DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Punisher, and I make no money from this fan fiction.
#
PUNISHER: A Murderous Vigilante's Love Story 2
by Rhonnel Ferry
Raymond Reyes works as a freelance bartender for several watering holes located in the seedy parts of the city. He claims to be doing this to fund his independent film projects that deal with the explicit display of sexual activity.
Many years ago, there was a string of tavern stickups. I tracked down and terminated the armed robbers just as they were about to blow away Raymond with machine pistols. Since then, Raymond has been an excellent source of intel for me in my war against crime. Bartenders hear a lot of stories. Usually from patrons who are too inebriated to keep secrets.
I decided to hit him up for information regarding Officer William Steele. A crooked cop that used to employ the services of the recently deceased mugger and gang leader Mark Mercado. We never meet at the bars Raymond works in. Don't wanna blow his cover. So tonight we're meeting at a church basement of his choice. The Briarway Church of Samson.
It's a cold night. But I usually wear a thick coat for that. It's also for concealing an assortment of hand held firearms. Not to mention, a black shirt with a skull design on it. I look around just to make sure I'm not being followed. Then I descend the stairs to the basement door.
But I'm in for a surprise.
When I open the door, I don't just find Raymond Reyes. I also find Olivia Washington. A slender, beautiful, short haired street-walker. She was almost beaten to death by her pimp many years ago. A pimp who had already killed at least one of his girls. I drove a Ka-Bar into his brain through his left eye. Since then Olivia has been my informant just like Raymond. Hookers hear a lot of stories from their patrons, too. Sometimes even more than bartenders.
Delbert Mann. A German immigrant and professional gunsmith. Lost the use of his legs after being struck by a hit-and-run motorist. I tracked down the driver, burned him alive in his own car. Delbert supplies me with weapons and ammo. Not for free, but at a pretty good discount. The man still needs to make a living. I pay him using the cash and valuables I scavenge from my kills.
Good times, all. But what are they all doing here, alongside others that are too many to mention right now? Is it my birthday? Is this a surprise party? It's a really bad idea to give a surprise party to someone who routinely carries guns.
"What the fuck is this?" I ask Raymond.
"Frank, you recognize everybody, right?"
"What the fuck is this?" I ask again, ignoring his question.
"We're all victims of crime," he explains nervously. "We get together every Sunday night. You know, to just talk about all the horrible stuff we've all been through, and how we're all surviving in spite of it. It's kinda' like AA."
He chuckles shyly. Then stops abruptly when I don't laugh with him.
"Anyway," he continues. "It really helps to talk about it, you know. Maybe you wanna share your experiences, too."
I say nothing.
"Or not," he adds. "You don't have to. Sometimes, it just helps to listen-"
"Tell him about the other thing," Olivia whispers to him.
"You tell him!" he whispers back.
"Frank," she tells me. "We're thinking maybe you should give us some firearms training-"
"No," I reply bluntly.
She is momentarily dumbstruck.
"Just like that?" she asks.
"Yes. I'm not the Trainer. I'm the Punisher. You want to take self defense classes, be my guest. But leave me out of it."
"But what if your enemies find out about us?! The things we do for you. What if-"
"Then they'll kill you...and I wouldn't give a shit. What, you all think we're friends? I don't have friends. You could all die tomorrow, I wouldn't shed a goddamn tear."
My answer stuns her. Stuns all of them. I still don't give a shit.
"You got what I need?" I ask Raymond.
"Yea," he answers sadly.
#
I learn from Raymond how Mercado ended up working for Steele. The good officer starts them young. The applicants consist of homeless kids. The entry level job is panhandler. They beg for cash, Steele gets a cut. From there, they get promoted to mugger. Steele gets a cut, he covers for them, keeps them out of jail.
This crooked cop's been at it for years. So there's no denying some punishment's long overdue. But killing a cop is tricky. It's not the same as killing your average, everyday street thug. Just like soldiers, the cops are a brotherhood. Doesn't matter if you're clean or dirty, they got each other's backs. Taking on one means taking on all of them.
Oh, I'd win. I could devastate the entire precinct, if I knew for a fact that they were all dirty. It's not the odds I'm worried about. But while every criminal deserves punishment, not every cop does.
"Frank?" a voice from somewhere calls.
"Huh?" I respond, disoriented, as if waking from a dream.
"Are you OK?" Christina asks.
Christina is a busty, redhead waitress who works in one of those breastaurants. She's my... Huh. What is she, my girlfriend? I dunno. I have been with other women since my wife got killed in a crossfire between two rival gangs. But that was just sex. I hadn't even considered getting into any kind of serious relationship...until Christina. She has two kids from a previous marriage. A girl and a boy. The boy, Trevor, positively adores me. He thinks I'm Captain America. The girl, Julie,... Well, she tolerates my existence, now. And that's improvement. They're about the same age as my own children when they died, and the analogy is not lost on me.
