Dungeons & Gangsters 3 Read online

  “Mmm... right there, right there, my little gobbo...”

  “Ya hear that, boss?! Heehee! Ngha! I’m ridin’ this fine orc ass real good!”

  “Skreech, will you not distract me?! I’m with a classy lady over here!” I shook my head, but I chuckled a little. I think he was right. I could swear that Ari Escalade was startin to like it. I figured she wouldn't even feel it on account of her being built to take foot-long orc dick, but I guess Skreech could thrust so fast for so long that he was like one of those vibrators girls wore on their fingers to get themselves off. Little fucker looked like a hummingbird flappin’ his dick in her.

  “Big Red! Mmm!” Night Candy stared at me, her mouth parting as she tried to speak through the building pleasure. Her eyes were literally smoldering, embers floating inside them. She looked hot as hell. “Are you here for your friend—ah! Or here for me?”

  “Oh I’m here for one thing, baby.” I grinned as I shifted so that I was more on top of her, my hands posted on either side of her shoulders, making it so my hips could really throttle away as I pierced her in all kinds of looping patterns. “I’m here for that tight pussy of yours.”

  “Couldn't we have gone a little longer, boss?” Skreech was standing in front of me, a towel around him and nothing else.

  “Greedy little shit.” I grinned, and puffed my cigarette as I reclined on the daybed. “You went for two hours. I don't even think you were hard anymore, just staring at the orc ass and jackhammering away with half a limp dick. Not to mention pissing money away.”

  “Well, can ya blame me? I mean, she wasn't no three tittied orc girl... but still, she was hot as fuck...”

  “You ungrateful little runt.” I shook my head. “I asked Madame Pleasure for the closest thing she had to her. Three tits are rare, OK? What, you wanna drive all the way back to LA just to try and get a lay? Ask Grexy if she had any sisters with three tits too?”

  “Well... we could pick up some stuff while we’re there.”

  “Just put your pants on already.” I tossed him his trousers.

  Chapter 4

  “Boss, did you see how I rode her though, boss? Did ya see?” Skreech asked me as he stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk in front of the sushi restaurant.

  “Yeah, for the tenth time, I did. Now remember what I told you, you don't breathe a word about it. To anyone. Especially the girls. We still... have to talk through it, and I’d rather not have to deal with it right now that business is just starting to pick up.”

  “You got it, boss.” His sharp little teeth shone as he grinned wide.

  The Philly streets swept past my window as I drove on. I’d dropped Skreech off at the apartment, and passed on coming up to see the girls. Last time I’d stopped by the Bards and the Bees before coming home, they both started acting funny, especially Tyzee, like they could smell the whores on me. I couldn't worry about that now. I needed to get my priorities straight, and that meant strengthening my position in the city. The girls would thank me later, when I could provide a lifestyle worthy of them.

  I decided to head over to Baron’s Street and pay respects to my cousin. He’d told me there was a gathering he wanted me to attend, something real important, and so out of respect, I wasn't going to reject his invite. For as much of a pain in the ass as he was, he was still like a brother to me, not to mention a capo, which the way the whole metro area was run, was more like being a boss, on account of hardly answering to the city’s actual boss, what was more commonly known as its crime lord. This crime lord, the drow known as the Spider, controlled the Philly metro area which spread through half of Pennsylvania, all of Delaware and even a good chunk of Jersey.

  I didn't want my refusal of joining up with Shal to flare up more than it already had, so I figured I’d show my goodwill. He was family after all.

  As I drove, I pondered about how I could squeeze money outta the Diamonds, now that it belonged to me. It would be a hell of a fortress to run dope out of, a real fuckin’ cash cow, especially now that a connect for good tree had basically fallen into my lap. Big Fat seemed to have a real high regard for that mongrel Refoul. I’m sure I could play my cards right and get Refoul’s business. The only issue with all that was Big Fat had banned me from hustlin’ for an indeterminate amount of time. I guess ‘til he felt I was a little more trustworthy, since the fuzz and the feds were crackin’ down real fuckin’ hard on wiseguys slingin’ weed and narcotics, thus making them a prime target for potentially squealin’ on their captains in exchange for a light sentence and a new life somewheres far away. I figured I’d have to think of somethin’ else in the meantime to get some real cash outta the Diamonds, besides Mikey’s monthly installment, which was good enough for the rent on the apartment and literally nothin’ else. And if I couldn't squeeze more cash from the Diamonds, then I’d have to find new ventures, new earners.

