Post by Thaddeus Duke on Oct 1, 2023 11:12:46 GMT -5
OOC: Full disclosure, this was meant to be a series of segments during the Ghost Ship but I got wrapped up in writing Madness that weekend and I ended up forgetting all about it day of. Anyway, here’s the story.
You can ask anyone that’s spent any amount of time with me one on one and they’ll tell you that the only price for my trust and loyalty, is the same. I give it unconditionally. Or at least, until you’ve caused me to question it. Without trust, there can be no loyalty. I’m not at all saying that anyone needs to be perfect. None of us are infallible. Especially not me.
Some may question, and some have even gone public casting doubt over whether or not I really saw the Triumvirate happening before it happened. The truth is, while I have never been in their circles, I have been close to people that… while maybe they weren’t in their circle, they were close enough to see it with their own eyes on more than one occasion. Years of military service for my people has gifted me the ability to see what few see before it even happens. Now combine that with being born into this business. I’ve seen it all and nothing is a surprise.
This is not me stroking my own ego. This is not me wearing a mask of ‘hindsight’ and calling it ‘vision’ after the fact as some might think. It’s merely the honest truth. I have seen how those people operate. I bear no ill-will toward them for doing whatever it is they think they needed to do. But I’ve seen it. I saw it the night of the draft when Stratford was taken 1st overall. I saw it when Vhodka was drafted. I saw it when Wolf was drafted. If you think those three are the only ones within their circle, you’re further behind than you think you are and you really haven’t been paying attention.
On draft night, it was never a question of “if” they were gonna unleash a conspiracy, but “when.” Further still, “who”? There were more than three of that circle in the first draft. And there’s more seemingly coming out of the woodwork for the second draft.
I saw it from the start. You can choose to believe that or not, it makes no difference, but I’ve never been the type to live week to week. Only by stepping out of that box, can you start to see things that you’re not supposed to see.
By the end of the fourth week of trials, I was fuming mad. Being a highly trained person and despite my relatively young age, I have several years of experience in what a real conspiracy looks like. I thought it was obvious from the start. I thought others saw it too, but I was wrong. No one saw it coming, except me.
Before the Ghost Ship, I had to be sure. My trust in Marcus Welsh was nearly shattered, so… I had him removed from the equation altogether. This, is that story.
Slowing my truck to a stop outside a nondescript Brooklyn warehouse, I killed the engine, stepped out into the rain, then headed inside. Flipping on the buzzing overhead lights, you can clearly see this isn’t just any warehouse, but a command center. Leftover from a life I left behind were several military vehicles. Tanks, troop transports, Humvee’s, several armored vehicles, all kept for that inevitable ‘just in case’ scenario that years and years of paranoia prompted by being wanted dead or alive since I was 15 years old.
Along the right interior wall rests a steel grated stairwell leading to a string of what used to be offices. Warehouses by and large are cheap and not built well. When I bought this one a few years ago, I had the roof and walls reinforced, then soundproofed. I spare no expense when it comes to the possible eventualities that my sometimes paranoid mind conjures up. The upstairs offices themselves are the command center. Surveillance cameras, computer monitors, voice recorders, all of it designed by an old friend… before he ever sold out my son. Cypher was a valuable asset. I thought very highly of him when no one else did. He helped me out of a jam more than once and is responsible for saving my life.
Selling out a child though, much less my child, was unforgivable. To this day it hurts that it ever came to that. We took our revenge on him in an undeniable fashion on an episode of Massacre when OCW was still OCW. I still care a lot about him. I hope that one day, maybe we can put that mess behind us for all time. Nevertheless, I still use the tools he built for me. Tools that allow me to tap into phone lines, security cameras, traffic cameras and many others with just a few mouse clicks.
“Joey? You read me?” I asked as I sat down before the monitors and placed my piping hot Starbucks mocha on the workstation surface.
“Yeah boss,” Joey replied with his very thick Brooklyn accent.
