Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Marvel, Respawn Entertainment, etc.
I tell ya' what, even with all these press events, it's not quite the same as the good ol' days of E3.
Guest: I think I can keep it interesting with what I have, between the investigation aspect, and some interesting situations, I will sufficiently challenge Yuri when the time comes for direct confrontations. Of course, I haven't exactly revealed everything just yet.
I think of this chapter as the final chapter in the opening act of the story, and for the title I've gone with a track from the last of Thrash Metal's 'Big Four,' Slayer. This is the title cut of their fourth studio album, and it fits that album perfectly. It's slow, dark, and more than a little evil, a grim portent of oncoming darkness. Truth be told, I didn't have to be imaginative when selecting this for the chapter, because it fits so well tonally.
Justice Without Compromise – Chapter 4: South of Heaven
An unforeseen future nestled somewhere in time.
Unsuspecting victims no warnings, no signs.
Judgment day the second coming arrives.
Before you see the light you must die.
Forgotten children, conform a new faith,
Avidity and lust controlled by hate.
The Never ending search for your shattered sanity,
Souls of Damnation in their own reality.
Eying the clouds overhead, Yuriko Watanabe decided they didn't look that threatening, likely keeping the morning overcast instead of opening up any time soon. Thankful for that, the ex-Captain, kitted out as the Wraith, scanned the streets below for any signs of the arriving Maggia bosses. Her vantage point atop an old mechanic's shop gave her a good view of The Last Call and street before it, and the signage on the edge allowed her to stay out of sight from traffic passing by.
Maintaining her watch, the vigilante pondered how best to make use of this opportunity. Two of the bigger players agreeing to a sit down like this wasn't something that happened often, and it might be her best shot at grilling one of them and learning more about the mole in the NYPD. At the same time, she had waited months for an opportunity, and she should be keen to rush in. No, Watanabe had to do more than just rush in during broad daylight. The Wraith being seen would complicate things more than they would help, so she was resigned to observing and indirect action.
Gritting her teeth, Watanabe began to understand why Spider-Man and the Marauder had always bitched when she gave them those same instructions.
But the flicker of irritation she felt was quickly squashed when her eyes were drawn to a pair of black Maserati sedans coming to a stop outside the bar, with three men getting out of each. Using the magnification function of her goggles, Yuri scanned over each of them until she spied Francesco Noveilli himself amidst his advisors and guards. The older man had been playing the game behind proxies for years but only recently had taken a prime position for himself. The six men made their way into the bar as their cars pulled away and into a parking lot a block up the street, Watanabe making a mental note of that location.
Only a few moments later, two big SUVs, modern Bentley models, pulled up where the Maserati's had been. The doors opened and out stepped Monica Ranza, a young but cunning woman who had probably killed at least one other aspiring Maggia boss herself to get to her current position. She had no advisors, instead bringing with her four of the most imposing men in her employ, each dressed in a fine suit to match the Maggia boss who looked more like she belonged on a runway as she strode up to The Last Call, only pausing so one of her goons could get the door for her.
To Yuriko's chagrin, the Bentley SUVs u-turned and went the other way before entering a parking garage a few blocks down the street, the other direction from Noveilli's Maserati sedans. Grumbling, Watanabe cast one last look at The Last Call, making sure there was nothing else worth seeing before turning away. Unfurling a length of the adhesive straps, the vigilante began moving towards the parking lot, looking to get those trackers planted while hoping nothing would happen while she was otherwise occupied.
"Thanks, sweet cheeks," said one of the Noveilli's guards, Lola forcing a smile as she handed him a beer. The morning time hadn't stopped a handful of the Maggia men from having her serve them alcohol, and her boss had told her to just give them whatever they wanted. There had always been rumors the owner of The Last Call had some criminal connections, and his establishment being used to host a meeting between two prominent figures in organized crime lent credence to that speculation.
With his drink in hand, the man with an ill-fitting sport coat returned to the collection of tables where the two parties were situated. The distinction between groups was so obvious that even Lola could see it, one group sharply dressed, the other wearing sport coats and suspenders. Neither group seemed to be eager to intermingle with the other, and so they glared at each other while coming to the bars in ones and twos to get drinks. Now it seemed like the talks were about to begin, and Lola had no more men ogling her as they asked for drinks.
