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#6
APR 15 |
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“One Step At A Time”
“Moving the bodies like that only makes our job that much harder.”
“Yeah, well, I guess this has happened before and last time no one came out for three days. Time before that, it was a week. So I guess they got used to the notion of just moving such things out of their way and getting on with things.”
Detective Grayson just had to shake his head at that, but then, this was Bludhaven. Despite his best efforts and those of his partner, the reputation of the police in this city was understandably less than that of the organized crime that ran the place. At least the crooks didn't give you false hope.
Approaching the scene, the pair of detectives stopped as a jet lowered out of the sky towards the runway just beyond them, on the far side of the smashed up chain-linked fence. The landing kicked up all kinds of dirt and debris which one disturbed the taped off scene all the more. Not that there was much of it to begin with, as upon discovering the overturned vehicle against in the fence, the airport authorities had demanded that the grounds crew simply haul it back towards the nearby access road so that they could get on with their business. Soon after the first plane landed, another roared in.
Detective Rohrbach and Dick took turns speaking when they could.
“Forensics won't be making it out here for another hour, so this is our chance to get a good look before they muck it all up,” Amy called as she stepped up to the charred vehicle.
“Who's on deck today, you know?”
“Levi, I know for sure. Which means he'll intentionally mess up anything he handles just to maintain the job security of crime marching on.”
Dick would have to agree with that assessment, knowing full well in both ventures of his life of just how much extra work Mitch Levi had caused him.
“Metropolis plates,” Dick noted as he circled the burned thing and sniffed at it. “You can tell by the tags,” he pointed to the corners. Amy came around to look as well, though she needed to scrunch up her face to make out what her partner had from the twisted semi-melted metal. “Something more than just gasoline,” he noted and looked around the smashed fence. “Something pretty acidic.” He headed off to follow his nose. “Going to check the fence,” he explained.
Amy remained where she was and watched Dick pace off. She elected to head to the front of the car. “Well,” she called over after another jet rumbled past, “tt was flipped before it ignited. The front is dented in pretty bad, as the engine must be crunched to the size of a breadbox. Some tremendous force must have done that. Superman wasn't in town last night, was he?”
I could've used his help if he had been, Dick thought, but he just looked back to Amy and shook his head dismissively. He turned back to his work, looking more intent about it than Amy thought he might normally.
Amy raised a brow as she watched her younger partner work, but kept silent. He was seeing something, something she wasn't, and something familiar or troubling. She wasn't going to ask, not yet. There were a lot of clues to go over yet, and they hadn't even so much as glanced inside the smoldering vehicle yet. Both of them were leaving the pair of bodies inside for last on purpose, she thought. “Got something here,” she called as she crouched.
“Me too,” Dick frowned as he reached the broken fence. He used his pen to poke at the frayed ends of some links where presumably the fire from the car igniting had melted them. Yet at he poked them, they flaked away. “I've seen something like this before,” he called back, but then quickly scrambled to cover what he'd just said with, “on the internet. The plates made me think of it, but it was an expose out of Metropolis on some high-tech weaponry they had going on there. It was about Intergang and how they were really making a mess of things, even for all the Kryptonian deterrence,” he smirked, even if only to himself. “They showed all kinds of crazy things, like guns that fired pellets of ice that would explode into razor-sharp shards or crushing force fields that were meant to pinch someone to death.”
“Something like this?” Amy stood up and over the top of the overturned car held up something she had bagged, which was too big for the evidence baggy she had, and pretty heavy for her hand. It was up long enough for Dick to get a glance at it and the blinking blue light on the wrist of the thing.
“Careful with that,” he shivered as he moved away from the fence rapidly to join her, and sought to collect the used gauntlet from her before she might accidentally bump the also-glowing red button.
“So, what's Intergang doing in Bludhaven?”
“Been doing,” Dick answered as he discreetly keyed in the disarming sequence to the glove he now held, and fortunately it didn't make a sound as it powered down. “I don't think either of them,” he inclined his chin towards the inside, “are going to be doing any wheeling or dealing again.”
