chapter 2
~ the shadow on the window ~
The watering hole was a somber atmosphere, washed out cops drinking to the good ol'days or trying to forget the wear of the job. The city had turned into a rough place with rampant crime and a thinning force. There weren't enough flatfoots to keep order on these nighttime streets. That was more than enough to make Detective Phil Coulson drink himself to sleep every night, but he had his own demons. He'd sullied his badge, trading in favors for tips on the street. There was a new boss in town, the Hydra Underground. Whoever they were, they were ghosts, fading in and out of cities, leaving chaos and ruin in their wake. He'd honed in on them twice, running elaborate stings to catch them in the act and string them up for their crimes. Both times the tip ran cold and he was left as the martyr, berated and scorned by politicians and the chief of police, as if he had given them a free pass and the key to the city. No the men with power, they paved the way. Opening the city to evil forces, all to line their pockets and cry when the world around them began to crumble. He wished he could clean house, bring down the corrupt lot, but they were above reproach and he was just a low man on the totem pole. Then again two wrongs don't make a right. Someday he'd say it and mean it, but today wasn't that day.
He took a swig of his bourbon and savored in the warm aftermath as it traveled down his throat. As he stared down at his empty glass he caught a distorted glimpse of his reflection. He looked like death, but he felt even worse.
"Another Phil?" the bartender asked as he passed by.
"Yeah," Phil replied as the bartender filled up his glass again and moved to serve someone else, "Leave the bottle..."
The bartender paused to shake his head in disapproval, but he slid the partially empty bottle across the bar top and walked away. It was going to be one of those nights. He'd pay for it in spades in the morning, but the promise of dawn seemed like a lifetime away.
After finishing off the bottle of booze and playing witness to a couple of drunken brawls Phil stumbled from the place. The street was cool, a welcome kiss after the stuffy smoke-filled bar he'd just exited. He stumbled along the sidewalk, passing under the circular spotlights of the occasional lamp, but mostly the walk was in shadow. He eyed every alley he passed and kept a bleary stare on every stranger on the street. It wasn't that he was afraid. It was that he knew what was out there, lurking in the dead of night. Nothing good ever sprung forth from the shadows.
As he came upon the apartment building he stumbled back and read the sign over the secured entrance just to be sure. With a deep breath he went inside and climbed the worn stair treads, hearing glimpses of people's lives from beyond closed doors as he scaled to the fourth floor. When he came to his door he jimmied the key a bit, it always stuck. The super wasn't keen on getting it fixed either. Phil had already complained to him three times. The last with his badge, but a piece of forged metal didn't mean much in this city, not anymore at least.
Shutting the door he flicked on the light and a lamp buzzed to life at the far end of the room. It flickered a bit, never getting very bright. His place wasn't the Ritz, but it damn well was his and having a spit of something to call your own was a small consolation for this crazy messed up thing called life.
It was then that he noticed it, the figure in the corner standing near the tiny window washed with neon light from the dance club across the way. He might have gone for his piece, but it wasn't worth the hassle. He could barely hold himself up let alone take aim. It was then that the figure turned around and Phil felt the lifting weight of relief. They called him Nick 'One-Eyed' Fury. He was a rough and tumble cat, mostly worked security. He and his men guarded the doors of some of the hottest clubs in the city. It meant he walked the thin line between law abiding and law breaking, then again, didn't everyone?
There were a handful of bodies rumored to be his handiwork, but they were low end nobodies, fixers too drugged out to know they were messing with the wrong man. None of them could be traced back to his doorstep. Phil had made sure the cases fell through the cracks. Nick was one of his informants. The man had eyes in every back alley and sewer tunnel. Nothing, and that meant nothing, went on in the city without Nick catching a whisper. He did his usually turn about the room, looking over the same stuff he always did.
"What's buzzin', cousin?" Nick finally said as he came to a stop and straightened his black leather trench coat.
"What are you doing here? You know how much trouble you'll cause if someone saw you come in here?"
"Shit...ain't nobody seen me come in."
Reluctant to believe him Phil went over to his galley kitchen and found the only clean cup left and filled it up with lukewarm tap water. He guzzled it, not bothering to press Nick for more. The man always shared what he wanted when he was good and ready, not a moment before.
"Heard you all put the squeeze on Tony Stark...playing with fire there," Nick laughed as Phil finally turned to look at him, "If you want my two cents worth, it's probably for the best that some of your evidence went missing. You don't wanna mess with the man behind the guns. He arms half the operations on the east coast and everyone in this city, including you coppers. You cut off the supply and every criminal in the chain goes gunning for you lot. Streets would have been stained red."
"Yeah some eager beaver rolled in trying to make his name and went sniffing where he shouldn't. His sergeant put him in his place, but the damage had already been done. Tony Stark's an egomaniac, but he's also big into self-preservation so he let it be, put the squeeze on our supply line though, just to make sure we knew how he felt."
"Lucky cats, all I got to say," Nick shifted then and Phil knew it was coming, the real reason he was here, "Can't stay long, but I've got the low down on a job, thought you'd appreciate the heads-up."
"Well you always know what's going down, got ears all over this city. I'm still waiting for you to deliver me something on the Hydra Underground..."
Nick suddenly laughed, "And you're going to keep on waiting. This relationship is about give and take. Those knuckleheads don't mess around. Last two informants that spilled the beans had a meeting with death and the Hydra Underground made sure it was on time. That there is too much take if you catch my drift."
Phil wasn't going to argue. If he ever got close enough to them they'd probably do him the same way.
"So what's the city whispering about now?"
"Oh, you're going to like this one," Nick laughed before he took a seat in one of the living room chairs, "Spectre is in town. Word has it that he's cashing in, pulling out, calling it quits, or so the streets are saying. This is supposed to be his last heist, so he's trying to go out with a bang."
Phil cringed. This was his last change to cage the bastard and he'd chosen his final adieu at the best possible time. The city was about to celebrate its centennial. There were going to be galas and special exhibits all over town. There was no way of knowing what Spectre was planning to snatch. The city was about to be ripe for the picking.
Nick finally stood and shifted uncomfortably in front of the window. He was hanging around and Phil knew why. With a sigh Phil fished for his wallet, just happy he hadn't sunk his last dime in booze. He pulled out a greenback and slid it across the coffee table.
"Really? That's all you got? I just gave you the tip of a lifetime. A big fish is getting out of the game and you just became poised to catch him before he makes his way to clear blue waters."
Phil clenched his jaw before opening his wallet again and tossing a few more bills onto the table.
"Pleasure my brother," Nick stated as he swiped them up and put them in his pocket.
Just as mysteriously as he entered he left and without much effort Phil stumbled into his bedroom, collapsing on his bed. He was out cold in no time, entertaining dreams of the bust of a lifetime.
