Chapter 1: Monk

It had been six months since I started my mission, and I was in the attic of a crappy house in South Sacramento, watching an equally crappy house next door. I was not sure if this Tango was connected to Mastermind, but I was more sure than ever he was a Rogue. I had been tracking him for three weeks, and sending status updates to Dr. Tran on a series of disposable cell phones I had acquired from the Norteñas.

Officially, I went Rogue myself. The coroner in River City had classified my taking down of The Dagger as unnecessary force, but the DA refused to press charges. But in response to that, the BMA had revoked my status as a Paladin.

At least, publically. In reality, it had all been carefully arranged as a cover for me to go to ground and act as a Rogue myself. But in reality, I was Monk. A “Secret Paladin” in the Eighth Division of Control. Off the books, unrecognized, if caught they would not cover my ass. When Dr., Tran informed me of this, I jokingly called him “Mister Phelps”.

We were in his office, and he gave me a long hard look. “Clint, please tell me that you mean that from the TV series, and not that abortion of a movie.

“Dr. Tran, of course I mean from the TV series. I used to watch it all the time growing up, they used to play reruns of it when I was a kid. And in that I agree, what they did to the character in the first movie was an abomination. Honestly, once I realized they turned Jim Phelps into the bad guy, I never watched another one of those movies ever again.”

At that he smiled, and then grew serious again. “OK, go ahead and hand me your Paladin card.” I pulled my wallet out of my slacks, and handed it over to him. I even held it a moment, and he had to pull twice before I let it slip out of my fingers. “And this will all be cleared up in the end, right?”

“Clint, right as rain. And this is only between you, me, and the Secretary of Mutant Affairs. Absolutely nobody in the organization knows this plan of yours other than us. Until Mastermind is taken care of, she and everybody else in the BMA will disavow any knowledge of your activities. And update me of anything you do, when this is all done you will get a ‘get out of jail free’ card. So long as anything you had done is justified under the secret provision of the Mutant Registration Act.”

In other words, so long as it was justified to the Star Chamber, and could fall under the Amnesty when I applied to become a Paladin again. Dr. Tran asked me what my next step was, and I sighed. “In a few days Lois and I are going to dinner, where it will appear that I have way too much to drink. At the VFW I will meet a few friends, and we will get into a screaming match. She will slap me, I will toss her to the ground. Sergeant Harris will be there, as will Bohica.”

“Bohica? But he’s not a veteran.”

“Does not matter, the American Legion and VFW have given auxiliary status to all Paladins in case you did not know. Harris will help Lucy up and take her home, Bohica will keep me away from her, and talk me down. Harris will submit a report of what he had witnessed, stating that Lucy hit me first, and I had not harmed her. No harm, no foul in the eyes of the law in other words. At that I will go home, pack up everything into two duffel bags and hit the road.”

He actually sighed, and after standing walked around the desk and placed his hand on my shoulder. Even though I was sitting and he was standing, our eyes were level with each other. “Clint, this is the last chance. Once that happens, there is no turning back.”

“Dr. Tran, Lucy and I both agree. It has to be done, and everybody on my end knows their parts. I will go back to California, integrate myself with the Norteños again, and appear to be an enforcer. Disgraced at Control, but without an indictment so free to travel as I like.”

I stopped daydreaming and watched as the Tango exited the house through the back door, and after turning on a radio pulled out a cell phone and turned it on. I had to admit, he had at least some training somewhere. He talked on the phone for ten minutes, then hung up. Then opened the back of the phone, removed the battery and SIM card, then destroyed it with a hammer on a tree stump.

He then looked around before tossing the pieces in a garbage can on the side of the house then going back inside. Whoever this guy really was, he really did have some training in spycraft. And I only tweaked onto him thanks to my connections. The Norteños said they believed he was working for another group, maybe from Venezuela. And he did have a bit of the look. Swarthy, but otherwise indistinguishable. And at just after midnight I crept up and went immediately to the garbage can. I pulled on some gloves and removed all I could find of the destroyed cell phone. As well as a soda bottle and a few other things, placing them in a large bag then slipping away.

I then headed on to my safehouse, and did what I was expected to do. I pulled out a suitcase from my closet that already had clothes in it that would never fit me. In a false liner I put in the phone, than called Chico. The next morning a kid I had never seen before came up to me in a park, and I handed him the suitcase. It would be passed through several cutouts before it eventually made its way to Dr. Tran.

Hotaru

I smiled and waved at the cheering guys as I went around the stage, picking up my discarded clothing and tips. I even blew kisses at a few before slipping through the curtain a moment before Sharice went to take the stage.

