Be Gay Do Crime

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Edward Ellington was not a young man, he had not been one for quite some time.  Even with his youth long since behind him, he still kept a finger to the pulse of the organization that he once led.  Sure, the name had changed, a necessity to keep ahead of shifting times, but the heart of it was still pure. 

It continued to carry the ideals that his father had instilled in him, those same that he had carried into battle during the blitzkrieg and later as he rose through the ranks.  When it became clear that the Reich would fall, many were chosen to take their riches and ideals, and shepherd them out into the world. 

A glorious duty to be sure, or so it had seemed when his father regaled him with the stories of his own conquests.  That Jericho had grown to be one of the most prosperous cities in America was testament to the righteousness of their cause!  Or so his father had always said, right up until he died of an allergic reaction while eating dinner overseas because his German was rusty.  It was an almost delightfully ironic death if it hadn’t dumped an absolute fucking mess into his own lap all because he was the chosen successor. 

His honorless brother immediately tried to have him killed, which sparked the first—and only—civil war that the Storm Guard had endured.  He only had to consider Preston Hahn, his once right hand and the only reason he survived that damn war.  The man was his protege in every sense of the word, the one he groomed to be the sword of the Guard.  There were others that fell into their own roles, but none ever reached Preston’s lofty heights. 

Still, as good as Preston had been, Edward knew he was better still, because how many people could claim to have killed a US President?  Ah, diversions down memory lane were always fickle, and that was a truth he would carry to the grave despite knowing it would cement his legend into the history books eternally.  Family was more important, as his brother never understood, which was why Edward had personally slit his throat in his sleep.  An honorless death for an honorless man. 

The war was bloody and brutal throughout, Edward had three sons of his own going into it.  Ten years following the start of the war that saw him claim leadership, he buried the last of the three, and was left without an heir.  It was an unfortunate reality of the life they led, at least back in his day.

If his sister had instead been a brother, she might have just had him killed to claim the leadership for herself.  He was fortunate to have a good relationship with her in that regard.  She continued to back him, and in turn, he passed the torch to her eldest son. 

The History Channel specials on it always got so much wrong in the most hilarious of ways.  They didn’t even know who the civilian identities of their code names were.  His father’s best idea by far, and one that had endured to this very day. 

He only had to think of his great grand niece to confirm that one.  Riptide, one of the Viuda’s most feared, though that looked to be in flux.  It wasn’t hard to do the math there, if Crystal was Riptide, then her chink of an ex was Hanabi, and the tranny would be Inferno.  That one was someone he was keeping a close eye on even before learning the connection. 

Dustin, the little freak that had caused quite the stir half a decade prior.  Jericho’s schools were carefully districted to avoid untermenschen from gaining access, yet, this one was adopted by a pair of the few they had allowed within, because it shouldn’t have worked.  All because his idiot grand nephew didn’t stop to think for two seconds before ramming a law through that made it legal for dykes and fags to adopt. 

For all the good it did for their cause, it caused double the setbacks. 

He’d scolded the freshly sworn in Senator when that became clear, which had been endlessly gratifying.  Edward had high hopes for young Jason, especially after it became clear that he had fought back against the assassination attempt, because it could only be called such.  Finding out who ordered that one was proving to be surprisingly difficult, he was beginning to fear it had been an internal hit. 

Preston was sworn to keep the family’s secrets from everyone, including other members.  His own precaution, and the man held firmly to that code even forty plus years after training the man.  Preston was the reason his family still existed, and he wouldn’t change that for anything, no matter how inconvenient it proved to be. 

Now, he stood at the gates of Theodore Ellington, his Grand Nephew, and current leader of the organization he had spent decades bleeding for.  The only question on his mind was how much he was going to tell the man. 

He considered giving him everything he had learned, but if Theo had tried to have his own son killed, then he would have to reevaluate his entire plans for his final years.  His will was being updated weekly, making sure that every shifting point of power within his city was accounted for. 

He still wasn’t entirely sure that Theo hadn’t killed his own father. 

Patricide was not something he would abide by, not that he ever expected to prove it, or have it admitted unless the dagger was already in his heart.  Edward had more than a few fires in the oven in the event that Theodore tried to have him killed, he fully expected any such attempt to succeed, because if someone tried and failed to kill someone almost a century old… 

Well, embarrassing was too gentle of a word.  He would make sure that their failure would be branded on their tombstone.  ‘Here lies an imbecile, incapable of killing a man sixty years his senior.’ 