“True,” Amy had to smirk despite herself but then she looked back to her partner. “They, at least the Gang, did operate in the Haven before, albeit briefly.”
Dick nodded and knew only too well. When Dudley Soames survived his head twisting, he had gone to Intergang to recruit their high-tech alien weaponry to his cause of devastating revenge and, as Nightwing, he had fought 'Torque' more than a number of times. “All of that ended with Soames death. When he was found beaten to death, well, by then any trace of the Gang was gone.” He knew, as he and Oracle had scoured the city for any lingering traces.
“Something brought them back,” Amy considered as she lowered herself to a knee to peer inside the upside-down trunk. “If they brought anything with them though...”
“...it's long gone. Destroyed in the blaze, which is unlikely or...”
“... is the reason they ended up like this,” Amy concluded. She looked to Dick and nodded, as now was the time to look inside.
They took up positions on either side and squatted together, looking in from either side. Both bodies were still smoking, but little more than blackened skeletons. The back of their seats were missing, however, with holes punched or burned through them.
“You seeing what I'm seeing, Dick?” Amy nodded towards the space between the two.
“Yeah,” Dick frowned, though he couldn't figure out what to make of it. “Why handcuff their hands together. Driver's left to passenger's right. Unless, hrm, to keep them from easily turning around?”
Amy pointed again, this time with her left hand. The stump motioned for Dick to look again. “Their hands, those hands, are twisted around. Backwards.” She stood while Dick remained squatted, seeing now what Amy had so easily noticed. “What do you think that means?”
“I think it's up to us to find out,” Dick gritted his teeth and thought, Well, I have a good idea of where to start...
As the exterior gate to Lockhaven slid open, Lady Elaine Marsh-Morton brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the midday sun which shone brightly down on the courtyard she had to cross. She had been told little about her release but knew that it had come months after it should have, and with her current employer's connections, her lingering in prison was little more than a formality. No doubt it was meant to humiliate her, but that was something she had grown accustomed to living with, as her once great family name and estate lay in threat of ruin. Her lingering jail time only lessened her appeal as a hired killer, an assassin, a fact that was surely not lost on Roland Desmond, who had allowed such a tarnishment to ensure that, once released, she'd have no option but to go crawling back to him for employment. She was pissed about it, but there was little she could go do to change that now.
She was angry at the world and her imprisonment had only allowed that hatred to stew. Lady Elaine was ready to bite the hand that would feed her, she thought, but as her eyes settled on the man across the yard from her, she thought maybe she could redirect her anger there.
After she got over the fact that he was even standing there.
“I thought someone should be here to see you returned to the freedom of the streets of Bludhaven.” She couldn't *see* the sneer that accompanied those words, but that was understandable since Dudley Soames faced her with the back of his head. Perhaps sensing this, he turned so that now he stood away from her, yet now his grinning face (and left hand) pointed towards her. “You look different,” he chuckled.
“And you don't look as near as dead as you should be, luv,” she returned with a sneer of her own. She had no love for Soames, the man who had recruited her to Blockbuster's employment.
“And you don't look to have near as many friends as you should. First abandoned by, who was it, Vandal Savage, and now Blockbuster. Tsk.” He stepped forward then to the car that was with him.
“Nor you,” Lady Vic said as she stood her ground.
“Au contraire, m'dear,” he laughed. “Who else do you think told me of your little release? I have friends all over this town, and yes, even here. My return has done well to remind them of just how friendly they should be to me. You do have at least one friend left,” he noted.
She looked up and noticed the guards on the walls overhead. They were armed and kept watch on the courtyard below but did not interfere, or at least didn't look to want to get involved. Elaine gritted her teeth as she leveled her gaze to Dudley once again.
Soames opened the car door and out slide a familiar figure to her, big and beefy as he was. “Bivens,” she intoned, and her personal valet approached her soundlessly. In his arms was a duffle which he laid at her feet, glanced back to Dudley and then retreated. Elaine knelt and unzipped the bag, to find all of her gear inside.
