, Mr. Officer.

No matter. A moment later, two men armed with pistols ran out of a bank, holding bags of money in one hand and pistols in the other. They fired into the air, dashed over to a car, dove in, and the getaway vehicle took off at high speed...

Only to run into an iron wall that I’d thrown up with my hand. The impact crushed the front end of their car and knocked them out. Constructs rocked. Three police officers ran over to take charge of them.

We’ll take it from here, one of them said and stared at my hand.

I’d willed it back to normal, but the officer still had that goggle-eyed look and asked, What are you? I’d heard about you, but I didn’t believe it—until now. What are you, some kind of a—

Freak?

He turned red and mumbled a half-assed apology. But he still didn’t stop with the holy-crap-this-is-weird look.

Uh-huh. The charge of freak had been tossed at me ad infinitum since I was old enough to know that I didn’t have a right hand.

Now that I had a hand that could become anything that I willed it to be, someone else just had to say something.

Temper, temper, I had to keep it. I’d promised the police as well as the FBI that I’d promised my girlfriend, promised my mother, and finally, I’d promised myself.

Still, at times like now, I was a nose hair shy of losing it, and if I imagined what I wanted to do with this new hand-weapon...

No, it wasn’t worth it, and I turned away and started walking.

Thanks, kid! That came from Mr. Policeman. He could have said it to my face. He didn’t.

As I walked down the street, past the onlookers, shutting my ears to the whispers and quiet giggles, Mel walked out of the crowd.

Astonished, I asked her what she was doing here. We’re a team, remember? You didn’t call me.

Oh, yeah, my bad—and it was a dumb bad. I had a smartphone that the police had given to me, and Mel’s number was at the top of the list.

Even though she didn’t have any powers, she was still my girlfriend and someone I cared for—and I should have called her. Sorry I didn’t contact you. In all the excitement, I got, well, uh—

You got busy. You forgot.

A note of impatience sounded, and I knew I’d messed up, so I turned to her and hesitantly put my arms around her waist. I’m sorry, I repeated, and meant it. "We are a team. I should have called you."

Mel pulled back a moment before burying her head in my chest. She then lifted her head to lay a kiss on me, and...

Nate!

Reality intruded, as did the sharp sound of my girlfriend’s voice. I’d been daydreaming again, and lifted my head. Uh, sorry, Mel, I was thinking.

Thinking about what? Her voice contained only the faintest trace of sarcasm, but I knew it would get worse.

You.

My answer mollified her only a little, but her expression—formerly pissed off—relaxed, and she flashed a smile. Nate, I realize I don’t have the magic touch like you do, but I thought we were a team. I mean, we’re already dating, so, you know...

I did. Sorry, Mel, I was thinking about how I messed up the other day. I’ll call you next time. Promise.

To make it clear, I gave her what I thought was my most soulful expression—that of a puppy dog yearning for affection. Mel giggled. You look ridiculous.

How do I look?

Constipated.

Wonderful, I couldn’t even do puppy dogs well. Mel put her hands on my forearms, preventing me from grabbing some soggy fries. We’re together, and nothing can change that. I want to help, I do.

You’re helping me now. You’re my girlfriend, and... you’re all that I want.

A smile that spoke of love flitted across her face. You are, too, and—

You’re still with this freak? a voice said off to our left.

Marvelous, this goof would have to show up. The voice belonged to Richard Dirke, one of my classmates. At over six feet, he had a gut, but he was built like a powerlifter—big all over.

In his case, he actually was a powerlifter, and he held the school record in the bench press and squat. That meant he had an awful lot of muscle under the avoirdupois.

He also captained the wrestling team, and he wasn’t afraid to slap a move on someone he didn’t like. For fun, he usually picked on the freshmen or the juniors. Just for practice, he always said, although everyone knew what he really wanted. Richard loved to dominate others. That was his raison d’etre in life

Now, it seemed as though he wanted to test me. With a toothy grin, he leaned over to rest his forearms on the table. His pockmarked face and pasty skin made me think of a clown that hadn’t quite made the grade.

Richard had the personality of a pushy, overconfident jerk, the stereotype of a jock. He also had a bad case of halitosis, and that seemed to put most people off.

