Takin’ Care of Business – Ghengis Kahn Style
Dirk Fremd, Xen Chen and Per L’Enfant make their way to the rear of 556 Utica Avenue – the seemingly abandoned Penrose Commercial Laundry Supply Company building. Sure enough, there’s a loading dock and an industrial-grade double back door waiting for them. Hyne sizes up the lock – it’s an old bronze Yale tumbler. He inserts a Magnesium-Acetylene key-shaped object into it and breaks off its end. The lock instantly erupts into white-hot molten alloy and drops to the cement below. Hyne takes “point” and whispers under his breath two words.
“Look sharp.”
As soon as they enter the building it hits them – a stench so foul they almost gag. It’s a thick, feculent vapor that they can almost see wafting down from the upper regions of the staircase before them. It clings to them and they drag it along. There’re swathes of blood lining the walls as if living, screaming victims were dragged up the stairs while they clawed at the old cinderblock, fighting to break free. At the second-floor stair landing and doorway a rat is eating part of what looks like a human finger.
Hyne tries the door latch – it’s locked. He nods at Dirk Fremd. His order is clear.
“Blow it”.
Fremd applies malleable Centex explosive to four strategic points around the doors’ perimeter and stands back. At Hyne’s signal, he detonates it.
The door and frame explode inwards, creating enough of a smoke cloud and concussion blast that they don’t have to use stun grenades. They all jump through the opening ready for what’s on the other side.
They’re immediately confronted by dazed, but oversized – and obviously strong – Vampyre security goons. Xen Chen disembowels the first with one broad swipe and then cleaves the crown off its head from one ear to the other. The half of its remaining brain flops forward, out of its skull, as the Suckhead falls to his knees. His final pose makes him look like he’s praying with a big round turd dangling out of his forehead.
Per L’Enfant leaps over a rusted worktable – Katana ready – to greet another Vampyre. The thing is already grimacing its filthy fangs in his direction and hissing his song of rage. L’Enfant’s body inertia slams the Vampyre backwards into a pile of old laundry machinery, splaying its arms outwards as it hits. Two Katana swipes and the things arms are rolling across the floor. One more flick of his Katana launches its grimacing, fanged head airborne. L’Enfant calmly watches it land upside down, flop over and ooze its contents like a feces-laden hospital bedpan.
Dirk Fremd calmly walks to the far end of the filthy factory work area and searches for his prize. Finally, he spies movement in the distance – something cowering by a wall, obviously hoping the shadows will give it a chance to survive. He can’t resist a bit of levity. A modern-day Doc Holliday looking Johnny Ringo in the eyes and uttering – “Say When…”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
He knows that he saw movement a few feet past a filthy boarded-up window. Fremd picks up a rusted pipe and hurls it like a spear into the dark void he thinks the Vampyre is lurking in. There’s a loud “clank!” – then nothing.
Suddenly, the Vampyre rushes him, barreling into Fremd, slamming him out of the way so he can flee.
Fremd regains his balance and plants his feet to firmly anchor his body. He instinctively throws his massive Bowie knife at the Vampyre’s back – now about twenty feet ahead of him. There’s a sickening “thud” and the Suckhead goes down. By the time Dirk Fremd reaches the fiend to reclaim his precious blade, it’s writhing on the ground screaming.
Fremd steps on its back and yanks his weapon out. The Vampyre is screaming bloody murder – but it’s all for naught. Fremd blithely bends over and saws off its head.
L’Enfant saunters over, sheathing his Katana. He’s got a celebratory Galois French cigarette jauntily dangling from his lips. Xen Chen is close behind. L’Enfant looks agitated and his words betray urgency.
“Where’s Hyne? Were we the only ones who busted into this second-floor level? In all the excitement, I lost track of the Capitaine….”
The Confrerie des Palandins just look at each other – there is no “Second in Command” to lead when the Capitaine has gone missing. They also realize for the first time they’re standing in the middle of a filthy, stinking flesh-pit dumping ground. Human body parts are strewn everywhere. Against the rusting machinery, against the decrepit furniture and walls. The detritus is covered in flies, bloated and reeking all around them. The Vampyres obviously have been abducting and dragging human food-bags inside this place and feasting on them – then carelessly throwing their remains on the floor like garbage.
