Frank's clothes smelled of dust, cement, and something Matt couldn't make out, like a metal alloy. Both his hands reeked of gunpowder residue; Matt wondered how many people Frank had shot tonight.
Pulling out a piece of equipment, Frank placed it on Matt's kitchen table and started fiddling with something. "Listen."
"Dispatch, I've got…damn, I've got human guts at the corner of 5th and 14th…God."
The officer's voice faded into static as Frank switched channels, the next voice just as frantic.
"I need back-up at 10th and Queens, I need SWAT down here, we've got up to twelve active shooters, I repeat there's up to twelve suspects…."
The channel clicked again. "This is Detective Brett Mahoney requesting back-up at…. Where the hell am I? At 6th and Barker."
Matt stepped closer to the radio, a rush of adrenaline flooding his body. "Brett's a friend of mine."
"Well, he's headed where I found a huge blood trail earlier," Frank said. "Including two guys with their heads chopped off."
"Yeah? And did you have a hand in that?" Because Matt remembered some of the bodies Frank had left behind, how he'd tortured men to get answers.
"No, it wasn't me. I'm going after the asshole arming this gang-war–"
"Congratulations for contributing to the homicide rate," Jessica snapped.
"They've found at least six mutilated bodies tonight," Frank growled, the blood flow increasing to his face. "And based on reports, there's more, except they can't find enough remains for identification."
Six or more people had been mutilated tonight?
"That's just fewer bad guys on the streets," Matt said, testing Frank's motives. "Why do you care?
"I don't. But I want the person responsible."
"You know who's committing these slaughters?" Matt demanded.
"No, but I've seen this before."
"Seen what exactly?" Matt was tired of the runaround.
"People killed by having their spines ripped out. Their heads displayed as trophies. Sometimes the guy took their eyes or other prizes."
"Where?" Jessica demanded. Matt knew that tone; she didn't believe him.
"During one of my tours. I provided backup during a Search & Rescue, all we found were…pieces." It was the first time Frank's voice wavered. He swallowed. "These were Team guys, not your run of the mill grunt."
"And you think this is the same person?" Matt had a hard time imagining a serial killer hopping continents. "Right here in New York?"
"Yeah." Frank stepped into Matt's personal space. "Even if I'm wrong, that doesn't stop the fact that whoever's out there butchering people needs to be stopped."
Matt wasn't intimated by Frank and he stepped closer until their boots touched. "And you're suggesting…?"
Frank chuckled. "An unholy trinity. You, me, and Rocky Balboa over there."
Jessica's heart rate jumped as she stomped over. "I'm not helping a monster hunt down another monster."
"Sometimes that's what it takes to catch one," Frank told her.
"We're going where Brett Mahoney last radioed for back-up." Matt did his best to glare at Frank. "And we follow my rules, got it?"
"Do you really want to show mercy to something like this?"
"You came to me, remember?" Matt held all the cards for once.
"Yeah, we'll see if you change your mind."
Frank moved toward the police scanner and started packing it away.
Taking a moment, Matt touched Jessica's shoulder and drew her closer. He kept his voice hushed. "Look, I'm asking a lot, but could you…?"
"The last thing I want to do is join you and Johnny the Homicidal Maniac on an evil quest, but I'd be a pretty shitty friend if I let you count on him for back-up."
Matt released a sigh of relief, taking Jessica's hand and giving is a small squeeze. "Thank you."
Jessica pulled her hand away, but not before Matt noted a slight increase in her skin temperature. He suppressed a sigh at the constant mistiming of things.
Frank finished stuffing the police scanner into his duffle and strode toward the hallway leading to Matt's front door. "So, do you have jacket or something, or do you plan on riding shotgun wearing your devil gear?"
"Oh my God, you are not driving," Jessica yelled at Frank.
"Fine by me, I'll just transfer all my firepower into your trunk."
Matt leaned over and whispered in Jessica's ear. "You don't own a car."
"Yeah, I know that," she said slapping his shoulder. "Damn it."
Sighing, Matt went toward his bedroom to find a set of workout clothes that could fit over his suit.
Matt sat in the front seat of Frank's car, an older model Chevy based on the engine and transmission noise. Matt's suit shifted against the sweatpants and hoodie as he found a comfortable spot in the sunken cushions. He'd stashed his helmet and batons in the trunk with the rest of Frank's gear.