He chuckled silently from his seat in the back of his car.  His driver was another of his most loyal from back in the day, though his combat years were long behind him, having been crippled in battle against one of the spics attempting to set up shop in his home.  Another grievance he had with his current successor, none of the disparaging groups would have been allowed to persist when he was in charge. 

The Viuda were once honorable, he could at least respect them even if he despised them, but since that harlot Yessina had taken over…  His grip tightened on his cane, anger flooding his veins.  So much had been lost, their great city stained and tarnished by impurity.  Alejandro was every bit the monster he presented himself as, even if he presented a front of civility when it suited him.  Only an amateur would ever fall for it. 

And now, Inferno was beginning to carve her own mark. 

Or rather, his.  

Knowing that the tranny was behind the mask should have made his blood boil, but it raised more questions, and worse, he owed the freak for saving Jason’s life.  What was the world coming to that he had to begrudgingly respect some dickless he-she thing?  He’d seen the police reports, by all accounts Jason should be dead.  That he wasn’t, well, that told him that Dustin was every bit as skilled as he feared. 

Had he not been such a creature, he would have been a prime candidate under his old recruitment standards.  Those same standards he had trained under, and held himself and all of his honor guard to.  Dustin had gone against a veteran mercenary team, one that saw combat in multiple theaters across the globe, and came out of it not just alive, but with his escort intact and all opposition dead. 

That was not just blind luck. 

Moreso, the freak’s parents had kept his name separate from the incident that saw him hospitalized with injuries that couldn’t have all come from the final incident of the day.  No doubt Theo also played a hand in the media silence, and he could only hope that his successor hadn’t been fooled by the official reports. 

Yes, he was Inferno, and that was something he would just have to accept.  He was not happy that Crystal was physically involved with him, but it was still an upgrade from the chink dyke.  That much he could agree with Theodore on. 

Crystal had once been the very image of a Valkyrie, then she cut her hair and got all those unseemly tattoos.  She did everything she could to spit on the legacy that he had sacrificed so much for, and he couldn’t blame her.  No, he blamed little Theo for that, all because he tried to sell her to that scum from Arkansas.  He would have to do something before it was too late and they lost Jason as well. 

Now if only they could bring Crystal back into the fold, maybe they could get that boy she was seeing the help he needed and those two might just make worthy successors in time.  It was certainly something to look into, they still had plenty of allies out there that ran education camps that would be all too willing to help fix the boy. 

Something to consider for the future, assuming he hadn’t permanently destroyed his ability to father children yet.  Edward knew that was a risk of the poisons forced upon those creatures to humor their delusions.  He’d offered the Russian to them as a way to tie them closer to him, to see him as someone they could reach out to.  Edward had doubts it would work, but there was little harm in the attempt, and all the more to gain if it was successful. 

Worst comes to worst, he could point them at Alejandro and the Viuda easily enough, then sit back as both burnt themselves out.  Then, even useless Theo could clean up the remnants with little effort. 

Such a mess, and he was finding it difficult to care much about it all.  It was all idle thoughts to pass the time as he rode up to Theodore’s front door.  Preston was already outside, waiting to welcome a guest of the family.  That was good to see, as always.  A welcome and sentry both in the event things were not as they appeared. 

The car pulled to a stop in the midst of the circular drive, the tall gardens standing around in a screen, preventing lines of sight from outside.  It was a sensible precaution, and one he approved of wholeheartedly given the decision to live atop a hill he built up just so he could look down upon the masses. 

So pretentious, and he had done nothing to earn the ego.  His driver came to a stop at the foot of the manor stairs, solid marble.  Another waste just to show extravagance of wealth.  He would not use them if it had been raining that day, the polished surface would just be begging for an accident. 

One thing he had learned in his long life was to never tempt fate. 

He trusted the Lord with his life, but there was no sense in giving him more opportunities to return one to the flock early.  He waited for his driver to open the door, not necessary, but it was considered to be expected when playing the part of a wealthy individual. 

“Sir,” his driver said as he opened the door and offered a hand. 