“Seems while you were away, ol' Roland forgot to send any crumbs your butler's way, but the big lug was never far away.” He then snapped his fingers and Bivens turned, giving Elaine an apologetic look, before he returned to the car where Dudley closed the door once again. “Getting your stuff was easy enough. Lenny, the personal affects guy here at Lockhaven, and I go back a long ways, all the way to the academy. Your chap her, well, he's been told that if he interferes at all, your head gets blown off.” Soames looked up to indicate to the two armed guards on the wall. “He can have you after, and not a moment before.”
Elaine had been busy while Soames spoke, having quickly braided her long hair and put her mask on. She was still in her prison greys and left her thugee body armor at the bottom of the duffle. Her revolver was stuffed into her belt and she came up holding a kris dagger in one hand and her beloved bundhi in the other. “After what, pray tell?”
“You get the message, to take to your boss.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I am no messenger girl. Give Blockbuster your own message,” she bit out, disliking that she had to even admit how deeply she was in Roland Desmond's pocket. The kris dagger went into her pocket as she went to a knee and pulled out her Zulu asegai spear.
“'Fraid that won't do,” Soames tsked sharply and widened his stance, reading himself. “Once he picks up your broken bones, I think he'll get the message loud and clear.”
She hated to be cornered, to be goaded, to be forced like this. Lady Vic let her rage swell and she growled her frustrations as she charged forward, spear out before her.
Torque was genuinely stunned by her sudden charge but fortunately there was a good number of paces his opponent had to race across to reach him, which gave him time to react. Since he had his back to her, but still able to see her rushing him, he lunged aside in time for that spearpoint to tear through his trench coat rather than his midsection as Lady Vic had intended. He punched out with his left hand, which was twisted around backwards, thus able to strike her right across the face. It sent her reeling several paces but she turned back to him and thrust her spear again.
He spun, his chest to her and now the back of his head, though the red lenses of his special 'glasseses' allowed him to see her just fine. “Your time inside sure didn't slow you any,” he had to admit. He was no trained assassin like her, just a dirty cop, and one who had been stuffed in a coffin for the better part of a year. He was stiff, lumbering and awkward, which is in part why he had chosen to do this. How better to prove himself?
Lady Vic had similar thoughts, that if she would dispatch of Soames who had picked the terms, and prove to kill someone who seemed unkillable, then she could move beyond 'unemployable'. She could even leave this horrible city, get some real work rather than just some glorified errand girl...
Her spear missed and then again, as Soames' movements were near impossible to judge. It didn't help that parts of him were pointed away from where they should have been, and it became hard to anticipate where he would go next. “Less talk, more dying. You were good at it before, do it again.”
“But you didn't ask nicely,” Soames barked as he stepped forward even though his head inclined away and thus caught Lady Vic unprepared. He hooked his backwards left over the spear's shaft and gripped it with that twisted hand and yanked. As it came free of her hold, Lady Vic flipped backwards to give herself a step or two.
“Please,” she cursed.
“Nah,” he said, and Torgue tossed the spear aside out of reach of them both.
Lady Vic lowered and then leaped, her bundhi out in front of her. Yet, her other hand went to her belt, to draw the heirloom pistol, as Bivens had been good enough to have preloaded her Webley-Fosberry revolver. “Allow me to change your mind.”
Torque drew his own pistol, proving to be faster and fired. Lady Vic managed to get her bundhi up in time to deflect the shot, though force of it took the gauntleted blade off her hand and sent it flying. She landed right before him and jammed the barrel of her ancient gun into his gut.
*BAM!*
Soames bled, staggered, but didn't fall. “I'm a hard man to change,” he grunted. Lady Vic's weapon was old, carrying one shot She dropped the pistol and went for her kris. Torque caught her wrist and held it firm. “But I'm an even harder man to kill.”