The guys look at each other – and hear it. The floor above. Screams and objects breaking. Xen Chen bolts for the door – his Chinese Wodao Katana already drawn and ready. They bound up the stairs and see the third-floor doorway blown off its hinges. And then they see Hyne.
He’s in the middle of the room facing off a tall, extremely gruesome looking Vampyre whose build fairly screams out “Warrior”. Ursus is off to the side, still standing on top of the chest of a Vampyre he just torn the throat out of. Another Vampyre is bleeding profusely from its guts, dragging itself across the filthy cement floor towards some imaginary place of safety.
Per L’Enfant – still smoking his Galois cigarette wedged in the corner of his mouth – walks over to the Vampyre crawling away and decapitates it with one blow from his Katana. He turns to face the large Vampyre grimacing and gyrating in front of his Capitaine and smiles.
“Pardonne-moi, Mon Capitaine! Let me have a crack at your ugly opponent!”
Hyne will have none of it. The Vampyre is gyrating in front of him, taunting him with that bizarre snake-dance thing Vampyres do to intimidate and engage their enemies. Hyne wields his Saex blade with lightning speed – cutting upwards – slicing clean through the Vampyre’s raised right hand, bisecting it into a stump. Xen Chen smiles broadly – he’s seen this move before.
Hyne’s removing the Vampyre’s hand is simply a feint – a ruse to position his blade closer to the fiend’s neck. With a deft pirouette to the right, he plunges his Saex deep into the Suckhead’s esophageal canal, up through its palate – straight into its lower brainpan. Hyne then rips his weapon clean through Vampyre’s neck viscera, severing all spinal cord brain-body connectivity. The thing collapses like a ripe bag of cow manure.
Hyne gestures to the festering, bloated human body parts that litter the third floor.
“Same on the second floor?”
His men just nod in the affirmative. His response is what they expect.
“Alright, then. Let’s finish it!”
They wind their way back down the rear building stairs and outside, into the night. The wild, uncut weeds and refuse strewn about the Penrose Commercial Laundry building is perfect cover. They soon get to a collapsed fence abutting the Synagogue property and pass through it. The back yard of Congregation B’Nai Gibbor El is an overgrown wreck. Its perimeter hedges haven’t been cut back in years and the grass – or whatever weeds that choke the terrain – are waist-high. Hyne checks his “Coms” and Lee responds immediately.
LEE:
“Well, well. Penrose Laundry cleared out? Good. I can see you’re about twenty feet from the back door of the Synagogue. Behind the door is a large kitchen with hallways branching out to each floor. Take the Hallway to your left. Rebbe Porky Pig is up the ornate staircase on the third level – He’s relaxing in front of his fireplace. Probably dreaming about slaughtered children and his future Adrenochrome royalties.
The only heat signatures in the house are in the Rebbe’s large library or study. But keep sharp all the same.
All surveillance is feed and sound is on a loop we started recording five hours ago. We’ll be showing the same footage over and over to whoever’s watching the screens off-site. Sooner or later, they’ll catch on that they’ve seen the images before – so don’t waste time. I figure you’ve got two hours. Make it count.
And remember – go Medieval on this prick. Ghengis Kahn his fat ass. Get the scroll and burn it!”
Hyne and his men creep forward. The rear door is weatherbeaten oak and large – hundreds of years old. It’s a Grand Old Dame of a home, now gone to seed. Ridden hard and hung up wet. This was probably the proud residence of a Robber-Baron Era railroad magnate that was later converted into a Synagogue. Now it’s really showing its age.
The rear door lock is an old-timey heavy-duty Yale bronze tumbler model. Hyne inserts one of his Magnesium-Acetylene faux keys and breaks off the back. It erupts into intense heat, melting the lock quickly and silently.
They enter the house and make their way through the kitchen and to the left hallway. The air is stale and sour. The woodwork throughout the place is exquisite – carvings of a quality that couldn’t be replicated today. Hyne is astounded – some of these bygone age embellishments are Christian Cherubs carved into the ceiling crown molding! Christian Cherubs in a Synagogue!
