Chapter Two: Shadows in the Center
The shady little bar could hardly hold fifty people. From the outside, you knew you were in the projects. Men came in and out, and so did their prostitute companions. From above, on the roof, Moon Knight watched in disgust. He was waiting for his buddies from the fight to come rushing home. He knew that this was where Bushman had used to work. It was also very possible for Bushman to still be there. Time would tell, not thoughts, and Moon Knight knew that.
A gangster wearing a dark blue bandanna suddenly came rushing down the sidewalk. He pushed past several hookers and stumbled to the ground before he could reach the door. When he got to his knees, two men in black suits wearing sunglasses exited the bar and picked the man up. He struggled and sputtered, trying to explain his situation. Moon Knight watched intuitively. He had never seen such sharp-dressed men working this far into the projects. Unless they were undercover police officers, which was highly doubtful, they looked awfully suspicious.
Moon Knight squinted and tried to stretch his hearing range to find out what was happening. The man claimed that a masked person had beaten everyone up, and that both the money and the drugs were lost. The guards looked at each other. One took a peek back inside the bar. Odd. He then nodded and the duo dragged the punk to the alleyway. The victim tried to scream, but a hand clamped over his mouth. The other guard proceeded to put on leather gloves and then pull a silenced handgun from his jacket.
The guard aimed at the man's head, only inches away. Beads of sweat started to roll as the man watched the gun. It moved up and down slowly as the guard enjoyed his taunting. The guard then enjoyed a foot striking him in the temple and knocking him against the wall of the alleyway. The other guard looked in amazement and let the man go, reaching for the gun in his own jacket.
Moon Knight spun and clobbered the guard's hands with the balls of his feet. He whimpered and rolled to his side. Moon Knight ripped open his jacket and took the weapon, emptying the ammo on the wet and slimy cement. He then proceeded to fling the gun towards the street. The revolver bounced on the pavement and shot straight into a sewer grate. The guard stretched out his hand towards his shoe slowly and tried to grab a switchblade. Moon Knight caught him and almost laughed.
"Now, before you go and grab the knife from your shoe, I want you to think about something, jazz boy. I just knocked your comrade out. I smashed your knuckles and got rid of your gun. Can you honestly think for one second that you can actually beat me by getting that knife out of your shoe?" Moon Knight teased. The man looked imploringly. "Come on, now, this isn't hard." The man shook his head.
Moon Knight then patted his head and walked down the alleyway and to the back of the bar. The guard jumped up with the switchblade and ran towards him. Moon Knight stopped and looked at the ground, shaking his head. He rubbed his face.
"I told you not to," he said. The guard plunged forth with the knife, but Moon Knight just stepped towards the side and let the man run into a pile of barrels. Moon Knight then grabbed the guard's hair and pulled. "Don't do that again. Can you promise me that, jazz man?" Moon Knight took hold of his skull with the other hand and forced an up-and-down motion with his head. "Good."
Moon Knight crept to the back door. He peered into a small glass window in the center of the entrance. A storage room. Filthy, of course. What else would it be? Especially since Bushman was running it. He remembered when he stormed Bushman's gentlemen's club. What an interesting night that was. Marlene had stopped him, though. Marc knew he could have finished Bushman right then and there… he snapped back to reality. Moon Knight tugged at the door while still looking in the porthole. Locked. Moon Knight looked down at the knob. It wouldn't turn. He looked back into the storage facility and saw a shaggy-looking man heading towards him. This could be his ticket inside.
Moon Knight then remembered- the guard behind him. No time now. He jumped behind the collection of barrels and waited. The scruffy chap noticed the guard almost immediately. He was a tad drunk, so Marc had no trouble tackling him. The drunken pal gave up and passed out. There was a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. Marc took hold of it and seized the tiny radio. A voice started to chatter.
"Hey, Karl, are you two done with that bum yet? Hey, Karl?" the voice became frustrated. "Oh, for Christ's sake, turn the damn thing on…" Moon Knight searched the drunkard for keys and found them in his chest pocket. Gold.
Marc went inside the storage facility and left the walkie-talkie on a shelf. The keys, however, he kept with him. He snuck around and snooped all over the storage room. Boxes upon boxes of beer, a little marijuana… Nothing too interesting, though. Then he spotted a box that was most intriguing. He walked to it, picked it up and read the side.
"Melandilpitoncian?" he said slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct. "What in the world…" A noise. Marc looked up. Shadows were dancing around the entrance of the storage room. He stuffed the small box into a compartment of his cape. He flattened himself against the wall until the shadows disappeared. He gazed into the hallway. It was empty. He moved around the corner and down the hall, hoping to see some sort of office or something. He had no luck, only stairs.
He ascended the stairs and came to another hallway. However, it was much smaller and led to two rooms. Both appeared to be offices. He heard no noise from within each one, so he tapped on the first door. Nothing. No greeting or anything. He jiggled the handle. The door opened and it revealed a dark room.
After kicking the door behind him and letting it close, he moved towards the desk. There were papers all over it. Newspapers, articles of magazines, everything. Even books on ancient Egypt, and that is what confused Marc. He shuffled papers around the counter until he found the eye-opener. It was the newspaper that Marc had been reading that very night. Not odd that the daily paper was on the table, but that the article about the Moon Knights of the past was circled several times.
Bushman had been here.
Moon Knight heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He looked round, almost nowhere safe to hide. He stuck himself into a tiny closet and shut the door. Someone entered, but he could not see. Through the crevice at the bottom of the closet, Marc could see that he had turned on the lights. The figure went to the desk and shuffled through papers.
