Blood, Bullets, and Broads
Chapter 1
"Summers"
Just one hour to go. My last day on the job. Early retirement. Not my idea. Doctor's orders. Heart condition. "Angina," he calls it.
I'm driving fast in my convertible with the top down, even though it's October and is starting to be cold. The wind blows through my brown hair as I loosen my tie. I reach into my glove compartment and remove my visor and gloves. I close my eyes and slip my ruby shades off. The ruby lenses are a safeguard against the bazookas I have instead of eyes. My visor is made of the same stuff, just stronger and better built for rough situations. And things are going to get rough. I snap the visor into place and make sure the safety is flipped on. I slide the gloves onto my hands. In the center of each glove is a round activation plate. Pressing it de-polarizes the visor, unleashing the caged fury waiting behind it. A button on both sides of the visor performs the same function. Above the visor is a large, white scar in the shape of an "X", a memento from the job.
I pull out my badge and look at it. 'Basin City,' it says. '#1067.' I'm polishing my badge and getting myself used to the idea of saying goodbye to it.
It, and the 30-odd years of protecting and serving and tears and the blood and terror and triumph it represents. Funny how a small piece of engraved bronze can mean so many things. I put in my label pocket; its gleaming surface reflected the streetlights as I approach the docks.
I'm thinking about Madelyne's slow smile. About the thick, fat steaks she picked up at the butcher's today.
And I'm thinking about the one loose end I haven't tied up. The reason why I'm speeding towards the docks instead of heading home. A young girl who's out there somewhere, helpless in the hands of a drooling lunatic.
I pull up to the docks and my partner Bobby Drake, the Iceman, is already there waiting for me. I didn't even tell I was coming. Damn kid's even wearing his fancy sunglasses at night. His pricey black trench coat flaps in the wind as he approaches my car.
"Damn it, Summers, I won't let you do this. You're gonna get yourself killed."
I get out of my car and slam the door closed. He grabs my arm as I walk past him.
"You're gonna get us both killed," he says. "I won't let you. I'm warning you."
"Let go of my coat, Bobby," I growl as I pull myself free roughly. I storm off towards the warehouse on the waterfront. Bobby's following close behind, still flapping his mouth.
"You're dragging me down with you," he continues. "I'm your partner. They can kill me too. I ain't puttin' up with that. I'm getting on the horn and calling for backup." What a hero. I stop and turn around angrily; my eyes flash rage from behind myvisor.
"Sure Bobby. We'll just wait. Sit on our hands while that Maximoff brat gets his sick thrills with victim number four. Victim number four!" I repeat angrily, getting right in Bobby's face. I'm so close I can see my reflection in his Oakley's.
"Emma Frost, age 11. And she'll be raped and slashed to ribbons." A bit of spit splashes off Bobby's sunglasses. He removes them to wipe it off. I don't let up.
"And that backup that we're waiting on will just happen to show up just late enough for Maximoff to get back to his U.S. Senator Daddy." Damn that felt good to say. I finish my rant and turn to walk away. Bobby puts his shades back on before speaking.
"Take a deep breath, Cyke," he says, using the abbreviation of my nickname that he knows I hate. "Settle down and think straight. You're pushing 50 and you got a bum ticker. You ain't saving anyone."
That stops me in my tracks. Thanks for reminding me, Bobby.
"You got a great attitude Bobby. Real credit to the force you are," I reply, my back still turned.
"Madelyne's at home waiting for you, Scott. Think about Madelyne."
My thoughts return to Madelyne, sitting at home. I can see her sitting in her favorite chair, waiting for me. Her long red hair tossed over one shoulder, her green eyes brightly greeting me as I come in. No words are necessary; I know how much she worries. I take her in my arms and tell her it's all over. No more waiting up nights worrying. No more danger, no more hurt. Sounds great.
"Heck Bobby." I turn back around and face him. "Maybe you are right," I admit.
"Well, I'm glad to hear your finally talkin sense," Bobby smiles.