Joey is Joey Bats. As you know, I’m a man that has worn many faces. Father, husband, lover, wrestler, world leader, warrior, debt collector… Joey is a man I met when I took a break from Thaddeus Duke and adopted the name of Jaime Henry. He worked for my mobbed up loan shark grandfather and taught me a lot of tricks of the trade. Years on, I call him when I need something done right.
“How was the flight?” I asked.
“Uneventful and boring,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Sorry man,” I said with a chuckle of my own. “I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t sensitive.”
“Yeah I know brother,” Joey replied. “You know I’m always down to help Alister Henry’s grandson.”
“I most definitely appreciate your loyalty,” I said genuinely. “You got eyes on him?”
“Not yet, but we know where he’s at,” Joey replied. “You got eyes on us?”
“Not yet,” I laughed. “I got the police chatter up. Cameras are taking a minute.”
“Get ‘em goin’ because he’s comin’ out right now,” Joey informed me.
“Thirty seconds,” I replied. “What’s he doin’?”
“Looks like he’s on a cell,” Joey replied.
“Hold on, I’ll pull it up,” I said and after a few clicks, I could listen in on Marcus Welsh’s cell phone conversation.
“...think he trusts me anymore, Greg,” Welsh said. “It was supposed to be different this time and he’s out there badmouthing and belittling me at every turn now.”
“Honey, it looks pretty damning,” Greg told him.
“I really need you right now,” Marcus said to Greg.
“Okay that’s enough of that,” I said as I clicked off their conversation.
“...Are they lovers?” Joey asked.
“I’m not really sure,” I answered. “I think? But I’m not about to listen to their private stuff. Anyway, cameras are online.”
Cycling through the different feeds, I settled on one in particular that sees both the nondescript white panel van containing my guys and Marcus Welsh pacing near a street corner about a block away.
“We go on green,” Joey stated.
“Green! Go go go!” I ordered. “His back is to the street, he’ll never see you!”
Not even a second later, the van pulls away from the curb and accelerates quickly toward the corner. In less than seven seconds, the van went from parked, to kidnapping Marcus Welsh, to speeding off down the street.
“Package is secure,” Joey informed me.
“Nahhh, we’re not out of the woods yet,” I told my guy. “Police chatter is already picking up and you’re several miles from the airport.”
“We got this van from you,” Joey said with a laugh. “It’s fast and damn near bulletproof.”
“Yeah, well you might have to use it because the five-oh are inbound,” I said to Joey. “I’ll do my best Watch Dogs impression and control the lights the best I can to keep them off you, but that thing is souped up so pedal down and get back to the fuckin' plane!”
“Plane gonna be ready by the time we get there?” Joey asked as his inflection spikes, hinting at increased drama.
“That plane hasn’t moved since it landed, Joey,” I replied. “Depending on how close the fuzz gets to you, I may have to order that plane in motion so be ready for a Hollywood escape!”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that, brother!”
“Oh believe me, I’ve done it,” I told him. “It’s really not that easy!”
I watched on the monitors through the traffic cameras in Florida as the van raced through the downtown area. From the comforting solitude of Brooklyn, I played Watch Dogs with the traffic lights causing them to go from green straight to red as the Key West police set out to chase down the white van containing three criminals and Marcus Welsh.
The van hauled ass onto the interstate and the Key West police peel off, letting the Florida Highway Patrol take over. Reminiscent of O.J. Simpson and the famous slow speed Bronco chase, the interstate is clear ahead of the van as most cars were ordered to pull off to the side. The FHP though are in hot pursuit as the turbocharged panel van approaches speeds north of 140 miles per hour.
“Phil, get ready to move and have the cargo ramp down. They'll be comin' in hot!” I said to the pilot of the massive cargo plane. “The FHP just sent out the Lamborghini’s and we’re gonna have to do this like an action movie.”
