CHAPTER TWO
"The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor.
He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time."
Author Frank Miller
Stan the Stoolie's Apartment, Lower East Side, Manhattan
Frank Castle, the vigilante known as the Punisher, landed another hard fist into Stan the Stoolie's stomach; air blowing out smelling like cigarettes. Castle's appearance was that of a man who was not to be trifled with; his large physique, slicked back black hair, weathered face, cold blue eyes and large white skull on his black short sleeve shirt.
With his stringy red hair and squat, overweight body, Stanley Keebler, 43, looked like a cross between one of those pudgy cartoon elves that advertised cookies and a perverted Danny DeVeto. His one room apartment was located over a Korean dry cleaner. The card table and folding chairs were scratched up and patched together with strips of duct tape. The "kitchen" consisted of an old hotplate and a dirty microwave on top of a small refrigerator next to a sink filled with crusty dishes. The old couch/bed combo near the window faced a decrepit TV/DVD combo Stan got at a garage sale. Food wrappers, dog eared, sticky skin magazines and porno DVDs with titles like "Pizza Delivery Orgy" and "Sindy Sinclair Blows the Mailman Part 8," littered the floor.
Stan was still reeling from the blow when one of Castle's thick, gloved hands grabbed his thinning hair and dragged him into the small, filthy bathroom. His pleas to stop were drowned out as he was dunked head first into the yellow stained toilet.
"I told you if things ever dried up," the Punisher said as he gave the punk a dunk, "you would be put out of my misery. Besides, you've been living on borrowed time ever since you beat up that hooker."
Stan struggled to speak as his head rose up out of the bowl. "Give me a break, you asshole! When I have something, I'll tell you!" Castle responded by putting one of his black combat boots on the back of his neck, pinning him into the commode.
"No news for me," Castle said as he drew a 9mm Browning Hi Power with a silencer and pressed it to the back of the punk's head, "bad news for you." The moment Stan heard the gun's hammer cock back into the firing position, he squealed like a pig in fear of the butcher.
Stan cried out with water dripping down his pockmarked face, "Wait! I got something for ya! There's a guy named Fast Eddie who's gonna sell some coke to some gangbangers in Brooklyn!" All of a sudden, he was yanked out of the bowl and he spilled the beans. Castle got the specifics and walked out the door.
"See you next week," Stan heard with a sense of dread.
PUNISHER WAR JOURNAL
Stan's info was on the money the last time. A "useful idiot" as Lenin would say. According to his info, Fast Eddie was a low level con man out of Baltimore who deals almost exclusively in stolen goods. He will be meeting with two members of the SIKs (Staten Island Killers). The meeting would take place around 10pm in the basement of an apartment building near Sunset Park. He also said that the gangbangers usually carry knives and maybe various pistols. If Stan is lying to me, I will take it out on him. END OF ENTRY
THE TRIP FROM THE LOWER EAST SIDE TO BROOKLYN took about an hour of traveling in the vast underground network of subways that ran beneath most of the city. At any time, day or night, people are on their way throughout the city; either going to work or going home. Inside the train to Brooklyn, Castle saw a cast of characters that changed with each stop. White or black, local or foreign, first timers or old hands, they were all different and all the same. They all sit in their seats quietly speaking or not talking at all. As for Castle, no one noticed him because he was wearing a light weight black windbreaker and black baseball cap, the Browning riding in a shoulder holster and the silencer sitting in a cargo pocket. Eventually, the train arrived at the 45th street station near Sunset Park. The area was mostly made up of single story stores and restaurants that catered to working class people.
Seeing that he had at least an hour before the meeting, he stopped in a local hole in the wall bodega for a bottle of water and a copy of the New York Post. As he flipped towards the NYPD crime blotter to look at any potential targets, he came across an article about a series of rapes and murders that have occurred in parks and secluded areas around the city. The police said they were increasing patrols in various areas around town. As Castle studied the photo of the late Linda Marcosi, who was killed several weeks earlier, he thought about what he would do to the son of a bitch if he ever got his hands on him.
Castle had to admire the location for this transaction. It was in the basement of a three story apartment building on the corner of 41st street and 7th avenue near the park. At around 10pm the neighborhood was as quiet as can be. Once inside the dark basement, he found a good hiding spot for an ambush. The plan was simple: let them come in and then cut them down. Twenty minutes later, the door to the basement opened and three men walked down the stairs. The first two were both members of the Staten Island Killers. They were both black in their early to mid twenties, wearing the standard street thug attire; $300 dollar basketball sneakers, low ridding baggy jeans, oversized green t-shirts and black do rags. The third could be none other than "Fast Eddie." The man looked like an undignified Ron Jeremy, with his unkempt 70s style mustache, greasy brown hair and second hand suit that hadn't been to the cleaners since the recession. After a little small talk it was down to business. Eddie reached for his silver colored suitcase and exposed the merchandise. Castle, upon seeing the contents became increasingly angry at Stan the Stool Pigeon's info. It was not coke in the suitcase, but in fact several AK-47 style rifles. The Punisher made his move.
Jim's Diner, Brooklyn
THE WAITRESS NAMED MARIA ran her fingers through her light blonde hair as she finished counting her tips. She always made good money at Jim's Diner. Sometimes she could afford more than just her rent and groceries, but mostly used it for her daily needs. She also remembered that she had to study for her economics test at Cooper Union next week. Maria loved going to school in the city and living in an apartment with two other roommates, but she hated the fact that the closest place she could find work was in a diner in the heart of Brooklyn. She wished she had the money for a car. Then again, with insurance rates as high as they are, and living in a city where it's impossible to find a decent parking space, money for a car could be used for a place of her own.
Maria LeClaire was 22 years old, and her physical beauty was matched by her intellect and her determination. Not only did she excel in the classroom, Maria loved to go bike riding and was a brown belt in Karate. She had come a long way from growing up in St. Augustine, Florida, working in the family owned grocery store, to living in the big city with dreams and aspirations of becoming a successful business woman on Wall Street. Up until she was 12, life in Florida was fun and exciting. Seeing familiar faces at the LeClaire Food Emporium during the week and going to the beach on Sundays were the things that she loved. Maria inherited her mother's good looks and brains and her father's strong work ethics. While at home she was quiet, she really came out of her shell when she was around people. Things were going well until her father died in a hurricane. For a few years after his death, it was just her and her mother, JoAnne. JoAnne ran the store while saving up enough money to send Maria to college. Eventually her mother remarried. When Maria arrived in New York, it was a difficult transition from the nice warm climate of the sunshine state, to the concrete jungle of the Big Apple. In Florida, people walked at a relaxed pace, with their heads held high, basking in the warmth and sunshine; in New York, people moved about looking straight ahead as if their lives depended on it. With her father's sense on dedication, she excelled in her classes and her dreams of living a comfortable life were soon becoming a reality.
After changing into her street clothes and saying goodbye to the other waitress, she headed outside to get to the subway station on 45th street. The night was perfect for a walk, not to warm not to cold. Feeling good about her upcoming test she decided to take a shortcut through Sunset Park. As she entered the park, someone else was watching her. He was wearing a pair of dirty black jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt. He thought about the blond haired waitress, how she looked down on him as he ate his dinner. How dare that bitch look at me like I'm a piece of trash? I'm a man and you will submit to my will! I got something for you, baby, he thought to himself as he stroked his growing erection. The Park Predator made his move.