Drug Wars Part 3: Iron Curtain (The Revengist #3)

By I.D. Russell

Ninja. The silent assassins. Using ancient martial arts techniques passed down through the secret orders of hired killers, they stalk by night and murder without a trace. Now they’ve come to River City and it’s not to sightsee!
He might have killed the world’s biggest drug supplier in Carlos Mendoza, but that only made the real bad guys mad. Now they’re after him with everything they’ve got. In an all out battle for the future of Canada that spans the globe, THE REVENGIST is in a fight for more than just his life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: I.D. Russell
• Release date: Feb 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781988383170

I.D. Russell

When he’s not working full time, training in Hapkido and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, or looking after his kids, Ian likes to relax with a good book/board game/video game/movie/retro pro-wrestling match. Somewhere in there he finds time to write and make movies.Check out www.ringojones.com for links to his movies and follow him on Facebook, twitter, and youtube

Book preview

THE REVENGIST

DRUG WARS: IRON CURTAIN

by I. D. Russell

The Revengist #3

Drug Wars: Iron Curtain © 2017 by I.D. Russell

All Rights Reserved.

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

Ringo Jones Productions

www.ringojonesproductions.com

Winnipeg, Canada

CHAPTER ONE SCREAM FOR THE DYING

Have you seen the singer’s hair? It’s so dreamy, Rachel said, clinging to Hank’s arm. She was pushed tight to him, trying to siphon off some of his body heat as she went on and on about her favourite band.

A cold autumn wind was blowing through River City, telling everyone that winter was on its way. Hank and Rachel had just left a screening of Lady Chatterly’s Lover and he was trying to get her back to his place before the image of a naked Sylvie Kristel faded from his mind. The tits on that woman...wow. The things I’d like to do to those! He was amped up from all the nudity and was hoping that she was too. If he turned the lights out, he could keep that classic French beauty in his mind’s eye.

Girl, you’re every woman in the world, to me! Rachel sang in her soft sylph-like voice. Why can’t you say stuff like that to me, huh?

Sorry I’m not a ballad guy, okay? If you want I’ll sing you ‘The Best of Times.’

Ugh, no thanks. I’m not into Journey.

Styx, not Journey.

Whatever, they’re no Air Supply, either way.

It wasn’t that Rachel was unattractive, she was your typical River City girl next door. She had dark hair and eyes, a strong nose, a winning smile, and she had a job working down at the Dominion Grocery Store. It was just that Rachel was so...mundane. Life with her was dinner, movie, maybe some necking in the car, then drop her off home and lights out. She was early to bed, early to rise, church on Sunday, get to work Monday to Friday and do it all again the following weekend. Where was the passion? Where was the spontaneity? Where were the drive-in make-outs, the movie theatre hand-jobs, the sexy polaroids, the expensive lingerie? Shit, where was her pussy?

He’d been trying to get in-between her legs for months. She was such a cock tease. She’d barely batted an eyelash when he’d taken out his dick in the theatre, just looked over and stuffed it in his pants before going back to eating the extra buttery popcorn. Why couldn’t she have done like Fanny had with Pete? Pete had told him that Fanny had been so hot for cock that she’d gone to town on him right in the middle of the movie, slurping his dick like a soda in the last row.

Rachel hadn’t taken the hint. She’d just handled him like a slab of bologna. But then at least she’d touched his dick. That was the most action he’d had so far with her. Heavy petting was all well and good, but eventually you had to give up the goods or he’d move on. There were plenty of other chicks in this town who were hot for it. All he had to do was call one up. Maybe he could get some sloppy seconds from Fanny.

So put your hand in mine and together, we’ll climb as high as the highest star! She warbled as they walked.

Psssssst, man, you looking to score?

Hank barely heard the whisper coming from the alleyway. He’d been too busy trying not to listen to Rachel sing Air Supply.

Hey, you! the voice cried out again.