Edward smiled, but did not accept the offered hand.  He never did.  The courtesy was always offered, and one day he would probably require it, but not this day.  Preston had moved to the bottom of the stairs in the time it took for him to exit the vehicle, and he gave a curt nod of respect to the driver.  Preston knew better than most what he had survived, that respect was well earned. 

“Thank you, Norman,” Edward said.  “I will be an hour or two, feel free to relax for that time.” 

“Yes sir,” Norman answered.  “I hope you have a productive talk.” 

“As do I,” Edward said, turning towards Preston.  “I trust my idiot grand nephew is well?” 

“Well as can be,” Preston answered, opening the door with a practiced flourish.  “He awaits in his office.” 

Edward huffed.  “Of course he does.” 

The entire building was ostentatious, poorly designed in the event of a siege, even with the posted security.  The glass walls showing the outer garden and pool were reinforced, but still a tactical weakness.  Such a waste of money to build a palace that could not withstand even basic aggression. 

“How are the children?” he asked as they walked. 

“You just missed them an hour ago,” Preston said.  “Crystal was here with her latest dalliance, at her father’s request.” 

Which meant it hadn’t been optional.  Perhaps he did know, though the timing was off, even with the boy’s injuries.  “What of Jason’s training?  I’m assuming Crystal retained her ability as well?” 

“They both know how to fight to my standard,” Preston said.  “Jason has taken well to the knife, and Crystal sought outside tutors once my own lessons with her were ordered to cease.” 

Those would be the Viuda’s former Israeli military officers.  The vermin had certainly bounced back from their extermination attempt, and he had to respect that.  He’d learned some of why they fled their country, which initially made him think them weak.  There was nothing wrong with killing children to ensure they didn’t grow up to hate you as their parents did.

The children were doing well for themselves, and Edward could trust Preston to be honest with him about their well being, he just wouldn’t reveal secrets learned unless they put a member of the family at direct risk. 

“Treasure them,” Edward said.  “They are our future, and that care has been entrusted to you.” 

Preston inclined his head.  “I will do my duty.” 

That was the best response he could hope for, given the oaths the man had sworn and would follow.  Now, he had to deal with the pretender to the throne.  Preston pushed the oversized door open, and stepped aside, allowing him entry.

The office was a travesty, so many artifacts on display for anyone to see, no tact whatsoever.  If the office was never shown to outsiders, that would be one thing, but he often brought in congressional colleagues and even donors for meetings where anyone with half a brain cell could figure out they were from the Reich. 

Even the damned silverware on his table was forged from the silver taken during the great purge and branded with the iron cross of the Reich.  Their family did not need that sort of attention, he was already treading dangerous ground by rebranding the Storm Guard as his precious Iron Patriots.  That their family hadn’t already been investigated could only be because of the grace of God.  Watching that fool tear down everything he had worked to build was galling, but his time was long in the past. 

Then there was the fool himself, sitting in his chair as if it were a throne, behind a desk of solid mahogany that had once been used by the Fuhrer himself in the halls of the Reichstag.  It was the biggest thing they had brought with them on the u-boats, his father told him to keep that desk safe and in the family.  He passed it on when he handed over leadership, the desk he had used to conduct all the affairs of his own office. 

He could still see the mark from where someone had taken a shot at him and he pinned their neck to the table with his knife and made them watch as they bled out.  He’d lit a cigar and sat back, feet on the table as he watched the light leave the traitor’s eyes.  Barbaric, but served to send a message to everyone else in the room that witnessed it. 

“Grand Uncle, how are you?” little Theo asked, not looking up from his computer. 

Edward huffed, walking over to the seat situated in front of the desk.  Even now, two decades after he abdicated the chair, it felt wrong to be on this side of the desk again, it brought back memories of his father handing down orders, plotting assassinations, and deals in the dark.  None of the subtlety existed anymore, little Theo didn’t understand the word, not like his father had. 

“I have been better,” he admitted.  “Do not grow old, better to burn out while young.” 

Theodore did not react, just continued to type away on that infernal device.  “I suppose someone like you might say that.  Planning things ten years or more into the future was never your strong suit.” 