WHAM!
My punch hits Bobby right upside his head, breaking his fancy sunglasses. He goes down in a heap. Kid never could take a punch. Hell of a way to end a partnership. Hell of a way to start my retirement. Madelyne would forgive me one more night on the job. I don't think she'd forgive me if I let this one go, if I abandoned this little girl.
One last hoorah. One last chance to do something right.
I glance over Bobby one last time before I head towards the warehouses. I don't give him another thought. Only one this is going through my head now: Emma Frost, age 11. For all I know she's dead already…
---X---
Meanwhile, in an abandoned warehouse somewhere on the waterfront,
A scared little girl sits alone in the dark, her hands and feet bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, her cheeks streaked with lines from tears.
A door opens with the harsh squeak of rusty metal and a beam of light flashes into the room. She can see a shadow, one of the men that took her after school yesterday. Was it yesterday? She couldn't remember. It felt as if she had been sitting in that dark for days, even weeks. Her young mind could no longer comprehend time, only fear.
"You've been a very good girl, Emma." His voice was low and calm. It hid little of its true self, its sick, disturbing nature. "You've been very quiet." The man crept closer and Emma let out a small whimper. "Don't be scared," he assured her in a smooth slow whisper. "We're going to be taking you out of here really soon. But first, we're going to introduce you to somebody." Emma's eyes grew wide in fright. Her breathers became hurried gasps.
"He's a very nice man," said the shadow as it loomed directly over her. Emma could barely hold back her scream as a pair of strong, rough hands grabbed her.
---X---
I walk through the forest of abandoned warehouses and empty storerooms quickly. The paths are dark, shadowy; there aren't many streetlamps still working in this area.
I'm halfway to the warehouse where Xavier said they took her, and it hits. I double over as a flash of pain burns my chest. Wicked spot of indigestion. At least that's what I pray it is. Amidst my pain, I can make out a voice nearby.
"…lighthearted and momentary digression. The briefest indulgence in automobile pleasure."
"For cheap thrills," a new voice responded. "Such sweet lived durability, Mr. Bohusk. You would risk engender-ating ill will on the part of our employers."
I crept along the alley's wall and hid around its corner, got a good look at the two. One was a tall, ugly man dressed in a tasteless brown cloak and pants. He had too large a nose and his gray hair was greasy and unkempt. The other wasn't entirely human. He was shorter than his comrade, but had feathers instead of hair. He had a large beak instead of a normal nose and mouth. Large feathers hung from his arms like a set of half-formed wings. Barnell Bohusk, aka Beak, and Jason Wyngarde, aka Mastermind: two any-dirty-job-there-is thugs with delusions of eloquence.
"This Jaguar you so pinheadly covet temporarily remanded to our custody, though it may be, remains the property of the son of Senator Lehnsherr," said Wyngarde.
There was a piece of discarded pipe lying on the ground next to me. I pick it up as quietly as I can. It makes a quick scraping sound against the pavement as I stand up.
Gotta keep this quiet. Take 'em down fast. Can't risk an optic blast yet. I snuck out from the corner as Wyngarde continued his speech to the imprudent Beak.
"A single dent, the merest scratch there upon, and the before-mentioned consequences of which I so recently made mention shall surely be athwart us."
The two Shakespearean goons never heard me coming, or saw my shadow loom over them.
THWANG!
My bit of pipe rang of the bird-like skull of Beak. He fell to the ground with no more than a soft escape of air. Wyngarde managed to pull a small gun out of his cloak, didn't give him a chance to use it. I knocked it out of his hand before turning my pipe on his greasy head, knocking him out cold. It all took about ten seconds, quick with no noise.
All this action and excitement must have done something to my chest. My heartbeat drowns out all other noise in my ears as another wave of pain hits. I groan; this is no flash of indigestion. I grit my teeth and try to will it to stop. Catch your breath. Give your heart time to slow down. But it won't slow down. I stumble over to the warehouse wall and lean heavily against it. It's hard to breathe. The pain has a vice-grip on my chest, squeezing the life out of me. Get over it. Think past the pain, old man. She needs you.