“Loud and clear boss,” Phil replied.
“Joey, you guys are not outrunning the Lamborghini’s that the FHP just unleashed on you so don’t fuck up!” I warned him. “The tires won’t go flat so don’t lose control trying to avoid the spike strips. Just run ‘em over.”
“How’d you plan for all this?” Joey asked.
“Experience,” I replied confidently.
Just ahead and to the right, the outer fence of the airport was in view. On the runway, my plane has started in motion as it slowly picked up speed. Inside the van, Joey hung a hard right down the exit ramp and steered the van off the ramp and into the grass crashing through the airport fence. More than a dozen Highway Patrol cars are right on his ass though as he’s through the fence and on the runway trying to chase down the cargo plane. Several hundred feet ahead of him, the cargo ramp lowered to the ground sending sparks flying as it dragged down the runway. Joey inched the van closer and closer with the cops close behind him as they raced toward the cargo plane.
Just as he positions the van in line with the cargo ramp, my feed was lost.
“Joey!” I called out. “I lost my feed! Come back!”
I waited for several seconds and received no response.
“Joey!” I called again. The only response I received this time was interference and static. “Phil!” I called out to the pilot.
Again, no reply.
“Fuck!” I yelled out.
“Joey, answer me!” I yelled at no one.
Finally, Joey came back.
“Boss, we’re wheels up and the package is secure,” he said.
Exhaling a deep sigh, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.
“Boss?” Joey said.
“Yeah I’m here,” I replied. “Right when you were about to hit the ramp I lost everything. I had no visuals, I had no communications. I feared the worst.”
“I gotta hand it to ya man,” Joey said. “That was the most fuckin' fun I had in a long fuckin’ time brother!”
“Everyone’s good? No one’s hurt?” I asked.
“We’re all good here,” he replied.
“And Welsh?”
“Gagged and hooded. Scared out of his mind, but he’s fine.”
“Keep him that way, but put him somewhere comfortable,” I instructed. “You know where you’re takin’ him?”
“Brooklyn?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “I’ll see you in a couple hours. In the meantime, relax a bit.”
“You got it boss.”
You can ask anyone that’s spent any amount of time with me one on one and they’ll tell you that the only price for my trust and loyalty, is the same. I give it unconditionally. Or at least, until you’ve caused me to question it. Without trust, there can be no loyalty. I’m not at all saying that anyone needs to be perfect. None of us are infallible. Especially not me.
Some may question, and some have even gone public casting doubt over whether or not I really saw the Triumvirate happening before it happened. The truth is, while I have never been in their circles, I have been close to people that… while maybe they weren’t in their circle, they were close enough to see it with their own eyes on more than one occasion. Years of military service for my people has gifted me the ability to see what few see before it even happens. Now combine that with being born into this business. I’ve seen it all and nothing is a surprise.
This is not me stroking my own ego. This is not me wearing a mask of ‘hindsight’ and calling it ‘vision’ after the fact as some might think. It’s merely the honest truth. I have seen how those people operate. I bear no ill-will toward them for doing whatever it is they think they needed to do. But I’ve seen it. I saw it the night of the draft when Stratford was taken 1st overall. I saw it when Vhodka was drafted. I saw it when Wolf was drafted. If you think those three are the only ones within their circle, you’re further behind than you think you are and you really haven’t been paying attention.
On draft night, it was never a question of “if” they were gonna unleash a conspiracy, but “when.” Further still, “who”? There were more than three of that circle in the first draft. And there’s more seemingly coming out of the woodwork for the second draft.
I saw it from the start. You can choose to believe that or not, it makes no difference, but I’ve never been the type to live week to week. Only by stepping out of that box, can you start to see things that you’re not supposed to see.
By the end of the fourth week of trials, I was fuming mad. Being a highly trained person and despite my relatively young age, I have several years of experience in what a real conspiracy looks like. I thought it was obvious from the start. I thought others saw it too, but I was wrong. No one saw it coming, except me.
