The Shattered Men

By Jack Mackenzie

WHAT IS WILD INCORPORATED
To the world at large, Wild Incorporated is an unusual and mysterious organization whose origin is shrouded in secrecy and lost to human memory. To the members of this strange group - six of the most singularly unique and expert intelligences ever assembled - it is a sacred trust, a lifetime's mission dedicated to the extermination of criminals and evil-doers the world over. Together they form a team of unstoppable heroes whose fantastic exploits are unequaled for hair-raising thrills, breathtaking escapes and pulse-pounding excitement!

THE SHATTERED MEN
Harry Calhoun is a reformed small time crook trying to stay out of trouble, but on a trip to New York trouble finds Harry in a big way. Men are literally falling to pieces. They melt. They shatter like glass, or dissolve into clouds of dust. As a witness to one of these bizarre deaths, Harry becomes a wanted man, on the run from the police, the mob and two strange characters, all of whom want to know what Harry knows. Desperate and alone, Harry soon comes face to face with Morrigan Wild, the leader of an extrordinary group of heroes known as WILD INCORPORATED.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. W. Thomas
• Release date: May 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463727249

Jack Mackenzie

Jack Mackenzie's stories have appeared in Dark Worlds Magazine, Encounters Magazine, Neo-Opsis Magazine, Raygun Revival and in the anthologies Magistria: The Realm of the Sorcerer from Ricasso Press,Sails and Sorcery from Fantasist Enterprises, Swords of Fire from Rage Machine Publications. He is the co-editor of the anthology The Void Eternal also from Rage Machine Publications.He lives in the wild country of British Columbia, Canada with his wife and daughter.

Book preview

CHAPTER I

THE SHATTERED MEN

Sicily. Twenty Years Ago

Maria Trevasana walked up from the village along the flower lined path towards her home at the top of the hill. The day was sunny and a cool breeze gently ruffled her blue dress. She stopped walking just as her house came into view. She pulled off her sunglasses.

A large man wearing a dark suit and tie stood on the path ahead of her. He stared at her with a blank expression then began to move slowly towards her. His over-sized hands held a silver automatic pistol.

Maria clutched the bag of vegetables she’d just bought at the market. She turned to run back down the path but a smaller man blocked the way. He wore a similar dark suit and had a scar that ran from his forehead to his chin. She stopped, frozen in terror. How had he managed to slip up behind her so silently?

She opened her mouth to scream but his hand made a quick, practiced movement and a shiny blade waved in front of her nose. Don’t make a sound, he whispered in Sicilian. I’ll cut you if you do. His voice sounded jagged like a broken bottle.

Cosa Nostra. Maria felt her throat tighten and her gorge rise as the rough hands of the bigger man grabbed her arms from behind. He lifted her up. Her grocery bag slipped from her arms, scattering vegetables all over the path. She felt one of her white leather shoes fall off. She let out a small squeak and the smaller man poked her in the side with his switchblade.

They hustled up to the house, the bigger man effortlessly holding Maria in front of him. She was barely able to catch a breath because of the big man’s arms around her sternum. She saw the children’s toys scattered about their little stone tiled yard – Paulo’s soccer ball and Antonia’s little dollies.

Her chest tightened even further. Where were her children? She’d left them with Mamma Di. Where was Mamma Di?

They bundled her through her front door. The brightness of the outside daylight was suddenly gone and the inside of her house seemed shrouded in darkness. She could hear no sounds of her children. Had Mamma Di got them away?

The big man tossed her roughly onto the floor in her front room. Her dress tore as she fell and her right knee connected painfully with the wooden boards. She heard a crack and felt a sudden pain jolt from her knee to her hip.

She let out a shout. Immediately the scarred man waved the switchblade in her face. Don’t even consider screaming for help, he rasped. Or you’ll end up getting what the old woman got.

Maria’s eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the house. A body lay on the floor near the window. The blinds were closed but Maria could tell that it was Mamma Di. Mamma Di lay on her stomach, unmoving, her head twisted, a dark stain on the floor underneath her.

Maria’s eyes blurred with tears. Please don’t hurt my children, she managed, her voice hitching with sobs. Please don’t hurt my babies...

"Shh. Shhhh, the scarred man said, his jagged voice trying to soothe. You will see them soon," he said. His face broke into an awful grin. His scar seemed to move aside to give it room.

Your brother – Phillipe, the scarred man said, his voice seeming to try for a conversational tone. "He talked to the police. You know that? He talked and we can’t have that. You know Omerta?"

Marie nodded. She knew about the mafia code. There were reprisals for those who talked to the police. She had told Phillipe to stay away from the mob. She had begged him not to join. But he’d been obsessed with being one of the big men. But for all his bravado Phillipe had always been a scared little boy.