At the same time, the bartender couldn't help but steal glances at the groups, wondering if one of them was behind the killing of Tootsie, and if so, which one? That anger fueling her resolve, Lola decided to undertake a bit of subterfuge to help Yuri, putting a pair of earbuds in and tapping on her phone for a few seconds. Humming a tune and pocketing her cell, the bartender began wiping down glasses that had already been cleaned, looking out of the corner of her eye to see that the Maggia weren't watching her.
Her earbuds played no music, and her keen ear was instead listening in on what she could pick up from the talks that were poised to start at any moment. She wasn't supposed to remain, but memories of her friend persuaded her to do otherwise, telling those who got drinks she would hang around in case they needed fresh ones, and no complaints had been raised. So now, with them confident she wasn't eavesdropping, the mobsters turned to each other, ready to get down to business.
Before they could begin, they were interrupted by the back door out to the patio opening, prompting everyone to turn their heads and fall silent when they saw the figure standing there. With his black uniform, white helmet, aviator shades, and the badge on his chest, the sight of the cop put everyone on edge. The officer didn't seem to notice the tension the room as he strode forwards, Lola eying him the same as everyone else. Her senses, honed by working the streets, were setting off alarm bells in her head, but she pushed them aside. She was just working at a legitimate business, doing some overtime, absolutely nothing that would make him care about her.
Unslinging a backpack and putting it down atop a table, Lola froze as the uniformed officer turned towards the bar. Swallowing her worry, the bartender removed an earbud and stared at the sunglasses, trying to get some idea of the man behind them, but failing. "Excuse me, miss," began the cop, voice as cold as ice, "I'm sorry to intrude, could you point me to the bathroom?"
It took Lola a moment to shake herself from her stupor, "Uh, sure. It's down that hallway over there, second door on the left." Without so much as a twitch, the cop spun on his heel and marched off, ignoring the stares that followed him every step of the way until he disappeared out of sight. Even with him gone, the silence remained, both groups eying the hallway as much as each other and it seemed like nobody was eager to speak first.
Almost a minute passed without a word spoken, and with it looking like nothing was about to happen, Lola picked up the glasses she had out and crouched down to replace them into the cabinet while getting out another set of already spotless ones to be wiped down. In her position behind the thick wooden bar, Lola wouldn't see what happened next, but the bar that obstructed her view was what would allow her to survive.
The backpacked, filled with three pounds of composition 4 plastic explosive set on a simple time fuse rigged from a cheap watch with an alarm, exploded when the electric current was rerouted from the alarm to the blasting cap embedded in the clay like C4. This blast sent 2000 ¼ inch ball bearings out in all directions, the backpack functioning as a large, omni directional Claymore anti-personnel mine. Moving faster than the speed of sound, the solid steel spheres turned both Maggia parties to mincemeat, tearing through flesh and bone without pause. Limbs were severed, and blood stained every available surface, instantaneously turning The Last Call into an abattoir.
Only Lola was spared from being a part of the slaughter, the heavy wooden bar absorbing the ball bearings. The blast didn't leave her totally unscathed, her eardrums ruptured not long after she heard the explosion and Lola was knocked against the cabinet, fracturing her nose and giving her a moderate concussion. Wiping the blood trickling down her face, the bartender gritted her teeth as the ringing in her ears refused to subside.
Finally, Lola lifted herself off the ground and onto shaky legs, head still swimming as she turned around and tripped over her own feet, only staying upright because she caught herself on the bar. Through pulsing vision, Lola surveyed the carnage that coated The Last Call, fighting to keep her breakfast down until her eyes locked on the black clad cop, his white helmet unblemished as he stood at the edge of the room and stared right at her.
The aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, but the bartender could still feel a chill go down her spine as the cop stepped closer, through the pools of blood. Lola made a feeble attempt to escape, but the cop unlatched his holster and drew the gleaming hand cannon inside. The bartender tried to scream, cry for help as the cop raised his gun, but the next sound that filled the bar was the report of the .44 Magnum.
