-Well finally, after a long time, I´m done. Sorry that it took me so long. I hope you´ll like this story so, have fun :D -

Seattle. Saturday. 23th Febuary. A cold wind blew a heavy rain through the streets. It was one of these rains you wouldn´t sent a dog out… and no dog was outside. Generally nobody was outside except the cars that made their way through the rain which opposed them like a wall.

The people that weren´t on the street spent this evening in all kinds of establishments weather to celebrate that it´s weekend or to wait that the rain would stop. In one of these establishments, an old dusty strip club, two guys, a gaunt tall lion in a black suit with black tie and a smaller dog wearing a grey shirt combined with a suit pants, sat in the first row in front of the stage.

Both of them had a glass of Whiskey in their hands even if you couldn´t say that there was anything left in the dogs glass. With his free hand the dog ran over his bald head to the spot where his skin was covered by his light grey fur before he raised it to call the waitress. Seeing that the lion commented it with a growl.

"Oh come on, it´s just the second one." Meant the dog rolling his eyes.
The reply he received from the lion was a raised eyebrow.
"Seneca, please." Sighed the dog. "Don´t spoil that. Tonight is the night!"

The waitress finally came and brought the dog another glass of Whiskey.
"You said that the last three times, Scratch." The lion said raising his grotesquely high squeaky voice.
"But this time I think we got him and…" Scratch stopped his explanations as the DJ announced the next dancer on the stage who supposed to be a girl called 'Candy'.

Scratch and Seneca watched a while how the black cat girl sprawled on the pole. They watched how the girl got slowly undressed while she was doing her seductively dance.
"You know what?" began Scratch with his eyes pinned on the dancing girl. "I can´t really enjoy this anymore. Since a few weeks I´m thinking that this is somebody´s daughter who is dancing there. I somehow have these father feelings lately. You know what I mean?"

The lion just shrugged with a bored look.
"Of course." Sighed Scratch annoyed. "Why am I even talking with you about that? I mean do you even have kids?"
"Yes, seven."

"Seven?!" Scratch had almost spit out the Whiskey he was drinking.
"Yep, and that are just the one I know about." In Seneca´s voice lay a casual tone.
"You always surprise me my friend." Scratch received a wink from Seneca after saying this. "Okay, now you have to tell me how you produced so much kids."

"Well, if I don´t speak and the women don´t hear my squeaky voice they like me." Giggled Seneca mischievously.
"But you have to say at least sometimes something."

"Well then I use this voice" Seneca suddenly had a very deep intimidating masculine voice.
Again Scratch had almost spit out the sip of Whiskey he just wanted to swallow. "Whoa…" he meant coughing. "you should really use this voice more often."
"Nope…" said Seneca in his dark voice.

"Well then do what you want…I can´t force you. By the way, why are you here with me and not with your kids?"
"Hm… I don´t have the custody." Sighed Seneca in a neutral tone. "But I pay for them and visit them as often as possible."

"Oh okay…" Scratch was now a bit more careful, he didn´t know how Seneca really felt about this subject. Also the taciturnity of his friend made it hard to read in him. "… well, how old are your kids?"
"The oldest is my son who is 17 now and the youngest is my daughter with 11 years." His eyes glittered a bit as he told him that and Scratch could see that he was proud about them.

"And why are you doing this job?" probed Scratch.
"Money for the family... and I like my coworkers" Seneca gave Scratch smiling a nudge on the arm and continued watching the stripper. Scratch meanwhile looked at his watch. "Oh, it´s time."

He reached into his breast pocket and handed Seneca hundred Dollar. "Give that the DJ and say that he should turn up the Volume, we need privacy."
Seneca nodded and got immediately up to do what he was told to. Also Scratch stood up, but he didn´t walk to the DJ, the bathrooms or the entrance like a normal guest would do.

He made his way through a crowd of guys who watched drooling how Candy danced to a little inconspicuous door in a corner of the club. Behind that door which was heavier and thicker than it looked like lay a windowless dark room.

After closing the door Scratch searched a few seconds on the dark wall for the switch which lighted up a single old bulb. The bulb hung on a single wire from the ceiling caused a cone of light which swayed together with the bulb back and forth because of the gust of wind that the closing of the door caused.

In this light, on a chair, sat pretty battered looking weasel. Scratch grinned excited about the thing that would come. "This guy probably thinks the worst is over… I will proof him wrong." He thought as he picked up the little hammer and the 40 centimeter long rail spike that was lying on the ground and began to speak to his victim. "Good evening, Mathew Richards if I´m not mistaken."

"Who wants to know that?" asked the man on the chair looking out of his beaten face into Scratch´s eyes.
"Orcus, amicus. And Orcus is also the place where I´ll send you."
"Orcus… the god of the underworld in the roman mythology? Assuming that you speak Latin I suppose you´re the famous criminal who calls himself Scratch."

"You not as stupid as you look like, Mr. Richards. Anyway, shall we begin?"
"Sure." Meant the weasel and spat blood on the floor.
Scratch cleared his throat and began. "Who is the one you´re working for?"
"Try whatever you want, you won´t make me speak."

"You have no idea." Meant Scratch putting the rail spike gently between Richard´s collarbone and shoulder blade. Gently, until he hit it with the hammer. Under loud screams Scratch drove the so nail deep into Richard´s flesh that the long piece of metal was half way in.