  I was about to cross outta the twenty blocks I was runnin’ for Big Fat, outta Kobold Town altogether. While stopped at a red light, I noticed some sort of scuffle goin’ on outside some bar on the corner there. The damn thing was shaped like a small medieval Irish manor with a beat up old wooden sign that had ‘The Dayz Maze’ carved into it. I looked below that and saw a poster taped up on the window next to the door; it had a crude drawing of an elf on it and proclaimed in large black letters: NO ELF BASTARDS ALLOWED! There was a large, very stocky bugbear with a magnificent beard standin’ in the doorway. He was wearin’ a “Members Only” jacket and looking mildly entertained as he observed the humans scuffling on the sidewalk. I made a mental note of this scene, thinkin’ I might have to swing by the joint at some point soon. It was within my 20 x 20 territory after all.

  Driving through Kobold Town on the way to see Shal... Damn, this was taking me back. There was something peculiar about driving through these streets, streets I’d learned to drive on when I was kid. I’d left as one person, and now, ten years later, I was back another. You can’t go livin’ in LA and not change, probably for the worse, tell you the truth. You know more shoe brands, more celebrity gossip—the fuck is that worth? But I suppose there was a lot of me that was the same. After all, once a gangster... always a gangster.

  I smirked as I puffed on my cigarette and suddenly came to the realization that there was now, under the good auspices of Big Fat Ton, a whole myriad of business open to me in my twenty piece and Kobold Town. I gotta be careful, though, I ain’t tryin’ to step on anybody’s toes. Plus, if I start makin’ noise, bringing in more cash, it’s only inevitable that Big Fat will take a large hit outta my action, and I ain’t gonna be one of them cats chasin’ down his own money just to hand the lion’s share over to a whale of an orc. Or worse, I turned onto Baron’s, headed for The Hob’s Delight, someone else might try to muscle in on me, especially if they come to find out I ain’t even linked up with a crew, just loosely affiliated with a fat orc thug who I really doubt would come runnin’ if I sent out a fuckin’ S.O.S.

  Seein’ Shal’s Cadillac parked outback the restaurant, I parked up next to it and headed in.

  The goliath of a fuckin’ hobgoblin bodyguard was workin’ the door again, and as soon as he saw me comin’ up he nodded to me. “Teek.”

  “Hey big guy, you taking a break from the gym to grace us with your presence?” I smirked. He didn't laugh at my joke. Instead, he opened the big black door leading into the back room, where Shal was holding court with some of his crew.

  As I walked in, it looked like Shal must have finished sayin’ something of some importance, as all I saw was a few reddish domes and their accompanying pointed ears nodding in acceptance, submission even, towards my cousin. They were seated around a big table in the lavish, though a little garish backroom. There was a gaggle of goblin attendants with them, some of em’ dressed in the gaudy fashion goblins were adopting these days. Colored tights, furry vests, giant studded boots, one with a fuckin’ lobster danglin’ from his nipples.

  There was some sort of chipped shiny white brick on the tabl
e next to Shal; it was the strangest stone I ever seen, the way it sparkled. Then, when I saw him casually whack off a small corner of the brick and start to chop it up in front of him, I realized it wasn’t no fuckin’ stone, it was a solid brick of cocaine, some of the finest in the world from what I could tell, and from the strong scent it gave off the longer I was in the room and around it, like vaguely sweet chemicals and gasoline. I was blown away and a little annoyed at the hypocrisy since he had given me such a hard time back at the house over a fuckin’ joint, especially since it was lookin’ like this wasn’t his first time at the rodeo, I mean the guy was all zooted and tooted already in the middle of the fuckin’ day.