Gilded Age cornices and columns are everywhere. The walls are covered with dark paneling or garish, red wallpaper with filigree patterns, lending a depressing, ponderous ambiance of outdated decor to the place. Even the ceilings are carved and embossed with opulent beaux-arts friezes and garlands. The arched windows – though filthy with grime – are impressive grand expressions of fenestration.
They reach the upper floor residence level within minutes, passing numerous security cameras along the way. As Lee described – whomever is watching monitors hooked into Synagogue camera feeds will see a replay of a five-hour loop recorded earlier in the day. More than enough time for the Confrerie des Paladins to do their business.
At the end of the third-floor hallway is a large door. Carved out of Oak. There’s an ornate brass doorknob.
This is it.
The men position four small Centex putty charges around its perimeter and insert electronic detonators the size of BBs in each so that the simultaneous explosion will blow the door into the room. The detonation will momentarily shock everyone inside – and give Hyne’s slayers the benefit of surprise.
Hyne whispers to his men –
“There’s three of you – and three Suckheads. Make it quick. I’ve got special plans for the Rebbe”.
The night quiet is shattered by the door blowing open. The old house shutters like an earthquake has just struck Brooklyn. The boys pour through the smoking doorway like Viking Berserkers and throw themselves at the three Vampyres inside, their blades slashing and cutting like Shaolin monks in some expertly choreographed Kung-Fu movie. It’s a frenzied nightmare of flashing blades and blood splatters. Each Vampyre falls quickly. They’re decapitated where they drop.
Sitting by a burning fireplace is Rebbe Zvi-Mordechai Schnoorbrun. His throne is as enormous as he is. The man must weigh over four hundred pounds. He’s wedged in-between the arms of the large chair he’s parked in as if he’s been poured into it. His white beard touches the floor. He glares at Hyne and starts screaming obscenities.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? HOW DARE YOU DESECRATE THE SANCTITY OF MY SYNAGOGUE? HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THE HOLY OF HOLIES? YOU FILTH!! YOU WILL DIE PAINFULLY!! YOU ARE EXCREMENT!! I CURSE YOU AND YOUR NOZTRIM FALSE GOD!!! THREE TIME A DAY I CURSE HIM!!! HE IS BOILING IN EXCREMENT IN HELL!!!”
The Rebbe Schnoorbrun so squeezed in-between the open oaken armrests of his chair he can barely twist himself to look at who has invaded his lair. His arms gesticulate wildly with every venomous, foul word he spits out. His breath is rancid and his teeth are blackened behind puffy, swollen lips.
Given his obesity and physical condition, one fact is clear – he’s not long for this world. Today, Hyne will help him along his journey. He stands at the side of the Rebbe’s enormous wooden throne chair and finally addresses him.
HYNE:
“Rebbe Zvi-Mordechai Schnorrbrun….
You have betrayed your Faith, Torah and the Hebrew people.
You have lost your way.
You have in your possession a scroll – a pact you have made with the minions of Lucifer. Don’t bother to deny this.
I want it. Tell me where it is and you might see tomorrow’s sunrise.
I’ll ask you once: where is the scroll?”
SCHNOORBRUN:
“GO TO THE SAME HELL WHERE YOUR GOD BOILS IN EXCREMENT FOR ALL ETERNITY! YOUR RACE ARE CATTLE!!! THEY ARE FEEDSTOCK!!! THEY EXIST TO SERVE US!!!”
Hyne shakes his head in disappointment and addresses Xen Chen.
“Get my special items out of your bag. Tie his forearms to the chair’s armrests with the shoelaces. Stoke up that fire with a few of fresh logs from the tender – use the fatwood sticks to get a quick blaze going. Make sure the flue is fully open.
Let’s get to work, Gentlemen.”
*NO PART OF THIS WORK PRODUCT IS AI GENERATED*
Copyright, 2026 – Jon & Jedediah Croft
www.bogironfoundry.com
Email: vlchek1@gmail.com
