"He's hold up in that mountain bunker looking for a fight. Many natives say he's mad, wasp-shook-up-in-a-jar-mad." "How deep is that mine shaft bunker?"
"Boss, please don't go down there, he ain't worth it. He ain't alone neither, he's got a snotty kid with him. They're religious fanatics boss, and dangerous, trust me boss, I know. The village people say, he only comes out at night. He sets bombs, starts fires, and ravages innocent women. Nobody sees the kid, he never lets her out. If what they say is true, she's nuts too."
The heat of the midday sun shimmered above the jungle canopy. A canvas of greens and yellows painted a picture of what was needed to stay alive on the island. Kill, or be killed, was the jungle motto. The small farmers around the village plowed their fields, and raised what they could. Fear ruled their lives. Babies cried from hunger pains. Off planet land owners and the military looked away, as if they were blind to the situation. Things were bad, real bad...add in a blood-sucking pit viper with a taste for human cruelty, and more people were going to get hurt.
Standing six-foot-two with pecs flexed, cable-steel arms raised two gold cup forty-five automatics, two colt guns, with the kick of a Missouri mule. It was going to be a fight to the death if necessary. So many greedy power hungry bastards made slaves of the poor, causing suffering among good people. Raw power ruled. A pair of broad purple shoulders vowed to change all that.
The two big cats snarled, rubbing their sides along his muscled thighs, deep purrs followed.
"Who loves ya babies?" He said, as he ran the butt-end of his pistols down their arched backs. "Now stand back, I have work to do."
"Boss, that old gold mine has a trap door. I was down there myself, you'll be breaking the planet's military rules. The mining guild in this quadrant stickily forbids outside interference in local affairs. You'll be breaking the law."
"I need a rope, a long rope. Get me two ropes, we'll shinny down that hole somehow."
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