---X---
"We're all done here Benny," the psycho says calmly coolly. "Let's give them some time to together. Give them some privacy." His identical twin turns his head to look over his shoulder. Both men are dressed in identical long, black coats. They both had trim goatees and had matching haircuts.
"Be with you in a minute, Lenny," he says in the same calm tone his brother used. "I'm just making sure they get along really well." As he speaks a figure strolls out from the darkness of the warehouse.
"What kind of a beast couldn't get along with a precious little girl like this?" he asks to no one in particular as he stepped out into the light. He's a young man, somewhere in his early to mid twenties. His stark white hair, slicked back, shown brightly in the glow of the street lamps. He was dressed in a long, expensive jacket made of finely treated leather. Not the type of jacket normally found in Sin City. It shimmered in the low light with a flair only exotic designer products have. A patterned shirt and silk tie could be seen underneath its folds. He was the son of the state's most powerful Senator. His name was Pietro Maximoff.
He crouches down in front of the terrified girl, causally shifting his trademark "antennas", two long locks of hair that weren't slicked back with the rest of his hair, out of his face. His voice drips with an accented charm, another sign of his upper-class upbringing. He trembles slightly. Not like the girl, who trembles in fear, but with a sadistic excitement. "All we're gonna do is have a nice little talk."
Emma looks up, tears freely flowing down her pale cheeks. Her eyes are still wide with fear and her skinny frame quivers with fear.
"That's all," continued Pietro, trying to keep her calm. "Just a nice talk. Just you and me." His words practically drip with venom and Emma takes no comfort in them. A small sob escapes her trembling lips. Pietro grins with excitement and lust.
"Don't you cry now," he says sharply. His voice barely contained his growing sick desires. "Don't you cry now."
---X---
I fumble with the bottle of pills I keep in my coat. Doctor said it would be like this. Just take the pill he gave you. I shake out a handful of the hard caplets and choke them down. I try to stand on my own. I lean away from the wall, just before another wave of pain slams into my chest. Worst one yet. Knocks me flat on my face. I slam my fist onto the cold pavement with a heavy grunt. The pain starts to subside as the pills kick in.
I make it to one knee and flick the safety off on my visor. It glows ruby red as it activates. No need to play it quiet. I struggle to my feet. Not anymore. I make it upright, still breathing heavily. My fists clench around my visor's activation buttons. I've wasted too much time already. Emma is still out there somewhere.
I take a deep, but haggard breath. Breathe steady old man. Prove you're not completely useless. I start walking again. My chest hurts with every step, but I block it out. Dead man walking, that's the old saying. My number's been called, probably won't make it through the night anyway.
What the hell? Go out with a bang. Like one of those real heroes you see on TV.
I keep walking trying to focus on the files on Pietro Maximoff instead of the burning sensation in my chest. 'He likes to hear 'em scream,' the file said. I've seen his victims and their twisted little faces, all wide-mouthed and bug-eyed, frozen in their last horrible moment of living. I reach the warehouse door where they're keeping Emma. There's no sound, not even a whisper.
I creep up and put my ear to the door. No screams. Either I'm just in time or I'm way too late…
I slam my shoulder into the door with a loud roar. The old wood shattered into splinters. Maximoff's two bodyguards, the twins Benny and Lenny, nearly jump out of their skins in surprise. They both tried to draw their guns, but were too slow. I pushed the button on the side of my visor and crimson destruction blasts both the twins, one right after the other. They don't move much after that.
BAM!
