Maxwell Cain 2: With a Side of Vengeance

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the author

  Adam Lane Smith

  Maxwell Cain and Maxwell Cain 2: With a Side of Vengeance are copyrighted © 2020 by (and property of) Adam Lane Smith.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Any questions can be sent to the author at AdamLaneSmithBooks@gmail.com.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, fictional persons, or actual or fictional events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Ashion.

  Formatting by Kevin G. Summers.

  For Erik and Xavier.

  May all your adventures be just as thrilling and delicious.

  Acknowledgements

  Maxwell Cain began as a goofy concept scraped up from the edges of sleep. The author is enormously grateful to the wide range of folks who helped bring this crazy idea to life:

  To my generous Patreon backers who provided the means to get this story from my computer to readers’ eyes, and especially to Thomas James and Ophelia. Your overwhelming support convinced me there is room in this world for a purely fun story.

  To my Lord and Savior who sees me through every hard time and promises better times to come.

  To Ashion for arranging the cover and her ongoing friendship as a fellow creator. Look for more of her gorgeous artwork in my upcoming projects.

  To Nick Cole for his continuing patience and mentorship as I work at learning our craft. Scribbling in crayon gradually becomes scribbling in pen, but the work of improvement never ends.

  To my faithful and devoted wife who wrestles our savage beast children away from my workspace to give me time to write. If anyone enjoys this book, know that she made the writing possible.

  And to you, dear reader. It has been my lifelong dream to be a storyteller, and by reading this book you are helping make my dream come true. From the bottom of my heart: thank you.

  Chapter 1

  What Rough Beast

  In a dank tunnel in the bowels of the earth, vengeance had finally arrived.

  Ker-tap. Ker-tap. The young man’s expensive wingtip shoes pounded out a steady beat as he sauntered down the long concrete passage. Harsh light glaring from bare bulbs gleamed in his coiffed black hair and revealed a long-nosed face set with predatory focus. His maroon suit draped perfectly over his athletic body, cut impeccably sharp, and his open collar rattled with heavy gold chains. Gold rings set with rubies adorned four of his fingers, trophies he wore to boast of his four famous victories over rival crime lords, dishonorable means of success notwithstanding.

  The long concrete passageway ended at a heavy steel door. The wicked young crime boss pressed his palm against a glowing green panel in the wall and felt warmth in his fingertips as the reader scanned his prints. Five heavy locks retracted from the door with heavy thunks, and he swung the door wide and strode inside with his heavy wingtips announcing his arrival.

  The next cavernous room echoed with his approach, the sound bouncing off the high vaulted ceiling far overhead where the dim lights failed to reach. More of the bare bulbs lit most of the huge room, and a wealth of steel and glass gleamed at him. He walked past banks of servers and terminals, their screens dark, and past rows of glass tanks holding human brains and spines floating in clear liquid. Cleaning robots scurried about in the shadows, sweeping up dust or clearing away spots of mold.

  At the far end of the room, the young crime lord stopped before a massive tank larger than all the rest with heavy rubber tubes snaking in from every direction. A naked human figure was visible through the thick glass, but the fluid obscured the person’s features.

  Beside the tank, standing at a row of black computers and typing like mad, stood a woman in a long white lab coat. She finished tapping at the keyboard with a final flourish and turned to the newcomer, and even in the harsh light her unmistakable beauty made his breath catch in his throat. Brazilian, dark-skinned, with bleached hair in a loose bun and stylish glasses perched on her adorable nose, the woman looked more like a model playing the role of a scientist. She stretched her bodacious body, her low-cut blue blouse and khaki capris straining over her curves, and cocked an annoyed eye at the intruder.

  “Always the interruptions. Do you pay me to work, or to entertain you?”

  The mob boss gazed up at the hulking figure hanging suspended in the tank. “I’d pay you for both if you’d accept the offer, but then you’d be distracted. And I won’t let anything, even pleasure, distract from avenging my father. Is that clear, Doctor Storm?”

  The doctor huffed. “You say that, and yet you keep interrupting my work. I’m currently in the middle of synthesizing more resilient proteins for future subjects. Research waits for no man, and time is of the essence. What do you want?”

  The gang boss’ dark eyes roved over the tank. “It’s time. Release him.”

  “Such impatience.” Doctor Storm fluttered her hand at the tank. “This may look like a simple procedure, but rebuilding a mangled human brain and nervous system and growing a new body around them is no simple task. We’ve restored the memories, and the grafts show complete synchronization, but we haven’t had time to implant the conditioning. Your finished product isn’t so finished yet and could easily run amok on you. Haven’t you read Frankenstein?”

  The crime lord’s voice was hard. “That won’t be a problem for me. Open the tube.”

  With a sigh, the gorgeous doctor turned back to her sleek black console and pressed a few buttons. “On your own head be the consequences, then.” An override popped up, and with a grunt of annoyance, she keyed in her password and confirmed the request.