"I said you have no idea." Laughed Scratch manically.
"Pah! I´ve been through worse." Growled Richards shivering as the warm blood from his shoulder began to run down his body.

"Just the beginning." Scratch put the hammer away and searched the floor for the device he needed next. The big sledgehammer was heavy and bulky but Scratch loved that old thing. They´ve been through a lot together. He and his hammer.

At first, as Scratch had just invented this new kind of torture, he could barely handle the hammer.
But after some practice he knew how to hit his target. And the target was always the rail spike. And in this special case, the rail spike that jutted out of Richards shoulder.

He took a big swing and hit the spike not on the head but on the side. The metal rattle was just drowned by the crack sound that the collarbone made as it gave in. And again Richards screamed but this time so loud that Scratch feared that someone would hear it outside the door in the club.

"Okay." Meant Scratch as Richards scream became a whine. "Before I proceed I´ll tell what I will do to you. Your collarbone is broken and the point of the spike in your flesh is pointing directly at your shoulder blade. I will hit with my friend sledgehammer here the head of the nail so that it pierces through it. How does that sound?"

"Awful." Panted Richards almost fainting.
"That describes it pretty well." Giggled Scratch evilly. "But we could end it now if you tell me who you´re working for."
"Okay. I´ll sing. My name isn´t Mathew Richards. I´m Ron Sullivan, FBI."

"OH GOD DAMMIT!" shouted Scratch suddenly angry. "YOU KIDDING ME, RIGHT?!"
"I´m an undercover investigator and I were sent after you. And now I got you… not as I wanted it but finally we got you." In spite of all the pain he felt the FBI agent was able to put a smile on his face. "There is no way that you could get out of here. A dozen agents will storm the club in a few seconds and we got you."

"Tua amici et tu peribitis." Growled Scratch and put on a pair of black leather gloves.
"I don´t know what you just said but…" if you had ask Agent Sullivan a day ago he had never thought that these would be the last words that ever passed his lips. If you asked him a day ago he had thought that he would catch Scratch.

But he had never thought that he would get killed by his enemy by a single shot between the eyes. The shot was loud but not so loud that you could hear him from the other side of the door. Otherwise there was something else going on in the club. Scratch heard that the music stopped and how a forceful voice called through the room. "FBI, ON THE GROUND!"

In exasperation laid Scratch his hands on his temples and begun to massage them with circular motions. This Mathew Richards was the third this month they interrogated. The first one had just the same name like the guy they searched for so they let him go, without torture. The second one had the name Richard Mathews, so also a mistake. And this one… a FBI trap. And he was so sure that this one the right one.

Looking at the dead body Scratch asked himself if it wasn´t a false decision to shoot this man. Maybe he was just a bit too angry about the fact that that was the third time he was wrong. Anyway, what´s done can´t be undone. The guy was dead and his friends were literally knocking on his door. He had two choices now.

Flee or fight. Fleeing meant that he would leave Seneca back and in the hands of the FBI. But fighting meant that he had to battle a squad of trained agents with itching trigger-fingers. A pessimistic part of him sighed remembering a situation long ago. 'Exactly like Acapulco.'
"I´m afraid I have to agree with you." he replied to his inner part.

'Try to hit their shoulders this time… a dozen dead FBI agents. The press will hate you then.'
"If they don´t already hate me for killing one of them."
Someone now knocked at the door of the room. "FBI! OPEN THE DOOR!"

"Whatever you say" mumbled Scratch as he took up position besides the door. As the agent was sick of waiting and burst through the door Scratch placed a karate chop on the throat of the agent, grabbed his gun and pushed him away.

For Scratch the scenery got slower, it was like he watched everything through a high speed camera. He saw the people lying on the ground with their hands on their heads, he saw how two agents handcuffed Seneca who has fought against the capture and he saw the FBI agents standing around the door pointing with their guns at it.

He could count at least ten potential aims and if his intuition was right he had just 1.5 seconds to shot before they would start firing. That wasn´t even enough time to take them all down. It would take them one second before they hit him and another second before he would be dead. But if he moves through the room… that could give him enough time to take them all down, under the premise that he was still the excellent shooter he once was.

Scratch began to move through the room and shot the agents down like someone that shot at cans from a near distance. And the agents fall, and that even if they wear their vests. Scratch knew that it hurt pretty much to get hit by a bullet even if you wear your vest.

After taking down his targets, what was easier than expected, he ran without looking around to Seneca, helped him back on his feet and out of the building. Scratch shot the handcuffs open and ran with Seneca to one of the black FBI official cars that were parked around the building.

"Hot-wire it, fast!" ordered Scratch rushed as he broke the door on his side of the car open. In this moment his negligence, that he just rushed through the room to Seneca without paying more attention to the area around him, paid off.

A caustic pain burnt into his back followed by the sound of a gunshot. Scratch could feel how his strength left his legs. Again the slow motion began. He sunk to his knees and managed it to turn his body with his last bit of strength around. And he saw him, an angry looking FBI agent standing there with his smoking gun.

The guy smiled in this evil, complacent way Scratch usually just knew from himself. Should this be the last thing he would see? This face? Well, in this situation Scratch was lucky because before his senses dwindled he could see how a bullet wiped away the smile from the agents face.
"Thanks Seneca." He breathed before the darkness embraced him.

- Tua amici et tu peribitis. = You and your friends will perish.-