Maria shook her head. Her tears were flowing and her nose was running and her voice squeaked out of her throat in little sobs. Please... not my children... not my children...

The scarred man nodded. You’ll join them soon. There’s just one thing we need to know. Your husband. Vincenzo. Where is he?

Vincenzo. He’d gone to the mainland this morning. He had to go to Barcelona on business. She shook her head. I don’t know, she sobbed. I swear I don’t know...

You can’t lie to me, girl. I will make you talk. Just me and this little knife of mine. The scarred man tried to look regretful but Maria could see the glint of anticipation in his eyes.

She knew that he would try to make her talk and that it would be hours before she could join her children (for deep inside she knew what had already happened to them). But Vincenzo was a good man. She would not betray him, not to these animals.

It was several hours and a lifetime’s worth of pain and suffering before Maria Trevasana joined her children and Mamma Di but she did not tell the two men where her husband had gone.

New York City. Today.

The overcast sky threatened rain but the brats still wanted their time at the play park.

Chelsea Cobbler bundled up her charges, five year old Nathan and three year old Alicia, and insisted, despite their protests, that they wear sweaters. They listened because she was their nanny, but they weren't happy about it. She got them down the elevator and out the front door holding their little hands so they wouldn’t run into traffic.

She saw the small, bespectacled, white haired man in the lobby, but her cell phone began playing the Darth Vader theme. Her stepmother.

Chelsea ignored the man and her phone until the brats were in the park and climbing all over the colored plastic playground. She sat on the cold stone bench and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She sighed inwardly not really wanting to return the call.

"Sa ‘benerica" said a querulous voice. Chelsea turned and smiled up at old Mister Cattaneo. He was aged and thin and wore a light colored suit and tie. A little fedora sat on top of his head. His granddaughter, little Rosa, held his hand. She wore a pretty white dress and a pink coat.

Good morning Mister C. Chelsea said. Hello Rosa,

'lo Chelsea, Rosa said, not taking her eyes off her goal. "Come on, Nonnoh! she insisted, pulling at her grandfather’s hand. I wanna swing! Push me on the swing, Nonnoh!"

The old man and his granddaughter moved over to the swings. Chelsea did a check on her brats. They were arguing but not hitting each other. She opened her cell phone and hit the speed dial for her mother-in law. As she listened to the phone ring she watched as little Rosa jumped excitedly into the plastic seat of the swing. Mister Cattaneo give a gentle push "Higher, Nonnoh, higher!" Rosa demanded.

Chelsea, her mother-in-law’s clipped voice came on the line. I’m glad you called back. I need you to help me pick out some flowers for your father. You haven't forgotten what day it is, have you?

Chelsea sighed inwardly, Well, Louisa, you know that anything will work for him. As long as they’re not lilies.

What do you think of chrysanthemums? Louisa went on.

Chelsea listened to her mother-in-law’s chatter while watching the brats. They’d stopped their argument and had retreated to separate parts of the playground. Old Mister Cattaneo continued to push his granddaughter on the swing.

"Higher, Nonnoh!" Rosa urged as she swung backwards.

Then Mister Cattaneo’s arm fell off.

Chelsea heard herself take a sharp breath.

Little Rosa squealed with delight at the apex of her swing, oblivious of her grandfather’s sudden calamity. Her back swing knocked her grandfather over.

Chelsea jumped off the bench and ran across the grass, her cell phone call forgotten. When she reached the old man she stopped in horror.

Mister Cattaneo was melting onto the grass like an ice-cream cone on a hot day. His skin sloughed off and his blood, bone and musculature poured out of his clothes like gelatin. A scream caught in Chelsea’s throat as she locked eyes with the old man. Mister Cattaneo stared at her with a confused, pained expression as if he was looking to her for an explanation of what was happening. Then his face broke up and melted away.

Rosa let out a high pitched squeal and the scream that had caught in Chelsea’s throat suddenly came loose, joining the other and shattering the air.

Phil Parksville glanced at his watch. They only had the studio for another hour and Marco Lugazo was running late.

They were scheduled to tape one more show. The kitchen was ready, the ingredients prepared, the studio audience was in their seats and waiting for the taping to begin.

Marco was still in his dressing room. He’d spent the week taping shows. One more and they’d have a complete season. Phil knew Marco was getting tired and when he got tired he got grouchy and when he got grouchy he started to drink. The network had almost dropped Marco Cooks when stories about his drinking binges started getting around. The last thing Phil needed was a re-hash of all that.

What the fuck is going on there?’ one of the switchers said. Phil looked over and saw the switchers huddled around a monitor. Phil walked over and glanced at it. Someone had switched it to a local news channel. BREAKING NEWS announced a banner below images shot from a helicopter above what looked like a play park. DEADLY OUTBREAK IN CHELSEA, the banner read. There were ambulances and fire trucks gathered out front of a building. That’s not far from here. Jesus, they’re wearing hazmat suits!"

