The Reservoir. Part Six.

 The sound of heavy, loud and obnoxious hip-hop music was blaring from the building that was directly ahead of him as Ryan’s 1970 Doge Challenger drove towards the sound of the bass. He did not like rap, hip-hop, or any type of music associated. In fact he despised it. But, he developed a tolerance for the music due to all the times he has had to see Mansell Lexor of The Juggalos.

To put it mildly, The Juggalos were an army formed by Mansell when he needed a group of tough, powerful men that were not afraid to fight dirty and use any means needed. Originally a fight club, they came to the attention of Ryan Reservoir when he saw their power and wanted their assistance on a job that involved getting revenge against a man that hated women. Needless to say, they did the job better than expected. Introducing them to Don J. Coppola, he agreed to allow them a branch on the Reservoir Crime Family as their main hit men.

In all honesty, Ryan despised using them due to how annoying and, at times, idiotic they can be. But when you have a job to do, you have to do it well. On the way, Soren called to inform him on all that has happened with Lady Caponae. Ryan told him about Caponae and her girls busting into his house unexpected and seeing him nude. Soren just laughed like a maniac at the thought and when he heard the insult, he knew that this was some of the funniest shit to happen in years and wrote down the insult to use in a story about crime he had been writing in his spare time. Telling him to fuck off, he ended the call. Thinking back on it, he did allow himself to grin at the idea of what had happened.

Once he reached the base, he called Mansell on his cell phone to let him in.

“Who the fuck is this?” A deep, gravel voice asked.

“The leader of a mafia, you son of a bitch. Open up.” The gate opened and Ryan drove right on in.

Mansell’s office was filled with numerous albums on the walls and newspaper clippings from the times his rap groups performed. Mansell was a man that enjoyed, lived, breathed, found peace in rap. While most of the mafia leaders despised the genre, Mansell was respected for his power and attempt to focus on something when he was not beating the shit out of a rat.

Mansell had his back turned to Ryan as he was listening to a new song by one of his groups. Ryan could faintly hear the bass in the background and he took a swig of water. Then, once the bass stopped, Mansell wrote down some words on a legal pad and turned to Ryan.

“I have been in this godforsaken business for about twenty years.” He said, looking at the notes. “I use to rap and perform like the people I pay to do so. But, no passion. No idea. This is the foundation of art: music about fucking people. I am thinking of quitting this business. This artless art is going to be the death of me.”

“I have been telling you that from the time we first met till now.” Ryan said, smelling the smoke of freshly burnt weed in the air. Before Mansell was to do anything, regardless if it was business or music, he would inhale a joint of weed to help open his mind and make him ready for what may come.

“You have been saying I should get out of this business of rapping. What the fuck am I doing? You are not my fucking therapist. What the hell do you want?” Mansell took a swig of some dark colored liquid that resided on his desk.

“First off, have you received any phone calls from Coppola, Caponae, Kane, or any of the other heads?” Ryan looked him straight in the eyes.

“I got a call from Sykes. He told me what happened. Then I saw the news. What about it?”

“On orders of the heads, they are asking a favor out of you: send Coppola some of your best men and have them be ready to have a lecture about what is going to happen.” Mansell looked at him strangely.

“What do you mean?”

“Coppola is getting together some people to help take down the person that killed Twix and Tyler last night. As far as we know, there might be more deaths and attacks as the days grow old. We need to get some people together so, should this happen, we will be ready. We don’t want another war to start.”

“Maybe a war won’t be such a bad thing.” Mansell said, leaning back. “Having one ends up getting rid of the dirty blood.”

“Then you lick up the blood and shit it out. Yeah, we know. We remember from the last war and the chaos you and The Juggalos caused. While it was impressive in terms of visual destruction, it was unneeded in terms of how much damage was caused. We understand your love for violence. Don’t get me wrong. But, right now, we don’t need that. What we need is mature, thoughtful people that can obey orders when given.” Hearing that, Mansell unleashed a loud, disturbing laugh.

“My entire army is filled with immature brats. These people will cause as much blood shed as needed for whatever cause. So, if it is tamed fighters you need, I can’t give them to you.” Ryan looked up, about to protest. Then, Mansell extended his hand.

“However, I will be able to help you out in one way. You see, while I am growing tired of rap, I have decided to take under my wing heavy metal music. There are these two Scandinavian brothers that are part of this new act I am signing up. While their music is decent, they make up for their flaws with the brutal power and force of their fighting. They have been in and out of prisons for a good chunk of their lives and to this day, they have grown so use to the system that they can break out of any prison in just a matter of days. Actually, you should know all about them due to them also working with Caponae and her film, performance industry.” Ryan released a deep, low whistle.

“And what will be the name of these two men?” It was obvious that no one told him about The Andres.

“The Scandinavians are known as The Andres. These two brothers, they go by the code names Gargoyle and Youngling, are masters of traditional Viking ways and motives. You get them into a fight with anyone and the result will be tamed, yet completely chaotic. They are brutal, but know how to control themselves.” Mansell to a swig of his drink, which at close inspection was Scotch.

“You know it is a tad bit early in the day to be drinking Scotch, right?”

“You know that I don’t have any more fucks to give out, right?” Mansell took his joint and stumped it into his desk next to a massive collection of burnt holes that have been formed their from countless other cigarettes, cigars, joints, etc.

“Look, Ryan. This is what I can offer you. You need trained guys that can do a job good, right? Well, this is the best I got. Tell Coppola that you will be meeting them for coffee soon. I will contact you with the details. We will try and help you in any way that we can. But for us to help you, you must accept what we have to offer. I am sorry, but this is the best that we can do.” With that, Mansell sat back and looked at Ryan.

“Don Lextor,” Ryan said, “Due to the extreme situation we find ourselves in, we will take the help that is offered. Thank you for your time.” With that, Ryan stood up and walked out of the office. But before he did so, Mansell called to him.

“Hey Ryan, don’t be afraid to stop by for a smoke sometime!” Ryan laughed a bit.

“I stopped that shit a while back.” Mansell said something in response, something like: Don’t say that shit! What ever it was, Ryan did not care.

Once back in his car, he called Soren and explained everything. Catching him up to date, he went and started driving home to get ready to meet the Andres.

The entire time this was going on, a figure clad in black, similar to the one that killed Twix and Tyler, was watching Ryan with the eyes of a hawk.