Staten Island

Huntington's home

Huntington was home. But he was well protected. Cameras. Sensors. Six large goons. An eight foot high wall. A solid steel gate.

After checking out the security measures, McCall and Jimmy, sitting in a van, far enough from Huntington's mansion, they both thought to attempt a break in would be risky. So he had another idea.

"Are you serious?" Jimmy said.

"I am quite serious, Jimmy," McCall said.

"Hm. This reminds me of my divorce."

"What?"

"I loved her so much...It really hurt when it was over..."

"Jimmy, now is hardly the time..."

"I tried to figure out how things had turned out so bad."

"Jimmy..."

"So, I stayed up nights...Trying to understand..."

McCall exhaled. He was beginning to lose patience with his friend.

"For God's sake, Jimmy..."

"And you know what's the worst? The guilt. You start blaming yourself. I thought: 'maybe it was me. I made her unhappy.' And guilt...it tears you apart from inside. You beat yourself up for things that maybe you couldn't possibly have prevented."

McCall smiled. That clever dog, he thought.

"McCall," Jimmy said, "You help people. It's honorable. Hell, the way things are, it's necessary. But, you can't save them all. It's a shame that kid and his father died. But don't let that guilt blind you. Feelings get in your head on a job like this...Bad things can happen. You and I both know that."

"Jimmy," McCall said, "I hear what you're saying. I appreciate the thought. But, this man has ruined enough lives. One way or another, it ends today."

"McCall...Your plan, that's just..."

"Crazy? Perhaps. You can still walk away, you know. I said it before-"

"Would you leave me hanging just because things got difficult?"

McCall gave a warm look to his friend. And smiled.

"Thanks, Jimmy."

"Yeah. When we go to jail, I'll take the top bunk."

McCall smiled at the levity. They rehearsed the plan. And soon, McCall said.

"Come on, Jimmy, let's get to it."

Thirty minutes, later, he shows up at Huntington's gate. He's wearing a convincing fake mustache, the same color as his hair, glasses, a baseball cap, gloves and overalls. He was holding a tool box. He buzzed on the intercom.

Horrible static was heard. That was expected.

Soon, a large goon in a suit came to greet him. White, shaved head. Well over six feet tall, very, very wide shoulders. And armed. A pistol under his jacket.

"Yeah?"

McCall did his best Brooklyn accent. Years as an undercover operative made him a decent impersonator.

"We received complaints about lousy reception in the neighborhood," McCall said.

"Yeah, we had that here, too. Phones are down as well," the big man said.

"Thought so. Wanna let me in? Take a look around?" McCall said, concentrating on not breaking character.

The big man opened the gate. They walked all the way to the huge oak doors. The bodyguard opened it.

Of course, there was marble everywhere, high ceilings, high art, chandeliers. It was a rich man's house. Old money.

"Let's look at the phones first," McCall said, still doing his Brooklynite impersonation.

"Follow me," the bigger man said.

They went to a door that was half open. Inside, there was a study. A big, comfortable leather couch. Huge mahogany desk. There was a box of cigars. Heavy marble ashtray. A personal computer. The room smelled of tobacco. Everything looked expensive. Nothing that looked like a ledger. Maybe it was on floppy disk. Someone was struggling with the phones.

Huntington. In the flesh.

"About time," Huntington said by way of greeting. "I need my phones to work! Do something!"

"I'll get right to it, mister..."

"Mister-I-need-my-damn-phone! Get to it!" Huntington said, standing up, leaving room for the "repairman" to do his job.

They will be working, you self-important, arrogant twit.

"Gettin' right on it!" McCall said, cheerily, "Could someone shut the door? It could help with the waves and interference!"

"Hurry the Hell up!" Huntington said, annoyed, annoying and stressed, but shutting the door.

McCall went down on one knee

"Hey, big guy!" McCall said, "I need your help for somethin'!"

The bigger security man sighed and walked over.

"See that under the desk?" McCall said, standing back up as the big man bent over.

"Do I see what?"

"Wait," McCall said.

He then pulled a leather sap out of his tool box and hit the big man right on the temple. It was a perfectly placed blow, close to the ear. He hit him once more at the same spot and once more in the back of the head. That did it. The large man fell unconscious.

Huntington froze for a second and was about to open his mouth. A silenced 9mm Beretta 92 also came out of the tool box and was aimed at him.

"Make one sound," McCall said in his normal voice, "And I will end you."

Huntington's face was a mix of fear and outrage.

"Before you start on a 'do you know who I am' monologue, yes, I damn well who the Hell you are. That's why I'm here. "

McCall tossed two pairs of handcuffs at Huntington. "Cuff your man's wrists and ankles. Hurry."

"If you think-"

McCall pulled back the pistol's hammer. That cut off Huntington's eventual "you can't get away with this" tirade. Huntington finished cuffing his man.

"Sit down," McCall said.

The real estate mogul sat down in his chair behind his desk.

"You'll no doubt wonder who I am. My name is irrelevant, Huntington," McCall started, "How the rest of this conversation goes depends on your willingness to live."

Huntington didn't answer.

"You may speak, now," McCall said.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to ease your soul," McCall said.

"What?"

"That is...if you have one, which I doubt."

"What the hell..."

"South Bronx."

Huntington remained quiet.

"Your face is plastered all over the neighborhood. Construction and demolition. There you are. The face of gentrification. I was there, on business. Business related to the gang problem. And I thought: 'What if that vapid looking jackass were actually behind the spike in gang violence as a ploy to lower property value, force people to move out quickly. They would have to sell cheap and that vain bastard could make a killing, so to speak.' I thought I was being paranoid or cynical, but I had you checked out. It took some doing, but we found evidence of bribes. To police and other officials."