Hank turned his head at the man calling to him from the darkness. He wore a thick wool coat with the collar pulled up high, a dark toque pulled low so that you could barely see his eyes. He was standing against the red brick wall, waving a pale hand before shoving it in his pockets when he was sure that Hank had seen him.

Why’d we stop? Rachel asked him.

He was staring at the shadowed form in the alley. Did you say something, man? he asked the mysterious figure in the toque.

I said, you looking to score?

What, like in hockey? Rachel asked.

Pipe down, Rach, I’m talking business here.

She clung tight to his leather clad arm, her eyes darting around the street like a nervous deer. Hurry up. I don’t like this neighbourhood.

Just relax, girl. I’ll only be a second. What is it exactly that you’ve got to sell? he asked the man, trying to play it cool.

The man looked around the corner of the alley with a nervous jerkiness. Hey, man you a cop? What’s with the dumb-shit questions?

No, I’m not a cop, do I look like one?

It was doubtful that anyone would have mistaken Hank for a police officer. He was tall, lanky, with a full head of moppish dark hair. He was currently growing a full on soup strainer moustache. It covered his lip like a bushy hat and was almost a full Burton Cummings Special. He’d heard that chicks were into them now, heard that Burton himself was turning down more tail than even Mick Jagger. He wanted a taste of that action, and while he didn’t have the moves of Jagger or the voice of Burton, the one thing he could have was the kick ass ‘stache.

 Hank wore a leather jacket and tight jeans. The collar was turned up and he kept his coat unbuttoned. It was cold and the air chilled his skin through his thin Styx concert shirt, but at least he looked cool.

The man in the alley looked him over before finally relaxing. Nah, I guess you’re just a townie. So what, you want to score?

Hank tried to seem calm and collected. Maybe I do or maybe I don’t. I don’t really know what you have or how much. That’s not how I like to do business.

Hank, Rachel said plaintively pulling on his arm, I don’t think we should be talking to that guy. I think he might be a drug dealer. She whispered the last part like just saying it out loud could get them arrested.

The man in the alley laughed. Shit man, your bitch is one first class Einstein.

Hank tried to play it suave, cover for Rachel’s naïveté. Hey, she makes up for it in the looks department. He squeezed her in tight, not even noticing her burning glare.

Alright, what you want to do? Get high? Get low? Get hard? Get screwed up? Black out? Think you’re flying? Think you’re a dragon? Forget your name? Turn inside out?

Hmmm, maybe the third one.

Get hard? The man laughed again. Sure, I can dig that. A pussy like that deserves the best, you know what I’m saying? He licked his lips as he eyed Rachel.

Hank laughed along as the man dug around in his coat and pulled out a small vial of yellow liquid. Okay, here you go, one dose of Yellow Sunshine. Get you ready to go all night long. You want it?

Hank!

Easy Rach, you need to relax a little. You never try anything.

But that’s drugs!

Maybe it’ll be fun. Don’t you want to have a crazy sex life like in that movie?

Not before marriage I don’t. She pulled her arms away from him and crossed them over her chest.

Hank shook his head and turned back to the man, who seemed to be getting antsy at the length of time this deal was taking.

How much? he asked.

A hundred.

A hundred bucks? For one hit? That’s highway robbery, I can’t afford that.

The man pulled the drugs back. Sorry bro, but the river’s done dried up lately. Price gone through the roof. Until someone else steps up with some source we all got to just make do with what we got. Seller’s market you know?

But I only have twenty bucks!

He tucked the vial back into his jacket. Hey man, twenty can get you a little grass, but you want to do better shit, you gotta start producing Queens for me, you dig?

Hank felt Rachel pulling on his arm. She’d finally had enough. Take me home. I want to go home.

He was losing his chance, he could feel it. Whatever pull the movie had was dissipating. But maybe she’d relax and open up a little more if they smoked a doobie. It was worth a shot.

Alright fine, give me the weed.