"Is this car stolen?" Matt asked, wondering about the odds of being pulled over.
"No, it's not, Counselor," Frank emphasized the last word. "I try not to cross paths with law enforcement."
Jessica snorted from the backseat. It was the only sound she'd make that wasn't teeth grinding or muttering her displeasure under her breath, knowing he could hear every word. Matt had wanted a chance to talk to her, but time had been of the essence. He'd make it up to her…somehow.
While Frank drove them down back ways to avoid all the roads blocks caused by the current violence, Matt listened to the police scanner as officers tried coordinating efforts to combat the shooting. His hand twitched with the need to do something.
"What do you know about this escalation in gang violence?" Matt asked.
"What does it matter?" Frank scoffed. "It's one group trying to muscle into another's territory."
But the rise of gang activity occurred in economically depressed neighborhoods with lack of public funds and support. It wasn't happenstance. "Because if we can figure out the causes than we can…."
"Do what? Offer them problem solving solutions?"
"Don't waste your breath, Murdock," Jessica said. "It's futile to discuss reason with a psychopath."
Frank blew out a breath, his head tilting up, presumably to look at Jessica in the rearview mirror. "You're asking the wrong question."
"And what's the right one?" she asked.
"Who's profiting from it?"
"The gunrunner you're after," Matt said. The wave of bloodshed had been the result of heavy firepower. It was easier to kill people when you could fire a hundred bullets a minute.
"Yeah. But he's not our main objective right now." Frank pulled up into the parking lot on the edge of a giant rebuilding project and turned off the engine. "This is it."
"Good, let's get this over with." Jessica climbed out and slammed the door.
Matt followed suit, exiting and walking toward the back of the Chevy to get the rest of his stuff. Frank opened the trunk and started pulling out a small arsenal. Bulletproof vest, assault rifle, extra ammo clips. Matt already knew about the Sig at Frank's side, the Ka-Bar knife, but he raised his eyebrows when he smelled thermite from a few grenades.
Matt waited to grab his stuff, but he was distracted by an odd wiggle sound, like a sharp electronic emission too fast for him to decipher.
"You're doing your weird shit again," Jessica said.
Her voice startled him, which was hard to accomplish. But in that split-second distraction, whatever he thought he'd noticed was gone. Matt cleared his throat. "Sorry, I was just…thinking."
"Right." Jessica walked over to Matt while Frank inspected his weapons. "Do you really think this is a good idea? I talked to Luke and he said the Mac Ballers and MS-13's are seriously scary players. We don't want to get stuck in the middle of their brawl." She cleared her throat. "Luke's finished chasing a lead on a case; he said he can be here in a couple of hours."
They could use Luke's help; Danny's too, if he wasn't in Tibet chasing something.
Gunfire erupted in the distance, less than a mile away, from the speed of the sonic booms. There were multiple exchanges of weapons fire. His city was being torn apart. It made Matt feel impotent. Angry.
"Detective Mahoney is a friend of mine," he told her. Matt was sick of not being able to help others, those he cared about. His mind flashed to Elektra, Stick…. "If he's been pulled into this, then I want to back him up."
"You don't have a lot of friends, do you?" Jessica asked.
Matt was caught off-guard by the question; it was a sharp slap of reality, enforced by the path he'd chosen in life. "Just the ones who matter."
Jessica didn't say a word, her breathing heavier. It made Matt wish he could detect facial expressions.
The trunk to the car was slammed closed and Frank's boots crushed the gravel under his feet. "I'm taking point," he called out and walked away.
Matt hadn't expected such a large construction zone; it encompassed four different buildings, all in various states of rehab.
"Do you see anyone?" Frank asked.
They were between a six-story warehouse and recently demolished building. All the recent dust and rubble was thick, the density almost overwhelming all other odors. Beside the recent demolition was a half-finished building; it was hard to tell if it was new or old construction.
Matt shook his head. "Not yet."
"I can take you where I found the bodies," Frank said. "If your detective is around, he might be attracting unwanted attention."
They'd heard Brett on the police scanner an hour ago; he could have come and gone in that amount of time.