  With a hiss, several of the rubber hoses broke free from the tank and slapped on the concrete floor. Fluid bubbled and drained away as the tank emptied, dropping the hulking figure to his knees inside the container. A seam appeared down the front of the tube and the entire glass façade split open, dumping the man out onto a black rubber mat in front of the apparatus.

  The hulking figure hit the ground on his knees. Clear gel coated every inch of a naked body so muscular he looked like a hairless gorilla. He coughed in great, wracking spasms as he spat more goo from his mouth. The slime coated his black hair, slicking it back on his head, and dripped from brutish black eyebrows that hung like a shelf above predatory eyes which quickly darted around the cavernous laboratory even as the naked man struggled for breath. Hands like slabs of
beef dug the slime from his mouth to clear his airway before he turned his deadly glare on the young gangster in the wine-colored suit.

  The crime lord smiled down at the test subject. “Do you remember who I am?”

  The naked man narrowed his eyes. His gravedigger’s voice rumbled like an oncoming storm. “You’re Antonio Lombardo. Papa Sal’s son.”

  “That’s right.” Antonio smirked. “And do you remember who you are?”

  “Yeah. I’m Johnny Legion.”

  “And what’s the last thing you remember?”

  Those massive brows furrowed in thought. Then his meaty hands pressed against the rubber mat clenched into fists. “Cain.”

  “Good,” cooed Antonio. “Very good. You hate him almost as much as I do. That insolent blackguard murdered my father, and he stomped over your broken corpse to do it.”

  Johnny’s eyes narrowed in thought. “That bastard killed me. Ain’t a dead man supposed to stay dead? Why’d I pull a Lazarus?”

  Doctor Storm whisked up beside the naked man, scanning him with a handheld device bristling with antennae. The device beeped as she waved it over Johnny’s body. The resurrected killer tensed at her approach, but Antonio smiled at the way the doctor’s beauty slipped under Johnny’s guard and his shoulders relaxed.

  “You were dead,” Dr. Storm confirmed as she stared at her instrument. She didn’t even pause or glance at Johnny as she waved the prickly device near his crotch, causing him to flinch away. “I brought you back. If you want to show your gratitude, I’ve got a sweet tooth and I adore Champaign.”

  “You brought me back?” Johnny asked.

  Doctor Storm waved at the laboratory. “If you’re capable of grasping the finer points, I reconstructed the missing pathways of your brain based on the surrounding neural net and managed to salvage most of your lost matter. Fortunately the bullet ripped through areas associated with motor function, not memory. The body was dead, but by preserving the brain and central nervous system we were able to regenerate a body around it. Not only do you have a shiny new avatar for your cognitive self, you’ll also retain all of your muscle memory because the body grew around the brain.”

  “In English, Doc,” Johnny rumbled.

  Doctor Storm sighed and pressed the center of her glasses against the bridge of her nose as if exasperated. “It means, meathead, that you can jump right back into killing as soon as you get some weapons.”

  Johnny clenched his fists a few times. “No need. Got ‘em right here.”

  Antonio grinned. “Good, Legion. That’s what I wanted to hear. I brought you back to kill that sack of shit Cain. You failed my father, but you gave your life doing it, so I offer you this one chance to rectify your mistake, to reclaim your honor. Will you kill Maxwell Cain?”

  Johnny Legion raised his head and favored Antonio with a smile. On the killer’s brutish face, the leering expression looked chilling. “It will be my absolute pleasure.”

  Chapter 2

  Back in the Saddle

  Helicopter blades cut the air with a heavy thump-thump sound as the sleek gray transport skimmed above the waves toward the cargo ship half a mile away. The massive blue vessel sat docked in one of San Pajita’s many private shipping yards and bore dozens of enormous shipping containers stacked around the deck in haphazard piles.

  Maxwell Cain sat perched on a jump seat just inside the helicopter’s open door. His stubbly head and bony clean-shaven face made him look aggressive, but his intense blue eyes jumped his dangerous appearance up five extra notches. He checked the dual pistols slung around the waist of his tight black fatigues and patches of silver ceramic body armor, then checked the long knife in his left boot and the snub-nosed pistol in his right.

  “Three guns doesn’t feel like enough,” Max grumbled.

  In the seat across from him, his pal Nick Sharpe finished tightening the straps on his own matching ceramic armor plates and looked up at Max. The wind from the helicopter’s open door whipped his shaggy black hair around his face and lashed his almond-shaped eyes, but the taller man didn’t even wince at the rough breeze. “Those are just your backups, Max. You’ll be going in with your shotgun.”

  “I know,” Max said, lifting the heavy long gun from the seat next to him and hefting its weight. The shotgun felt comfortably heavy in his hands. “I meant three backup guns. Just doesn’t feel adequate. What if I need to kill a few hundred guys and run out of ammo? And don’t give me that look, Nick. It’s happened before.”

