Two and a Half Years Later
Dante Jiminez had grown up in Detroit, had watched the city stumble and nearly perish before the renewal projects had breathed in new life – and brought him all new business. For years, he had run the city's largest drug racket, muscling out any who had dared to intrude on his profit margin. He ran his gang with all the efficiency and protocol of a military unit, and ensured that they got their fair share, keeping them happy and on his side. Now, in the lofty penthouse of his apartment, blessed with glass walls that gave full view of the reviving city, it was his turn to have fun. Reclined in his Jacuzzi, he smiled at the two women in near negligible bikinis slid into the frothing water, one carrying wine flutes and the other carrying a full bottle.
"Good evening, ladies," he smiled smoothly as they pressed against him. Before the bottle could be opened, there was a sudden clatter and Dante's face turned ugly as he barked, "Tiny! I told you to keep it down!"
There was a thud and then the misleadingly named 'Tiny' slid across the floor in the separate room, visible through the large open doorway. Dante shot to his feet as heels clacked against the pristine marble of his abode and a slender woman sauntered into view. A navy blue dress with a slight sheen to it flowed down her supple form while a fur collar surrounded her neck. Playing across her alluring face was a small smile, somewhere between teasing and cruel. Rounding the corner shortly after her was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a canvas jacket with a cloth hood and tough cargo pants. Black combat boots adorned his feet and crashed against the floor as he advanced like in incoming storm front, his face haggard and scarred.
"Por favor, Signore, sit, sit," the woman urged.
"Who the Hell are you? What'd you do to Tiny?" he demanded, ignoring her request.
"Oh, mi perdoni," she halted at the bottom of the steps leading to Jacuzzi, flashing a smile devoid of apology, "How could I forget the introductions? I am Alondra Arnetti and mio caro amico is . . . well, suffice it to say, he likes the name 'Cash.' And as for 'Tiny,' I'm afraid he and Cash had a pequena disputa. Unfortunately, it didn't end in his favor."
Kicking off her heels, she ascended the steps and seated herself at the edge of the small pool, hiking her dress up to slide her feet into the heated water. She moaned appreciatively, "Mas excelente."
Dante's gaze turned to the imposing man who stood at the foot of the stairs, hands clasped in front of him. Licking his lips, he turned his attention back to the woman who was invading his pool and snarled, "Puta, you better explain why the fuck your feet are in my pool before I cut them off."
"Right, right. However, first, a drink to fortify me for this business," she declared grandly, swiping the bottle of wine from the girl to her side.
"You sure about that, boss babe? You're already partially inebriated," Cash advised.
"Cashy, what did I tell you about your big words when I'm buzzed?" she sing-songed as she uncapped the bottle.
He rolled his eyes and sighed, "Something in that bizarre portmanteau of Italian, Spanish, and English you consistently spout off that I can't entirely comprehend."
"You're doing it again," she scolded before tossing the bottle back, gulping it down as though it were the last drink she would ever have. Rage was evident on Dante's face and he surged through the water, drawing back a fist as he advanced upon her. He was abruptly halted by a punctuated roar and warm liquid splattered onto his face as the girls accompanying him shrieked. Pain ripped through his arm and he dropped it, clutching at the bullet hole torn clean through it as his gaze turned to Cash, his heavy gun still raised.
"Conduct yourself in a more befitting manner, Mr. Jiminez. You make another move like that towards the boss babe, and I'll plug a whole new orifice into your head," he warned.
Alondra scrunched up her nose at him and gave a short chuckle, "'Orifice?' En serio?"
"It's a sweet word," he huffed.
"Lo que sea, Cash," she rolled her eyes before taking another drink and glancing to the girls, horrified at the blood that had sprayed upon them. "Run along, chicas. The adults need to talk now."
They hurriedly abandoned the Jacuzzi as Dante grimaced, sinking into the water as he tried to stave off the bleeding. Water splashed out on the floor and their feet slapped against it as they raced to the door.
"Aspettare!"
At Alondra's command, they stopped and turned to her, fear in their eyes as she regarded them before glancing to her comrade, "Cash, either of the chicas strike your fancy? Care to pal around a bit?"
"Not tonight, boss babe," he answered simply, not bothering to look either of them over.
She shrugged, "All right. Go ahead."
They eagerly obeyed, pausing only long enough to grab their piles of clothes, which they merely pressed to their bodies instead of bothering to put them on. With their departure, Alondra swung her icy gaze to the wounded man and pointed a finger at him.
"You are a brutto pezzo di lavoro. Two weeks ago, I sent my boys to you with a proposizione. And you sent them back – with a bullet in their heads," she said.