Again she could feel the sneer in his voice, but she felt the force of his head driving down against hers even more. The back of his head drove into her ceremonial mask and she staggered, stunned. Again Torque's head drove down, more forcefully and her eyepieces shattered, driven into her face, into her eyes.
Lady Vic collapsed to the ground, where she screamed and bled. All she could see was red, jagged glass sticking out of her eyepieces.
Soames put a hand to his bleeding gut, looked up to the guards above and gave them a dismissive wave with his left. “Like I said, welcome back to Bludhaven,” he grunted down to Lady Vic, who could only cry out in pain. He hobbled to his car and once more opened the back door, as Bivens rushed out to attend to his lady. “She's all yours now.”
“Hey, hey! What do you think you're doing?! Get away from that!”
Dick Grayson had just returned home from a rather lengthy shift to find a very angry looking little man wielding a hammer, bashing at the ramp that been added to front of his apartment building. It had been something his wheelchair-bound wife had taken upon herself to add, with the help of their neighbor and fellow tenant Aaron Helzinger. The big man stood by looking dumbstruck, teetering between disbelief and shock, but then thankful as he caught sight of his friend Dick approaching.
“I tried to stop him,” Aaron fumbled, and managed to look away from the feeble destruction to explain. “But he says he has author--authority,” he shrugged. “Being the landlord and everything.”
Dick gave an 'I got this' nod to Aaron as he stepped up with the little man hammering away still.
“You must be Mr. Nuguyen.”
Only now did the elderly Vietnamese man look up and stop what he was doing. “She did this, that mean woman! I told her not to,” he growled.
“Just when did you tell her? You never replied to any of her emails,” Dick pointed out.
This kept the small man quiet, but just for a moment. “Ah, so, you are Richard Grayson.” He pointed at the off-duty detective with his hammer. “I'm to keep my eye on you.”
“Well, that's *nice*,” Dick said, confused. “But you can do that without destroying someone else's hard work.”
“No, you don't understand,” Mr. Nguyen went on. “Mr. Desmond pays me to keep an eye on you.”
That made Dick go silent for a moment. Finally, he spoke again when he realized his landlord was just staring at him waiting. “Well, that's good to know. Was that something he offered or...?”
“Mr. Desmond bought the building,” Mr. Nguyen just glared. “After the explosion. He moved me in, to keep an eye on you.”
Dick shook his head. How did he not notice *that* happening? Clancy, his previous landlord and friend, had been murdered and after dealing with all of this...he remembered now something about there being something on the building's bulletin board about the new landlord, but was there something there about a change in ownership too?
“So, that means you go through my trash or something?”
“Every day when you go to work, I go through your things.” Mr. Nguyen reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring of keys for the whole building. Dick wasn't sure which shocked him more, the thought that this guy did indeed do that or that he was so brazen about it.
“Well,” Dick could only say. He looked to Aaron for support, but the big guy looked blank, as he had no idea what was going on. So, Dick changed the subject. “That's...nice. Anyway, about *this*,” he motioned to the ramp that was only slightly damaged, “it's only helping to bring the building up to code.”
Mr. Nguyen considered this, nodded, but then said, “An extra three hundred a month.”
Aaron's eyes got big, but Dick just nodded. “Fine. *Thank you*, Mr. Nguyen.”
“Nam, Nam Nguyen,” the little smiled, like the cat who got the canary. He turned and marched off, taking his hammer with him.
Once Nam Nguyen was inside and gone, Dick sighed and looked to his larger friend. “Still got your toolbelt handy? Maybe we can get this patched up before Babs gets back into town.”
Aaron nodded and smiled, glad to be of help rather than just standing there watching. “Sure. Sure!” He rushed off inside.
Dick slumped to a seat on the ramp and just shook his head. His landlord, spying on him, and Roland Desmond owning his building. Perhaps that was to be expected, after he had taken down Blockbuster as his officer-self. He'd just have to be careful, more careful than normal, and...that's when he noticed someone sitting on the steps. “How long have you been there?”