Not bad, over $50 in tips it seemed. I went to the dressing room and after taking a fast shower was back in my street clothes. I went to the manager’s office, settled my tipouts, then told him to remove me from the schedule.

“Thanks, but I’ve had an offer farther west. But Earl, it has been a pleasure working here.”

He sighed, and opened the safe again and pulled out the cashbox. “Kitsune, it has been a pleasure having you here. And here, this is yours. And if you are ever in town, please come on by. Even if just for a few nights, you really are a professional.”

As he said that he handed me back my manager tipout for the night, and an additional $200. I was actually touched by that, and went and gave him a huge hug and said I would. I then had the bouncer walk me to my car and headed off.

As soon as I got in I had it dial my handler, and gave my report. No, the club appeared to be legitimate. And were more than following the law as far as treatment of the girls. And after we hung up, I stopped and got more gas and the largest coffee I could before hitting the road again.

When I had dreamed of working for Control after I got my degree, I had never imagined that within a few months I would be stripping again. Word had reached somebody in DC that some mutants were essentially being used as sex slaves. And it was decided I would make the perfect undercover operative.

So for months I had been moving from strip club to strip club. Only ones that were known to hire mutants, and watching from my open cover as one myself to see what was going on. And while more than a few were prostitutes on the side, that was entirely of their own volition and the clubs were never involved.

“Shit!” I said as I got onto the freeway heading west. What a fool I was, thinking I was only stripping to pay my way through college! I had spent six months at the FBI academy, then another three working in DC before I was called in for a mission brief. Then getting myself “fired” when my “underworld connections” were made public, and having little choice but resuming my previous profession.

Of course, that was all cover. In reality I was moved to a black area, looking for evidence of human slavery. Or more specifically, mutant slavery. Apparently a few brothels had been found that specialized in mutants. And even worse, were trading them around like slaves. A few months in one, then they would be moved to another. And some of them had set up fronts as strip clubs, hence my return to stripping.

This time I was going to Dallas. River City had been a bust, the club there was completely legitimate. It was just a strip club that allowed mutants to dance there. In fact, they were trying hard to find mutants as that seemed to have developed into a real fetish. They had even told me that the X-Factor chain of clubs had really pushed that.

In fact, in the six clubs I had worked at since I started this investigation, each of them largely said the same thing. That many of them in fact had not hired mutants at all that were obvious, until an X-Factor opened up. And then they had to hire mutants just to stay competitive.

That is, other than those types that were trying to put us down. One interesting thing about us mutants, it really tore the fucking dick off of the Neo-Nazi movement and it largely started to shit on itself. Some screaming that it was proof that there was a secret government plot and that we were their first step for global domination. And that all mutants were abominations and must die with the niggers and Jews.

Then others that said we were just a distraction and should be ignored. That the randomness of mutants showed it was really just an Act of God, and they should not distract themselves from going after the real enemy by chasing off after us.

Then you had the really radical ones. The ones that themselves mutated, and screamed it was proof that they were the new “Master Race”, and that all mutants were the chosen ones and should now band together against the obviously inferior Homo Sapiens that were trying to oppress them and assume their rightful place as leaders.

Me, I thought they were all simply proof that too many generations of fucking your own mothers, sisters, and daughters really did scramble the genes, mutation or no mutation.

Sonny “Crazy Eyes” Carabello

I turned off the car, and after holding open the door for Mr. Angelone I took out the briefcase and went to the door with him. As always, I looked around on the way then opened the door and looked inside. And seeing nothing out of the ordinary I nodded and he went in.

The place was closed of course, and we quickly made our way to the back where the manager had his office. Sal stood as we came in, and after shaking Mr. Angelone’s hand he nodded to me and I handed him the briefcase.

They then did the usual shuffle. Opening the case and counting the money inside. Then Sal signing a receipt for the amount, and handing back the briefcase. Now all that it held was some legitimate business statements, with earnings and bank deposit forms. The money that was inside now in a safe hidden under the manager’s desk.

“Sal, any way you can bump the incoming take another twenty percent?”

“Sorry Mr. Angelone, no can do. I’m already pushing over fifty G’s a week, any more and some may start asking questions.”

“But we were pushing over two hundred G’s a week last year” my boss said, with a sound of disgust in his voice.

“Sure, that was Cockeyes. That place was five times the size of this club, and did almost ten times the business. And since that group took it over in the police sale, they are still that big. We just can’t move that much money without it being noticed.”

Mr. Angelone sighed and shook his head. “I tried to tell the grey beards we should have bought it ourselves, but they turned me down.”

“And they were right to do so. When Ricci got himself whacked almost in front of the place, it brought way too much attention on it. Especially since the Paladins just happened to use that as their rally point. When the guys working muscle inside turned out to join in the action, that gave the cops all they needed to shut it down. If you had bought it, they would have kept looking there, even if you ran it legit. No, better to start smaller like we are here. Less attention this way.”

