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Saturnday No. 14

Death on the Docks by Scott Story - Part VI - Copyright 2008 Story Studios LLC.  All rights reserved.

 

If you were to ask him, Dr. Horatio Synn could not have told you why he liked Spire City.  He had business holdings here, but then he had holdings all over the world.  Horatio’s daughter kept a condominium here, but then she also had homes in Buenos Aries, Monaco, and numerous other cities.  Dr. Synn’s son-in-law called Spire City home, but that certainly was no recommendation for this Midwestern town.  Dr Synn’s fathers’ mentor, Dr. Wissenschaft, called Spire City home, and Wissenschaft Industries was a division of Synn Tech, so perhaps that was it. 

 

In truth, Dr. Synn had no sentimental feelings for Spire City.  It just seemed that fate (or synchronicity) brought him here again and again.  The doctor could not remember when he had last visited his estate in Buenos Aries, let alone the homes he kept in Cornwall, Madrid, Hong Kong, Manhattan, Havana, and Mexico City.  Spire City simply had a pull that kept bringing him back.

 

Dr. Synn tossed aside his last newspaper for the day (he read at least eight), and refilled his tea.  Horatio Synn was a dashing figure with a Roman nose and black, swept back hair.  Slender and handsome in his middle-ages, Dr. Synn was dressed impeccably in his standard white linen suit, black tie, and white fedora that had a black hat band.  His cane, polished ebony with a spherical silver grip, was near at hand.   

 

Bombastic, Dr. Synn’s bodyguard and enforcer, knocked politely.  Dr. Synn acknowledged the hulking brute with a polite “Yes?”

 

“We have a problem, Dr. Synn,” said the newcomer.  “Your shipment has been intercepted.  Apparently, Johnny Saturn took out the Charlie Blockers, and the police have surrounded the crates.  They’ll impound your goods once they secure the scene.”

 

Bombastic, born Nils Zilcher, had more genetically transposed meta-fuels pumping through his veins than blood, and he was so over muscled that his wrists were bigger than most men’s necks.  At six foot seven inches, he was monstrous slab of interlocking muscles from head to foot, a walking anatomy lesson, a freak of no known nature produced in the horror labs of Wissenschaft Industries.  When wicked old Dr. Wissenschaft delivered this one back in 1992, he had gone all out, and Bombastic came with a reinforced skeletal structure, armored epidermis, and backup internal organs.  Add to this a black leather bondage harness, “painted on,” tight-fitting clothing with all the straps, buckles, pouches, and reinforced boots one frame could carry, and everything about Bombastic screamed “1990’s.”  Include an arsenal of knives, spikes, throwing stars, guns, grenades, and bandoliers, and you had the man.  Bombastic had long, flowing hair because he believed it made him look like a famous movie barbarian. 

 

“This will not do, Mr. Bombastic,” said Dr. Synn matter-of-factly.  In Dr. Synn’s world, those crates were his property, and if the police had taken them, then he would simply take them back.  It was that simple.  The only laws he had ever respected were the laws of physics and chaos, and other rules simply did not rank.

 

“Borrow six or so of Dr. Wissenschaft’s mercenaries, would you, and warm up the diesel,” said Dr. Synn.  “We are going to collect my property.”

 


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