Before the Ghost Ship, I had to be sure. My trust in Marcus Welsh was nearly shattered, so… I had him removed from the equation altogether. This, is that story.
Slowing my truck to a stop outside a nondescript Brooklyn warehouse, I killed the engine, stepped out into the rain, then headed inside. Flipping on the buzzing overhead lights, you can clearly see this isn’t just any warehouse, but a command center. Leftover from a life I left behind were several military vehicles. Tanks, troop transports, Humvee’s, several armored vehicles, all kept for that inevitable ‘just in case’ scenario that years and years of paranoia prompted by being wanted dead or alive since I was 15 years old.
Along the right interior wall rests a steel grated stairwell leading to a string of what used to be offices. Warehouses by and large are cheap and not built well. When I bought this one a few years ago, I had the roof and walls reinforced, then soundproofed. I spare no expense when it comes to the possible eventualities that my sometimes paranoid mind conjures up. The upstairs offices themselves are the command center. Surveillance cameras, computer monitors, voice recorders, all of it designed by an old friend… before he ever sold out my son. Cypher was a valuable asset. I thought very highly of him when no one else did. He helped me out of a jam more than once and is responsible for saving my life.
Selling out a child though, much less my child, was unforgivable. To this day it hurts that it ever came to that. We took our revenge on him in an undeniable fashion on an episode of Massacre when OCW was still OCW. I still care a lot about him. I hope that one day, maybe we can put that mess behind us for all time. Nevertheless, I still use the tools he built for me. Tools that allow me to tap into phone lines, security cameras, traffic cameras and many others with just a few mouse clicks.
“Joey? You read me?” I asked as I sat down before the monitors and placed my piping hot Starbucks mocha on the workstation surface.
“Yeah boss,” Joey replied with his very thick Brooklyn accent.
Joey is Joey Bats. As you know, I’m a man that has worn many faces. Father, husband, lover, wrestler, world leader, warrior, debt collector… Joey is a man I met when I took a break from Thaddeus Duke and adopted the name of Jaime Henry. He worked for my mobbed up loan shark grandfather and taught me a lot of tricks of the trade. Years on, I call him when I need something done right.
“How was the flight?” I asked.
“Uneventful and boring,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Sorry man,” I said with a chuckle of my own. “I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t sensitive.”
“Yeah I know brother,” Joey replied. “You know I’m always down to help Alister Henry’s grandson.”
“I most definitely appreciate your loyalty,” I said genuinely. “You got eyes on him?”
“Not yet, but we know where he’s at,” Joey replied. “You got eyes on us?”
“Not yet,” I laughed. “I got the police chatter up. Cameras are taking a minute.”
“Get ‘em goin’ because he’s comin’ out right now,” Joey informed me.
“Thirty seconds,” I replied. “What’s he doin’?”
“Looks like he’s on a cell,” Joey replied.
“Hold on, I’ll pull it up,” I said and after a few clicks, I could listen in on Marcus Welsh’s cell phone conversation.
“...think he trusts me anymore, Greg,” Welsh said. “It was supposed to be different this time and he’s out there badmouthing and belittling me at every turn now.”
“Honey, it looks pretty damning,” Greg told him.
“I really need you right now,” Marcus said to Greg.
“Okay that’s enough of that,” I said as I clicked off their conversation.
“...Are they lovers?” Joey asked.
“I’m not really sure,” I answered. “I think? But I’m not about to listen to their private stuff. Anyway, cameras are online.”
Cycling through the different feeds, I settled on one in particular that sees both the nondescript white panel van containing my guys and Marcus Welsh pacing near a street corner about a block away.
“We go on green,” Joey stated.
“Green! Go go go!” I ordered. “His back is to the street, he’ll never see you!”
Not even a second later, the van pulls away from the curb and accelerates quickly toward the corner. In less than seven seconds, the van went from parked, to kidnapping Marcus Welsh, to speeding off down the street.
