Previously on RUNNER RAMIREZ & THE RACETRACK FROM HELL…
Runner entered into a partnership with Reginald Fairweather and learned more about the demon really behind the strange events around Pompano Beach, Azrael. Runner’s own demon ‘friend’ then led them to a burning warehouse, owned by a big-time gangster named Frankie Sanchez. This gave Runner an idea, a brilliant idea on how to take down the owner of the racetrack, Clyde Bohannon, and keep Azrael from entering our world…
And now…
Runner Ramirez & the Racetrack from Hell
By Tyler Tarlton
Chapter 10
Due to the track being so close to completion Clyde would want to take care of the problem as quickly as possible without getting sidetracked into an all-out war. My bet was that Clyde would arrange a sit-down to discuss terms with Frankie. An offer like that from a bigger player would definitely be considered a win for a guy like Frankie Sanchez, especially since he would think the offer came about after the warehouse fire and not after any attack of his own, since he would not be the one that actually did anything to the racetrack. I know this sounds convoluted but stick with me. Once the meeting was set Clyde would get his Summoner to call Azrael into some poor hapless soul to wipe out Frankie's group all at once, without having to fire a single shot. Having a demon on the payroll wasn't too bad for a crime boss.
And guess what? That's exactly what happened. I had Fairweather find and follow one of Frankie's second rate goons. We jumped him and took his clothes and a few personal effects. I dressed up as the man and off to the track we went. Fairweather took his Packard to the track's entrance and ran all over the newly installed landscaping. That brought every guard in the place to the front. With them distracted I snuck into one of the interior buildings that formed one point of the demon's symbol. Using some knowledge I picked up during the war I fashioned a homemade explosive that wasn't much but managed to severely damage one side of the building. It looked spectacular but didn't do enough damage to necessitate too big of a retaliatory response. It would mainly serve to hopefully convince Clyde to call for that sit down and also put the track's opening, and Azrael's arrival, further into the future. That was important even if the first thing didn't happen.
Fortunately, it did. We staked out the hotel where Clyde stayed in the past when he'd visit, learned from the papers, and sure enough he arrived not 36 hours later. A couple targeted bribes gave us the info that Clyde had indeed called for a meeting with Frankie which would be held the following night. I hoped it would be held somewhere far from civilians and as luck would have it, the meeting was scheduled to take place out in the swamp. Near the base of a certain Summoner.
Our plan was relatively simple; lie in wait until the Summoner initiated some poor soul's possession then make our move. I would distract the one possessed while Fairweather took care of the Summoner. Once that one was incapacitated then he would attempt to exorcise the demon.
"Now Azrael is quite powerful," he said as we drove out of town. "If I can't get him out..."
"I know what to do," I responded. "Don't worry kid, you'll do just fine."
The fact was I really didn't think Reginald Fairweather was up to the task. He seemed like he knew his stuff but as smart as a person could be it's hard to make up for a lack of experience in this line of work. And you never knew how a man would react in the heat of battle. I saw that firsthand plenty of times in the Great War. I'd give him the chance for the exorcism but if things even started to go south...I had no problem putting down the possessed. Even if he was an innocent man.
We passed the place where the track manager had previously taken me, unbeknownst to him of course, and drove around the next bend to where we would be out of sight. Fairweather pulled the car off the road and proceeded to get his gear together.
"I didn't see any cars around that turnout," he said as he organized his bag. "You sure that's the spot?"
"I'm sure. The gangs' cars are probably at some other entrance."
Even if I hadn't been able to determine the meeting place I would've known that it was nearby. A low-level series of shocks plagued my spine and there was a palpable sense of energy in the air. I could almost taste it. I knew my 'friend' was already supplying me with some of his otherworldly power.
Once Fairweather was ready we crossed the street and entered the forest. The low light made them all appear more gnarled and creepier then they actually were. Shadows stretched into the shapes of monsters and other ghoulish figures. The kid jumped on several occasions but to his credit stayed silent.
We reached the base of a small rise over which could be seen the flickering of torchlight. I signaled to Fairweather to drop and we slowly crawled to the top. There I carefully peeked over the top and saw the circle of torches just like I had seen a couple nights prior. Beyond that sat a large table. Frankie sat at the opposite end while a man I recognized from the papers as Clyde Bohannon sat on the other. Why Frankie agreed to a meeting in such a place is beyond me but I supposed these swamps had been used for illicit meetings dating far before the arrival of the pilgrims. Both bosses were backed by an array of muscle and hired guns. I could not hear what was being said but things appeared to be civil. At least for the moment. Clyde's visage was blocked but Frankie actually looked a little cocky. If this played out without our intervention he would forever regret that look.
I felt a nudge at my side. Fairweather pointed to an area to the right of the table, back behind the Summoner's cabin. There in the shadows stood the man himself. And before him stood a strapping young man who appeared to have more muscles in his back than I did in my whole body. That didn't bode well for me as that man was the one to be possessed which meant I had to fight him.
We watched as the Summoner raised his hands and waved them around in a complicated manner. He also mouthed words I could not hear but probably couldn't understand anyway. The man suddenly lurched, his back arcing in an unnatural position. His skin reddened and he raised off the ground what looked like a couple inches. His mount opened in terror right before he dropped to one knee. He stood and turned, a sinister smile on his face. We were still looking at a human face yet one occupied by Azrael.
"He's got him now," Fairweather whispered. I glanced at the kid and saw that a line of sweat ringed his forehead. He looked to be shaking a little as well.
"Hey," I said, reaching out my hand. "You okay?"
It took a second but Fairweather furrowed his brow and nodded. He pulled his back around in front of him and eased it open.
"I got this," he said with conviction.
I nodded in return and went over the plan once more in my mind. It hinged on the Summoner staying out of sight. I imagined that the possessed one would go and wipe out all but one of Frankie's men, with the survivor serving as a mouthpiece and warning to other gangs not to even considering crossing Clyde Bohannon. If the Summoner was spotted that bit of news would probably paint Clyde as nuts and might possibly inspire others to go for his territory.
Sure enough the Summoner drifted backward between two trees and got in a meditative position. The possessed man turned and strode toward the table. I nudged Fairweather and pointed at the Summoner. He took a breath and nodded then pulled an odd-looking club from his bag. It looked like something a cave man would use. I would later learn that it was actually the jawbone of an ass. I'll leave the Biblical parallels for you to consider. He slipped off into the growing darkness.
I focused my attention on the table. The possessed man was waiting a few feet away, no doubt waiting for a signal from Clyde. I had to time this exactly right; the possessed man needed to be fully engaged with the goons before I made my move. Even with help he was going to be stronger than me so I needed distraction and fatigue on my side. And though I didn't care in the slightest about the thugs I didn't want too many of them to get hurt. Probably.
A glance back toward the Summoner saw him fully engaged in meditation. I felt a warmth fill my insides as my 'friend' began to lend me his power. All my senses heightened which allowed me to see Fairweather sneaking through the trees toward the Summoner. I had relayed my encounter with him inside the speakeasy and of the magical response he could muster. The kid had to be fast and relentless, he could not rest nor give quarter. Otherwise the Summoner would mop the floor with him.
Will the Summoner mop the floor with Fairweather? Will he and Runner survive? Find out next week when our penultimate chapter rolls around!