The grand finale’

Volker had been busy during the initial stage of the melee. He’d ducked behind the Expedition and loaded up on his favorite brand of firewater: Johnny Walker; Black Label. He’d need to sling Mojo before this job was through. He wanted to be sure the gas tank was full and the motor was ready to rev on full.

He felt the alcohol racing through his bloodstream his temples pounded and he was ready for anything. When the SUV was sent over on his side, he barely ducked out of harm’s way. He came out the side a little behind where Derrick “The hawk” Chapman was plugging zombie scum like Doc Holiday at OK Corral.

A large, fat behemoth of a zombie had run at him. He dropped the whammy with a mad, drunken glint in his eye. A large tree branch had dislodged itself from a pine and landed hard on the zombie’s back. It pinned the creature to the turf, having obviously snapped one of his trunk like legs. The half man, half monster let out a forlorn wail as it attempted to work free.

Volker looked at the vile thing and said. “Shut yer’ f—cking garbage mouth.” As he leveled his .22 at its temple and put it down like a bad one-night stand.

The private investigator then wheeled to his left. He saw Hawk Chapman doing something completely out of character. He was backing away from an enemy and pulling the trigger of an obviously empty weapon.

“Johnnie Walker, don’t fail me now!” He demanded.

He concentrated hard on the woman approaching Chapman. A whirling dervish of expended shell casings began swirling around the space between Volker and the disgusting zombie woman. He pointed his finger at her and said “Last call, you stinkin’ c—t!”

Chapman was taken aback. The zombie advancing to kill him stopped in its tracks. A rain of expended shell casings swirled around her and began to chop her face into a bad plate of sushi. Thirty seconds of that were all her or Chapman could stand. She collapsed in an agonized, dying heap. Chapman just stood there staring and not knowing at all what he’d gotten himself involved in.

Rudy kept cranking. He was well into his last full metal jacket. He was also down to his last five enemies. One by one, they fell and couldn’t get back up. His final round fired, his weapon went click and his magazine cover popped open. The last enemy fell in a squalid heap at his feet. Off in the distance, the sirens were ringing and somewhere up over head he heard a buzzing sound. He wondered why the LAPD helicopter didn’t sound quite right this evening.

Petey lay there bleeding. Repairman Jack worked away at him, trying to plug the damage before too much life leaked out. The poor stricken, gangster had been halfway out a window when the SUV went ass over tea-kettle. Glass had gotten jammed into him and it was making his midsection bleed profusely. Repairman took off his gory shirt. It was useless as a bandage, but his undershirt could still serve.

Jack kneeled shirtless. He tried his hardest to save the young man. “Suck it up, you dumb Son of a B—ch! I’ll let you know when you have permission to die.”

Ground Zero, The Sterno, looked around in amazed relief. He’d survived what he’d thought was a sure death experience. The bodies lay strewn all over and the acrid smoke of ballistic hellfire hung in the air. He liked the smell of cordite in the evening. For now, it was the smell of victory.

It was then that a black cloud partially obscured the moon. The cloud moved fast and made an angry buzzing sound. Bees were not normally nocturnal, and they didn’t hunt in packs this far from their hive. Unless, of course, someone told them to. The Hive Queen had sent her air force. It was on again and no one with a handgun was able to save them.

“It’s time to burn.” He said to himself, as he concentrated the years of malice in his heart at the advancing swarm of bees.

*************************************************

Richter and Ceballos rummaged through Volker’s office with the subtlety and grace of a two-man KGB hit team.

“We ain’t got no stinkin’ warrant, Kemosabe.” Ceballos told his partner. This whole evening was royally pissing him off. They were investigating a murder he knew they wouldn’t solve. They were chasing down a lead that Ceballos felt was beat. Now, they had broken and entered a private investigation firm without a search warrant.

“F—k!” Richter swore. “Where did that little s—t-prick go?”

Ceballos looked on the floor by Volker’s desk. The pattern looked all wrong, and a square section of floor was elevated about ½-inch above the rest. He was ready to bet Richter lunch there was something hidden here. When you wipe your ass on The Constitution, he figured, you might as well finish the job and get it clean.