Something hard tears through my shoulder with a spurt of blood. I fall to my knees in pain, again. Pietro Maximoff ran out of the shadows behind me, carrying the kicking and struggling Emma. I can see Emma's eyes as Maximoff ran out the door behind me. Her eyes were huge, frightened like a deer caught in a car's headlights. She looks right at me and for a brief moment I see something in her eyes, something behind all that fear. Hope. There was a small twinkle of hope left, hope and faith in me. This undying faith that I'm going to save her. New energy fills my body and suddenly the pain in my shoulder and chest aren't as bad. I take a look at the wound on my right shoulder. It's nothing. Barely a flesh wound. On your feet, old man.
---X---
The dossier on Pietro Maximoff said his known alias was Quicksilver, that he could move at superhuman speed. But it doesn't matter how fast you can run, you're not going to get very far carrying a kicking and thrashing 11 year old girl. Pietro made it to a small, wooden dock. There was supposed to be a speedboat here waiting for him. He frantically looks left and right at the dark river. Where the hell is Beak and Wyngarde? He grinds his teeth and growls in frustration,
"Maximoff!"
He spins around. He's still holding Emma in his arms and has a gun trained on her frightened form.
"Give it up," I say calmly. "Let the girl go." Blood from my shoulder is flowing freely now, ruining my jacket. My arm's starting to go numb. My breathing is getting heavier; it's been a long night. Maximoff notices my fatigue.
"You can't do a goddamn thing to me, Summers!" Pietro shouts at me, slowly backing towards the end of the dock. "You know who I am! You know who my father is!" He smiles triumphantly. "You can't touch me you piece-of-shit cop!" Pietro stops retreating, he holds his ground as I lurch forward another step. I'm gasping for air now, my whole body screaming for rest. I can barely stay on my feet.
"Look at you," he taunts. "You can't even stand up straight, let alone lift your arm up to use that damn visor of yours."
Stupid Kid.
"Sure I can." I push the button on the palm of my glove.
ZZOT!
A ruby red beam fires from my eyes. Its glow immerses the dark docks in red light for just a moment. Pietro screams as the blast tears his left ear off in a gory explosion.
The blast and shock knocks him off his feet, spilling Emma out onto the docks. She immediately rolls off his chest and crawls on her hands and knees away from the still screaming Maximoff. I hobble slowly towards them. Anger, to a degree I had never felt before, rises up in my gut. Images of Maximoff's three prior victims flash before my eyes. The realization that no matter what the evidence, Maximoff will never be tried in court. His Senator daddy will see to that. A sudden burning desire to torture and destroy this waste of human life consumed me. I look at Emma before attacking.
"Cover your eyes, Emma. I don't want you watching this," I tell her. Her eyes are still frozen wide in fear. Can't blame her. "I mean it, baby. Cover your eyes right now," I say as nicely as I can. It still sounded harsh in my ears. It worked this time; she buries her face in her hands, tears slipping out between her fingers.
BAM!
Another bullet rips through my shoulder, right above the first one. I don't even wince as it passes right through me. You weren't paying attention to Maximoff, old man. Kid still has his gun pointed at my chest. My face remains stone cold. That burning anger explodes.
I raise my hand to my visor. For a moment we're frozen in time; two ancient cowboys in a Mexican Standoff, their weapons drawn, ready to blow the other away.
I take his weapon away.
ZZOT!
My optic blast nits him just below the wrist, slicing through bone and tissue like paper. Maximoff screams as his hand, still clutching the gun, flops off the dock and sinks into the river. Wisps of smoke rise from seared flesh; the smell of cooked meat lingers in the air for a moment.
I take both of his weapons away.
ZZOT!
I focus my beam and burn away whatever lies in-between his legs. A pool of blood forms beneath him. He doesn't scream this time. This time he shrieks, a high-pitched bloodcurdling shriek that echoes across the river. The notes from leapt from that boy's throat chilled my body; it seemed to make the autumn air even colder.
I never heard the shots, just felt the pass through my back and out my chest. I even saw the bullets as they flew out. They weren't metal; they were white. Almost like…ice. As the world fades away to black, one thought passes through my head:
Hell of a way to end a partnership…
---X---
"For God's sake, don't make it any worse."