"You! You're that chick they've been talking about. The one who's been cutting out the organs of the folks who owe you. Aren't they calling you the Vulture or something stupid like that?" he growled between ragged panting.
"Guilty," she laughed, "I figured instead of breaking the knuckles of some peredor who still won't pay, why not take something worth our money? With a little bit of interest, of course."
"Sick fuck," he snapped.
A low growl thrummed from Cash's throat as he brought the gun up again though Alondra waved him away as she grinned at Dante, "Careful, chico. Signor Cash can be a bit touchy. Especially when he isn't feeling too well. Now about my boys-"
"Your 'boys' said I needed to start paying you a 15% cut of all my profits."
"A generous offer," she nodded.
He scoffed, "Puta, I overcharge and I think that that's a ridiculous demand."
With a sigh, she drew her dress up further, revealing a dark, frilly thigh band that held a small revolver that she pulled out before fully hopping into the water. Her dress floated along the surface of the water, rippling along with the turbulent surface as she advanced on the wounded man. Breathing heavy but even breaths, he glowered at her until she suddenly shoved the muzzle of her pistol into the wound. She smiled vindictively as he snarled and tried to wrench away from her, with little success.
"Listen well, carbon. I'm going to run this town. Anybody who wants a piece of it has to pay up. One way or another. And since you didn't accept the first offer, we've got a new one."
"What's that?" he managed.
His response was the heavy base of the wine bottle connecting with his temple, sentencing him into unconsciousness. Alondra caught him before he slipped into the water, grunting as she took on the extra weight.
"Querido Dios. This guy's like a sack of bricks. Cash, give una bella signora a hand," she directed.
"Got'cha, boss bab-Ah!"
She whirled at his shout, splashing through the water as he crumpled on the stairs, a massive hand clawing at his chest. Lights flared, some of the bulbs bursting, while every appliance and gadget suddenly sprang to life. There was the grinding roar of the blender, gouts of flame leapt from the stove, and the massive, flatscreen television cycled rapidly through channels. Throwing herself over the jacuzzi's edge, her wet dress slapping against the ground as she kneeled beside him, slender fingers wrapping around his shoulder as she tried to support him. Shudders wracked his body and he gasped for breath and his face contorted in pain. He tried to speak, to form even the simplest of words, but the spasms overtook him, refusing him the opportunity while Alondra tried to put him at ease.
"Heyheyheyheyheyheyhey," she hushed, helping him into a more comfortable position. "What's wrong?"
"Heart's . . . going . . ." he choked out.
"Que? We put a new one in you, like, a month ago. Why so soon?" she asked, frantic.
"Fuck . . . if I . . . know . . ."
Snorting at his remark, she reached inside his jacket's pocket for her phone, holding down the first button until it began to ring. When the line finally picked up, she tried to keep herself from screaming, "Get up here, now!"
"Wha-? Boss, I-"
"Vieni qui, o ti intagliare io stess aprire!" she howled before getting a tighter rein of her emotions, and forcing out through grit teeth, "Signor Corvin, if you do not get yourself and my Cargone Uccelli up here in the next minute, you will find yourselves on the table, giving up your organs for Cash. And when I say 'find,' I really mean 'find.' You'll be awake the whole time."
"Moving, boss," he assured her, and she could hear the small squad's boots on the stairs through the phone. Without offering any farewell, she snapped her device shut just as Cash's back arched and the cell in her hand suddenly transformed into a small insect-like robot that snapped at her. With a growl, she chucked it fiercely at the wall, causing it to smash to pieces. They clattered upon the floor where they vibrated before reassembling into a shambling creature that hissed at her before scurrying away.
"That's four phones you owe me now, Cash," she teased, trying to lighten the mood as much for herself as him. There was a the briefest clatter as a squad of men and women in dark garb entered the room, light body armor offering them as much protection as it could without hampering their movement. Their faces were obscured by facsimiles of medieval plague doctor masks, their lenses glowing an eerie crimson. Steel talon, markedly similar to scalpels, tipped their fingers and they wore heavy pouch belts about their waists. Several of them carried plastic coolers and as they came into view of their mistress, they moved with military efficiency and speed, congregating about the fallen bodyguard. Marked with a straight back, a swagger in his walk, and scalpels strapped to almost every conceivable place of his armor, Mr. Corvin led the grisly flock, the murder.
"What do you need us to do?" he asked.
One of the lights above them popped, showering them with the glass of the bulb and darkness. The glow of the Birds' eyes intensified, their night vision activating, focusing upon the crime lord who rose to her feet and delivered her commands imperiously, "Somebody gather up Signor Jiminez there. The rest of you, get Cash. Get both of them back to the hotel and fix Cash. His heart is going out."