  “Teek.” Shal sniffed and stood up when he saw me come in, started to come around the table. “Just the hobgoblin I wanted to see.” He came over and gave me a quick embrace.

  “What’s the good word?” I asked, following him over to a nearby table.

  “But boss…” One of Shal’s crew sittin’ at the big table spoke up.

  “Yeah?” My cousin glanced back at the hobgoblin. “What’s your fuckin, question Flam?” I recognized this hobgoblin. His name was Santoro, was only a couple years younger than Shal, but his black hair was getting some salt and pepper to it already. Most people knew him as Flamingo though, on account of his very bright pink skin, which he took shit for since he was a kid.

  “What if Khakkoc… Your pops… Finds out…? I mean before, it was different, but this…? This is major—”

  Shal turned fully towards Flamingo. “And so the fuck what if he finds out? He’s in there tucked away nice and cozy in his cushy fuckin’ cell. Meanwhile I’m the lightning rod out here on the streets, takin’ all the heat. Let me make it simple for you. He got Q’d. He’s gone away. And he’s about to go on trial for conspiracy to commit murder. You ever seen a wise guy beat a murder rap and R.I.C.O. charges?”

  “Though he didn't articulate them properly, I have to agree with Santoro’s concerns.” This time it was a much older hobgoblin that spoke up. His skin was a mottled grey, real rough, almost rocky in places. He knew my father, my whole family as he’d been in the game a long time. His name was Gramorr Kogerstein, but most everyone called him Grampus. It didn't help that he often wore knit sweaters and had bright red hair, which was clearly a dye job if I’d ever seen one. “I’m not entirely opposed to new business practices. Matter of fact, Khakkoc and I butt heads over this sort of thing in the past. It’s the way it’s being rolled out that I think might need a more deliberate approach, a more delicate touch.”

  “Delicate? What the hell are we runnin’ here, a nail and hair salon?” Shal waved his hand dismissively.

  “All I’m saying is we should have the right people in place when we roll out a new initiative like this. Contacts in city government, in law enforcement, the right accords with neighboring crews. We should think through all the negotiation tools at our disposal.”

  “Fuck that! I got my negotiation tool right here. It’s called balls.” ” Shal grabbed his crotch. Laughs and cheers rang out, as a lot of the hobgoblins, and especially the goblins, loved this sort of leadership.

  “But Shal…” Flamingo piped up.

  “But nothin’! This is my crew, you got a problem with it? You wanna run and snitch me out to my old man? Go ‘head. I’ll leave you wherever the fuck I find you. Don’t you got some collections to make or somethin’ to do?” He looked around at the rest of his crew at the table, glancing coldly from one hobgoblin to the next, all his top guys. “Anyone else wanna voice their complaints about the current leadership?”

  The underling hobgoblins answered in sequence.

  “Nah, you got this, boss.” Nolo was standing, nodding submissively, hands clasped in front of him.

  “I don’t see nothin’ wrong with sellin’ a little snow. The cash is fuckin’ astronomical. We’re flippin’ it to the humans and the other animals, it ain’t like we’re sellin’ this poison to our own people—” It was a hob with a deep brown coloring, balding hair.

  “Well said.” Shal nodded appreciatively to that hobgoblin, some brownie named Lorenzo, who clearly approved of whatever was goin’ on here.

  “I think a lotta good ground was covered…” A pudgy hobgoblin with an earring and curly hair put out his cigar.

  “I was only offering advice. I wasn’t complaining about the leadership—” Grampus said.

  Lookin’ dubiously at his crew, Shal turned to Nolo. “I got something else important to say. Nolo’s gettin’ a bump up. Guy’s been a solid, loyal performer for the family for awhile now, he’s one of us. It’s time he got his button.”

  “Boss…” Nolo looked up at Shal like he was a fuckin’ gangster hobgoblin version of Santa Claus. “I don’t know what to say…”

  “You earned it, brother, it’s time.”