Under one of Ranza's Bentaygas in a parking garage several blocks away, Watanabe could hear the explosion as she placed the last tracker to the frame of the SUV. It took the Wraith a moment to fully process the sound, distorted and muted as it was when it finally reached her, but the implications were obvious. Crawling out from under the vehicle, Yuri immediately engaged her cloak and sprinted across the structure, heading straight for the source. Leaping out the open side of the garage, the Wraith used one of the sticky tentacles to swing herself around the corner of the neighboring structure and onto its front fascia. As soon as her boots hit the perpendicular surface, the jumpkit on her back flared to life, providing the thrust to keep her level as she sprinted across the brick, ignoring the shouts and cries of those on the street below as they ran from the explosion. Her cloak expired, revealing the Wraith to onlookers, but the vigilante pressed on with single minded focus, exoskeleton augmented legs carrying her to the epicenter of the commotion.
Even with the jumpkit, she couldn't keep the wall-run up forever, and after covering one block, the Wraith slipped from her high road and dropped back down to the sidewalk. Rolling as she hit the ground, Watanabe was up and weaving through the panicked pedestrians before throwing out another strap and pulling herself back up to the next building. Her momentum only grew as her path was unobstructed on the building wall, and upon reaching the end of it, the Wraith threw out another tentacle to the next building, but instead swung forwards, letting her speed carry her through the air. At the end of her travel, she released the yellow strap and extended her legs before hitting the ground, sliding across the concrete like a Yankees baserunner.
Coming to a stop outside the source of the explosion, the vigilante stood and drew her Python, raising the .357 Magnum before moving up to the door of The Last Call. Engaging her cloak once more, the Wraith vanished from sight before slowly easing the door open, sweeping the bar with the muzzle of her Python. It was clear that this was where the bomb had gone off, the entire bar was trashed, tables and chairs turned to splinters, thrown to every corner of the room. The blast had also done a number on the dozen or so Maggia types she had seen enter the bar earlier, and it would take a considerable effort from the coroners to put the bodies back together.
Yuri's attention was more on searching for a culprit, but there was no sign of anything from the front door, and so Watanabe pressed inside. Despite the bile rising in her throat at the sight, Yuri remained focused on checking the corners, looking for anyone who might have escaped the blast, only for the slightest bit of movement to catch her eye. The Colt revolver immediately swung to the body on the floor by the bar, and saw the woman one arm extended up towards Watanabe.
Eyes widening behind her goggles, Yuri disabled her cloak and strode straight towards Lola, the bartender's head lifting and eyes widening in shock. Shock turned to panic on her paling face, and she tried to push herself away from the Wraith, coughing up a glob of blood and spitting it onto the floor, a trickle of blood running down the corner of her mouth. "Lola, Lola, it's me," soothed Yuri, lowering her gun as she pulled up her mask to reveal her face, "It's okay, I'll help you."
"Yu… Yuri," wheezed the bartender. Watanabe took her hand and crouched down, looking over her informant and seeing that she had fared better than the others in the bar, but the hole in her back that looked like a bullet exit wound made it clear she hadn't escaped unscathed. "Yuri, I… I…."
"Will be fine," assured Watanabe, forcing herself to keep a straight face through the lie. Lola tried to push herself up, but failed, Yuri did help the woman roll onto her back and saw the gunshot wound on her chest. There was little she could do about that, with anything she could do here likely only making the bartender's situation worse. "Lola, Lola listen to me, I need to know what happened here."
"Cop… came in," managed the Hispanic woman, hand making a feeble effort to cover the hole left behind by the bullet. "Hid… in bathroom. Bomb went… off, shot… me."
"The hitman who dresses like a cop," realized Yuri aloud.
But that only got a weak shake of the head from the dying bartender. "No, not fake… legit cop. I could… always tell, like with… your friend." Watanabe frowned, not wanting to question the woman, but unable to reconcile that possibility, not at the moment. "Yuri," managed Lola, knocking Watanabe from her reverie and looking back down at the woman. "Yuri, promise me… promise me that you'll… find this guy… and kill him," wheezed the bartender through labored breaths, each word getting weaker than the last.
Watanabe's face hardened as she gave the woman's hand a squeeze, "I will."