I'm still standing, leaning heavily on my knees but still standing. A few sparks spurt out of electronics on my gloves. They must have shorted out after getting shot with all that ice. Damn things are worthless. There's five bullet holes in me: two from Maximoff and three form my own damn partner. And he's telling me not to make it any worse.
I'm staring down at Maximoff. The son-of-a-bitch is still lying on the dock, cry and groaning over his lost body parts. My blood drips from my wounds and mixes with his on the wooden dock. The thought makes me sick.
"Don't make me kill you," Bobby warns.
"Doin' fine, Bobby," I stammer out with difficulty. "Never better," I lie. I manage to turn around and look at Bobby. His expression is blank, uncaring. His hands are covered in ice, the way frost licks the ground in winter, just waiting to send more "ice bullets" my way. Fuckin' kid, he's still wearing those Oakley's, even though I shattered one of the lenses when I popped him.
Gotta keep him talking. Buy time. Just a few more minutes. Just until backup gets here.
"I'm ready to kick your ass," I tell him with a half smile-half smirk on my face. Bobby doesn't think it's very funny.
"Sit down and stay down," he orders me. But I'm still on my feet. Bleeding, scarcely breathing, and clutching the holes in my chest. But still on my feet. Won't go down.
"I'll kill you if I have to," Bobby threatens.
Keep his mind off the girl – skinny little Emma. She's sitting on the ground, leaning up against one of the dock's support pylon. She's still sobbing heavily, her eyes shrink-wrapped in tears.
He can't kill her once back up gets here.
"Run home, Emma," I tell her. "Run for your life." She looks at me and stops crying. She's about to get up when bobby opens his mouth.
"Hey," he says, getting her attention. "Don't listen to him. He's a crazy man." Now you're pissing me off Bobby.
"What a tough man you are, huh?" I growl at him.
"You stay right where you're at," he tells Emma. She settles back down on the dock.
"You shoot your own partner in the back…" I lean on another dock pylon; it's the only thing keeping me on my feet. "Then you try to scare a little girl." I stop and suck in some air.
"Maybe I'll just pull off my visor, blast you a couple times, show you how it's done."
Bobby shakes his head. "We could have worked something out," he says. "But you've blown that." Just like you've been blowing Maximoff for all these years.
"Sit down," he orders, raising his ice-encased hand at me. "Or I'll blast you in half."
I look over at Emma again. She's crying harder than ever. Poor kid, she's been through so much tonight. I can't stop now. Gotta keep going, can't let them get her.
"You're so slow, you'll never stop me." I start raising my hand towards my visor. I can hear sirens approaching. 'Bout time.
"Sit Down!" yells bobby.
"You'll never be able to stop me." My fingertips touch my visor…
The air grows cold again. There's a quiet whoosh and another "ice bullet" slams into me.
Emma screams.
More whooshes follow. Four more to be exact. They pierce my arms and chest, leaving more trails of blood on my shirt and jacket. I must look like Swiss cheese by now. I finally sit down, just like Bobby told me to. The sirens are close now. Bobby turns and walks away. Probably to make up some lame story to feed to the backup.
Emma gets up and walks towards me. She steps on Maximoff's good hand as she comes closer. He doesn't even feel it anymore, he's out cold. I can barely make out her face; my vision is starting to get blurry. Her tears have stopped, but she's still grasping for air. She stands over me, than bends down to be face-to-face with me.
She'll be safe. She reaches out with one tiny, little hand and strokes the two-day stubble on my cheek. I lift my good arm and gently pull a wisp of her blonde hair out of her eyes. She starts crying again. I pull my hand away, before I can get any blood on her. She curls up on my lap, the only part of me that wasn't riddled with bullets, like a little blonde cat. She snuggles up against me, holding me close.
Things go dark. I don't mind much.
Getting sleepy. It's OK.
She'll be safe.
An old man dies, a little girl lives.
Fair trade.