The Devil's Playground

[Vigilante]

New York was different than she remembered. Growing up, it had always been warm evenings in the restaurant; large helpings of spaghetti and kids running around playing kick the can with flashlights in the alley after dark. Things had changed, and it was more than just the skyline. Life seemed more miserable than ever to the working poor, and it was these people who suffered the most when the mob began to expand its operations.

Ginny Hayes pulled her coat around her, guarding against the chill of the late autumn afternoon as she finished up her window shopping. She'd been loitering around for over an hour, waiting for a specific black sedan to creep by. When it did, Ginny walked over to where she'd parked her Harley Davidson, pulled her helmet on, and nonchalantly followed.

Over the bridge and into New Jersey, she kept herself a few car lengths behind her target as they entered an industrial district. Gunning the powerful motorcycle, Ginny passed the sedan, and disappeared into the maze of warehouses.

[Twitch]

The black Pontiac Trans Am’s cammed LS1 drank fuel in stop and go traffic like a 300lb frat boy. Joe revved the engine nervously in the parking lot otherwise known as the New Jersey Turnpike, slipping the car back into gear and back out again. He rested his head against the window and glanced at the falling needle on the fuel gage. At this rate, he hoped he could make it to a gas station. His eyes flicked across the mirrors, looking for any signs of anyone who looked like they were part of the Russian Mob.

After thirty minutes of non travel, Joe pulled off and into a gas station. He was so close to New York, according to the road map. 16 gallons poured into the tank. The low fuel light was not pretending. He had just finished filling up when a grey Lexus IS300 changed lanes. There were two men. That was what he could see through the windshield. They looked like stereotypical gangsters. Stereotypes exist for a reason, Joe figured, and got back into the Pontiac. He had studied the roadmap long enough, and was convinced he could take a back route. Joe got the car up to the speed limit, and, sure enough, the IS300 was in tow.

“Dammit.” He was only 20 miles from New York. Play it cool. Just ride the traffic, see what happens. It was early evening, but the local roads weren’t too bad. The IS300 lived off his bumper. When there was gap big enough in traffic, one of the windows went down, the gun came out, and Joe’s gas pedal went down. With a 5.7 liter roar, the Trans Am shot into the distance, dusting the IS300. Joe did not let off until he was in a warehouse district, and pulled onto a side street and waited. The IS300 sped past about 5 minutes later. Joe counted to thirty, and pulled back onto the road. A pair of old decommissioned police cruisers rounded the building and were gunning straight for him.

He ducked into an alley, made a left, and had nowhere to drive. Joe got out of the car, taking the keys with him, and shimmied up the drain pipe in the dark, hoping he could hide, but the sound of gunfire below and the plink of metal against metal told him otherwise. Joe’s ultimate fate seemed inevitable now.

[Vigilante]

Gunfire in the alley behind the warehouse brought Ginny's head around sharply, and the sedan below her stopped slowly. The meet was off, she could sense it, and her chances of taking out two Russian mafia bosses at the same time were dwindling rapidly. Vladimir Druslava was in the car heading for the warehouse, and the second boss, a new guy from another area of the state who's name she hadn't heard, was planning on showing up in less than ten minutes.

But the sedan slowly regained its speed and disappeared, bypassing the intended warehouse completely. Ginny cursed under her breath, adjusting the lightweight composite bow that she'd slung over her back. A second later she realized that someone was crawling up the drainpipe towards her.

[Twitch]

When he turned around from looking at his pursuers below (and don’t look down? What a load), he found an arrow notched, and pointed in his face. His eyes went wide and his hands shook as he lifted them above his head.

“Oh dammit.” He said in his Atlanta accent. There was a crash below and cussing in Russian. The bottom of the drain pipe evidently didn’t like more than 150 pounds.

The redhead stared at him, pondering what to do.

“I… I didn’t know you was, uh, were up here.” He corrected his own grammar mid sentence. His hands still shook.

[Vigilante]

Her eyes narrowed, and the man across from her flinched as a bullet pinged off the edge of the rooftop. Ginny eliminated him as a threat, and stepped past him to peer over the edge of the roof into the darkness.

Angry shouts in Russian were directed upwards, but it was too dark to waste an arrow on them from the rooftop.