Lola could only manage a feeble nod in return, her grip on Yuri's hand loosening with each second, "One… more thing." Watanabe had to lean down to make out the words until her ear was only a few inches from the bartender's face. "Thank… you," said Lola before she fell silent, her hand falling limply out of Watanabe's and onto the blood pooling on the floor.
The woman who had helped her, cared for her, despite Yuri not giving any of that in return. A woman who had put herself in harm's way in order to aid Watanabe had paid the ultimate price.
Nostrils flaring in anger at having this happen to her once again, Watanabe closed her eyes and force herself to take a deep, calming breath. "One to the hospital, two to the morgue," recited Yuri before the sound of approaching sirens prompted her to open her eyes.
Mind clearing and moving much faster, Watanabe closed Lola's eyes for the final time before pulling her mask back up. Her head swept the room one more time, recording everything she saw before turning away from the scene, darting towards the back door. Living up to her name, the Wraith made sure she left no trace as she slipped out the back door of The Last Call. On the deck, Watanabe swept through, alert for anything amiss, but saw nothing as she activated her cloak and threw a tentacle out to pull her up a neighboring structure. Reaching the top of that strap, Watanabe tossed out one from her other arm, repeating the process until she reached the top of the office building.
Once clear of the crime scene, Yuri allowed her cloak to drop and begin recharging as she reeled in the straps. Looking down at the bar, she could see the police cruisers swarming the place in response to the bomb that had been called in, and an ambulance flying up the street, for what little good that would do. Part of Yuri urged her to go back down and take charge of the situation, see that it was handled to her satisfaction. But she shook off that notion, she couldn't be that brash since she no longer wore a badge.
That did not mean she would let this go, she made a promise, one she intended to keep. Whoever did this, hitman or cop, Yuri would find them, and send them to the morgue.
"You sure about this kid? It ain't gonna be pretty," said Detective Sergeant Connors as he brought the unmarked police car to a stop. Up ahead was a veritable armada of emergency vehicles, patrol cars, ambulances, fire department vehicles, armored vans from the bomb squad and CSI, all of them packed the street outside where an explosion had been reported. Surrounding them were a half dozen different news crews, all covering the story.
"Pretty or not, it still could be my case Connors," answered Smith, mustering what courage he could. A bomb that killed two major crime bosses was enough to prompt Captain Carter to dispatch Smith to see if there was any connection with the Maggia hitman case. Early just hoped that, if it was related, he might glean something from this crime scene because nothing so far had panned out.
With a grunt, the senior man climbed out of the vehicle with Smith following. Both men strode up to the crowd before Smith fell in behind Connors, letting the big bull of a man shove his way through with typical New York courtesy. When they broke through the crowd, both men showed their badges to the patrol cops and proceeded under the yellow tape that marked the perimeter. Weaving their way through the parked cars, Early frowned at the scene that awaited them.
The windows of the bar had been blown out, glass littering the sidewalk, all of which was photographed and sketched by Forensics. Heading inside, the location of each body was being marked and photographed amidst the ruined establishment. Blood poured from each corpse, turning the wooden furniture and flooring a grisly shade of dark red, the sight of which caused a bit of bile to rise in his throat. The Detective had to actively force his lunch to stay down as he screwed his eyes shut.
Averting his eyes to something else, Early looked over the tables that were overturned or shattered from the blast, broken bodies lay sprawled out across the floor or slumped beside splintered chairs. Art which had decorated the walls had been shaken from their mounts and crashed to the floor.
His inspection was brought to an immediate halt when a big hand clapped down on his shoulder, "Alright college boy," began Connors, "Enlighten me, what do you think happened?"
"A bomb went off," Early deadpanned, drawing a chortle of laughter from Connors. "Could be the same guy, it sure looks like there was a lot of shrapnel, professional work. We're going to need to try and find the source of the explosives, this was some pretty serious stuff I'd say." He had seen pictures of pipe bombs during his time at Cal Tech and could tell this was on a whole other level. "The thing I can't get over is the placement of the bomb, right?" continued the younger detective. "It wasn't hidden, it was just sitting on a table by the look of things," observed Smith, gesturing to the spot that was attracting the most attention from the bomb squad. The table wasn't thrown out in every direction, as it would have if the bomb was under it, but rather the remains of it were all in the immediate vicinity. Early also noted how those remains were perforated by the quarter inch ball bearings strewn about. "So how'd it get there without attracting suspicion?"