A strong scent of bourbon cut through the haze of dust particles, followed by the bobble of Jessica's Adam's apple as she took a few swigs form her flask. She was irritated, her steps heavy as she stomped toward where Frank stood. Frank's pulse never changed from its steady beat, unlike most people when confronted by Jessica Jones.
"So, you really think that some guy who offed a bunch of Special Forces members just decided to go to New York and kill some gang members for funsies." She took another swallow from her flask. "And the best way to track him down is inside some abandoned warehouses?"
"This is a good defensive position to use as a base of operations." Frank didn't lash back, his breathing even. "And it's only half a mile on foot from the other deaths."
That caught Matt's attention. "Did you map out all the positions of the mutilations?"
"Do you really think I'd come out here if I didn't analyze my recon?"
"You're full of shit," Jessica told him.
A heavy silence signaled to Matt that they were both looking at him. While Matt sided with Jessica—Frank's story really was full of crap—he hadn't told one lie. But something still bothered Matt. Frank was a strategist; Matt felt like he and Jessica had been maneuvered into place.
Matt looked in Frank's direction to ask him challenging questions when Frank beat him to the punch.
"There are hundreds of members in Mac ballers and MS-13's. Do you think there's anything you two can do to stop them? It's going to take a military-type operation to end that shit, but what we're after?" Matt felt Frank breathing in his direction. "It'll make you question God a little more than you do."
There was something in Frank's voice, something Matt couldn't pinpoint. His heart rate had increased, but it was a biological response from adrenaline and anger, not….
Five heartbeats were racing like crazy—no eight. Matt heard laughter, and someone whimpering in terror. He took a step toward the construction zone.
The scent of Jessica's shampoo was a nice distraction from the saturation of scrap metal. Her leather coat creaked when she moved. "What is it?"
"Eight males, all carrying weapons, only three with automatics." The one whimpering was close to hyperventilating. "I think this is a kidnapping; one of them is very unwilling to come with the others." Whimpering guy yelled and screamed, his feet kicking up dirt as he dug in his heels.
"We need to go," Matt said, not waiting to see if they followed behind him.
They neared a half-built structure eight levels high with concrete wall supports and steel columns, girders, and beams. Large equipment lined one side, including a giant crane and a few power generators. Two forklifts were parked beside a wood frame bearing wall on the opposite side. The eight people they were after were using part of the site as cover.
"No killing," Matt reminded Frank.
"Love taps only, got it."
The whimpering guy—no…teenager—was being forced to his knees, four men in their twenties surrounding him. Three other guys stood a few feet away—probably to stand guard.
"You know why we brought you here? Because no one can hear your pathetic screams."
"I told you," the teen whimpered. "I don't know who whacked your boys."
"We're gonna start peeling away your skin." The Leader flipped open a switchblade knife. "One slice at a time."
"No, please. It was El Diablo, man! It had a sword."
Matt recognized that skittering heartbeat and lactic acid and urea from the kid's sweat glands. It was Cuchillo.
"Chop his fucking ear off, Kerron."
Cuchillo released his bladder and peed on himself, the ammonia smell mixing with the odor of adrenaline.
Matt heard the blade of the knife cut through the air and he threw his baton, knocking it out of Kerron's hand.
"What the hell?" Kerron seethed.
Seven heartbeats jumped in response, seven weapons rose in his direction.
Frank held his breath before he squeezed the trigger. The first bullet struck Kerron in the shoulder; the second bullet struck the man closest to Cuchillo, who threw himself to the ground.
"Jess," Matt called out. "I'll keep the others busy. Could you–"
"Grab the little guy, yeah."
"God damn it," Frank cursed.
It took a second before Matt realized he just placed himself and Jessica in Frank's line of fire.
Heavy breathing was like an echo beacon; Matt grabbed his baton from off the ground and separated it into two billy clubs. Two of the gang members started shooting at Jessica. Matt ran toward the closest one and pivoted on his right foot as he swung his left leg around and struck the guy in the head.
Jessica punched the second attacker in the face so hard, two of his vertebrae made a cracking sound as his neck snapped back and he collapsed. She snagged Cuchillo by the hoodie and dragged him away from the fray.
