“Do you have a plan?” Bonnie asked in a low tone.
“Are you kiddin’?” Hickok rejoined. “My pard always has a plan.” He looked at Blade. “You do have a plan?”
Blade nodded.
The gunman grinned and leaned closer. “You can count on me to back your play when the chips are down,” he whispered. “What’s your plan?”
“We go down fighting.”
Hickok straightened, his forehead creasing. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What kind of chicken doo-doo plan is that?” Hickok queried in disbelief.
“It’s the best I can do on the spur of the moment.”
Hickok snorted. “Brother! And Geronimo says I come up with cockamamie plans! Wait until he hears about this.”
“Our only hope is to take out the King,” Blade said quietly. “Maybe, just maybe, if we can kill him, the Hounds will fall apart. Without his leadership, there’s no one to hold them together.”
“You’re forgetting the Dark Lord,” Bonnie reminded him.
“Do you think the Hounds will follow the Dark Lord?”
“I know they will. They’re scared to death of him,” Bonnie said. “The Dark Lord might take over the Hounds if the King is wasted.”
“Then Hickok will dispose of the King, and I’ll handle the Dark Lord,” Blade proposed.
“What about me?” Bonnie asked.
“You’ll get Chastity out of the line of fire,” Blade stated.
“But I want to help you.”
“You’re helping us by saving Chastity,” Blade whispered. “We can’t protect her and fight effectively at the same time.”
“All right. I’ll do it.”
Blade glanced around. The nearest Hounds were seven feet off, and several were obviously attempting to overhear the conversation. “Wait for my signal,” he directed his companions.
The rest of the ride was conducted in silence except for the rumbling of the truck motor and the creaking of the transport when the tires struck ruts and potholes. None of the Hounds spoke. Traveling to their rear, visible over the top of the tailgate, was the second convoy truck.
Blade thought of his wife and son, wondering if he would ever see them again, or any of the Family for that matter. He was growing weary of the constant trips to investigate reports of potential threats to the Home or the Federation. The run to Miami had devolved into a nightmare with the three Warriors being stranded over a thousand miles from their loved ones. He wanted to live to see them once more, to hold them in his arms.
He wanted a vacation from his responsibilities, time off to enjoy life. Time, as the cliche went, to smell the roses.
The longer he dwelled on their capture, the madder he became. Why couldn’t everyone live in peace and harmony? Why did the Spirit allow violence and hatred to exist? Oh, he was familiar with the teachings of the Elders. The Spirit, they proclaimed, was not responsible for the violence in the world. Humankind was endowed with free will, and the fate of the planet was in human hands. If humanity wouldn’t accept the guidance of the Spirit and learn to value peace as the ideal standard of existence, then humanity must experience the consequences. Wars had plagued mankind throughout the course of history, and they would continue to do so for as long as power-mongers were permitted to spread hatred and violence. If those who really wanted peace were to prevail, they must be strong enough to eradicate every power-monger who appeared. Such was the price for free will. Such was the cost of universal brotherhood.
But what good did the knowledge do him?
All he wanted out of life was the opportunity to live happily with his family and friends and to live in peace with others. That was all any sane person wanted. Sanity, however, seemed to be in short supply on the planet Earth. Insanity was the order of the day. Sometimes, in his more philosophical moods, he even went so far as to imagine he was living on a cosmic insane asylum and the inmates were in control.
Aloysius the First was a case in point.
The man was clearly demented. Anyone with half a brain could see he was warped. Yet the people of this devastated city were following his every order. Why? How could they allow themselves to be blatantly manipulated? What prevented them from rising in rebellion? The Dark Lord? Was fear the only reason? Or was there a profound explanation rooted in fundamental reality?
At the moment, he couldn’t care less.
He had a jeep stashed away, the means of transportation they needed to return to the Home. And the only thing standing in his way was a maniac with delusions of grandeur. The maniac, therefore, must be disposed of promptly.
The quicker, the better.
The convoy of trucks and jeeps wound through the city of Memphis, finally halting at the estate.
Blade heard muffled voices, then a grating sound, and the truck pulled forward. Peering over the heads of the Hounds, he saw a silver gate.
“We’re here,” Bonnie said, stating the obvious.
The truck drove up the drive to the front steps. Captain Tuchman stood. “All troopers out. Cover our prisoners.”
With strict precision the Hounds jumped to the ground.
“Now you,” Tuchman commanded the captives.
Blade rose and moved to the rear of the transport. He squinted in the bright sunlight, then stepped down.
Aloysius the First appeared on the steps. Behind him were two Hounds bearing the Bowies, Colts, and automatic rifles.
“Was your ride comfortable?” the King asked sarcastically.
Hickok slid to the asphalt with Chastity in his arms. “Go suck on a rotten egg,” he answered.
“Crude. And very typical,” Aloysius said. He looked at the officer. “Bring them, Captain.”
Tuchman organized the Hounds into a column of twos. He hefted the M-16 he held and wagged the barrel in the direction of the front entrance.
“Let’s go,” he directed the Warriors. “Take it slow.”
Aloysius was ascending the steps.
Blade strolled toward the door, his arms at his sides, trying to convey the impression he was resigned to his fate. He wanted them unprepared when he made his move.
“Wow! This must be the biggest house ever,” Chastity declared in amazement.
“I never wanted to set foot in this place again,” Bonnie remarked apprehensively.
“Look at the bright side,” Hickok suggested.
“What bright side?”
“One way or the other, this is the last time you’ll need to come here.”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“Any time.”
Blade looked at the gunman. “Maybe you should give Chastity to Bonnie,” he recommended.
“Good idea, pard,” Hickok acknowledged, and kissed his newfound daughter on the right cheek. “You listen to Bonnie, you hear? Do everything she tells you.”
“I will,” Chastity said.
Hickok handed her to Bonnie. “Take real good care of my young’un.”
“No problem,” Bonnie replied.
Hickok winked at Chastity, then caught up with Blade. “Say when,” he whispered.
Blade nodded. He reached the top step and went inside, marveling at the plush interior.
“This way,” Aloysius commanded, already a dozen steps up the wide stairway to the right. The pair of Hounds carrying the weapons were a step below him.
“I could never live in a place this size,” Hickok commented as they started up.
“Why not?” Blade inquired.
“It’s too blamed huge,” Hickok said. “I’d get lost lookin’ for the john.”
Blade grinned, then looked over his left shoulder at the column of Hounds marching through the door. Captain Tuchman was covering them with his M-16. He faced front, climbing to the landing, scrutinizing the portrait of a man in black leather attire.
“Who do you think he was?” Hickok asked.
“I don’t know.”