BAMF

In the alley behind the thugs, Vigilante took careful aim and shot one through the back of the head. With barely a sound he toppled over, another turning to see what was going on. She shot him as well, the arrow catching him in the throat, and had another arrow notched before the last two heard the last gurgling breaths of their compatriot.

BAMF

From another angle she took out the third. As she notched the next arrow, the last Russian managed to line up a shot at her, but the bullet hit the warehouse as her arrow took him in the left eye.

[Twitch]

The gunfire intermixed with more yelling in Russian. The fact that the lady disappeared and reappeared below in the alley was hurting his brain. He looked over his shoulder, back at his inherited car, and noted that it wasn’t blocked in completely. In fact, he could squeeze it out behind the old police package Ford. A little relief warmed over him when more bullets plinked against the gently sloped corrugated metal roof. Joe’s father had taught him to shoot, but it was different when it was people, and not paper. He looked across to the other rooftop and saw what looked to be an AK-47. He was maybe 100 feet away. Joe drew the Glock from his waistband, lined up the sights.

BLAM! He had nearly forgotten how hard light guns kicked when the AK-47 was dropped and the mobster grabbed at his damaged left hand. Where did that woman go?

[Vigilante]

Vigilante was feeling rushed, and it showed in her aim. Bullets hit the wall beside her, spraying her with bits of concrete. She took an extra second and loosed her arrow, teleporting away before the mobsters could take better aim themselves. Reappearing behind another Russian, who was gaping at his partner who'd just gone down with an arrow through the side of his head, the mutant kicked his legs out from underneath him and stomped on his throat as she took aim at the last Rusky in the alleyway.

On the roof above a gun barked once, then again a few moments later. A mobster tumbled screaming to the ground, landing on the roof of one of the Fords in true cliche fashion. Vigilante got the last man high in the chest, and then looked down at the mobster under her boot. "Last call, sweetheart." There was a crunch as she twisted her foot.

She slung her bow over her back and pulled a playing card out of her back pocket. Walking over to one of her kills, she tucked the card into his jacket pocket with a gloved hand.

[Twitch]

Joe was still uncomfortable with the fact that he had just shot two people, and even more uncomfortable with the fact that there was one very dead man on the Ford.
<o></o>
“Aw damn. Damn.” He said, and shook his head while he replaced the Glock into its hiding place. He climbed down the drain pipe, and dropped down the last ten missing feet, with no sign of the redheaded woman. Still, he had to find Uncle Steve, his mother’s brother. Steve was a smart man, and a successful lawyer to boot. A touch of stealth would be smart. He used the keychain pocketknife’s screwdriver to remove the license plate from the closest “security” cruiser. It took less than 10 seconds. Joe was careful to only touch the plate, and none of the car in case someone got clever and dusted for prints.<o></o>

[Vigilante]

The guy was getting ready to leave, but Vigilante had a few questions she needed answered. She took a minute to fold up her bow and stow it on her chopper, and then she teleported around the corner to where the cursing Southerner was removing one of the old cruisers' plates.

She cocked her head to the side, and then jumped in closer, to just behind him. "Why are you being chased? What do they want with you?"

[Twitch]

Bam. There she was. If Joe had been wearing my pants loose he would have jumped out of them.

"I saw them shoot my old man. I think he was on the take and somethin' rolled downhill. I don't think Russians like witnesses. What about you? You Maid Marian and Robin Hood all in one? Whats with the dissapearing act?" Joe twirled his keys without thinking about it, slipping the ring off one finger and onto another, one handed. It was a nearly impossible feat.

[Vigilante]

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't care for witnesses either." Let him sweat that out for a bit. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder, adding, "If I were you, I'd be thankful I was alive, and I'd forget all about this."

She adjusted her black leather coat, getting ready to 'port away. He was clean, or at least, not on the side of the Russians, and it was time to go.

[Twitch]

Anyone who bow hunted people was way over his head, and he was drowning to begin with. He also wasn't sure he was so thankful. Things were complicated right now.

"I've never seen any bow hunting women ever, much less one with red hair who dissapears." She looked like she was about to do that dissapearing thing.

"Wait! How do I get to Manhattan?"

[Vigilante]

She sighed. "Get back onto 95 and take it up into New York. After that you're on your own." She was itching to get away. This was messy, and now someone could possibly match her to the dead Russians.

