Grease Monkey [Drunk Monkeys 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
Drunk Monkeys 4
Grease Monkey
Riots? Plague? Armageddon? Child’s play for…the Drunk Monkeys.
Dolce Quinn is a former sniper and military mechanic trying to find and rescue her friends now that Los Angeles is coming apart at the seams. She teams up with a neighbor and formulates a plan to avoid the riots and Kite virus, but they still have to escape the city safely.
The Drunk Monkeys have a line on another doctor from The List. When Roscoe and Niner try to rescue the doctor, their plan almost goes to hell in the face of an oncoming mob until Dolce steps in and saves their bacon.
Banding together, the group takes in Dolce and her neighbor. When a devastating earthquake levels the region, they must evacuate. Just one little problem—they still have a military mole to take care of. And when you mix a grease monkey with a couple of Drunk Monkeys, there’s a whole lot of shakin’ going on.
Genre: Futuristic, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Science Fiction
Length: 63,644 words
GREASE MONKEY
Drunk Monkeys 4
Tymber Dalton
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
GREASE MONKEY
Copyright © 2014 by Tymber Dalton
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-264-5
First E-book Publication: August 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
To Hubby, as always, because he works hard doing everything else so I can work hard doing this. Love you, honey!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is book four in the Drunk Monkeys series and focuses on Roscoe and Niner. The books in the series are best read in order. All titles are available from Siren-BookStrand.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
About the Author
GREASE MONKEY
Drunk Monkeys 4
TYMBER DALTON
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
“That damn, batshit crazy asshole fucker in charge there in Pyongyang is the one who stirred the shitpot. Then Beijing made him lick the goddamned spoon and nuked his fucking ass. Problem is, when they did that—not saying they weren’t justified, mind you—our first and best chance to reverse-engineer this clusterfuck went up in a mushroom cloud. All the rest of us could do was fucking bend over and pray for lube and a reacharound.”
—Gen. Robert K. McCammeron (Our Last History? by Willard M. Sterling. Interview date May, 2143)
“In the time since we first became aware of the virus, and the subsequent events that have followed, we’ve come to understand that we have no idea why, much less how, they [North Korea] created it. Unfortunately, when Beijing wiped Pyongyang off the map, they also wiped out any hope we had of creating an effective vaccine in a timely manner to prevent transmission to a majority of the world’s population. It’s estimated that within another five years, over ninety percent of the world’s population will either be dead or infected unless we get lucky and figure it out.”
—Dr. Arnold P. Almer, CDC (Our Last History? by Willard M. Sterling. Interview date April, 2143)
“In terms of [Kite, the drug’s] addictive nature, it makes meth look like baby aspirin.”
—Kimberly Coates, PhD, University of Florida (February, 2143)
“Well, fuck.”
—President Charlotte Kennedy’s reported reaction upon learning that China authorized the use of nuclear weapons against North Korea on July 29, 2142, in response to Pyongyang allowing thousands of people they supposedly infected with the Kite virus to flood across the border into China several days earlier.
“The Drunk Monkeys? Those crazy motherfuckers don’t exist. And boy, are they good at what they do. Thank god.”
—Gen. Joseph Arliss (June, 2143)
* * * *
Long story short…
/> It’s now June, 2143, and eleven months post-TMFU—The Massive Fuckup. Along with carrying out their assigned mission, our intrepid band of Drunk Monkeys, a SOTIF unit, has been busy being a massive pain in the ass of one Reverend Hannibal Silo, founder and leader of the Church of the Rising Sunset.
To be fair, the reverend is busy trying to speed along the Kite virus apocalypse for his own personal and political gain. So a little blowing up of a Los Angeles facility devoted to infecting people with the Kite virus should generally be excused in the grand scheme of things.
They are now a group of twenty Drunk Monkeys, three women who’ve joined them, and two scientists from The List, who are desperately working to create a vaccine for the deadly pandemic they unwillingly unleashed upon the human race.
And they felt pretty bad about that. Which is why they’re trying to create a vaccine to help stop this mess.
Unfortunately, there’s still a high-level mole in General Arliss’ command, a mole whose presence means they will have to remain in hiding and operating on their own for now.
We pick up their story just a couple of days after we left them the last time, when Stacia, now code-named Ak—short for Ass-kicker—joined their group.
And away we go!
* * * *
Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle while the apocalypse is underway…
Roscoe kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore the faint moanings and groanings rolling down from the floor above them.
Not one, not two, but three women had now joined their merry band of military misfits. Three days ago, the Drunk Monkeys had blown up a facility the Church of the Rising Sunset was using to get volunteers unknowingly hooked on Kite the drug before then infecting them with Kite the virus. The church had then attempted to send the volunteers out on suicide missions to infect others in urban cities around the country.
Fortunately, all but one of the volunteers were apprehended and killed before they could carry out their missions. That one person was still somewhere in the Seattle region, and other SOTIF teams were in the process of hunting her down.
But that wasn’t Roscoe’s problem at the moment.
“Jeez Louise,” Niner grumbled from his bedroll on the other side of the classroom. “They’re like a fricking bunch of horny alley cats. I’m tempted to take a goddamned fire extinguisher up there and hose them all down so we can get some farking sleep.”
None of the men begrudged the others in the unit who’d found a little slice of happiness within the hell they were now locked in. Not at all. And all three women were strong individuals with talents that would only serve to help their unit successfully complete their mission long-term.
What they begrudged was being awakened at two goddamned o’clock in the farking morning by the sounds of someone getting their brains loudly fucked out of their everlovin’ head.