"Damn it, where did I put those keys?" said the voice. It was all too familiar. Bushman. Moon Knight sneered and was ready to burst out of the closet, but he could not tell whether Bushman had accompaniments with him.
"I think they might be in the top drawer, boss," said another voice. This one was unfamiliar. Most likely one of Bushman's top henchmen. "I know we left Laury with a pair. I don't know where he's gone to, though."
"No, I'm talking about the other keys, idiot."
Bushman retorted back at the insolent pig and began to tear the office apart. It was only a matter of time before he opened the closet door. Moon Knight took hold of his truncheon and closed his eyes for a moment. The moon was full, and Khonshu was watching.
"Is the car ready, Junas?" asked Bushman. Junas, he would have to remember that name. Most likely it would serve as useful evidence. Junas replied with a yes and then went on to drabble about unimportant matters. That is when Bushman approached the closet door and swung it open.
The first thing Moon Knight saw was confusion. The first thing Bushman saw was a truncheon. Squarely in the face, to be precise. Bushman stumbled back and crashed into the desk. Moon Knight exited the closet and looked at Junas, who had been picking his teeth. Before Junas could react, Moon Knight threw a dart at him and nailed him in the shoulder, causing him to stagger out the doorway.
Bushman returned and punched Marc in the gut and then sliced with an uppercut. Marc flew into the air about a half foot and landed back in the closet. Bushman lifted his boot and stabbed at Moon Knight with it, but it was no good. Moon Knight grabbed his foot and tried to twist it, but Bushman had too much balance.
Moon Knight reached for another dart, but started to lose control of Bushman's leg. But he only needed about a second, so it was good. The dart was lifted in the air briefly before it sank its way into the flesh. Bushman howled and hopped backwards and nearly tripped. Marc got up and started his approach.
Junas returned and had his revolver in his hand. He fired two shots and missed Moon Knight both times. He was shooting with a crippled arm, and Junas had never been a good shot, anyways.
Moon Knight sprung over the desk as Junas fired the last four bullets. While Bushman was sitting on the ground, trying to remove the dart, Junas emptied the shells on the wooden floor and fumbled with another six rounds. Moon Knight struck once more and knocked Junas through the other office door before he could finish loading the bullets. This entire situation was causing quite a ruckus, and workers from downstairs started to come up.
Marc gripped his cudgel and readied himself. Three men started up the stairs, all armed. However, they had rifles. Those were a little trickier to handle than pistols. Moon Knight ran towards them and slid on the stairs with his back straight. He plowed under their feet and caused them to fall. One of them accidentally fired, plugging a round into his comrade's back. Another dart cut the stomach of another guard, and the other was trying to remove the dead body on top of him.
Moon Knight took a breath to collect himself. But there was no time. A crash from upstairs unsettled him. It was glass; someone had jumped out a window. He looked out the front entrance and watched as Bushman stumbled into a car. Moon Knight ran out but the car took off down the road before he could do anything.
Luckily for him, Frenchie showed up with the jet silver wraith. A chain ladder had been extended from below. Moon Knight jumped on and Frenchie flew off after the bandits.
The car was speeding down povern-stricken roads. It was not trying to reach any sort of destination, just trying to escape the Moon Knight. However, the nice Jaguar could not escape the flying wraith. Bushman looked out the window behind him and saw Moon Knight on a ladder, approaching rapidly.
"There he is! There he is, you fools! Quick! Get him!" Bushman demanded. The other two passengers besides the driver took their machine guns and rolled down their windows. They leaned out and started to fire. To avoid being hit, Frenchie moved left and right. "Go for the engines, you fools!"
The men then took their aim off Moon Knight and began to shoot at the engines. The right engine began to spark, then smoke started to emit. Frenchie radioed Marc.
"Marc! Ze engine! She is gone, Marc!"
Moon Knight gave no response to his good friend. He bent his knees and sprung forth, landing on the trunk of the Jaguar. Frenchie pulled up and away, taking the craft to safety.
The two men aimed at Moon Knight, but he grabbed the barrel of one gun and the head of a guard and took control. As he held the barrel of the gun in the air, he slammed the other guard's head against the roof of the car. He let go of the man's head, and the tramp fell out of the car and rolled on the ground.
Marc pulled the gun and the man with it. He let go of the machine gun, and both the gun and the man holding it crashed into the streets.
The driver started to swerve. Moon Knight grabbed onto the windshield and lay on the roof. Bushman poked his head out the passenger window and opened his mouth. Marc saw the jaws nearing his radial artery, and quickly let go of the windshield with his right hand.
A swerve to the right nearly threw Moon Knight onto the pavement. He took his feet and thrust them into the window behind the driver. He started to crawl in, but Bushman stopped him. The two bickered and bat in the back seat, and Moon Knight's hand finally slipped. He hit the lever that opened the door, and soon he was swinging at the mercy of the driver.
The driver took a sharp turn to the right, and Moon Knight could not handle the force. He flew off the door and landed in a pile of trash bags next to a garbage container. He was a bit woozy with a few scrapes, but nothing too serious.
"What an unbelievable stroke of luck," he said to himself. He got up and brushed himself off, and then felt a sudden pain in his leg. He limped out into the street to see if the Jaguar was still in sight, but it was gone. Police cars started to whip by, most likely on their way to the bar.
Marc turned and walked away back towards the bar. Not everything that was there had been explained to his liking. There were still some mysteries lurking in the dark, and perhaps Junas could answer them for him. Poor men watched the radiant figure march down the street. As Moon Knight observed his surroundings, he could only wonder how many Bushmans were festering in the rotten heap of the projects.