*****************************************************

The bees closed in on the overturned Ford Expedition. They drove in towards their target like an air force of miniature Kamikazes. The hive would be defended, and every last one of them would give their lives to save the queen.

Honey bee existence stayed about that basic. You didn’t worry about much except the wellbeing of the hive. When the Queen told you to sick, you made like a flying pit bull. The swarm was rage on the wing and it prepared to rip the flesh off these evil invaders that threatened their domain.

Ground Zero flexed the way a strong man would before benching Lower Manhattan. He sucked in air and coiled his body, his mind, his soul, his Chi. “Let it all burn!” He yelled. “Let the meaningless perish in the flames!”

The magical blast triggered a burst of living fireworks. Bees caught fire and exploded in the air with the pop of a firecracker. The swarm was devastated as thousands of insects burst into miniature stars. It illuminated a section of the woods with a shinning cloud of sparks. Just like that it was gone.

Not all the bees went thermal, but the continuity of the swarm was ruined. Those that survived flew off in a random, brainless mayhem. Ground Zero had exhausted himself. He’d also saved six lives.

Doug Rollins swore like a losing man at a high-stakes poker table. The LAPD dispatch was going crazy with stories about a gun battle in the Hollywood Hills. His intuition told him that more was happening here. This bore watching, or else the tiger would wake up and smell lots and lots of fresh, bloody meat. It was a good time to give Richter a call.

Richter and Ceballos had struck illicit pay dirt. They read a notebook and saw a hastily scribbled map. It led up into the hills and to a spot called “The Hive” that Volker had marked with an X.

“That Son of a b—ch!” Richter swore. “He and Repairman are starting World War III.”

He and Ceballos beat feet out of Volker’s office. They were too desperate to clean up their mess. Time had become Richter’s enemy. When the officer’s reached their cruiser, Richter’s pager was buzzing loudly from inside the cruiser’s glove compartment.

***************************************************
It took about five minutes, but Repairman, Rudy and Hawk got Petey to finally stop bleeding. The young man was hurting and would have to get helped by a good, professional EMT. Calling the rescue squad now wouldn’t be a good thing. Repairman pulled out a cell phone and told Hawk Chapman. “Get him to the road. Doc Morbid will take over there.”

“Is he a real Doctor?” Rudy asked with a suspicious voice.

“He’s as real as you’re gonna get; without a nice long talk with LA’s finest.” Jack told the angry, frustrated half-brother.

Rudy looked at the twenty or so people he’d killed. “F—k. We are all so dead.”

Repairman called his medic, and Chapman and Rudy picked up Petey with as much care and compassion as they could. It was a long hike back out, and no one knew if Petey could hang on long enough. He groaned and muttered something about wanting Auntie Tia.

“He’s driving an old Red Caddy. He’ll expect to see a flashlight blink twice.” Jack said. He then handed over his light source to Chapman and said. “Meet us back here and we’ll try and clean this up.”

“Yeah.” Said Chapman. He wasn’t much for sarcasm, but this time he couldn’t help himself.

When Hawk and Rudy had walked off a good bit, Repairman looked at his two last amigos. “Let’s put this b—ch to bed.” He told the others.

*****************************************************
Huggy Bear felt very alone and scared. The hive was down to less than a third of its strength. He had himself, two junkies and a lost little girl. A cold breeze blew and Rosa Maria wrapped her arms around her sides and shivered.

The Queen was saying nothing. The demise of her swarm perhaps had snapped her mind. The night had been horrible for everyone in his jury-built apiary. He just wanted it to end. He needed sleep badly. The hive all needed sleep very badly.

Rosa Maria looked up at Huggy Bear. Her eyes were filled with fear and a tear rolled down her cheek. “What happens when the bad people come?” She asked the old man who tended the apiary.

********************************************************

An old black man behind the wheel of a beat up Red Cadillac sat at the Cahuenga Avenue rest stop. Cops kept driving by, up and down the road. He shook his head and muttered. “Goddamn it, Repairman. You really did it up right this time.”