McCall was bluffing. He didn't have names, but he wanted to rattle Huntington.

"So?" Huntington asked.

"So...There was a time I would have killed you in your sleep. Or poisoned your coffee. Or bombed your car. I'm trying to move on from my former self, but old habits die hard. Confess, clear your conscience, turn yourself in to the authorities. That certainly is a better than taking a bullet to the head."

By then, the device Jimmy had been using to scramble the radios, televisions and telephones had been deactivated. And the microphone McCall was wearing was recording.

Huntington was stunned for a second. Then, his eyes changed and he smiled. Damn it, McCall thought.

"You're some kind of...vigilante, like something from a comic book," Huntington said, "Like that Punisher lunatic. If you had that evidence, you would have shot me already...or the cops would have come crashing in. I think you have it in you to kill me, but you have absolutely no proof. And you can't pull that trigger unless you're a hundred percent sure."

Huntington was smug, now. Confident. And he was right. McCall walked over to him, extended the pistol in Huntington's face.

"You're right," McCall said, "I have no evidence. But an innocent man would have begged, would have claimed there was a mistake, would have shown signs of confusion and terror. Trust me, I know guilty from innocent, you narcissistic parasite."

With his free hand, McCall smacked Huntington on the ear and knocked him from his chair. McCall stepped closer to him and stood over him.

"A clever boy like you," McCall said, "You'd want insurance. You need to have your associates feel like you own them. You'd have something to blackmail them. A file. A ledger. Recordings. Anything. Anything to feed your hunger for power."

McCall grabbed the dazed golden boy by the shirt. That smug expression was gone now. He pressed the pistol's barrel on Huntington's cheek. A cold thing in his gut was stirring. Ice cold anger. He was thinking of the Villalobos family and could not tolerate the idea that this scum would escape justice.

"Save your life, Huntington," McCall said, "Turn over those files or ledgers or computer disks. Or-"

The study's door was kicked open. The rest of Huntington's security force. Five big men, armed with pistols. McCall grabbed Huntington and used him as a shield.

"No, stop, don't shoot!" Huntington said, terrified.

His goon squad hesitated.

"Put your weapons down, or your boss dies," McCall said in deadly serious, cold voice.

"You can't get out of here!" Huntington said.

"Yes," McCall said, very calmly, "You're right, I can't. And now, you have me trapped. I'm armed, desperate and cornered. I've been in situations like this before. Hundreds of times. I'm still alive. What do you think happened to those other men, hm?"

"Put your guns down!" Huntington said to his men, "This man is crazy! Put your guns down!"

They dropped their pistols to the ground.

"Those are nice lads," McCall said, "Kick those guns over here."

They did.

"Now, slowly, walk backwards out of the room."

They did.

"Lay down on the floor!" That was done as well.

There was a buzzer sound. Someone was at the gate.

"Have one of your goons check it out," McCall ordered Huntington.

One of them did. Came back second later:

"Boss...It's...uh...The Punisher."

McCall smiled. Things seemed to be looking up."Let him in," McCall said.

A short while later, Kostmayer, Castle –both armed with silenced Colt .45 pistols- and three more guests arrived to the party.

"Oh, no..." Huntington said.

Castle was carrying Escobedo on a shoulder. He dropped him on the floor without much care. Kostmayer pushed Sterns and Valdez on the couch.

"I told them everything, Huntington. They recorded it. It's over," Sterns said.

"You...stupid...stupid..."

"Huntington..." Escobedo said, "This...it's done, man..."

"I can't believe this...Billions of dollars..." Huntington said.

McCall went over to Kostmayer and Castle. They were at the door.

Kostmayer whispered: "Golden boy's kinda falling apart."

McCall: "I certainly hope so."

Castle said nothing.

"All you had to do, was do what you were told!" Huntington said. To Valdez: "You stupid thugs had to do what you always did, just step it up a bit, to drive those people out!" To Sterns: "And you, just take the money and close your eyes. How difficult was that!"

Huntington, then, was talking to himself, seemingly: "I can still make this work...I'm not going to jail...Only one thing I can do..."

He picked up one of his thug's guns. Sterns, a dirty cop, but a cop nonetheless, obeyed to his training and grabbed a gun as well. Valdez grabbed two and aimed one at Sterns, one at Huntington. Reflex. Escobedo was on the floor, crippled. And scared.

"Whoa," Kostmayer said.

"This cannot end well," McCall said.

Castle said nothing.

"Easy, Huntington, easy," Sterns said.

"I'm not going to jail...You guys...You won't bring me down..."

"Hey, man," Valdez said, "You need..."

"Shut up! You're an armed gang member in my home. Self defense..."

"You're losin' it, man..." Valdez said.

"Huntington..." Sterns said, "Don't..."

"Yeah, you gotta-"

A shot went off from Huntington's gun and hit Valdez square in the chest. He didn't die right away, but was on the way down. However, he squeezed the triggers from both his guns. Huntington took one in the stomach, one in the chest. Sterns took one in the chest as well. His finger tightened on his trigger. But he was already falling as he was shooting. His bullets hit the prone Escobedo. One of Valdez's pistols also lowered and two more shots went into Escobedo.

And then, it was over.

All four of them. Dead.

McCall, Kostmayer and Castle had ducked during the small exchange, to avoid catching a stray bullet. But they had seen everything.

"Wow," Kostmayer said.

"You were wrong, McCall," Castle said, finally speaking up.

"How's that?" McCall said.

Castle tossed the dead men another glance.

"It did end well."

"Let's get the hell out of here," McCall said.

They left, along with a very confused Jimmy.