The wood of his cane creaked, Edward’s grip on it like a vice.  How dare that whelp even suggest that?  What gave him the right?  For over thirty years Edward led the Storm Guard, against all enemies that struck against them.  He plotted and schemed, fought and bled, and they held Jericho as a shining bastion to all who believed in their cause. 

Jericho had fallen from grace since Theodore took over, that was plain for all to see.  What plan could call for such a disgrace to their legacy?  If Theo wasn’t family, he would end him right then and there and take back over himself until Jason was ready.  That was not an option he would entertain, and he didn’t know if Preston would side with or against him in that situation. 

“How are the children?” he asked instead, changing the subject while also delivering a subtle insult in doing so.  Theodore was an idiot, but even he should understand the question, and if not…  “I trust Jason’s tutoring is going well?” 

“Well as it could be expected,” Theodore said, his inflection not shifting in the slightest.  His time in Washington had tempered his expressions at least.  “He fights well, his grades are spotless, and if the kidnapping attempt is any indication, he has found a spine at long last.” 

“Yes, kidnapping,” Edward drawled.  “Do not take me for a fool, Theo.  That was a murder attempt, plain and simple.” 

“A poor one, if it was,” Theo answered.  “If they could be thwarted by a fag, then whoever hired them should be demanding a refund.” 

So he was aware that the official story was a farce, that was good, he wasn’t a complete fool.  Now to test how far that understanding went. 

“Is he really a fag if he is courting your daughter?” 

Theodore allowed himself to laugh.  “There is little difference.  He parades around as if he were a girl, that is as sissy as it gets.  If real men can’t handle him, then that speaks poorly of those men.” 

Ah, going with the tried and true denial, that there was no way some degenerate could have done what he clearly did.  So short sighted.  Just because someone was a freak did not preclude them the ability to be skilled at something.  Dustin was many things, but unskilled was not one of those, and he was not afraid to kill either. 

That alone made him dangerous, and spoke of activities that he might not be fully aware of.  The pawn shop fire was obviously a cover for a Viuda raid, but nobody had claimed credit.  The Viuda obviously knew, but were holding the information to be released when it would be advantageous.  Perhaps he could manipulate things there, plant the seeds for one of his plans… 

“I did have some information you may care to know,” Edward said, taking a small cigar from his pocket, which Preston promptly lit for him with a match.  Theodore’s eyes flicked down to the offending stick, his eyebrow twitching, much to Edward’s amusement.  “The Viuda torched your pawn shop front, and stole the girls.  Many of them were shipped out of the state within the day, I only caught wind of it by chance.” 

“I see,” he said.  “I suppose you expect me to retaliate for that slight?” 

Ah yes, there was the smoldering rage he always experienced in these visits.  Perhaps he should encourage Dustin and Crystal to expand, help them along while he could.  They would certainly make for better leaders of the former Guard than the fool sitting across from him despite their proclivities.  So much work, but it did present a few possibilities for the future. 

If he could guide the coming conflicts, he could set the stage for Jason’s ascension and a proper revival of the Storm Guard.  Dustin and Crystal would make for acceptable heralds, and he could ensure that Crystal was safely removed from the board before it became a war between family.  There were plenty of camps that would hold her for as long as necessary. 

His phone chimed, and he took it out, not caring that it cut off Theodore in the midst of some explanation for why letting the Viuda get away with the blatant act of aggression.  Would he change his mind if he learned the freak was behind it?  Not likely, the pathetic coward was just allowing everyone to walk all over everything they had built. 

The message was a video clip.  He played it and watched, the police had quietly released the identity of the Russian that the Viuda had put a hit on.  He was confirmed dead, executed rather harshly if the report was accurate. 

It showed he had the stomach for the things to come.  So much for just relaxing and enjoying his retirement, but it seemed that the Silver Cross would have to get his hands dirty once more.  He would pave the way for a revival of their ideals, and use Dustin to do the work for him. 

He needed time to entrench himself, and stoking the flames between the Viuda and the joke that was the Iron Patriots would aid all of his goals at once.  So neat and tidy, just the way his father had taught him.  No action should have a singular goal, and there should always be contingencies so that no matter the outcome it furthers one of your own goals. 

Yes, that would work well enough.  Soon, the Storm would come for Jericho once more, and they would reaffirm the ideals that had been forgotten. 

He refused to let his family’s legacy fade into history.

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