Pleasure doing business with you, my man, the strange dealer in the dark said, slapping Hank’s hand with a tiny rolled up joint in a baggie.

He passed along the rolled up bill. Yeah I guess.

Just then Rachel screamed out. The dealer jerked his head behind him and Hank’s mouth dropped in fright. Something huge came out of the darkness and grabbed the funny man in the toque, pulling him backwards with the force of a bear. Hank was frozen in place as he heard the man screaming, the sounds of a struggle, a gurgle of a broken windpipe, some kind of sick squishing noise. It had all happened so fast that he hadn’t seen what had yanked him.

Rachel pulled on his coat one more time, then finally gave up and ran down the street, but Hank just stared into the darkness, trying to figure out what it was that was in there. An animal? Then, footsteps approached, the cold air blew a chill up his spine as someone reached out for him.

Rachel never once looked back, even when Hank’s blood curdling cries pierced the night sky. She turned the corner, desperate to make it to a main street. Oh why had he insisted on coming to that shit theatre to see that nudie movie? Why couldn’t they have gone to someplace nice to see Chariots of Fire instead?

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Her breath blew up clouds of mist in front of her as she ran. Her feet were aching from her shoes, but she could see the lights of the main street up ahead. There’d be people walking there, a crowd. Someone to help. Maybe a phone to call the cops.

Then, something crashed into her from behind and knocked her to the ground. It was like an animal pouncing on her and she scraped her hands on the pavement as she hit. She felt the skin tear in strips from the cold concrete. She tried to roll away but was pinned down by a monster.

Oh please help! she shouted.

Something grabbed her hair and pulled her up, leaving her neck exposed. It was panting in her ear. The breath was hot, wet, smelling strangely of beets.

Please don’t hurt me. I’m a virgin, I love Jesus, I didn’t want to buy any stupid drugs!

The weight on her was unbearable, the pressure was crushing her ribs. The tears flowed down her cheeks as she prayed to God to let her live. The hot breath was coming closer, closer. She could feel it inside her skull. But then, just like that, it was gone. She rolled over but instead of seeing some kind of wild beast dashing off into the night, she was met with an empty street instead. What? Who?

She said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d survived. She didn’t dare go back to see what happened to Hank, what if there were others of whatever that thing was still there? She rose up and ran towards the towering light in the distance. The Yakatori Plaza, they’d have a phone there.

CHAPTER TWO PARTS BRAVERY

...and so I bestow upon you the highest honour the city can provide to one of its officers of the peace, the order of the Raging Beaver.

The red-faced mayor held up a gleaming silver medal on a red silk collar. Frank bent his head and felt the mayor slide it over his hair and place it on his shoulders. It was surprisingly heavy on his body, it must be made of something pure. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him. He looked back to the mayor and saw the man nod in approval.

Frank turned to face the crowd that had amassed in front of city hall for the ceremony. There was the press with their whirring cameras and flashing bulbs, journalists standing watching, composing their thoughts for the front page and six o’clock stories to follow. He knew hotshot reporter April Titus would be among them somewhere. That woman had the nose for news and today he was it. 

Lined up next to the small stage was a contingent of the police dressed in their honour guard attire, his brothers and sisters of the blue here to lend their support on his big day. They all looked resplendent in their spit shined shoes and perfectly pressed dress blues. Frank knew that there was more than one officer among them dealing with envy right now. While they had all worked hard on the drug problem, this award was all about him. He was the one who’d gone above and beyond the call of duty to crack the case while they had all just sat around and played desk hockey.

He saw a few of the boys from the watering hole downtown, hiding at the back in their long brown coats. They were the guys he shared a brew with when the quitting time bell rang, men he cheered on the Jets with, men who’d told him more about themselves while crying into an empty whiskey glass then they’d told their wives after twenty years of marriage. Their support meant just as much to him as that of his co-workers. They respected him as a man first.