“For all of it,” she answered and shot the detective a grin. She was in her early thirties, he guessed, and slightly tanned, her hair curly and long and black, with eyes of a dazzling green. She wore scrubs, though they were unblemished, and had nursed half a beer and now took another drink. She was beautiful.
“Well, that's unfortunate.”
“Nah, it wasn't all that bad. Besides, it was entertaining.”
“Thanks, I think,” Dick forced a smile. He stood and approached her, and held out a hand. “Dick Grayson.”
“I know,” she smiled as she took his hand and shook, firmly. “Corrie,” she gave and when Dick blinked at her name, she just laughed. “Copeland, Bludhaven's new chief coroner.”
“Corrie,” Dick smiled, having some familiarity with a name similar to that. “Didn't we have one of those, I thought? Grady. Caroline Grady,” Dick remembered.
“Yeah, but after it was found out she was pilfering from the bodies brought to her, well, our lovely new mayor brought me in,” she said before she took a drink.
Emma Shay, she was someone knew. She had come to him before when she was a part of the Bludhaven police department, as she recruited him to help gather information on the former chief Redhorn, and others. He'd even voted for her when she had turned around and run for office. “Right out of the academy? That's a pretty good first step.”
“Flatterer,” Corrie grinned, but didn't call Dick out on his obvious false compliment. She knew she looked older than he was alluding to. “Emma and I go way back.” She let her eyes widen as yeah, she was tossing it around that she was on first name basis with the mayor. “She likes to surround herself with those she can trust. She tends to look after her friends,” she smiled.
“She's mentioned me, huh?”
“Not as much as you might want to think,” Corrie laughed, light and playful. She finished her beer and stood however. “Thanks for the show,” she nodded to the ramp, “and for the pair of ashtrays you sent my way earlier today.”
It took Dick a second, but he nodded. “That was something.”
“I've seen worse, a lot worse, but they were different,” Corrie had to admit. “You catch the guy, or guys, that did it?”
“Who says it was a guy, or guys? Maybe it was a gal or two.”
“A lady killer?” Corrie gave a grin at that looked like she was about to say something else but kept quiet. “In this town?” She chuckled at something unsaid and didn't share. A moment later she offered, “Well it's been a long day...”
“... yeah, it has,” Dick agreed. “See you around, Corrie.”
“Count on it,” she winked and turned. She opened the door just as Aaron came barreling out, in a rush to join Dick. She looked back, but left as the two men set to work on the damage that the little Mr. Nguyen had wrought.
It was the screaming that finally did it for him, and it wasn't that of the painful cries coming from the table before him.
There, writhing in pain, was Lady Vic. She was strapped to the dining room table, her arms bound. Brutale had done the knots himself, so he knew they would hold. Stallion had the difficult job of tying down her legs. Stallion had joked, likened it to hog tying a calf, but then in her panic and pain Lady Vic had kicked the loudmouth so hard he'd lost teeth. He was still nursing his bleeding mouth. But, Lady Vic was bound, head and all, and all Brutale could do was watch her gnash her teeth and spit her angry words, her mask streaked with her blood.
Jagged red glass stuck out from the eye sockets of her cracked mask. Brutale had always enjoyed inflicting pain, watching it play out. But this, this was something different, especially to the figure that hovered over her. He was a frail main, long of limb and longer of skeletal fingers. He wore a stark white doctor's coat, unblemished despite the amount of blood Elaine was tossing about as she thrashed. He wore a helmet of reflective silver, and almost comically was a doctor's mirror held around that domed head. Under the cries of anguish, Brutale could almost hear the constant soft hiss of the man's numerous tubes that fed into his mask from under that coat.
All that thinking and noticing came to a halt as the giant strong hand took him by the throat, lifting Brutale off his feet. He looked down at the veins bulging in the neck of the oversized man that choked him and thought, oh yeah, this is what finally did it for him.
Brutale gasped for breath after he hit the wall, after Blockbuster had tossed him aside. The ringing in his ears faded and he was once more able to hear his boss yelling at him, something that had been going on for the past ten minutes.