Frank had moved positions, aiming his rifle just as Matt noticed a bizarre heartbeat, a lub-dub-dub-lub that indicated two extra chambers of heart muscle. Matt froze, confused, as he listened to the strange heartbeat coming from above.
The smell hit him next: organic debris and bacteria.
"Red, what the hell are you doing?" Frank yelled.
Matt turned his attention to the scaffolding of a long crane; at a large amount of body heat blurring into a figure—it had to be almost seven feet tall and over three hundred pounds. But more unusual than its incredible size was the arthropod-like jawbone and long, hair-like appendages that were set into it skull.
What the hell was it?
But he didn't have time to contemplate. "Frank. On top of the crane."
"What? I don't see anything."
Frank couldn't see it? Matt noted a low-level electric field surrounding it…covering plates of armor. "I think it's cloaked."
The figure pulled something from a holster and clutched an object in each hand that started to produce heat.
"Aim at your eleven o'clock," Matt yelled. "One-hundred thirty degrees."
Spinning around, Frank aimed without question. But the heat build-up turned into a chemical explosion, creating a high-burst vapor cloud that ignited in the air.
Frank and Jessica cursed. The other gang members yelled and started flailing about.
It was a flash weapon.
Frank fired in the direction of the thing, but it leaped, its leg muscles propelling it over Matt's head. It made an odd chitterling noise before rushing at two of the gang members who began shooting widely.
Pfffffft.
Two giant blades slid out from the thing's wrists and before Matt could toss his club at its head, the figure sliced both men from rib to rib.
Then it jumped onto the forklift and over a wall, running until it disappeared into the depths of another building.
"Holy shit," Jessica yelled.
It took too many seconds for Matt to catch his sputtering breath before he ran toward the two men who writhed on the ground in their own blood.
The white-flash had temporarily blinded Frank, but his aim had been true, and he fired in the direction Red instructed. His eyes were still too overcome by stimuli to focus, but he dug his boots into the ground and turned around until he faced the opposite direction. He couldn't pull the trigger, not knowing where Jones and Red were, as he heard their target jump from the crane to the ground in front of him.
"Damn it," he growled, blinking against the dots to his vision.
He heard feet pound the ground, the unsheathing of several knifes, and the sound people made in the back of their throats when they were mortally wounded.
"Holy shit." That was Jones, he recognized.
Frank staggered toward the moaning and gurgling of blood, his sight returning as he ran toward the wall.
"Frank!"
He ignored Red, slinging his rifle strap over his shoulder as he started climbing the forklift.
"Damn it, Frank, we need help!"
"He doesn't give a shit," Jones said frantic. "Fuck. Look at this…."
Scanning the darkness and knowing he'd need the support of the other two to mount an offensive, Frank jumped back down and headed toward them.
One of the men writhing on the ground had two long gashes across his belly. Red had pulled off his gloves and attempted to put pressure on the giant wound. But it was gushing blood and based on the volume, the blade had ripped through muscle to the bone.
"You're wasting your time." Frank called things like he saw them. Given Red's abilities he had to know it was a lost cause.
Frank glanced over at Jones who tried holding the other guy's guts from spilling out. She looked up at him with an expression of horror. The guy gasped for breath while she gripped his hand.
Frank pulled out his Sig. "I can put him out of his misery."
Jones held the dying man closer and stared at Frank like she wanted to eviscerate him. His offer was an act of mercy, whether she acknowledged it or not. Ignoring them, he strode toward the kidnap victim and the three remaining gang members; all four huddled together on the ground. Shared trauma made strange bedfellows.
Movement from behind caught his attention and Frank whirled around and aimed his weapon at the gang leader, Kerron. "Where do you think you're going?"
Kerron was six-two of wiry muscle, with tattoos along his neck and a shaved head. "What the hell? Who cares, we need to jet!"
"You want to run?" Frank shrugged his shoulders. "Go ahead. I'm sure you'll make good bait."
Kerron paled. "What?"
His other two buddies huddled closer to him, wide-eyed and scared shitless. One of them bleeding from Frank's other bullet.
Red came over, his jaw clenched so tight it would probably fracture. Frank knew that expression, all that anger raging inside and nowhere to direct it.
"What the hell was that?" Blood dripped from Red's hands.
Frank wondered how many people Red had witnessed die, how many Hail Marys he recited at night in guilt. "I don't know."
