VIC SLADE, PRIVATE EYE - The Slade Genesis - Chapter 3 | Vic, Boat, Matthew

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VIC SLADE, PRIVATE EYE - The Slade Genesis - Chapter 3

This story may contain adult content.

Written by TRUMAN DAVIS
Friday, 09 May 2008

Now free from the confines of the graveyard and the threat of Angus Mac's goons, Vic led Matthew down several alleyways and back to his office where, from across the street, Vic could see 6 more of Angus's crew through the front window. He stopped Matthew with a hand to his chest and watched the men.

"Shit," Vic mumbled. Just then, the gang from the graveyard drove up outside the office. "More shit. Okay, time to get to the safehouse."

Matthew was puzzled. "The what?"

"That's gumshoe vernacular for ‘hideout', kid." Vic whipped his head around towards the office once more when he heard the crashing of his filing cabinet. His face turned red as he checked and reloaded his trusted .45 then tucked it back into its holster on his combat rig. "Let's go." He double-backed down the alley, with Matthew right behind, and reached the street. After waving down a taxi, they got in, Vic gave instructions and the cabbie sped off.

Fifteen minutes later, Vic and Matthew stood outside the gate of a pier that held a dozen boat slips. The gate was held shut by a large chain and padlock.

"We're gonna hideout on a pier?" Matthew chuckled. "How do we pass the time? You teachin' me to fish, or somethin'?"

Vic approached the gate, digging a set of keys from his pocket, and opened the lock. He swung the gate open and shoved Matthew through by the back of his head. "Cut the wise cracks, kid, or I'll hack your ass up and use you for bait."

They walked the wide center walkway of the pier to the last slip where there sat a boat covered by a heavy, oil-stained canvas tarp. Vic yanked it away to reveal a rickety aluminum fanboat bouncing on the muddy water.

"Get in," Vic ordered as he wadded up the canvas. The pungent odors of gas and motor oil filled the air.

Matthew hesitated, "Will it hold me?"

"What'd I say about the wise cracks, brat?"

"That wasn't a wise crack," Matthew replied as he tested the bottom of the boat with his foot before stepping aboard; he noted the three inches of smelly, standing water. At the bow of the seemingly ancient craft were two small seats facing forward, behind them was one that sat much higher up, to the back of which was strapped a leather sheath that holstered a 12 gauge pump action shotgun. Just behind the high seat was a 6-foot, caged fan while to the right of the seat stood a large metal pole that grew out of a metal box that was welded to the floor. In front of the high seat, near the floor, sat two foot pedals and on the floor, to the left of the seat, sat a small 3 gallon gas can with a rubber hose and primer bulb running out of the top. Next to the gas can was a wooden, olive drab, 3-foot long U.S. Army footlocker with the name "SLADE" stenciled in faded yellow on one six inch corner of the lid.

"See that bulb?" Vic pointed to the gas can. "Start pumping. I'll untie us."

Matthew began to squeeze the bulb repeatedly; the gas fumes made him a little dizzy. There was suddenly a large shift the way the boat sat in the water as Vic kicked it away from the slip and let it have his full weight. Matthew thought for a second that it might tip over, but the boat's wide, flat bottom made that feat nearly impossible.

Vic nodded his head toward the seats in the front. "Strap in, kid." Matthew took a seat as Vic tried to start the engine with a pullstring. With each try the motor let out a series of loud belches, then would die, leaving its voice to echo through the trees and across the small water channel. Vic worked the choke until the engine came to life with a vicious, throaty roar; followed by a cloud of grey smoke that engulfed the small water craft.

Matthew coughed and fanned the toxic fog away from his face as Vic eased off on the choke. As the engine reached a steady idle, another sound filled the air. Vic quickly surmised that it wasn't coming from the boat - but from the dock.

As Vic had worked at starting the engine, the current of the waterway had caused them to drift to the within 10 feet from the very end of the wide walkway of the pier.

"What the fu...?" Vic's voice trailed off; he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Coming straight at them right down the center of the 30 foot long pier, engine roaring, was the taxi cab that had brought them there. Vic took one quick look and, though the windshield, saw one of the Angus goons behind the wheel with a giant, toothy grin on his face; next to him was the dead cabbie. For only a split second he didn't really think the idiot would actually drive the damned car off the end of the pier, but his reflexes took over and derailed the thought as his right hand shoved the large metal pole forward.

VVRRRR....!!!! The fan motor reached a deafening pitch and the fan blades spun a vortex of wind and water behind the craft sending it flying forward with the bow rising out of the water.