“...I WANT YOU TO GET OUT THERE AND FIND HIM AND KILL HIM AGAIN!” Roland Desmond's massive meaty hands tightened into impressive balls of muscle and power. Stallion stepped back, having been off to the side, and Desmond turned on him, his small dark eyes narrowing even first.
“Ahem,” hissed the helmeted man. “I am certain I can save her. But...”
That turned Blockbuster aside as he loomed over the odd doctor. “But?” Roland's lip curled as he knew what was coming, but he asked it anyway.
“It will cost you,” the doctor replied coolly. “Just as it did to...restore you...after your 'disappearance'. You have given me many more resources, but still, this will not be easy. The lenses, the glass, they have penetrated the brain. Yet, I can save her.” The frail man stood patient, unflinching.
“I've already given you a small fortune, no, a great one. And my...,” but he choked up there and Desmond looked away. With Roland supposed to have been suffering in the hospital, his disappearance, well it was all too much of a toll on his elderly dying mother. Brutale still remembered the day after his boss had given his near-dead mother to the 'good doctor' and the soulless devotion Blockbuster had for his business afterwards. Profits were up, but the man was different.
“I can save her,” hissed Painmonger, who remained motionless.
The room fell quiet as Desmond turned again, this time looking at the wildly pained Lady Vic as she bled all over his table, just howling. There was a moment when he looked to say something, but stopped himself. Finally, “Whatever it takes, Painmonger.” He approached the table but stopped short, his hands uncurling and his fingers twitched nervously. “Whatever it takes.”
“She has lost a lot of blood,” Painmonger hissed as he almost glided back to her, hands out, but not to touch her but the space above her. Those long bony fingers clutched at the open air, pulling that nothingness into his thin chest, as though he had developed a sudden hunger for something no one else saw. Brutale watched, got to his feet, while Stallion only backed away further. “Are you strong enough?”
Blockbuster immediately removed his jacket and began to roll of his sleeve. He spun one of his chairs and sat it in, facing the table, watching Lady Vic grunt and cry. He held out his arm. “Will she see again?”
“Yes,” Painmonger answered right away, sounding even sure over the soft hissing of his mask. “It will not be the same, but I can...give her a way to adapt.”
Something about the way Painmonger said that made Brutale look aside.
“You two,” grunted Desmond. He didn't look up but addressed his only other henchmen in the room. “Leave us, but take that.” Blockbuster nodded his sizable chin towards the body of the large suited man by the door. Bivens, Elaine's longtime personal servant, had borne the brunt of Roland's sudden rage when he entered carrying the pained, broken Lady Vic.
“No!” Painmonger turned, his hand out towards the body. “He lives.... he does,” he almost cooed delightfully, Brutale felt. “Leave him as...inspiration. Besides, I may be able to save him as well.” He turned to face Desmond. “For free, as a...bonus. You crushed his hands when you took her from him but...the body is strong, there is potential.” With that, the doctor turned back to the bound Lady Vic as he retrieved his medical bag.
Stallion turned to go. Brutale shook his head and thought to say something to his employer, but Desmond spoke first. “Neither of you return until you bring me Soames' twisted, broken head. I don't care how or why he's alive, but I will crush it to dust with my bare hands,” he vowed to no one in particular, to all of them, to himself.
“Yessir,” mumbled Stallion and he was gone. Brutale lingered a moment but then headed for the door as he heard Painmonger powering up a surgeon's saw. He had once been a feared name in his native Hasaragua, he had been a man to be feared. He interrogated men, broke them, completely, and now he wondered if this is what it had felt like.
Brutale closed the door behind himself, the plush walls doing much to mask the swell of screams that came from inside. As he passed the guards posted aside he muttered, “Go home, boys. You won't be needed here.” He saw himself out, knowing he had to go see a man, a man that would help him to see an end to this madness.
He'd lied and said he was going home.