Her right hand dropped to her side, where her K-Bar was sheathed and attached to her belt. Her fingers brushed against it. No. Then she would be no better than them. Besides, the chances of him running into her again were astronomical. Ginny 'ported.

BAMF

Swinging her leg over the Harley, she started it up and roared off just as it started to rain.

[Twitch]

The Trans Am was a handful in the rain, with gobs of torque available at almost any speed it could be absolutely harrowing. The wide car fit through the gap left, but only with the mirrors folded. Dad was gonna kill him.

Except Dad was dead. He'd been running up and down the East coast for a month, spent almost 1000 on gasoline and another 300 on food mostly from grocery stores, it was cheaper. He had not cried yet, and he still couldn't. Joe hurt. He had no idea how Uncle Steve would react, either, and it scared him.

He swallowed and remembered the route back to I95. He'd stop and look up Steve's phone number in the phone book. He knew the name of the lawfirm, and it wouldn't be too hard, as long as he was in town.

[Vigilante]

The whole night was a disaster. The meet would take place somewhere else. Druslava wasn't stupid, and by morning the warehouse district would be crawling with cops, some on his payroll, some not. The mysterious mutant Vigilante would be in the papers again, although this time maybe she'd make the front page. Instead of one or two victims, there were at least eight, and two of them had not been killed by arrows.

She frowned underneath her motorcycle helmet. Had that first shot on the roof been at the mobster who'd fallen to his death, or at another one? And was that guy dead? The former Special Forces officer could feel the loose ends of the night unraveling in her mind... all the ways that saving the black guy's butt could come back to haunt her.

Motorcycles were fun to ride, but not so much in the rain. Ginny hunched down and suffered through the trip, parking finally behind Smith's Mini-Mart. She let herself in the back with her key, pulling open the freight door so she could walk her Harley in out of the rain. Pulling the overhead door down and closed, Ginny refastened the padlock on the inside and double checked the lock on the back door. Pete would never forgive her if she forgot to lock it.

"You're late, Ginny." A friendly baritone rumble from the front, and Pete Smith was poking his head into the backroom. He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in his salt and pepper beard.

Peeling out of her leather jacket and helmet, Ginny shook out her long red hair. "Yeah, well, things happened." She grinned, relaxing finally, and joined him in the front of the store. Business was light, though there was always at least one customer in Pete's store until he closed up at 11 pm. She hopped up onto a stool behind the counter, leaning her elbow on the cash register. "Did you get the slurpie machine fixed?"

"Creep was by earlier, asking for you."

A flash of annoyance. "I told her I'm not her big sister. And not to visit me here."

Pete sighed, a fatherly sound, and busied himself straightening the magazine rack.

[Twitch]

Joe dumped quarters into the pay phone and leaned against it. He found the number for his Uncle's law firm, Smith, Klien, Sax and Ironwood.

Of course there was a receptionist. Yes, he really was Mr. Ironwood's nephew. No, he couldn't call him back tommorow. Yes, it really was that important. Yes, I'm on a payphone in Jersey. Please please please tell him it's important. No, he shouldn't interrupt a meeting, as long as he could meet tommorow morning. Joe put a hand on his face. This was worse than visiting his mother, who was in South Africa for a confrence. Tell him I drove all the way up from Atlanta, and that any joke can be funny as long as the audience understands why the joke can also be wrong. Hold? Ok. Joe crossed his fingers. A minute later, the receptionist asked if he needed directions. Yes. Uhuh. Exit 16E to the tunnel, right onto West Side Highway and left onto 16th street. Got it. Thank you so much, miss. You too. Goodbye.

Joe sighed, relieved to have accomplished something positive.

[Vigilante]

"Have a good night." Ginny tucked away the store copy of the debit receipt as a harried looking man left with a package of Cheetos and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Pregnant wife at home, most likely. Pete was in the tiny backroom making sure it was spotless before the vendors arrived in the morning to mess it up. Then he'd make the trek upstairs to his apartment, leaving Ginny in charge of the night shift.

She had the place to herself for the moment, and she got up from behind the cash register to help herself to the soda fountain.

[Twitch]

“Declined? Run it again.” The cashier at the grocery story did. Joe looked forlornly at the tomato, Italian bread, fresh mozzarella, lettuce, turkey slices, a gallon of water and a bag of ice. He did have some cash, but his own personal bank account was running dry, too. He paid for it with cash, and it would live in the small cooler in the hatch until he got hungry again.