The only reason no one had ever done anything was that he happened to be the principal’s son. Our old principal, Mr. Finlay, had been transferred during the summer, and Lawrence Dirke became our new school dictator.

Now, if push came to shove, things would not work in my favor. Although I’d matured into a decent student, I didn’t participate in sports, and everyone looked upon me as being some kind of alien—which was sort of true, considering I had alien tech attached to my body.

If I ever got into a fight, people would accuse me of using my tech to hurt them, and, being honest about it all, it wasn’t an unfair idea.

However, in this case, being suspended or expelled would be the result of kicking Richard’s ass. Everyone knew that, but no one did anything about it. At least, they hadn’t—so far.

Mel, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care what the consequences would be. She took her hands away from me and crossed them in front of her chest. What is it, Dick?

Dick Dirke. Sounded like a name a porn star would use. He knew it, so did everyone else, and his face turned an angry red. Hey, my name’s Richard. Got it?

Whatever you say, Dick, Mel responded in a breezy manner. She took crap from no one, least of all, bullies. Now, leave.

Richard smirked. Make me. Oh, wait, maybe Captain Hook can do it.

Oh, go ahead and push my buttons some more, why don’t you? He was looking for a fight, and he’d get one if it came to that. Even though he outsized me by a good three inches and around eighty pounds, this would not stand.

No, it would not stand, so I got up. As I did so, the rest of the students suddenly decided to make studying their number one vocation in life and vacated the area immediately. Richard watched them leave with a grin. Hey, just you and me, now, Holliday.

Yeah.

It wasn’t the pithiest response around, but it rocked him. I’d learned how to fight when I was little. Having only one hand forced me to develop my own style, and my late father—he’d died almost eight years ago, when I was ten—had helped.

Now, while I didn’t like getting into fights, sometimes it was the only way. Richard blinked. You really want to take me on, Holliday? You’ll lose. Oh, and your girlfriend doesn’t go in for losers. She likes winners, like me.

Oh, so that was it! He was making a play for my girlfriend. Mel, though, had her own ideas, and she got up, her eyes shooting out danger signals.

Do you really think I’m interested in you? she asked, her voice cutting the air like a knife, and she nailed him with a glare. Do you?

Yeah, I do.

Wrong answer.

To underscore her point, she smacked him—hard—across his meaty face. That rocked him, and he grabbed her hand in his paw, practically crushing it. You little—

She let out a cry of pain. Thought and instinct combined, and I quickly formed my hand into a mini-shovel and rapped him on the nose. He howled as the impact drew blood, let go, and held his hand to his nose, snarling, You’re dead, Holliday, y’hear me, and—

Mr. Dirke, is there a problem?

The voice came from behind us. I reformed my hand and looked around. It was Mr. Corso, the Phys-Ed teacher who also coached the wrestling team. A man as large as a bear, he did not put up with bullies. He may have acknowledged that Dirke was a star athlete, but he didn’t care for his attitude.

Now, Corso was pissed off. Narrowed eyes and flared nostrils gave it away. He strode over to confront his number one player on the team.

Although Richard was a big kid, Corso outsized him by three inches and weighed around three hundred pounds. Too much of a size disadvantage, not to mention Corso’s teacher status. He clamped his hand down on Richard’s shoulder, squeezed hard, and the punk winced. Sorry, sir.

Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Ms. Sarkosian and Mr. Holliday, or would you rather I had a word with your father? He may not do anything, but I will. I want team players, not jerks. Got it?

Richard held his hand to his nose to stem the bleeding and intoned in a foghorn voice, Sorry.

That’s better, Corso said.

The bell rang, signaling a return to class. Corso offered a friendly nod and strode off. Richard glared at us. You’re dead meat, Holliday. You got your special hand to protect you. Take me on without it. You’ll see.

It was tempting, but instead of me responding, Mel said, Don’t you have somewhere to go, like the little boy’s room? You’re bleeding all over the table.

Richard opened his mouth, but then shut it and walked off. My girlfriend simply smiled. Shall we go?

We shall, I answered and tossed the rest of my lunch in the garbage.

As we went to our lockers, I thought about the eventuality of it all. Sooner or later, I’d have to take Dirke on. Mentally sighing over the inevitability of it