"Death Denied" Part (3 of 4)

by Rob T.

KBEL, Hub City… Now

Q: It took nearly a week to completely heal from my encounter with Shiva. But what else should one expect after facing her, other than a pine box. I got off lucky- a cracked rib, a dislocated shoulder, and some internal bruising. But I got the answers I needed. Young Shiva beat me nearly to death, andKorrigan finished the job with a .38, 13 years ago. But about 5 years before that, I apparently survived disembowelment, at the hands of her father, and an explosion. She said I was there on a mission of vengeance for the mass murder of some Tibetan village. Ok. Was it my vengeance? Or was I working for someone else? More questions.

Clara: Vic. The chief's pissed. He's calling for ya.

Vic: Thanks, Clara.

What's up, Ez?

Ezra: What up? With your Gotham story dead in the water, I gotta find a new lead

story. I need you on this, instead. I got a tip that someone's smuggling weapons

through Hub's shipping yards. I need a story here, kid. You game?

Vic: What do you think?

Q: Ezra gave me everything he had on this smuggling story. I squeezed my CI's for anything they could find out, without getting themselves killed. Nothing seems to connect. I need different eyes here.

There's another ability I have, I rarely discuss. I'm not sure I completely understand how it works. Through a relaxing of my rational mind, I can open myself up to all the unseen connections of the world. What I experience could drive one completely insane. Sometimes I believe it has already. As I approach this elevated state, I keep one question in mind, and follow the improbable leads.

Why Hub shipping? They are strictly domestic. Gotham. Central City. Metropolis. Nothing international. Who'd benefits? If it was just Gotham, I'd understand. But the other two cities, who'd risk encountering the lightning guy, and the boy scout? Who'd be that crazy? Answer's easy. Terrorists. Those morons are nothing but crazy.

Later… Hub shipping. Hidden in the shadows of freight cars.

Q: Getting in here was way too easy. Two security guards. Really? A place this huge? I see my story. You're welcome, Ezra.

The Question spots men in the shadows.

Q: Well, what do we have here? Almost didn't spot them. The Yakuza was always good at stealth. Good thing I'm slightly better. They're loading the weaponry on the ship. Doesn't matter. Nothing's leaving port tonight.

A car drives up.

Q: Okay. Who's this? More yaku-? Wait! I know him. He's older, but it's him.

Butch.

THEN

New York 1985

A much younger Butch, exits a warehouse barking orders to the surrounding henchmen, a negotiating with another "businessman".

Butch: Get that shit in the van. Okay, Mr. Szazs. 100 A-K's, Grenade launchers, &

.45's Everything you asked for. I want the other half of my money, so I can get

out of here. Cops are cracking down lately.

Szaza: Yes, I know. Who do you think sent me?

Butch: Wha-? As a flashbang grenade goes off. GET 'IM! GET THAT FUCK!

Szazs, using the smoke to his advantage, starts taking out the henchmen with a skill level none of them could fathom. Butch uses it to flee.

Running, abandoning his own men, no loyalty. Ducking, hopping fences, hiding, he's sure he got away.

Szazs: You're something else, Butch. You rope these morons into backing you up.

Then you leave'em to rot, first chance. I'm sure they'll thank you properly…

in Rikers.

Desparately, he goes for Szazs. Only, to be beaten down. There is no question who wins.

Szazs: Moron.

Hub Shipping...NOW

Q: There's nothing but silence. Yakuza soldiers are strategically spread about, to protect their shipment- efficient. They must be taken out with equal efficiency.

I snatch one into the shadows, and his partner catches it peripherally. As he calls for him, walking & prepared to shoot. I come from above, my sheer weight overwhelming him.

I knock another out with his own gun, but he got off a shot. They now know something's wrong. And bunch up, around Butch's car as he's screaming for the ship to leave port. Too late to stop it. I'll catch up. I land in the center of the bunch. All the panic, and fear of shooting on another, makes their hesitation my greatest weapon. Until, 7 men lay beaten senseless. So I turn to Butch, crashing, and pulling him through his car window.

Q: Been awhile. Moron. One question. Where was the shipment headed? He begins

to laugh maniocholy. Why?

Butch: It wasn't headed anywhere, but closer to downtown, in Hub Bay. How else will

the "FOAB" do the most damage. The People's Jihad will be successful in the

greatest attack, since 9/11. Who's the moron, now?

TO BE CONCLUDED