After sleeping till dawn barely cracked in the driver seat, with the car in an empty, abandoned back alley, Joe changed clothes to ones that he washed 2 days ago. Traffic had already piled up, but he was running on time. Uncle Steve was a busy man, especially since he was the partner of a well-established law firm in New York. He’d never really known what kind of law he specialized in, but Joe knew it was a big deal. He had not seen Steve in seven years. After watching the Trans Am consume a painful amount of fuel in the New York parking lot, he made it, and only 5 minutes late. The directory assured him this was the correct building, with the law firm listed prominently. Joe almost walked all the way into the lobby when he noticed something important: Metal detectors. He needed to put something back in the car, put the gun in the spare tire well.

He set off the detector anyway because he left the pocket knife, which security gave him a number for and said he could have it back later. Floor 6 took him to the offices of Smith, Klien, Sax and Ironwood. There wasn’t much else on floor 6. A secretary with a headset, green hair and webbed hands greeted him. Joe blinked a few times.

“How may I help you?” He asked.

“I, uh, uh, am here to see Mr. Ironwood.” He stammered.

“Do you have an appointment?” Green and webbed countered.

“I uh, think so. I’m Joe.” The mouse clicked several times.

“Yes. Mr. Ironwood will be in his office. Go in the left arch and all the way to the end.

“Thanks.” Joe skittered into the archway and was greeted by more fascinating sites. Someone looked rather furred. Someone else had and extra arm. Some looked normal. Joe kept himself from staring by staying focused on his own troubles and made it to the end of the hall without gawking too much. He knocked three times.

“Come in!” a voice boomed pleasantly.

[Vigilante]

Ginny woke up slowly, uncurling from her spot on Pete's couch above the store. Pete was already up and gone, which gave her a bit of freedom as she moved about his apartment. Her temporary living situation had stretched from a few weeks to a few months, but Pete wasn't impatient or urging her to find her own place. He said she had a good odor about her, and he wasn't worried about the rent. He had a comfortable life and he was willing to share his couch with her until she didn't need it anymore.

She turned on the shower and walked to the hall closet where she stashed her clothes. Pulling out a pair of clean jeans and a long sleeved top, Ginny turned back around and nearly screamed at the sight of a girl behind her. A girl with dark purple skin and pointed ears, clinging upside down on the wall behind her.

Jaime, aka "Creep", tapped her bare toes on the ceiling. "Pete said you were up 'ere. Said I could come wake you up. For lunch."

Ginny glared, a half-hearted attempt that she ended up hiding behind her hair as she bent down to pick up the jeans she'd dropped. "Let me at least take a shower before you start in on me."

Jaime crawled down the wall and flipped over to stand on the floor. Her bright yellow eyes blinked slowly. "Okay. Want a sandwich when you get out?"

"Sure..." she grumped and quickly shut herself into the bathroom.

[Twitch]

Uncle Steve sat behind a large oak desk covered in paper that threatened his monitor, mouse and keyboard.

“Come here and give your Uncle a hug, my only nephew who writes thank you letters.” Joe smiled, relieved, and complied, but then he started to cry.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Steven Ironwood regarded his nephew with concern.

“Dad got killed by the Russian Mob, an… an I saw it.” He managed between sobs.

“How long ago?” Steve asked.

“A month.” Joe said, wiped his eyes, and tried to pull himself together. “Been on the road since then.”

“I’ll call the NY DA and FBI and see what I can do about protective custody.”

“No no no.” Joe shook his head. “Dad was on the take.”

“Son, Brian was undercover.” He passed him a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Atlanta Policeman Murdered While Undercover, Son Missing. A picture of the funeral and high school picture of himself graced the front page. No wonder the Mob wanted him dead so badly. A strange mixture of relief and grief washed over him.

“Your mother flew back from South Africa, she’s been worried sick, and is flying in to New York as soon as I tell her you’re ok. Now I’m going to call the DA and the FBI, and you’ll be under protective custody for a while.” Mom. Mom would probably give him an earful and then some about running away like that instead of going to the authorities.

“The DA and FBI have questions they want to ask you, but I’ll be there entire time.” Joe nodded slowly, still overwhelmed.