James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.
A Night at Work
Justice moved across the rooftop and looked down into the alley below. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly new criminals replaced those that she removed from the streets. It was a never-ending cycle. Originally, she had felt that scaring enough of the street-level criminals would cut down on crime. That hadn't worked. She had promptly been forced to adjust her strategy, and she decided to move up the criminal food chain to those that made the decisions. That had also failed.
The first kingpin Justice had targeted was Norton Koch, but upon his death his right-hand man, Cameron Dean, had assumed control of the organization. Killing him had been difficult, and once it had been completed, there was no one that could immediately move into leadership of Dean's scattered criminal empire. The job had seemingly been done, and Justice had moved on to other enemies. Only a year later had she found that someone had slowly rebuilt the structure of the Norton Koch gang. It's almost like fighting the hydra, Justice mused. Cut off one head, and another simply grows to take its place. Well, if anything can destroy a hydra, a chimera can.
Focusing once again on her situation, Justice counted the men below her. There were seven in all. Two of them, she knew. Morgan Dean, the brother of the recently deceased Cameron Dean, was an arms dealer that did mostly freelance work, though his contacts allowed him to get prices that made him more than competitive with the larger sellers that sold in high volume. Stanley Witter was a smooth operator that Justice knew was working for whoever it was that now ran Cameron Dean's old crew. She had tried twice before to get a hold of Witter in order to get some information on the new boss, but each time he had slipped out of her grasp. Justice vowed that this time would be different. It was obvious that Witter and his three men were buying, and that Dean, with his two men and two wooden crates, was selling. More guns out on the streets, Justice thought angrily. That's the last thing I need. I guess I'm gonna have to seize these and put them to some good use.
She leapt from her perch and dropped to the ground, landing lightly into a roll and coming up face to face with Morgan Dean. A quick gasp from her opponent let Justice know that she was recognized, though her satisfied smile was hidden under the black folds of her mask. A quick punch to the solar plexus sent Dean to the ground, and a hurricane kick to the next nearest man eliminated one of his guards. Justice spun again, her cloak billowing around her as one of Stanley Witter's guards raised a Glock and fired. With the cloak whirling about as Justice moved, it was difficult to see where her body actually was underneath the fabric. The guard's shots missed, just as so many others had in the past, and Justice closed for the kill. Stanley Witter swung his briefcase in a futile arc, trying to keep Justice at bay. He failed, and received a broken jaw for his trouble. It was then that Justice caught the scent of bomb residue. It wasn't coming from the crates, though, as she would have expected. It was coming from the briefcase.
Justice's mind raced along, putting together the fragments of information she knew. Oh no! she screamed silently as she dove for cover behind a dumpster. Her superhuman reflexes were the only thing that saved her life. The briefcase exploded in a blast of light and heat, filling the alley with an eruption of flame that detonated the explosives in the crates. The secondary bursts tore a hole in the two adjacent buildings, and in the back of her mind Justice was dimly aware that she was about to be covered in tons of rubble. She gathered herself up, ignoring the flames that were starting to dance along her cloak, and dashed toward the end of the alley. A cloud of dust and debris followed her from the alley as each of the buildings collapsed. Only when she was out in the road did Justice realize she was on fire. She dropped to the pavement and rolled just long enough to smother the flames, and then raced off into the nearest shadow just as the first police hover-drone arrived on the scene.
What the hell just happened? she wondered. Justice replayed the encounter over and over in her mind, trying to figure out why Stanley Witter's briefcase had exploded. Was it a double-cross of Morgan Dean? Did the new boss want to get rid of Cameron Dean's brother in case there was a threat of competition? That idea made little sense, as Morgan Dean and his brother had never been on good terms, and also since Morgan had no desire to get trapped in a structured job. Everyone in the business knew that Morgan was small-time because he wanted it that way – he would never devote so much time to business that he would be forced to part with his playtime. Also, it's a pretty bad move to put Witter in a position where he could get blown up the way he did. He's too valuable a resource, especially in such a small organization – he was loyal to Koch, and then loyal to Dean. I doubt his loyalty would have started to waver now. Questions led to questions, and Justice decided that her best move was to head home. Her head was throbbing from the sound of the explosion, and she could tell that she had taken several small wounds from shrapnel. If she was lucky, she would be able to patch everything up herself. If not, then there would be another visit to a street doc in her future, and without retrieving the weapons or the briefcase, it could get a little expensive.
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On a rooftop across the street, a lone man looked through a set of nightvision binoculars with disappointment. Justice had gotten away... again. The boss would not be happy. Stanley Witter's briefcase had been rigged with semtex, white phosphorous, and barbed nails, and the detonator had been given to the man that now watched from above. The plan was simple – wait until Justice showed up, and then blow the briefcase. Seattle's vigilante would be incinerated, shredded by shrapnel, and covered by a collapsed building. What the scheme lacked in subtlety it had more than made up for with thoroughness. How did bitch escape? the man wondered.
Now they had not only lost one of their best sources for weapons and also a trusted and efficient bagman, they had also missed a golden opportunity to kill Justice. The new boss had proven to be ruthless and clever, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to set a believable trap and dispose of an enemy. He bet Justice would never guess that such an irrational chain of events had been thrown together with the sole purpose of killing her. Yep, the new boss is certainly gonna get things fixed up. I just hope I'm not the one carrying the briefcase next time.
To be continued.............................