"Is he safe to move by van?" one of the Birds wondered.
"No," she shook her head, "I doubt anything bigger than a cell is sicuro. His powers are going loco, and affecting all machines. Now, prisa! Muevete antes de que se termina!"
At her words, they leapt into motion, moving with the sort of alacrity that would leave most teams envious and within seconds, they had all cleared from the room, leaving Alondra in the half-lit aerie. Sighing and running a hand through her dark hair, she stalked across the floor, her sopping dress dragging behind her. Pausing before the great windows, she stared out across the city, lit by the street lights, clubs, and occasional glow from a home. Thousands of people who had once fled the city like rats from a sinking ship had returned at the start of the restoration projects. New life was breathed into the former carcass of the city and as she looked out upon it, considering the thought, a slow smile came to her face.
"All the more to feed on."
"Sanders!"
The shout made the disgraced surgeon jump, nearly dropping his clipboard, as he turned to face the slender woman who had plucked him from his fall from prestige. While his initial evaluation of the young woman had been mostly influenced by his considerable libido, he had since lost any such attraction to the terrifying mobster. Gulping, he prepared himself for the promise of wrath in her very features as she approached swiftly, having changed from her soaked dress.
"E sciocco! Dove diavolo e 'Cash? Abbiamo bisogno di passare fuori-"
"Miss Arnetti, please," he held his hands up, "I have absolutely no clue as to what you're saying."
She growled, her brow furrowing before she snarled, "Hurry up and change out Cash's heart before I give him yours!"
"As I've explained before, ma'am, we don't have matching blood types. So please stop making that threat," he requested.
The cold steel of her pistol was suddenly pressed under his jaw and her breath was on his face as she hissed, "Where. Is. Cash."
He grimaced and licked his lips, trying to moisten them as the rest of his mouth went dry. He rubbed his sweaty palm against his pants and finally admitted, "W-we were too late. I don't know what happened, maybe he took on some additional stress, but his heart gave out earlier than we had predicted."
"Doctor, you better be about to say what I think you're about to say. I'd rather not have to clean your brains off my new dress," she menaced.
"We put him in the stasis pod. I have to warn you though, we haven't actually had a chance to test it out. It's a theory."
"But if you're right, it'll stop his body from decaying long enough for you to find some other way to stop it?"
He nodded hastily, "We should be able to, yes."
"Good," she nodded, relaxing her iron cast grip upon his jacket and lowering the gun though her gaze was still harsh as they fixed on him again, "Where's that two-bit teppista? Dov'e il cadaver di respirazione?"
"Who?"
"Signore Jiminez," she growled.
"Upstairs in the primary operating room. I was about to head up there," he explained.
She paused, lowering her firearm and stepping away from him, considering his words before an unsettling smile adorned her face and she declared, "Don't bother. I'll attend to him myself."
"Miss-"
There was a bang and he screamed as the bullet blasted through his leg, crashing through his tibia. He dropped to the floor, clutching at the wound as Alondra stood over him, tutting softly and tapping the pistol to her cheek.
"I don't think you're in any condition to be operating, medico. You might want to have a doctor look at that. The Carogne Uccelli are starting to circle."
He looked up, through the tears of pain, at the dark outfitted figures with their beaked masks and red eyes, scalpels glinting in the dim lights of the hotel. They perched upon the stairs or seemed to materialize from the shadows on the ground floor, their talons clinking together anxiously. Unblinking eyes regarding him callously, devoid of human emotion as though he was already a corpse or something less than that. As his breathing grew harsher and wheezy, soft footsteps descended on the stair and he looked upon the broad frame of Corvin with abject terror. Alondra met him midway on the central stairs and he halted for her as she delivered her commands, "Have one of the Birds fetch me some more suitable attire. I don't want to ruin this dress just yet. I'm going to work over our dear Signore Jiminez."
"Keeping the skill sharp, ma'am?"
"And the knife dull for that cerdo," she hissed.
"And Dr. Sanders?" he nodded to the downed man.
She glanced back, jutting her bottom lip out as she considered the options before decreeing, "Get him patched up, mend the bone the best you can. As long as Cash lives, so does he."
"As you command, ma'am," he nodded as she continued her ascent. A pair of the dark garbed crew swooped from the shadows to seize the injured man, hauling him to his feet and to another operating room.
Alondra moved with deadly intent, her gaze set as she stalked the halls, the attendants and other members of her organization quickly removed themselves from her path. During the early days, one of her number had impeded her while she was on the warpath. Two weeks later, his heart was going into a highly successful safecracker who had a distinct over-fondness for double cheeseburgers. Since then, nobody who particularly treasured their organs and their wellbeing dared to even block her view. Occasionally a new upstart to the organization would make an attempt at proving they could not be cowed, and Alondra would prove otherwise before adding their organs to the impressive cache.