Off in the woods a flashlight blinked and then it blinked again. Not everyone would have spotted it, but Old Man Eboe knew what to look for. He climbed out of the Cadillac with a good luck charm around his neck. If he didn’t need it, anyone mixed up with James Roland would. For a guy knick-named “Repairman”, jack sure smashed a whole junkyard full of s—t.

As he made his way into the woods he saw two scarred young men carrying a third. It was way too real this time. Repairman Jack was in an awful lot of trouble for someone in his group to come back this badly hurt.

“’You gonna help?” A desperate man asked. “Petey’s really hurt bad. Repairman says you can fix him up.”

“I’ve fixed up worse.” Eboe replied. It was far from a lie. He’d fixed people who were broken in ways this poor young deer in the headlights would never imagine. “I’ll take over from here. You tell Repairman to watch his sorry ass.”

“Yeah” Said Chapman. He was subdued and very tired now; too strung out to even be sarcastic.

After they loaded Petey into the back seat of the Cadillac, Chapman and Rudy walked off towards the Expedition. They were tired, confused and quite frankly had nowhere else to go. They just prayed to God they’d get to see Rudy again.

*******************************************************

Repairman Jack bent his back into the hill. He pulled his tired legs unwillingly up the arroyo. His winded companions lagged about fifty yards back. He stopped hands on hips and waited for Volker and Zero to make it up the climb.

“How much further?” Asked the exhausted Dwarf of a Sterno.

“Not too much. We’re almost up hill.” Jack explained as even he had to suck in extra wind. “It’s about a hundred yards over there.” He continued as he pointed.

It was then that they caught sight of the ramshackle apiary. Volker had just caught up and saw for himself where Huggy Bear and The Queen kept their evil bees. “End game, Brothers.” He said as he huffed. “Let’s do this right and let’s do it right now.”

“I can’t let you win.” Said a voice from slightly up hill. “You’ve invaded my home and now I have to kill you.” Huggy Bear announced as he stared down malignantly at Repairman, Ground Zero and Volker.

A buzzing noise sounded from behind Huggy Bear in the trees. Repairman tossed his Remington down almost in disgust. “I usually hate using it.” He said as much to himself as anyone else at the scene. “But in your sorry case I’m ready to make an exception.”

Ground Zero again readied himself. This time he seemed to ignore the approaching bees. He focused his malignance on the ugly, whitish structure of paper and plastic and honeycomb. He channeled decades of burning hate. Volker would swear he saw a curl of smoke leaking out of Ground Zero’s right ear.

Volker, himself took another item out of his backpack. It was a highly pressurized can. He pulled the top off of it and it made a loud pop as a stinking cloud of white vapors began billowing out of its interior. He reached in his gear for another and then another.

Huggy Bear felt the most painful burning sensation he’d ever imagined in his life. He felt his face break out in oozing sores. His back and shoulders developed welts, burns and blisters. His esophagus demanded mucus like never before. No hydrochloric acid had ever leaked from his stomach to burn him this badly. He tried to scream but the agony left him whimpering in the dirt.

Two men and a little girl ran out of Huggy Bear’s structure. They ran to avoid the conflagration that had erupted within it. The giant pile of rotting sugar had become a volcano of fiery death and the walls cracked and started exploding as honey congealed, hardened and than exploded into flame. Bees too sluggish to escape were overcome by smoke, which now billowed in angry, black clouds into the unsuspecting Southern California nightscape.

A police cruiser spotted the mayhem and called the dispatch for advice and lot of back-up. She repeated the phrase “major forest fire near the Hollywood Bowl” twice in her call back to the dispatch. The civil authorities had finally gotten direction to what was happening out there. The response teams in three fire houses and two police precincts sprung into action. Repairman Jack didn’t know it just yet, but this game was down to the two-minute warning.

****************************************************

Bees swarmed angrily onto the three mages. The clouds on insecticide were not enough to completely disperse the hungry malice of the bees. Volker felt stinging on both his legs and one his ears. Wow it hurt like nothing else to have an angry bee tag your earlobe.