  The third occupant of the helicopter laughed. The stiff wind whipped her long blonde hair around her face like a cloud of silk, and her brilliant blue eyes sparkled. The matching black fatigues and ceramic armor adorning her body highlighted her curves in all the right ways. “The famous rampage of Bloody Rain Cain. I seem to vaguely remember that happening. Has it been three months already?”

  Nick groaned. “Don’t encourage him, Kate. Let’s try to keep this op more like a routine strike and less like an Old Testament bloodbath, alright?”

  Max pumped the shotgun and grinned. “Old Testament is my style, man. Don’t forget our name.” He pointed at a patch sewn into the right shoulder of his combat fatigues: a grinning grim reaper holding a shotgun with a scythe bayonet. “Why do you think I named our cell the Reapers?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Nick said. “I can’t believe you turned down my more dignified suggestions.”

  “Dignity’s got nothing to do with it,” Max declared. “We need style to inspire terror. That’s why I picked our motto. Remember our motto, Nick?”

  His serious friend sighed in resignation. “’Kill ‘em all and let God kill ‘em again.’”

  “Damned straight.” Max dug around in a black satchel on the seat beside him and pulled out a cylindrical shape wrapped in aluminum foil. “Just enough time for me to eat a few bites of my burrito before we arrive.”

  Tracer rounds streaked by the helicopter door as anti-air guns on the ship opened fire. The pilot wove through the air to evade the shots. In the unexpected jostling, Max’s burrito slipped from his hands and plummeted toward the open hatch. He snatched at the falling treasure with one paw but missed, and his burrito disappeared in the whipping wind.

  Seething rage filled Max as his gnawing belly grew hot. He opened his mouth to roar, but a warm weight plopped into his empty left hand. He looked down to see another aluminum-wrapped burrito resting in his palm, with the dainty hand and painted pink fingernails of Kate Valentine resting on top.

  “I figured something like this might happen.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Always come prepared, right?”

  “Oh baby,” Max exclaimed as he peeled back the aluminum foil. “You are one hell of a woman. This is why I’m marrying you next week.”

  “For the burrito supply?” Kate asked with a laugh.

  Max took an enormous bite of the warm tortilla. Beans and juicy beef exploded on his tongue, filling his mouth with savory moisture. He wolfed down another bite and nodded. “Partly for the food, yeah. You’re my culinary guardian angel.”

  Kate hefted her enormous sniper rifle. The cutting-edge scope gleamed in the sunlight. “I’ll be your second guardian angel for real while you’re down on that ship. Trust me to cover your back. Call in shots if you need anything specific.”

  “Will do,” Max said around another mouthful of food. “These Blood Sparrows won’t know what hit ‘em. We drop in, head for the bridge, kill the captain, and exfil before the cops show up. If we make a big enough ruckus, even the overtaxed police force can’t turn a blind eye anymore. They’ll be on this place like stink on a gorilla. We’ll let them handle the shipping containers full of kidnapped girls.”

  “We absolutely must leave before the cops see us,” Nick warned. “Vigilantes in San Pajita get worse sentences than crime lords, and even if we do work for a blackbox organization, we’re about as far outside the law as you
can get.”

  “Outlaws for justice,” Max mused. “I like it.” He wrapped up the rest of the burrito and handed it carefully to Kate, who placed it in the black satchel. Max took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “I’ll be back for the rest after this job.”

  Kate batted her long eyelashes. “And maybe for me?”

  “I’d say you’re about as delicious as any burrito.” Max hefted his shotgun and glanced outside. “Just about there, Nick. I’ll drop first and secure the LZ, you come in after with guns blazing.”

  “Roger,” Nick confirmed as he hefted his submachinegun.

  Max looked back at Kate, his face serious. “Love you, babe.” Then he kicked a coiled black rope over the side, seized hold near the clip securing it to the helicopter’s steel rack, and leaped out into chaos.

  The chopper slowed just over the foredeck of the massive cargo ship. AA-fire tore up the air around the bird, but the pilot danced her around just ahead of the zipping bullets. Down below, a scarred Blood Sparrow guard with a bald head wearing a red jumpsuit fired up at them with an SMG. Max slid down thirty feet and kicked the guard directly in the head, snapping his neck. The bald thug was dead before Max’s boots thumped on the metal deck. Gunfire pinged off the deck to his right, so Max threw himself behind a stack of yellow shipping containers. He waited until the gunfire paused to step around the metal boxes, leading with the shotgun’s barrel.

  Another guard wore the same bright red jumpsuit and a black baseball cap which read “No fat chicks, boat will sink”. The punk hurried to reload his black submachinegun, but Max blew him away with a thundering blast from his shotgun, hurling the corpse across the deck in a spray of blood.

  Two more guards with matching red jumpsuits and SMGs popped out just feet away. Max fired at point-blank range and splattered one enemy across a nearby shipping container. He kicked the other guard’s hands and sent his SMG skittering across the deck. The disarmed guard yanked a knife from his belt and lunged at Max.