Connors rubbed his chin, "That's a good question kid," he admitted before his eyes fixed on something else. "What's that?" he asked, leading Smith over to the bar and the body beside it. Notably, this body was in much better shape than the others, even with the hole in the woman's chest. "So Sawbones," began Connors as he looked down at the kneeling coroner, "What's the story with this one?"
"Connors, you old dog," exclaimed the coroner as he looked up from the corpse before his eyes settled on Smith. "Who's this rookie you're hazing now?"
"Early Smith," answered the Detective Sergeant, "And I'm not hazing him, this could be related to a case he's working."
"I see," replied the Medical Examiner before he looked back down at the dead woman. "Well, preliminary examination suggests she died right about the same time as everyone else, but the lack of shrapnel damage means she probably didn't die from the bomb."
"Well, something got her," observed Smith before his eyes followed the blood trail that led behind the bar. The place at the bar where the CSI crew were setting up laser pointers.
"I can see why he made detective," deadpanned the ME, with Connors nodding before the coroner continued. "But yes, this young woman was shot in the chest, probably by a large caliber handgun, but I'm not sure on that yet."
Early cut in, ".44 Magnum?"
"Might be," replied the coroner, "But that's not for me to say. However, I would hazard it likely that this young woman survived for some time before succumbing to her wounds. Considering that she was shot in the chest and not the back, it is likely she saw her assailant. Yet she did not react or attempt to defend herself."
The two detectives shared a look before Connors spoke, "Thanks Sawbones, looks like this might be Early's case after all." With a nod, the ME set back to work as the pair moved through the rest of the bar. "That theory you were looking into, that this hitman was posing as a cop, I didn't believe it at first, but now?" wondered the older cop, "Jesus, I just hope we're wrong, or we nail this guy soon."
"Two of us, Connors," assured Early, "Hopefully the CSI guys can turn up something for physical evidence. I guess in the meantime I'd better start brushing up on what kind of enemies these Maggia guys shared. It obviously was somebody who wanted to take out both groups, and Ricca too."
"Assuming the employer was the same for both hits," commented the Detective Sergeant as they made their way out the front door. "I've seen cases where a hitman was hired to kill his former employer and did it."
"Damn, didn't think of that," admitted Smith. "So you think it's still Maggia related then?"
"That's my gut feeling on it, seems to me like someone is taking out their competition," was the reply from Connors. "But that doesn't help us figure out who this hitman is. It's not some super, they're a lot flashier than this, and this guy is a damn sight better than the typical Maggia thug I've come across. Hell, you gotta admit that impersonating a cop, if that is what he's doing, is inspired."
"Yeah, it is," agreed Early as his eye caught a commotion at the edge of the perimeter. "Hey, it looks like the Captain is here."
"What? Where?" asked Connors as he looked around before seeing what Early had, "Oh, it's Carter, yeah."
Raising an eyebrow before dismissing the question forming in his mind, the younger detective said, "I'll let him know that this is my case. I'll meet you at the car, ok?" Connors nodded and headed off while Smith made a beeline for his superior. Meeting him at the edge of the tape, Smith waved at the Captain, "Sir, looks like this might've been the same guy, I'm going to go get to work on it."
"You do that, I'll see to it you get all the reports," replied Carter before the Captain was swamped by reporters who figured out who he was.
All at once, a dozen unbidden questions were flung out at Captain Carter from the media while patrol officers tried to keep them from crossing the crime scene perimeter. Microphones and recorders were extended towards Carter while cameras were pointed his way just as the questions began to bombard the man. "Do you have any indication that…."
But that question was quickly cut off by a more forceful reporter. "Captain! Do you expect more murder violence?"
"I have nothing to say at this time," declared Carter firmly, but his response only caused another salvo of questions to come his way.
"Is this another gang war Captain?" inquired a third.
Carter turned to the source of the question, "No comment."