Ground Zero caught it the worst. At least twenty bees landed on his body. That was their problem. Ground Zero wasn’t into personal possessions. He simply spoke the right phrase, and all his clothing went up like a flare. He felt intense pain, and smelled something quite awful, as his hair and sideburns caught also. When he felt he’d done enough to repel the angry bees, he did what his mentor had drilled into his head. He stopped, he dropped and he rolled.

Repairman had no handy defense against the swarming, angry insects. He ran and flailed away at the ones that tried for purchase on his head. He tried to run too far and felt his feet leave Earth. The fall off the cliff was a good twenty feet. He fell where he was supposed to, landing buttocks-first on the unforgiving clay of the Hollywood hillside.

Huggy Bear knew he was finished. His palace, of sorts, now burned like a blow torch. Sugar served as a phenomenal accelerant to any arsonist and he’d stockpiled enough sweeten a million chocolate chip cookies. The colors were bright as the entire stash of honey caught and burned.

He felt the insane grief and then fear of the dying hive queen. Her bees had attacked and been murdered or dispersed. Her servants all lay in pools of blood. Now the smoke filled her eyes, her face, her body. It was too hot, and as her wings melted away, she could not successfully take flight.

Huggy Bear’s entire body ached from the blast he’d taken. He was burned inside and out and physically ruined. He even felt soreness from sucking air into his lungs. He kind of missed Rosa Maria as he closed his eyes for one last sleep that would last a while.

*****************************************

Chapman and Rudy heard a cavalry of sirens descending from different directions. They looked at the Expedition, looked at their weapons, looked at the company of enemy soldiers they’d spent the better part of an evening dispatching out here in the woods.

Rudy reached into the back of Chapman’s overturned Expedition and lugged out a large tank of spare gasoline. Chapman was too well prepared to ever go on a job without it.

“You gotta do it, Man.” He told Chapman. He threw his gun in the vehicle and started splashing the fuel. “Give me your piece, Hawk.”

“You gotta do it.” Hawk groused. “I can’t make myself.”

************************************************

Repairman hoped that Volker and Ground Zero made it through. He was at the bottom of a cliff, his butt felt like it had been spanked by one of the Titans. He heard the explosions uphill and figured Ground Zero was making his wrath abundantly clear. He wondered how in the hell he could save Rosa Maria.

The sirens on Highland Avenue came closer and grew ever louder. The last place he wanted to end the night was in a city precinct house trying to explain how this all took place. He hoisted himself painfully to his feet and headed where he thought he’d find an overturned Expedition.

He saw light flickering as he limped through the trees. It was downhill from his position and it made him think he was totally flanked. Then he heard the explosion, and figured out The Expedition was no longer a viable means of mass transit for the group.

Volker and Ground Zero worked their way back down the ravine. Both felt pain from assorted burns and bee stings. Ground Zero looked laughable in his BVDs and with a half a sideburn left. Volker looked only slightly better. His nose bore a round, welt souvenir from a lucky honey bee.

They worked their way to about fifty yards from where they thought they would find an Expedition. They found a disconsolate Hawk Chapman, a grim Rudy and then heard a ripping explosion.

“I should shoot your dorky ass.” Chapman said to Volker.

“Don’t even f—king consider it.” Ground Zero said Chapman.

“Yeah,” Said a beaten and resigned Hawk Chapman. “Let’s get Repairman and walk the f—k out of this place.”

*********************************************

Doug Rollins buried his head in his hands. He’d reached LA too late. His only hope was that the woods would burn and the evidence of prestidigitation would go up in smoke along with it. Hollywood hadn’t burned since 1992. At least not well enough to purge it of its garbage. In 2005, a Sterno named Ground Zero and a mysterious Duke, known by the alias Repairman Jack had decided that 2005 was time.

Richter and Ceballos would have to investigate this one quietly. There were people at work here who could bring back the bad old days by waking up the tiger. There was something Rollins needed to tell these two. A simple message really, “Hush, Hush.”