One thing about Sal, he had a good head on his shoulders. One of the older guys from Atlantic City, he played things slow and cautious. They talked a bit more business, then we headed on out for a walk through the place. Mr. Angelone always did that, saying he wanted to make sure that the club was up to snuff.

One of the girls was crawling on the stage, a wet towel in her hands as she was washing it down. And another was cleaning the pole, and she was a fine looking lady. About 5’7”, with long black hair and a bit of a beak on her. When the one cleaning the pole was finished, Mr. Angelone went up and asked if she could give us a show.

“Sorry honey, we’re not open yet. Come on back in an hour and I will give you a special show.” I smiled at her accent, pure Bronx. The girl on her knees looked up at her, and quickly stood and whispered something into her ear. As she was doing that, Mr. Angelone reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out two bills and placed them on the stage.

She looked at both of us again, and asked for the other girl to start the music and she would be right out. We took a seat as the waitress quickly brought us two drinks. Ginger Ale for me as I was driving, and a Scotch for Mr. Angelone as he was the boss.

The music started a few minutes later, some metal junk as the girl stepping in as DJ announced her as “Janet”. What she had was red, and might have had enough material in it to make a decent napkin at a nice restaurant. But she could move, and was a natural on the pole.

Mr. Angelone leaned closer and told me she was a fine piece, and had perfect titties. I just snorted, and said they were fake. “What, you crazy? My first girlfriend had titties just like those, and I know for a fact they were natural.”

“Mr. Angelone, they may have been natural. But trust me, Janet there is silicon enhanced.” He looked at me, and I nodded as I did the old trick that had first earned me my nickname. I moved both eyes so they were looking in different directions, one on my boss and the other on Janet.

The doctors called it “Strambismus”, but as a kid I was often called “Crazy Eyes”. Or by the old farts “Marty Feldman Eyes”, after an old actor that had a similar condition. My mom was against surgery to fix it, but through therapy I learned to keep them mostly working together. But at will I could have them working independently of each other.

And it was even ignored when I joined the Army out of High School. But that all came to an end on what they called the “Night of Madness”. I was asleep in the field and woke up screaming with a blinding headache a few hours after crawling into my sleeping bag. One other guy in my Battalion also woke up screaming, and within an hour we were both with the medics. But Hendricks, good god! He still looked like Hendricks, but instead of black his skin was now an olive green. And the Doc had the radio on, and they were talking about all kinds of similar things all over the country.

It was later that I realized what this really meant. Hendricks, he’s still in the Army. In fact, he’s now often interviewed for recruitment drives, telling people they should not be afraid to join if they were mutants.

Me, I got a big “Fuck you very much” and shown the door. Because it was soon obvious I had a kind of “X-ray vision”. I could not see through things like Superman, but I could see if something not natural was under clothes. It’s hard to describe, but if there is a gun hidden, or a knife or a kilo of dope, I could see it there. I could even see things like breast implants.

And it drove me a bit crazy at times, especially during the medical tests I had to go through. The weird metal objects I saw the first night under my First Sergeant’s trousers turned out to be screws from when he got his leg blown up in Kuwait early in his career. And the first time I saw a guy with a metal plate in his head I about freaked out. And then a stripper when I went for a night out when I was at a military hospital in Maryland took me a bit, until I realized I was seeing the IUD in her cunt.

But after six months, they told me I had to get out. Seems that in the paperwork the UN drafted and the US signed off on, my power was enough to disqualify me for the military is it could be used in combat. I could not really see through things, just under clothing. And not even good things, I could not see a gal’s titties after all. I just could see that she had bags inside of them.

But after just over two years I was back home. And the first time I was in a bar having some drinks and some of the wise guys came in, I could tell which of them was packing, and where. I waited a few weeks, and then went to the restaurant where a lot of them hung out at.

And as luck would have it, the one I approached was Mr. Angelone. I explained to him what had happened, and that I could see he was not packing but his bodyguard seemed to have a 9mm pistol in a shoulder holster, a revolver that seemed to be a .38 at his ankle, and the older man with them had a pacemaker.

A few weeks later, I was officially in. An associate, and new bodyguard working for Mr. Angelone. Good pay, a concealed carry permit good for New Jersey, and he was a good boss in letting me know how the Outfit was ran.

Not like a lot of people think, actually. Don’t get me wrong, we are “The Mob”, but the era of thugs whacking people is largely legend. There is a segment of them that are like that, the low level street enforcers mostly. Mr. Angelone was like middle management in a corporation. Or a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army. Not one of those that runs a Battalion, but one of those at the Division Headquarters. Mostly a troubleshooter sent in to solve problems.