"There were nearly 600 murders in the city over the last twelve months!" shouted a fourth as yet another microphone was thrust towards Carter, "Do you want to make a comment on that?"
Early watched as something switched on in Carter as he set his jaw and finally met the gaze of the cameras. "That there will be no more bombs in bars when we're through. This city belongs to the people. We will have law and order here."
"That was NYPD Captain Stanley Carter on the bombing that took place today. No official word on suspects has been released, but with this being the second high profile killing of Maggia bosses in the past week many are questioning if these are the opening shots in another gang war…" prattled the news anchor before Jean finally muted the TV and threw back her Manhattan, savoring the whiskey's burn as it went down.
"Not bad for some asshole from Personnel," observed the other occupant in the commissioner's apartment. Yuri Watanabe, in her Wraith gear, was sitting on Jean's sofa, opting for a beer instead of the stronger cocktail that Jean desperately needed after her day. Flipping through the news when she got home hadn't done anything, since all the talking heads were babbling on about the same thing. It was to the point that DeWolff was almost happy to see her vigilante friend knock on the window. "Your people have any leads on this one?"
Jean shook her head as she looked at the Wraith, "The only thing we had was some witnesses claimed to see someone fitting the Wraith's description running into the bar after the blast. Care to tell me what that's all about?" inquired the Commissioner without batting an eye.
She was thankful to see that Yuri didn't take offense, only letting out a deep breath before answering. "I got a tip about the meeting, so I was there to observe. I was planting trackers on the cars when the bomb went off and I rushed back to the bar." Jean narrowed her eyes at her friend, she could tell the words were true, but there was more to it. "The one who tipped me off was the bartender," continued Yuri, her words weighted. "She knew the prostitute killed in the Ricca shooting and wanted to help. I didn't tell her not to, so she was working when the bomb went off. By the time I got there, she had already been shot and there was nothing I could do as she bled out."
"You feel guilty," said Jean, it wasn't a question.
"Damn right I do," snapped the Wraith, "I shouldn't have let her put herself in harm's way like that."
"Sometimes you can't just order everyone to do what you want them to," consoled DeWolff as she sipped on her drink. "Hell, even I can't, otherwise I'd have ordered the mayor to shut the fuck up and let me try to do my damn job." The only acknowledgment Yuri gave was a curt nod, but she had acknowledged Jean's words, which was all she could have expected from the hardheaded Watanabe. Yet DeWolff could tell that there was more to Yuri's story, but it was apparent that the vigilante was in no rush to reveal what that was. Taking a breath, Jean then looked at her friend and asked, "So what are you going to do now?"
The Wraith sipped her beer, and Jean knew that dark eyed look her friend had all too well. "I think there's more to this Jean," began the ex-Captain, fingers tapping on the bottle, "And I'm going to find out exactly what."
Raising an eyebrow, DeWolff met her friends hardened gaze, "Why do you say that, Yuri?" inquired the Commissioner. "You were pretty adamant about focusing on finding that mole. What changed your mind?"
"I spoke to the bartender before she died," revealed Watanabe, "She said something that I have to check, and I promised I would."
It was an evasive answer, but unless Jean produced a crowbar she doubted she would be able to pry anything else out of Yuri. But she had to try, "If you tell me what it is then I might be able to help. I went from having my ass tanned by the mayor for my 'fascistic' proposals to her bitching at me for allowing the high-profile killings that caused this brewing media firestorm." DeWolff shook her head and had to finish her Manhattan at the memory. "I already sent a bunch of warrants off to be signed so we can begin observations first thing in the morning, if there's someone you want to add to that list it's not too late."
But Watanabe shook her head, "I would if I could, but it really is something that I need to look into myself, not your people. It's not much, and it could be nothing, but I have to see where it leads me."
DeWolff held her hands up in mock surrender, "Okay, okay, I won't press any farther, just know it's a standing offer."
Yuri hummed, but her eyes stared off for a second before swinging back to meet Jeans. "Who are you looking at for suspects?"