The call came in right as his shift was ending, and Detective Dick Grayson knew his partner had to dash home to tend to her children as it was her husband's Jim's bowling night. Thus, he was free to slip away to a quiet broom closet and get changed into his evening attire and then, as Nightwing, make it out in time to follow the squad cars all the way to the scene. In fact, he hitched atop one of the cars, as it was easy to listen to the radio squaking to get a brief on what he was headed into.
Brutale had surfaced. He'd entered a corner deli and sent out all of the patrons, several of them nicked by a knife or nursing minor injuries. Brutale was holed up inside with the clerk, and he was demanding Nightwing, or he'd kill the clerk and come out knives-a'tossing.
As soon as they arrived, Nightwing leaped from the car to land in the middle of a pack of on and off-duty officers. While he enjoyed their surprised looks of his sudden appearance, the fact that over half of them drew their sidearms caused him to raise his hands. “Same team gentlemen.” Despite himself, he smirked, a little.
A quiet man stepped forward, and Nightwing knew who it was, one of the senior officers on the force, and he looked worn and tired. The fact that he was in his pajamas helped, as Nightwing remembered that the department negotiator actually lived in this neighborhood, come to think of it. “Collins, right?”
“Wil,” the older man nodded. Short for Wilbur, Nightwing recalled. The man then looked around and gave the motion for the men to lower their weapons, as he was apparently elected to be the man in charge. That didn't comfort Nightwing any, as Wil Collins was renown for having retired from duty over ten years ago, though he wasn't set to actually retire for another fifteen to twenty. The man had simply given up caring and his dismal performance record was a testament to that. “I'll give you ten minutes, as that's how far S.W.A.T. is out,” he offered, as he practically willed Nightwing to do this for him.
Nightwing saw that the majority of those motioned to lower their firearms didn't. “Or you come in guns blazing? Isn't the clerk still in there?”
Collins just tapped his non-existant watch as he reminded Nightwing of the loose deadline. “What's one more blemish on my record?” He snorted at that and looked to the store. “If you know that then you know that his only demand has been for you...”
Nightwing had heard enough. He moved forward, pressing through the throng of cops that seemed for a moment unwilling to let him through, but relented. “If this goes south, just say I got here before all of you and ruined it,” Nightwing noted aloud, as he let his frustration show. At least the media hadn't swarmed in yet. That 'offer' sounded good to those resisting his passage and they stepped aside.
Nightwing entered the deli and took quick stock of the situation. The store was a mess and from behind the counter crept a pool of blood. Brutale sat on the counter, but remained silent as the vigilante he'd called upon entered.
“Well, here I am,” Nightwing said as he closed the door behind himself.
Brutale slid to his feet, a knife ready in each hand. Once a notorious assassin and torturer in Central America, he had left when the ruling warlord had fallen and had become Brutale. He was lethal with those throwing knives, and Nightwing had clashed with him before, since he was one of Blockbuster's flunkies. “I want immunity,” the killer said, with shaky confidence. “Everything I know about Roland Desmond if you get me away from here.”
That took Nightwing a second to consider, as having information about all of Blockbuster's operations would be invaluable, especially since a little fact-checking on the details Desmond had boasted about to Nightwing only a couple of nights previously proved to be shockingly accurate.
“No go,” Nightwing spoke and nodded his chin towards the counter. “He's dead, isn't he?” Nightwing just gritted his teeth, not needing an answer to know the truth, not that Brutale answered him. “And how many you've murdered before tonight?”
“He was one of Desmond's men. He sold many naughty things out of the back of an ice cream cooler. To children. If you don't believe me, go look for yourself.”
“That doesn't matter,” Nightwing intoned and slid his eskrima sticks from his back to his ready hands.
“Then... this goes the other way,” Brutale sighed.
“Guess so,” Nightwing managed to get out before the first of Brutale's knives where hurled straight for him. He batted those two aside and then spun to avoid another pair as Brutale darted away from him. The next arch of knives was too wide for Nightwing to easy dodge, so he had to sweep around to clear a path for him to move forward between others of that toss. He took one blade solidly in his arm cuff and charged, to close in on Brutale. “Surrendering would make this go a lot quicker.” He swept low with a kick as he meant to take Brutale's feet out from under him.