And thankfully for me, not with a group of Special Forces to kick ass and take names. And when the last boss of this area got whacked trying to start a war against the local Paladins, they took him down hard and fast. So hard, he had the imprint of what must have been a foot the size of a dinner plate imprinted on his face.

So after some time to get things calmed down, they sent in my boss to try and put the pieces of the old network back together. And instructions to mostly keep a low profile. Rebuild the organization, keep things calm, and to stop outsiders from trying to take it over.

In other words, to play caretaker for a largely closed up operation. We just had a handful of bookmakers, a fence, three loansharks, a few dozen whores, and two strip clubs. And I knew as I watched Janet’s nice but fake titties bounce around that the question was largely for the bosses back east. We only took in around sixty-five grand a week, so this and the other club were more than enough. But I suspected that he was getting heat from upstairs to increase profits. Especially as most of the large cities out here had similar raids, so they were having problems laundering their vig.

Janet finished her dance, even using her fingers to spread her pussy for us before with a smile she left the stage. And I had a feeling that I might be seeing a bit more of her in the future. Mr. Angelone had a thing for Italian gals from the Bronx. And as we left, I resigned myself to start looking for a new place, as she would likely be in his bed soon and yet another mistress that I would have to find a place for so that his wife and other two mistresses would not find out about.

According to the rumors when we first got here, Mr. Angelone does not have a horse cock like the last guy that ran this area. But he sure did try to use it as much as he could, to prove he was still virile, even though he was an old fart and almost sixty.

Tina

It was actually something I was quite used to. We were on the couch in Lester’s new place on forty acres outside of town and I was sucking on his cock. His hand was resting on the back of my head guiding me in my motions. He was keeping things slow however, apparently not quite ready to cum yet. And as I was doing this he was watching the multiple televisions on the other side of the room.

There were twelve of them, and occasionally he would use his remotes to turn the sound off on one and turn another on. This was his normal evening routine, as he constantly said that in order to work at his peak efficiency he needed to have as much input as possible.

Sometimes he would even get a grin on his face and say “Lester needs more input” in a high voice. But as was common, I did not get the reference. This was one of the few issues I had with him, he was always using references I simply did not get. And I had gotten used to him never explaining them.

And after several minutes, he suddenly tensed up and said “No, it can’t be!” And as he said that, he pulled my head up and shoved me to the side. I wiped my lips as I looked at him, his slacks open and his cock softening as he was looking at the television.

I looked at it, and it was some kind of press conference. With an Asian gal thanking those who had saved her, and several Paladins from Compass City standing to the sides behind her. I recognized most of them, including Bohica, Sensei, and Dire Wolf. I knew this must be related to what had happened there several days before.

It had made headline news nationwide, a huge fight that had turned over ten blocks of downtown Compass City into a war zone. At least five dead, dozens injured, and the rogue that had done it dead at the hands of Sensei. After raising my head I watched the conference with Lester, and apparently the small Oriental woman in the wheelchair was one of those injured. She had taken several daggers in the abdomen and according to the statement her seeing eye dog had been killed. She was thanking those that had saved her from that and thanked them for all they had done.

And after the conference they even had some other footage. Of the three main Paladins of Compass City meeting in front of the place where the conference had been. And Dire Wolf’s van driving up by itself with Fang inside. But I looked at Lester, and he was leaning forward watching her closely.

And when the report ended, he muted the sound on all of the televisions, and leaned back on the couch. “It all makes sense now, it all makes perfect sense.” He said that two or three times, and I was actually getting nervous. Lester was rarely ever taken by surprise, and this had apparently completely shocked him.

“Les, who is she?” I finally asked, now getting worried as he had not said anything in several minutes.

“Tina, go get dressed. We should talk, and like this you’re, distracting.” I left and returned to my room, and came back as Frank. I was in sweats, and grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat in a chair across from Lester.

“OK Boss, what’s up?”

He steepled his hands in front of himself, and took a deep breath. “Frank, I finally know who every Paladin in Compass City is. And I have no idea what to do with that information.”

I leaned back and took a swig of beer. “Wait, you know who they all are now? What is so special that makes you know that, and what do you mean?”

He gave me that smug smile of me, and nodded. “Oh, one of them is obvious. I knew mostly who one of them was since the start, but I had no idea about the others. Oh, some I only discovered after they had been killed, like Falcon. Sensei never hid who he was, and I learned who one of them was shortly after the Night of Madness. Carol was painfully obvious, but she has left Compass City. Racer, he actually is a kid that works as a bicycle courier. But today, only today do I now know who the real identity is of the last one.”