Poison Gas

Ch.6: Identity Heist

"Tell me who those packages were meant for and I might just spare your face from receiving a shell."

Glaring down on the trembling mustachio in the college parking lot, Poison Gas aimed his 12-gauge shotgun at the cartel runner, trying to get answers from him. Under the waning light of the titanium yellow lamp, a box disguised with US postal wrapping paper lay opened,  pouches of various hard drugs ranging from coke to fentanyl visible inside. This was one of many boxes that were being delivered daily to the school and Oakville's famed vigilante tracked the packages for a week before making his move to intercept.  Irritated at not receiving an answer from the drug smuggler,  he pressed his weapon's muzzle onto the forehead of the frightened man.

"Answer me! Who were you taking those boxes to? Don't play the I don't speak English gambit, it won't work on me!"

"R-relax, pal." The man's voice trembled as he raised his hands. "I- I am merely a mule. T-the Los Juarez tenientes only employ me to disperse the parcels."

"Nonsense!" Poison Gas shouted as struck the man across the face. "Who were these drugs going for? I will only ask once more before I decide to blow your guts over the walls."

"Okay, okay, relax!" the mule whimpered. "If I tell, would you let me go? I am only doing this because they threatened to kill mi familia.  I swear it on my daughter's life."

"Very well." Poison Gas retracted his rifle. "Who were the intended recipients?"

"Businesses, both local and large, schools, homeless shelters, street gangs and militia groups, and also the Syndicate. After all, they are the ones who receive and distribute the shipments globally. Their networks are so vast-"

The trenchcoat-wearing punisher smacked the man with his shotgun's barrel once more. "You can shut up now. I got what I came for.  I appreciate the information. At least I won't have to waste a shell on you."

His nose bleeding,  the man in question looked hopefully up at the terrifying crime hunter.  "Does this mean you will let me go?"

Poison Gas stared down at the man, his mask's eyeholes glowing a toxic green, before chuckling sardonically. "Perhaps we never had an understanding. I said I won't waste a shell on you. I never said I will let you go."

His lips trembling, the whimpering narcotics peddler started to back away, but the gas-masked avenger sprayed the air with a cannister of liquid chloroform, knocking the man out while he remained standing conscious. The modified Special Forces M17 respirator has its perks. Once the prone form of the cartel's candyman was restrained with rope and hung upside down from the lamppost, Poison Gas revved the engine of his flame-embellished blue-purple Harley before taking off into Art Center Drive. As he rode into the night, the evening breeze caressed any exposed skin on his body. Curious about any other occurrences in his hometown, he turned on his ride's radio and listened in on the broadcast.

"A stray dog was spotted on Highway 101, but rescue workers and a few good Samaritans were able to rescue the poor pooch from the hazards of the open highway.  Now let's go to Sandra for the traffic - Hold your horses,  we have breaking news! An anonymous source has information regarding the recent brazen attack on Oakville PD. This is just developing folks so stay tuned!"

Poison Gas's senses widened in anticipation as he rode past the dog park before turning right toward the overpass where his base of operations was located.  What was going down? Was it another Syndicate operation in the works? Did the Westies make a move on Santa Clara strip mall, long suspected of being a launching pad for the operations of the Cuban mafia? Maybe bodies have been discovered in the woods or by Oak Lake, indicating either a new serial killer on the loose or organized crime involvement. There is only one way to find out.