"For the shooter? None," admitted DeWolff with a hint of contempt, "All we have now are people who might have paid for the killings, and we're casting a wide net. Lou Guzman, Frank Palancio of the Maggia, even keeping an eye on Fisk and some of his old associates, hell, I asked for permission to check on some of the people Mr. Negative possessed last year, see if one of them got back into crime without Martin Li pulling the strings." It had been a shitload of paperwork, and her people would have to put a lot of other cases on the backburner and put in a bunch of overtime to pull it off, but the Mayor had been clear, any means necessary, even if she did give one glaring caveat. "The only thing I was told was not to involve anyone outside the department on this. She meant Spider-Man, but that also means no Wraith on this."
"It's a good thing the Wraith will be looking somewhere else then, right?" snapped back Watanabe, tone making it clear that she would not be forced off this case. "It won't even look like she's a part of your investigation."
Sighing, Jean didn't push the point, and moved onto the next one, "What will you do if this lead of your pans out?"
"I'll keep the promise I made," replied Watanabe coldly, "I'm not a cop anymore Jean. I don't have to follow the system. I'm going to do what I have to on this lead. Whoever did this, whoever pulled the trigger, and whoever's behind it, I'm going to get them all."
"Just… keep me in the loop," pleaded DeWolff. Seeing the hesitance on Watanabe's face, Jean sought to placate the Wraith, "At least let me know where to find the bodies, and preferably with enough evidence to conclusively close the case."
There was a snort that emanated from Yuriko that prompted Jean to crack a small smile. "Like I've been doing, yeah?" Jean nodded. In turn, Watanabe sighed before replying, "I can work with that."
"Good, otherwise you'll be helping me look for a new job," threatened the Commissioner with a teasing lilt. Watanabe chuckled at the joke as she emptied her bottle and set it down. "But I think you have it wrong here. Who else would have anything to gain from this? These killings have left gaping holes in the criminal world, somebody would obviously benefit from filling them in."
"That… I don't know," admitted Yuri, "Not yet, not for sure. If this lead pans out then… I couldn't even guess as to a motive, and I'm not sure I want to. But if I'm right, this isn't over, it's probably starting, and it will get worse, not better, in the next few days. So I need to ask another favor." Jean opened her mouth, but Yuri cut her off, "Don't worry, it shouldn't put your job at risk."
Somewhat placated, DeWolff pretended the ponder the request for a second before replying with an inevitable, "What is it?"
"Tomorrow, call Spider-Man," began Yuri, each word coming out slowly, as if she was measuring the length of rope she was letting out. When Jean didn't react, Watanabe took that as permission to proceed, "Do like the Mayor said, tell him to stay away from this case, but don't mention that I said that."
Jean understood the request but replied with something she was sure Yuri already knew. "He's not going to like that," she pointed out.
"No, he's not," agreed Watanabe with a shake of her head, "He's going to be stubborn, so you'll have to be too. He can be soft, let him know he can save people from burning buildings and stop all the muggings he wants, but lay down the law as it comes to this investigation. Trust me, I know the temptation that's there, to just make a phone call and have the Amazing Spider-Man make that headache go away, but we can't risk it."
"We can't risk it?" asked Jean pointedly, "Or you can't risk it."
"Both," admitted the vigilante sourly. "We're not dealing with a supervillain here, and he can't do anything our own forensics team already is working on, he can't help with any of that. If he tried to, that would just piss off our duly elected civil servants and make things harder for everyone. Tell him exactly that, him staying away will be the best thing at this point."
"And if he doesn't?" asked Jean, knowing full well how prone the Webslinger was to doing whatever he wanted to anyways.
Yuri shrugged, "Tell him you'll call if you need him, and that if this does turn into an all-out gang war that he can get involved."
Raising an eyebrow, the Commissioner tried to figure that one out. After a few moments of awkward staring, it clicked, "You don't think this will turn into a gang war, do you?"
"I don't think whoever's doing this wants a war," replied Yuri, "They want a massacre."
Closing Notes: So this is where things start rolling, up to here has been establishing most of the pieces, and starting next chapter will be them moving about the board. I know some of you are probably expecting this to be a full on action story, but the genre is crime thriller, so while there will be some great action at the end, there won't be that much until then.
Next chapter will be feature Good Mourning and Black Friday.
Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.