"Stop bullshitting me. That thing…it wasn't…."
"Wasn't what?" Frank had his theories, but they were bullshit, they had to be. He needed the man in front of him to prove him wrong. "What did you see?"
It was an odd question to ask a blind man, except Red saw in ways Frank didn't understand. It was one of the reasons why he wanted him here. "I'll tell you what I saw, a whole bunch of nothing. Except maybe this…shimmer."
"It was like some invisible cloak." Jones said. "And it was fast."
"It's not human," Red said like he still couldn't believe it.
"It's a god-damned alien with an invisibility cloak, isn't it?" Jones glared at Red then stormed toward Frank and got into his face. "But you probably knew that, right? It's the reason for this little field trip?"
Even though he'd seen the Invasion of New York on TV, Frank had balked at the idea of an alien getting past Earth's defenses, let alone there'd been more than one occasion when a being had hunted here.
How often had this happened and how complicit was the government in covering it up?
Images of the remains of his brothers in arms flashed inside his head. Frank shook his head against the memory.
One batch, two batch, penny and dime.
"Earlier tonight I told you I found something," he said to Jones, who hadn't budged an inch. It was the final key to the puzzle he didn't want to accept. Frank nodded at Red. "I still think you should look at it."
"I came here for a friend."
"Now who's bullshitting?" Because Frank saw through Red's goody two-shoes act: he enjoyed beating down bad people. "You may have come here for a friend, but you knew I was tracking something dangerous, and you came for that, too. And hey, we did some charity work, right?"
Frank looked over at Kerron and gestured toward the kid Red had recognized. "You brought him to torture, why?"
"It's none of your business." Kerron pressed against the wound in his shoulder, blood staining his hand. "Man, I need to go to a hospital."
Red ignored the leader and stood in front of the teen that'd been kidnapped. "Cuchillo. Are you okay?"
The teen trembled and stared down at his stained jeans, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "I just want to go home."
One of the other gang members snickered. "Go home to mommy."
Jones punched the guy in the shoulder hard enough to knock him down. "I'd say beating on someone seven guys to one is the definition of coward."
"Knuckle, shut the hell up." Kerron stared at the hole in his shirt and glared at Frank. "What the hell do you want? Cause either let me and my guys go, or shoot us, because I'm tired of standing here bleeding."
Frank was tempted to grant the asshole's wish, but he wasn't in mood to be lectured by Red. He looked over at his temporary unit. "I need help identifying what I found."
"Seriously?" Jones turned toward Red. "While we're standing here debating about what to do next, some invisible alien is out there killing people. And if our resident murderer is right, we're inside his home base."
Red opened his mouth to answer, but then his whole body tensed.
"Okay this is the second time you've done that. What the hell do you hear?" Jones demanded.
Frank was good at reading people; he could tell Jones was more than a little freaked-out. Red was equally as shaken.
"It's…a pulse, like a radio frequency but at the strangest decibel. The…modulation, it's….just weird."
"Where is it transmitting from?" Frank asked.
"Hey," Jones grabbed Red's arm. "What are you doing? We came here because of your cop friend. We got ambushed by something that butchered over ten people and now you want to chase after a mysterious radio transmission that only you can hear, right into a scary abandoned building with an invisible killer. We are not prepared for this. And what about these civilians?"
Red started nodding. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we could…." Suddenly, he pulled out his baton, his breathing rapid. "We've got go. Now."
Jones stared at him. "What?"
"It's circling around," Red warned. He detached both batons and held them at ready position.
Frank unshouldered his rifle. "Direct me."
"He's standing on the sixth floor of the building across from us."
Frank knew exactly what spot the killer had taken. "Get down! He's in sniper position."
"Everyone behind that forklift," Jones growled, shoving the civilians out of the line of fire.
Frank started to seek cover when Red yelled, "Wait, he's got some type of energy weapon."
"What do mean?" Frank demanded.
"It's charging…take cover!"
Frank expected an RPG, not a laser burst. Instinctively, he dove to the ground and covered his head with his arms as a bolt of energy struck the half-built roof, blowing it apart. Large chunks of concrete and debris fell, pieces of rubble peppering Frank's back.