But Brutale leapt and cut down with a pair of knives, which Nightwing recoiled away from, but not far enough as those weapons cut across his chest. It was only enough to slice the surface of Nightwing's costume but not to penetrate the layers of armor underneath. However, it gave Brutale confidence to press forward. “Tempting, but no. That would mean deportation to Hasaragua,” where he was wanted on counts of war crimes, and his native land had a rather strict death penalty. He knew as he had so often enforced it.
Nightwing somersaulted backwards and another pair of knives embedded in the floor where he'd been a split second ago. He landed and then tumbled forward while he kicked out a foot to take Brutale square in the midsection. This sent the killer flying backwards into a shelf of bagged treats and then he had to fumble amidst the mess for footing.
Nightwing closed and swung his eskrima sticks, one going to Brutale's wrist to slap the blade from his hand and the other took the masked assassin across the face. This sent Brutale spinning into the soda fountain where he crashed and then slid to the floor.
“I don't see that you have a choice. They're going to come in here gunning for you in minutes. Surrender is your only option.”
Brutale remained on the floor and looked up to the vigilante that stood over him. “I would rather death than stay in Bludhaven,” he decided cooly. “I helped create a hell in Hsaragua, I know I did, but what this is becoming, it is far worse.” He hurled another knife at Nightwing, from his place on the floor, which forced Nightwing to duck, and then another toss forced Nightwing to spin away to his left.
“Where this is going, there is no path back from. I have seen war,” Brutale snarled as he got to his feet and spun a pair of wicked daggers in each hand. “I know what it does to a man. I am tired of such things.” He rushed Nightwing and cut at him. The blade flashed but found product, which sprayed soda and powdered sugar in the air. Brutale cut through this in a vicious downward arc, but Nightwing retreated, and backed into the cooler.
Brutale followed.
“If you can't get me out of Bludhaven safely, then you'll die, and the fame of killing you will allow me to escape this pit.” Brutale threw one knife and Nightwing only barely managed to get an eskrima stick up in time to deflect it aside. Yet, Brutale closed and stabbed with the the other, which to his surprise Nightwing moved *towards*.
Nightwing took the knife to the forearm, near to where he already had one blade embedded in his armcuff, this one sank through however and found flesh. Nightwing twisted, able to use the full strength of his arm to wrest the blade from Brutale's hold and now, with his foe disarmed, Nightwing punched the masked man solidly in the face.
“Nothing can convince me that you shouldn't face every punishment possible for all you've done.” Nightwing punched him in the face again and Brutal stumbled backwards.
“Can't stay, can't go,” Brutale muttered and drew handfuls of knives. He looked up and charged forward, his mind set on the only way of escaping Bludhaven as being over Nightwing's dead body. However, as he charged, his foot slipped out from under him, as the puddle from the clerk had spread to where Brutale had ended up.
Brutale slid, off-balance, and Nightwing swung a foot around to deliver yet another blow to Brutale's face, this one a deciding one.
A moment later the door to the deli opened, as Nightwing strode out, with the unconscious Brutale in his arms. Police ran forward and the vigilante laid the assassin at their feet. “Once you book him, you're going to get a call from some interested parties in Central America.”
Collins slipped to the front and motioned to Nightwing's arms. “We'll need those too,” he stammered, “For e-evidence.”
Nightwing brought his arm up, only now remembering that yes, he had two knives in him. “Sorry, but they're souvenirs now. I'm rather attached to them,” he only grinned. But Collins, thinking of the DNA on them and what that might buy him just hurried forward to grab at them.
Nightwing deftly stepped back and reached up as he fired off a zipline. In an instant he was pulled up into the night's sky. “You're welcome, by the way.” He was sure many of those cops were drawing their weapons once more, but Nightwing didn't look back to let that stop him.
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To Be Continued...
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