He noticed Casey standing smiling off to the side of the crowd. The girl he’d rescued, his salvation. Her sunny warmth and blonde hair was in stark contrast to the overcast day. He knew she’d be here no matter what. She still gave him credit for saving her life from drugs, getting her off the streets and cleaning her up, giving her a second chance by providing a place to live and offering support while she got back on her feet. Seeing her was a source of pride more than any medal could impart. She was living proof of all the good work he’d done that went unnoticed by the powers that be. She would carry on long after he was gone. She would his legacy.

 Chief O’Rourke was standing behind the mayor, beaming behind his thick moustache. His bald head shining from sweat even outside in the cold. The man could perspire in a blizzard. He was the one who had recommended Frank’s name to the mayor, written the letter of commendation that sealed the deal. So in a way, Frank had him to thank for getting this award. It did catch him off guard to hear that O’Rourke had gone out of his way to do this. Frank had always assumed they had a love-hate thing going on. But then maybe all those screaming fits and heart attacks came from love? 

Anyone that was anyone in his life was here to see him get the Raging Beaver, work and personal, public and private worlds. But there was one person who was conspicuous by her absence. Had she been in the crowd, this would have been the perfect day. 

Jessica Dawes, his old partner. Something had changed in her while she was held prisoner by narco-terrorist Carlos Mendoza back in Panama at his secret compound. Some kind of light had been extinguished by the weeks of hellish torture that she’d barely spoken about. He’d seen it on the plane ride back, as the rest of Go-Team drank and laughed and compared kill counts. She’d sat in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, staring out the window at the dark clouds of the night sky.

What’s wrong, rookie? he’d asked her, sitting in the seat beside her.

I used to believe in the inherent goodness of people, Frank, she’d replied, barely audible over the sounds of the engines of the transport plane.

She hadn’t called him sir. That should have tipped him off that something was wrong.

I used to think that but for some simple twist of fate, we were all born decent, with empathy, with love for our fellow human being.

Whatever gave you that idea, kid? he’d asked, but she’d just ignored him.

I thought that if I went into law enforcement, I could make a difference, help people who had maybe fallen through the cracks of the system. But... She’d shivered, a tear flowing down her face. There are some people who were born bad, aren’t there, Frank?

He’d nodded as he replied, sure kid: rapers, murderers, pushers, thieves, con-men, lawyers and dirty commies.

Rapists. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, it’s rapists! Oh, fuck it, it’s not worth it. She’d wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. None of this is, really. Everything I believed in was a lie. Some people are just empty inside, twisted, evil. There’s no saving people like that. I can see that now.

Look Jessica, if you’re still torn up about shooting that naked broad with the shotgun, don’t worry about it. That’s just like popping a cherry when you’re a cop. After the first time, it gets easier.

Frank hadn’t known why Jessica had insisted on finding the torture room of the Mendoza compound before they’d fled to the helicopter. It had almost cost them their ride back and their lives. But he’d seen a burning need for revenge in her eyes and understood that some fires had to be banked in order to live your life. So he’d let her go, watched as she took aim at a dark amazon and blew her wishbone in half with a single blast. He’d hoped that with that one bloody death, whatever was weighing her down would have faded away.

It’s not that, Frank. I know that woman had to die. She did things to me, to others, that have no forgiveness, no comprehension. If I hadn’t taken her out, she would have done it all again to someone else.

Then why so glum? The rest of the team are getting blasted drunk. If we’re lucky, Brutal Suzy might decide to sing.

She’d kept her eyes locked on the window outside. I’m not interested in losing my head again Frank, not now and not ever. I don’t know what came over me, but...

He’d sensed something in her that wanted to be left alone, some kind of introspective longing. He never knew what to say to people when they got like this. He’d never been one to stop and think too much. He was a doer. Someone who lived on the edge and never looked down. Who knew how many blasted nude women were in his background? He’d never stopped to count. He’d known that it was best to let her go through her darkness on her own.

But while he’d gone to the back of the plane to celebrate another successful black