  “You’re making him on the spot, just like that, Shal?” Grampus protested, then seemed to ease his tone at a glare from Shal. “All I mean is... you know, we should have the initiation ritual. The tradition goes back thousands of years, all the way back to the Iron Shadows.”

  “We’ll do the whole ritual shebang later. For now, this chain is good enough.” Shal embraced Nolo, gave him the kiss of peace and respect on each cheek and draped a solid gold chain around his neck. I have to admit, it looked pretty damn good on Nolo’s black outfit. Most of Shal’s crew got up and shook Nolo’s hand, congratulating him, though a couple of ‘em only did so reluctantly and not without grumblings. “You're a soldier now, Nolo.”

  “Holy shit...” I muttered to myself. Just like that, I’d witnessed someone being made. It was a huge fucking deal. Made guys were an extension of the crime family, an extension of the boss. Not even other made guys, not even the boss could raise a hand to them, not without extreme reason. Anyone who wasn't made and so much as gave a made guy a funny look, they were fair game to take out. It meant earning more, it meant giving the made guy protection from other crews, families, cartels. And of course, it was life long, and meant having to follow the capo’s every order, without question.

  “Look at us, we’re raising a fucking army! No, a legion!”

  Shal nodded to his guys, who were cheering and clapping. My cousin was lookin’ on with a little smile that told me he felt supremely confident and pleased with himself, which I didn’t completely understand since some of his people clearly weren’t exactly feelin’ unified under him and his style of leadership. Some of these hobgoblins were very distantly related to Shal and me, very distantly. Shit, me and Shal were more closely related to the fuckin’ bugbears at this point in time. It wasn’t blood ties keepin’ these hobs loyal and workin’ for Shal though, it was greed and the raw power they were accumulating on the streets under my cousin’s ultra violent rule that was keepin’ them in line and loyal to the family, the crew, to Shal himself.

  My uncle Khakkoc was a hard hobgoblin, he didn’t take no shit, but I don’t think even he would have considered undertaking a violent heist against civilians like Shal did when he and his crew hit that major lick with the diamond heist. Uncle Khakkoc would have considered the potential loss of life if the guns had to come out, whether it was his hobgoblins, bystanders or cops. Khakkoc started a war with the Jersey crew after they knocked off my old man, at least that’s what I was told, but that was a different story; that was a war of vengeance, a necessary war, and the targets were scumbag wiseguy hobs from Jersey who shot my father in cold blood, with no justification whatsoever, not the fuckin’ common folk who weren’t even involved in the life, in this thing of ours.

  But obviously my cuz had no such qualms, in fact, as far as I could tell, he reveled in the violence; the way Big Fat and his orcs reacted with such loathing when his name was mentioned made it fairly clear to me that Shal was most likely responsible for a number of orc deaths, but that had nothin’ to do with me and they must have patched together some loose peace if my cousin let me near him even though I associated with Big Fat. I suppose at the end of the day, both
Big Fat and Shal answered to the Spider, and so couldn't really go to full war with one another. It helped that the Spider was a lay in the shadows type of city crime lord, so crew capos were free to solve their own disputes, to a point. When the Spider’s edicts came down, they came down hard and fast, a black widow stinging.

  “Yo.” Shal turned to me, sniffed hard like he had somethin’ lodged up his nose, and I noticed the lightest dusting of white, sparkly powder under his nostril. “We gotta talk.” He nodded towards the back door and I followed him through it, heading out to the little back parking lot where I had parked up next to his Cadillac.

  “Shal... what’s your deal man?” You give me a hard time about a little tree, yet your pickin’ snow fresh off the brick like you’re runnin’ a race with fuckin’ Tony Montana?”

  Shal’s eyes narrowed. “I said what you do on your own time is your business, Teek. I just don’t like the smell of that shit. That soft on the other hand though… That coca… Well, let’s just say that’s the only white dame I’ll ever have a… Special relationship with —”

  I put a red hand up, alarmed and not really wanting to hear more. My cousin was soundin’ like a fuckin’ dope fiend.