She shed the dark dress as she entered the primary operating room, kicking off her feels, and gasping at the chill of the floor. Drawing in a deep breath, she proceeded further into the room where Dante lay, sans clothes, and bound at the wrists and ankles to a metal table. Halting his struggle for an instant, he gave a wolf whistle at the sight of her and chuckled appreciatively.
"Came to your senses, chica? Trying to apologize now, huh?"
"You troubled my Cash. Stressed him out. And now? Now he's stuck in a pod, kept alive by IV's," she said as she approached. Hazel eyes drifted away from his persistent leer, towards the set of scalpels and other medical tools arrayed on the small table at her side. The door opened and one of the Birds strode in, tenderly cradling a swath of deep crimson cloth that she presented to her mistress who gave a small smile at the old dress.
"Yes, that'll do nicely. Muy bonito," she appraised the article, taking it from the girl. Like most of her garments, it was a long dress with thin shoulder straps that crossed between her shoulder blades and a flattering tightness to her figure that was evident as she slipped it on. It paled as it trailed down her body to becoming white at the hem though the color was inconsistent throughout its styling. She smoothed it out, shooed the Bird away, and turned back to her 'patient,' her features brighter now. Reaching to the table, she picked up one of the scalpels and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table.
"This dress, usted sabe, was white once upon a time," she mused, tracing along the bottom of his ribcage with the blade, causing Dante to gasp and hiss. "Back when I was starting out, there weren't a lot of us. I had to operate from time to time, and while I may have studied the medical arts, I'm hardly a masestro of it. I'll admit, Soy desordenado."
Her smile disappeared and her eyes focused as she suddenly applied pressure, biting into and through skin and muscle. Dante screamed as she began to slice into him, carving a line down his abdomen and then echoing the curve of his ribs, creating panels. She paused for a moment, studying her nails before sighing.
"And I just got my nails done. Oh well."
Her fingers jabbed into the seam, a smile unfurling across her face as she tore him open, summoning a howl of pain and agony that only fed her hungry grin.
The organs were all sorted, placed in the plastic coolers, and taken away by the attendants who eyed the carnage uneasily. One of them had brought her a bottle of wine and she chugged it with admirable ado, unbothered by the mess she had left on the table. She had worked Dante over, pausing only to ensure that he was not about to pass out and miss all of what she had in store for him. His release had not come until she had cracked open his chest, like a lobster's shell, and cut his heart out. Liquid gloves matching the fresh hue of her dress reached all the way to her elbows and decorated her face like some sort of tribal war paint.
The light above her suddenly flickered and as she glanced up, a buzzing voice intruded upon her solitude. At first, its comment was indistinguishable but the words began to clear and soon she could hear it.
". . . zzzzAlondrazz . . . zzAlondrazzz . . . Alondrazz . . ."
She groaned, rubbing her forehead into her hand, "Forse ho avuto un po 'troppo."
"Zzzzzpeak the mutual tongue-tongue-tongue . . ."
Frowning now, she glanced around and called out, "I swear, if somebody's making a joke, I'm going to make what I did to this testa di cazzo look like child's play!"
The room was plunged into darkness aside from brief sparks of electricity that arced over the machinery of the room as they trembled. She stood as the devices began to draw closer together, shaking as though overtaken by spasms. Electricity leapt between them, growing more fervent as they drew closer and the pieces began to shift, metal bending and tearing as they rearranged themselves. Wires linked them together and the lights suddenly intensified, forcing Alondra to shield her gaze against it until the harsh lights finally soften. Blinking as her gaze readjusted, she squinted at the new figure occupying the room, a humanoid constructed from the random machinery of the room. It marveled at its form, examining its hand and three digits as though perplexed by them before turning its attention to the rest of its form. Suddenly, it lifted its gaze to meet the eyes of the gaping crime lord, a sort of smile forming on its face.
"Salutations, boss babe. I trust that being bereft of me did not cause you too much trouble."
She gave a slow, sincere smile that lacked its characteristic viciousness as she stalked around the operating table. Her hand reached out to trace the metal face, the optics lit a bright blue that darted to her fingers as she stroked his 'cheek,' leaving behind a bloody trail. Mechanical fingers rose to wipe away a tear that was forming in her eye and she shut her eyes at the touch, breathing in deeply.
"You owe me another cell phone, Cash."
And thus ends the origin of The Vulture and Cash. We hope you all enjoyed reading it, you scant few, as much as we enjoyed writing it. Next time we're on here, it'll be a different origin.
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