Chapter 3: Breaking the Ice

October 17, 1979

4:33 PM

Gary Zimmerman hasn't had a good day. First, the Sons of Liberty mugged him of his money. Then the Slammers, the other major gang in the district, stole his car. At least he got back to HQ in one piece with his precious Intel. His direct superior, Bob Greenwood (Assistant to the President for Domestic Policy) demanded that they both go to see the Boss immediately.

They walked down through the halls of the White House. Greenwood had called the boss ahead of time, demanding and receiving a 15-minute opening within his schedule. They entered the Oval Office, with the President of the United States seating behind his desk, and his Chief of Staff Ronald Gold standing by his side.

Greenwood opened his mouth. "Mr. President, we have bad news…"

5:18 PM

Ajax saw those Jones Street Boys aim their revolvers into his direction. He didn't have time to react.

Four guns go off. Three bullets immediately slam into the Mustang's windshield with veracious velocity and power. Ajax tried to budge his body by sliding down his seat. His instant instinct was to stomp on the gas pedal. They've gotta get the hell out of here and quickly. Two more shots go off, one hitting the hood of the car.

Ajax was about to get a quick glance to see if Snow is outright. That's when the gun shot from inside the car exploded, deafening the ears of Ajax. Snow had his own piece in his dashboard?!?

Snow fires a second shot through the windshield. That should buy them some time. Ajax pumps the Mustang's pedal to its maximum extent. Going 85 mph, without any suggestion of stopping, the Jones Street Boys scramble and run to get out of the way.

Snow leaned out of his open car door and took his own gun, aiming at the Jones Street Boys that were quickly fading away from the horizon behind him. Then he saw his face.

Snow's fingers on the trigger froze. His mind was too numb in shock to react.

Then the car swerved, jolting Snow at his side. He gets back into his car. He hadn't noticed that Ajax had his arm extended from his car, flipping the middle finger at the would-be assassins and yelling into the mass empty void of the air.

"Eat that wimps! You think you could me out?!? I'm the Mighty Ajax! Nothing can destroy me!" Realizing that the Boys couldn't hear him, he put his arm back into the car, closing the window up.

He took a breath, and then snapped back into attention.

"Snow, you okay? Did those bullets get you anywhere?!?"

Snow pelted himself all over. "No, I'm ok. Are you alright?"

"Ehhh, I'm alright. But my ears are still ringing from your firing your gun inside the car. What were you thinking?!?" Ajax's face is grimacing at this slight pain.

"I panicked, and I figured that since those Boys were shooting at us directly ahead of us, my shots might force those punks to duck and maybe for you to run over them."

Ajax looked around at what's left of the Mustang. Five giant holes in the windshield. Broken glass shattered all over the dashboard. 3 gunshot holes in the back window of the car. Some white smoke is rising from the car's hood. That one bullet must have wrecked it. Worse of all, the radio quit playing. Those punks killed the radio while the station was playing his favorite song. Bastards!

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, we almost got some of them. You know Snow; I was going to say that you have a real nice car but…"

"Shut up and drive! Get us back to Coney!"

5:34 PM

Rembrandt is touching up on his latest masterpiece. A giant red and bold "W" over what was a well-worn tag bombed by the herald for the Panzers.

Seating near him is one of the newest recruits for the Warriors, just inducted into the membership almost 3 weeks ago. Stonewall is a southern boy, around 20 years old, who sometime, somehow along the way came up to the Big Apple a few years ago. But that is another story. He is writing in his precious diary book, just a few reflections on today's activities and the beautiful, if outright ugly, sunset coming down over the city skyline, with its orange glare being distorted by the cloud of smog permanently hovering over the city.

They're standing on the rooftop of a building. After the celebrated herald of the Warriors is finished bombing, cars coming from Coney will be able to see the Warriors banner hanging like a sore eye over the Panzers' own turf. Hopefully the enemy doesn't see them.

"Well, I'm done." He stepped back as Stonewall got up from his position.

"Bravo Rembrandt! It's so simple, but gorgeous. Also, it demands your total attention."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it sure beats the post-modernistic garbage I've seen in museums in the last few years."

Within his mind, Rembrandt is stroking his ego, when he looks down on the street. Coming their way is a Ford Mustang that's wrecked, and accelerating like a junkie on speed.

"Look Stonewall, it looks like Snow's Mustang!"

Stonewall peered down. "My God, you're right. Somebody must have tried to jump Snow and Ajax on their way from Riker's. Radio in to Coney and tell them they're coming, injured, and get some manpower reinforcements up to the gate. Trouble might be following the boys back home."

Rembrandt quickly grabbed the old walkie-talkie strapped to his side. "Yoyo this is Unit Paint, calling Coney…"

5:36 PM

He keeps pushing the pedal in futility.

"Snow, I got bad news"

"What?"

"I think that bullet has screwed up the brakes. They aren't working!"

"Oh f---!"

"Hang the hell on!"

The car is swerving all over the road. Other cars on the street have to drive off the road to avoid this potential disaster.

"Look Ajax, there's the border!"

The car zooms past the invisible northern border of the Warriors domain. Its home, but can it be stopped?