Knowing this was a distraction, Frank got to his knees and brought up his rifle. "Red, where is it?"
He heard coughing, Red's voice thick as gravel. "He's on the ground…running toward us. At your two o'clock."
There was a glimmer, an odd light fluctuation, twenty meters away, fifteen. Damn, the thing was fast. Frank squeezed the trigger. His spray of fire hit the target, the odd light refraction fluttering with the impact of bullets. But it didn't go down.
"Frank, move!" Red yelled.
Frank grabbed a grenade from his belt, fingers around the pin, but the thing was too close.
Pfffffft
He saw four metal blades from somewhere. The invisible shield was rudimentary; Frank could see the creature's outline as it moved.
Dropping the grenade, Frank pulled out his Sig. Red was a second faster. He flung his billy club and a metal cable wrapped around the thing's right arm several times. Red grunted as he wrenched it.
The alien stumbled from the force of the pull, but didn't go down. It stood to its full height and wrapped its hands around the cable and yanked back in return.
Red almost went with it, but he let go of the other baton, and recovered before he was carried off his feet by the momentum.
The alien made a chittering sound before it charged at Red with its blades.
Red went to his right knee and hooked his left leg around the alien's ankle, trapping it between his calf and thigh in a hold. Wrapping his arms behind the thing's knees, Red tackled it. Momentum and force drove the alien forward with Red spinning around and twisting the creature onto its back. Red stated climbing on top of the thing.
It looked like Red was about to try a ground and pound, but the alien made a loud bleating noise. It swiped at him, its blades missing when Red flipped away.
Roaring, the creature clambered to its feet.
Frank shot center-mass. He kept his finger curled around the trigger in hopes enough firepower would penetrate the thing's defenses.
"You're going to hit Matt!" Jones shouted.
She ran up behind Frank.
He didn't dignify the accusation with a response; Frank had Red in his peripheral vision as Red scaled the forklift.
He ran out of ammo and changed clips, noting the invisible shield has stopped working in places, revealing plates of black body armor.
"You can be damaged," he said under his breath.
Their target swung its head toward Frank as if it heard him.
Frank brought up his M4 to shoot the damn thing in the face. But the alien leaped, cutting the distance between them in seconds.
It landed beside Jones and slashed at her face, but she ducked under the blades and punched the alien in the mid-section. It grunted from the impact stumbling on its feet before launched toward her again.
Frank flipped his weapon around and bashed the rifle butt against its back. Chittering, the alien backhanded him, its fist slamming into the side of Frank's skull.
It was like getting hit by a baseball bat. Pain exploded inside his head as the force of the blow knocked him down.
He heard another set of grunts. It sounded like Red was tag teaming with Jones; fists were impacting heavy flesh and metal plating. Frank got to one knee so he could stand.
"Move!" Jones yelled at Red.
Frank hadn't noticed her lift and carry a giant piece of broken concrete over. Red did a quick side step as Jones threw the piece of concrete. It shattered against the thing's body upon impact.
"Energy weapon!" Red yelled.
He flung his billy club, knocking the alien's hand just as it fired. The blast went wide missing Jones by inches.
Frank used the distraction and searched for the grenade he dropped. He missed grabbing it with the first try, but snagged it on the second. "Fire in the hole!"
After lobbing the grenade, he threw himself as far away as he could.
The explosion resulted in a concussive force, propelling him into the side of the forklift, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. He tried standing, but his legs betrayed him, and he had to lean on the side of the forklift as the others struggled to their feet.
"Jess?" Red's voice was ragged, his breath catching against the sound.
"I'm fine," Jones grunted. "You?"
"Good."
"What about It?" she asked.
"Still alive," Red panted. "We need to move…."
"Finish it…off," Frank growled, trying to get to his feet again and failing. Damn it.
"I left my alien ray gun at home," Jones snapped.
"Come on, Frank," Red said, grabbing him by the back of his jacket. "On your feet."
Red wrapped Frank's arm around his shoulder and started moving him along.
"Grab my weapons," Frank said in between heavy breaths. "And grab the ones from the others."
"They hauled ass into The Thing's lair," Jones said, gripping Frank's guns.
"Exactly where we're headed," Red said.
"This is exactly the same stupid type of shit that dumb people do in horror movies," Jones muttered.
tbc