A terrorist attack in Chelsea? Phil said. Not very likely. Turn that shit off. We can worry about it after we get this last show done.

One of the switchers turned off the news If Marco’s sober, that is, he grumbled.

Phil’s lips thinned and he was about to issue a rebuke when Marco’s dressing room door opened.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Marco’s voice carried across the studio.

Phil darted towards the dressing room. He saw a smallish man in a shabby tweed jacket – an older man with wild white hair, round wire frame glasses and a gray goatee. Marco pushed him out the door, his face flushed with anger and his white chef’s jacket half undone.

Get out! Marco shouted at the old man. Comin’ round here, makin’ accusations about my family! Get outta here, you old fuck!

The old man scampered down the hallway and out the back door of the studio.

Jesus, Marco, Phil said. Keep your voice down. The studio audience can hear everything you say!

I don’t care! Marco said, a little quieter this time but still with a full head of steam. The nerve of that guy!

Phil bundled Marco back into his dressing room and closed the door. What the fuck was that all about?

I don’t know, Marco said, dropping onto the couch. He must have been in the audience for the last taping. I was signing autographs and when everyone was gone, there he was... in my dressing room!

Who was he?

I don’t know, some old crazy fucker...

What did he say to you?

He started sayin’ that my family were all murderers... ‘butchers’ is the word he used. He said my family were butchers. I thought he meant... you know... meat cutters at first. I couldn’t believe it when I realized he meant murderers. Like anyone in my family ever killed anyone! No one in my family would hurt a fly!

Marco was getting worked up again. Phil held up a hand in a calming gesture. Take it easy. He was just a crazy old man.

He smelled, too. He got close to me. I could smell his breath. It smelled like meat that’s gone off.

Phil nodded in sympathy. I know. But he’s gone now. I’ll alert security. He won’t get anywhere near here again. We’ll put in a police report, get a restraining order, whatever we have to do. He won’t bother you again. But listen. We’ve got a studio audience out there waiting for Chef Marco. The kitchen’s all ready for you. Whaddya say?

Marco nodded. Yeah, he jumped off the couch, did his boxer’s dance, punching the air. Let’s do this! Marco’s ready to cook!

That’s my star, Phil said, grinning as he opened the dressing room door.

The audience was warmed up and applauding as Marco bounded onto the set. He waved at the crowd and smiled his trademark smile. Then he jumped up and slammed his hand down, throwing an imaginary pinch of salt POW! the audience screamed his famous catchphrase and Marco laughed.

The applause died down and Marco hit his mark and looked into the lens of Camera One. Welcome to Marco Cooks. he said with practiced ease. "I’m Marco Lugazo and today we’re going to make a traditional dish from my home country of Sicily. Caponata is a dish that my grandmother used to make and she taught me her recipe which was handed down to her from her grandmother. Today we’re making Caponata, but we’re gonna ratchet it up!"

The audience broke into applause at Marco’s trademark phrase. Phil smiled. All was going well and Marco’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Marco walked toward the kitchen, stepping behind preparation counter. As he did so Phil heard a loud crack and Marco seemed to trip. He fell out of sight behind the counter. The audience gasped and Phil let out a grunt of disbelief. Marco had never fallen before, even when he was half cut. He hadn’t smelled any alcohol on him so what the hell...?

There were a few uncomfortable titters from the audience but they quickly died when Marco screamed in agony.

Stagehands rushed to the counter and Phil rushed alongside them. When he came around the counter Phil could not believe the sight that met his eyes.

Marco was on the floor nursing his leg. Phil goggled in disbelief as Marco’s shoe fell off and what looked like small bits of broken black glass poured out of his pant cuff where his leg should have been.

Marco gasped and reached up for the top of the counter to haul himself up. The stagehands surrounding him were too stunned to do anything but stare. Phil was too stunned to move.

Marco got up on one leg and uttered a strangled cry of anguish. Hie reached out with his right hand to steady himself. The hand cracked and the shattered, scattering pieces over the counter. Little hard bits of Marco’s arm poured from his white sleeve only to skitter off the counter and onto the floor.

The audience erupted into hysterical cries. Phil was vaguely aware of a stampede of people rushing from the seats.

Marco’s other leg gave way, cracking into pieces. Marco fell. His body landed heavily on the studio floor and what was left of him shattered like glass inside his clothes. Marco’s eyes found Phil’s. Phil could only stare in horror at Marco’s horrified expression as his head shattered like so much broken glass.

Harry Calhoun’s heart beat so loud in his chest that some mad part of his brain thought for certain that the two thugs threatening the old man must be able to hear it.

Calhoun was crouched behind a