“Package is secure,” Joey informed me.
“Nahhh, we’re not out of the woods yet,” I told my guy. “Police chatter is already picking up and you’re several miles from the airport.”
“We got this van from you,” Joey said with a laugh. “It’s fast and damn near bulletproof.”
“Yeah, well you might have to use it because the five-oh are inbound,” I said to Joey. “I’ll do my best Watch Dogs impression and control the lights the best I can to keep them off you, but that thing is souped up so pedal down and get back to the fuckin' plane!”
“Plane gonna be ready by the time we get there?” Joey asked as his inflection spikes, hinting at increased drama.
“That plane hasn’t moved since it landed, Joey,” I replied. “Depending on how close the fuzz gets to you, I may have to order that plane in motion so be ready for a Hollywood escape!”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that, brother!”
“Oh believe me, I’ve done it,” I told him. “It’s really not that easy!”
I watched on the monitors through the traffic cameras in Florida as the van raced through the downtown area. From the comforting solitude of Brooklyn, I played Watch Dogs with the traffic lights causing them to go from green straight to red as the Key West police set out to chase down the white van containing three criminals and Marcus Welsh.
The van hauled ass onto the interstate and the Key West police peel off, letting the Florida Highway Patrol take over. Reminiscent of O.J. Simpson and the famous slow speed Bronco chase, the interstate is clear ahead of the van as most cars were ordered to pull off to the side. The FHP though are in hot pursuit as the turbocharged panel van approaches speeds north of 140 miles per hour.
“Phil, get ready to move and have the cargo ramp down. They'll be comin' in hot!” I said to the pilot of the massive cargo plane. “The FHP just sent out the Lamborghini’s and we’re gonna have to do this like an action movie.”
“Loud and clear boss,” Phil replied.
“Joey, you guys are not outrunning the Lamborghini’s that the FHP just unleashed on you so don’t fuck up!” I warned him. “The tires won’t go flat so don’t lose control trying to avoid the spike strips. Just run ‘em over.”
“How’d you plan for all this?” Joey asked.
“Experience,” I replied confidently.
Just ahead and to the right, the outer fence of the airport was in view. On the runway, my plane has started in motion as it slowly picked up speed. Inside the van, Joey hung a hard right down the exit ramp and steered the van off the ramp and into the grass crashing through the airport fence. More than a dozen Highway Patrol cars are right on his ass though as he’s through the fence and on the runway trying to chase down the cargo plane. Several hundred feet ahead of him, the cargo ramp lowered to the ground sending sparks flying as it dragged down the runway. Joey inched the van closer and closer with the cops close behind him as they raced toward the cargo plane.
Just as he positions the van in line with the cargo ramp, my feed was lost.
“Joey!” I called out. “I lost my feed! Come back!”
I waited for several seconds and received no response.
“Joey!” I called again. The only response I received this time was interference and static. “Phil!” I called out to the pilot.
Again, no reply.
“Fuck!” I yelled out.
“Joey, answer me!” I yelled at no one.
Finally, Joey came back.
“Boss, we’re wheels up and the package is secure,” he said.
Exhaling a deep sigh, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.
“Boss?” Joey said.
“Yeah I’m here,” I replied. “Right when you were about to hit the ramp I lost everything. I had no visuals, I had no communications. I feared the worst.”
“I gotta hand it to ya man,” Joey said. “That was the most fuckin' fun I had in a long fuckin’ time brother!”
“Everyone’s good? No one’s hurt?” I asked.
“We’re all good here,” he replied.
“And Welsh?”
“Gagged and hooded. Scared out of his mind, but he’s fine.”
“Keep him that way, but put him somewhere comfortable,” I instructed. “You know where you’re takin’ him?”
“Brooklyn?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “I’ll see you in a couple hours. In the meantime, relax a bit.”
“You got it boss.”