The three triads, and a few unfortunate short-straw sets of men, had taken over the classrooms on the second floor as their personal quarters. They were using the recently defunct private school on the outskirts of Los Angeles as their current hideout. The rest of them were bunked in classrooms downstairs.
Roscoe heard someone stomp across the floor over his head, pound on a door, and then yell something.
Someone yelled back. Then it sounded like Omega moved to another door and pounded on it, yelling at that room’s occupants.
The moanings immediately ceased.
Niner laughed. “Ah. Sounds like Omega’s got it covered.”
“Thank god,” Roscoe muttered. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep as things quieted down overhead. He and Niner were due to get up at six and take over watch duties outside for their safe house compound.
Collectively, the group hoped they could keep this hideout for a while. Not because of the size, which was nice, but because of the school’s chemistry lab. That had been converted into a research lab for Q and Sin, two of the doctors on the original team from The List, which had created the virus in the first place.
Created it under duress, but still…
Now the two men were working on a vaccine. They had additional samples and information gleaned from the church’s facility before Quack and Yankee had blown it to kingdom come a couple of days ago.
Clara, the nurse Quack and Yankee had picked up during the unit’s stay in Colima, Mexico, was helping Q and Sin in the lab. The rest of the group was trying to keep a low profile while hunting for Dr. Riley Perkins. Another doctor from The List, she was supposedly in the Los Angeles area, too. If they could find her and bring her in to help, that would be one more brain trying to nail down a vaccine.
They had to keep a low profile because there was still at least one mole in General Arliss’ command. They knew who the mole was, but had to keep themselves hidden and “off the grid” until Arliss gave them the all-clear signal. They’d received the OTG order back in Australia, when they’d first located Pandora, the journalist who’d unwittingly led them to Q.
Fortunately, Pandora came with the assistance of Bubba, her friend, boss, and a former military intelligence officer who was their only secure channel to Arliss at this point.
Roscoe, along with the other nineteen men of the Drunk Monkeys, hated waiting around. There were violent, ongoing riots boiling on the other side of the city, the smoke visible from their location several miles southeast of the downtown district. Bugging out was inevitable. Papa, their commander, was already planning their next destination for when they’d have to leave.
But no one wanted to go anywhere yet. Every day they maintained their hideout was another day closer the eggheads would be to coming up with a vaccine.
They hoped.
Finding and securing Dr. Riley Perkins, a forty-two-year-old chemist, would mean one more egghead who could help them save the world.
* * * *
When Niner awoke a little before six that morning, the first thing he did was silently curse whichever upstairs triad had disrupted their sleep.
He got it. If it had been him and Roscoe who’d lucked out and found a woman, they’d be doing the funky monkey as much as they could, too, knowing full well the future ahead of them was anything but certain. They were in a relatively secure safe house, so the triads were understandably making the best of the situation while they could.
But it didn’t mean Niner liked having his sleep interrupted over it.
Roscoe was already stirring as Niner dressed and headed to the latrine.
Well, is it still called a latrine if it’s in a school?
He pondered that as he relieved himself in a urinal. He was washing his hands as Roscoe made it into the room behind him.
“Maybe we need to acquire a few rolls of duct tape for the upstairs contingent,” Roscoe joked in his thick Brooklyn accent as he picked a urinal.
“Amen, brother. See you in the dining room.”
Niner headed in that direction. From the aromas wafting from the kitchen area, he guessed Pandora was manning the stove. Bless her special little snowflake heart, she was good for something.
He stepped up to the pass-through window between the two rooms. “Who do I complain to about the early wake up?”
She stood facing the stove, her back to the pass-through window, a spatula in her right hand. She held her left hand up. “Not me. We got woke up, too. Especially when Omega pounded on our door by mistake the first time. I think it was Clara and her twunks.”
“Ah. Okay then.”
Pandora had pulled her long red hair into a braid that fell down her back. “Trust me,” she said. “I’m ready to ask Papa to move them to the roof.”
“Who?” Roscoe asked as he walked up behind Niner.
“Clara and the twunks,” Niner said.
“Are they the guilty party?” Roscoe asked.
“Yep,” Niner and Pandora both said.
Papa chose that moment to walk into the room, his focus on the tablet in his hands. “Did I hear my name taken in vain?”
/> The other three, in unison, said, “Clara and the twunks.”
He looked up. “Ah. Is that who Omega was bellowing at overnight?”
“Yeah,” Pandora said, finally turning from the stove and walking over. “Can you issue a literal gag order or something?”
“You want to take her place with Q and Sin in the lab working with a deadly virus all day? Because otherwise, I’d say she’s earned the playtime with her guys.”
Well, when he put it like that, Niner realized he couldn’t argue with his CO’s logic.
The three of them blinked. “Um, no thanks,” Pandora said. “I’m good. Not to mention I’m no scientist.” She waved the spatula at them. “Unless we’re dealing with sifting through information, I’ve got my perfect job right here.”
Papa nodded. “And actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. Besides breakfast.”
As Pandora finished making breakfast for them, Papa gave her and the other men a quick run-down on the information he’d just received from Bubba about their next target.
“There’s been a pattern,” Papa told them. “Bubba thinks Dr. Perkins will be logging in from this area next. Perhaps as early as today.” He pointed to a zoomed-in area on his map, close to Downey. “We need eyes on the ground to go scope it out.”
“We’re scheduled for watch,” Roscoe told him.
“Not anymore. I want Omega and Echo to go with you. Lima, too. He can do some on-the-ground scanning now that we know what signal we’re looking for.”