Matthew screamed and thought for sure he would be flung from his seat, but, to his surprise, the weathered straps held.

Vic put the boat in motion right before the car flew off of the end of the pier and plunged into the murky water where they sat merely a split second before. The surge of water sent the boat nearly out of control in the narrow waterway and Vic quickly worked his feet on the rudder pedals to keep the craft from running aground.

Once the craft was under his control, Vic throttled back and turned in his seat to see that the taxi hadn't completely gone under. The water had only reached the doors but the vehicle was beginning to take a nose dive as the driver climbed out of the car and shimmied onto the roof with a pistol in hand.

Vic pushed the pole forward, throttling ahead, and worked rudder to make a tight turn in the direction of the taxi. He reached back over his right shoulder, unsheathed the shotgun, and pumped it once to chamber a shell. By the time he had done this, the craft was only 12 feet and closing on the goon as he stood to take a shot.

Vic was faster.

BLOWW!!! The blast sent a hailstorm of buckshot right into the center of the man's chest, completely blowing him off the roof of the taxi in a shower of blood and flesh. His lifeless body hit the water with a SPLOOSH!

KRA-KOW!!! KRA-KOW!!!

From the pier, another Angus beefcake was spitting lead and Vic winced as one of the slugs PWINGED!!! off of the metal cage that housed the big fan and WHOOZHED!!! by his ear with a quick, deadly whisper.

Vic throttled full speed away from the pier but would have to turn the boat around to get to the safehouse, which meant passing the pier again.

By now, they had rounded a small bend that was thickly lined with trees and were out of sight of the pier. Vic throttled the boat to a near stop, sheathed the shotgun and opened the footlocker. He reached in and came up with the Thompson 45 submachine gun that saved his ass more times than he could count during the war against the Nazis. He slapped in a fresh magazine and chambered the first round with a SHA-KLICK!

"Matthew, hit the deck!"

"Fuck that! I am not getting out of this chair!"

"Lay down, goddammit!!!"

Matthew grumbled as he struggled to lie down without falling overboard from the speeding boat. He went as flat as he could, soaking himself in the mixture of stale water and gasoline that stood 3 inches deep on the deck of the boat. "Sonofabitch!!!"

"Stay down, kid. We ain't done, yet," Vic throttled up and turned the boat around.

"Hurry the hell up, G.I. Joe, it stinks down here!"

Vic shoved the pole as far forward as it would go. "SHUT UP!!!!" Vic knew the Angus gunmen would hear the motor and be ready. He could see the pier through the trees and wasted no time cutting loose with the Tommy before the boat even rounded the bend.

The first two bursts of the Tommy broke through the leaves and swamp brush as three slugs found a target, knocking the man backward with two in the chest and a stray in the face as his head exploded in a cloud of crimson. Once they cleared the tree line, Vic shouldered the weapon and opened up with full auto as the boat slid across the water at top speed, hydroplaning as they rounded the bend to pass the pier.

Five more goons had gathered on the pier but only two shot back as the roar and surprising presence of the Tommy sent the others scattering for cover. The side of the boat was met with a metallic THUNGK as one of the goons' bullets tried to dig through the aluminum, creating a small dent just inches in front of Matthew's face. The rest of the bullets fell short of their target, creating tiny geysers as they hit the water near the boat.

Vic's .45 caliber slugs tore into the wooden pier like tiny explosions blasting up a cloud of splinters and dust as two gunmen dove into the water to escape the barrage of deathmetal. Another ran for the cover of a deck boat, but not before two bullets caught him in the back and one in the leg, sending him tumbling forward to the deck of the pier. The two that actually shot back didn't fair much better as each was met with several slugs in the torso and legs; both bloody bodies fell limp into the muddy water as the boat pulled away and disappeared around another bend.

After a few minutes, Vic felt it safe enough to slow the boat down to a steady cruising speed.

"You can get up, now," Vic called to Matthew as he reached into the footlocker and exchanged the empty magazine for a full one.

"Great, now I smell like some kind of sewer or something!" Matthew struggled to back into his seat and strap himself in.

"It's an improvement."

"I hope there's a bath tub at your little clubhouse!"

"Safehouse. And you know what? You're becoming more trouble than you're worth. So shut up and let me think. This thing is far from over."

***Watch for more of this EXCITING NEW PULP-STYLE SERIES "VIC SLADE, PRIVATE EYE" with THE SLADE GENESIS - Chapter 4!