"I feel great," I answer with a smile.
She likes my answer, and she leans from her bar stool to kiss me.
We're at a neighborhood pub, enjoying food, drink, and music. Her kids are at her sister's. Or cousin's. I forget which one. There's a local jazz band performing tonight. They're playing a cover of one of the classics. I can hum the tune, but the title escapes me right now. They're pretty good, actually.
When the song ends, and they go on a break, I take a sip of my beer, and say to Christina, "I gotta go hit the head. Be right back."
In the bathroom, I remind myself to just focus on enjoying the night. Switch off the Punisher for a few hours, and just be Frank Castle.
It doesn't last a few hours. Actually, it only lasts a few seconds. Because when I step out of the john, there's this short, preppy asshole tryin' to make a move on my girl. He tells a joke. She laughs a little, he laughs a lot. And when he does, he touches her knee. She politely brushes his hand away. I march over.
"Frank-" Christina begins.
I ignore her.
"Walk away, asshole," I tell the preppy asshole.
"Whoa! Easy, champ!" he replies with another laugh. "We were just talking-"
"And now, you're talking to me. Walk away."
Christina touches my forearm and whispers, "Frank, relax-"
"Yea, relax, Frank!" the preppy asshole interjects aggressively.
"You're still here?" I growl back.
"OK, that's enough!" Christina says, pulling me away from the bar. "We're leaving!"
"Yea, go hide behind her skirt." he mumbles.
"What was that?!" I call back to him.
He ignores me and walks back to his two buddies, one tall black kid and one white guy with a beard, who laugh at and tease him.
I pull away from Christina, march towards him, and hit him with a forearm to the back of the head! He collapses. His beer bottle smashes into pieces on the floor. I hear a collective gasp from the people around us. His buddies bolt up. They pause, and give each other unsure glances.
Jesus, these guys have never even been in a fight before.
Finally the white kid decides to attack. He rushes forward, and I kick him in the gut. He falls, slides across the smooth, hardwood floor back to their table, where he whimpers in a fetal position. The tall guy wisely changes his mind about charging, and attends to his bearded friend instead.
I get down on one knee next to the preppy asshole. I take hold of his wrist, and then tightly grip his index finger.
"Hey! Hey, what're you doing, man?!" he screams and struggles in panic.
"I'm making sure you keep your hands to yourself from now on," I answer calmly.
"No! No, man! Please! Don't-!"
"FRANK!" Christina screams.
And when I turn, I see the shock, disbelief, and fear in her eyes.
#
A week later, I'm sipping hot coffee in a cold, full-size, upscale sedan. It used to belong to a kidnapper I killed about a month ago. I slit his throat from behind, then had someone put fake license plates on his ride for me.
I'm staking out Steele's apartment. I don't know if he's in there. I don't know anything. All I know is, Christina hasn't returned any of my calls since that incident at the pub.
It's strange. I think about the mission when I'm with Christina, but I think about Christina when I'm on a mission. Well, fuck you too, brain.
A street van ramming me from behind interrupts my musings! It also spills scalding coffee on my lap.
The van backs up, and charges forward again! I pull out the late Mercado's 5-shot double-action .38 Special. Then I turn in my seat, and fire right through my car's rear window. It isn't bulletproof. Hopefully, neither is his windshield.
It isn't. I hit the driver twice. Once in the chest, once in the face. But even as he dies, he manages to ram me one more time. I'm sure I must be injured in some way now. Hopefully not seriously. I'll give myself a health check up later. I gotta get behind some cover, before a bunch of armed hoods pile out of the wrecked van, surround my car and pepper it with holes.
I check the driver-side mirror. It's safe. I cautiously exit that way. And as soon as I do, the roof and the passenger side windows and doors are pelted by, what sounds like, automatic fire from several Uzis!
Who the fuck are these guys?! I'm guessing remnants of Mercado's Hammer Gang, out for some payback. But how did they know to come after me? I didn't leave any survivors in that pool hall... Wait a minute. They had hookers in there with them. The hookers ID'd me!
I keep my head down, waiting for an opportunity to fire back. That's when I smell the gas. The goons have taken cover on the right side of the van. If this car explodes, it takes all of us with it!
"The car's gonna blow!" I shout to them.
They don't hear me, and keep firing.
"Hold your fire! The car's gonna blow!" I yell again.
"Stop shooting! Stop shooting!" one of them tells the others.
When they stop and it becomes quiet, I yell again, "The car's gonna blow!"
"Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" one of them says. And they make a run for it.
I watch them retreat. Four people. And then when they're far enough, I stand up, reach into my long coat, take out a frag, and chuck it after them.
The car doesn't explode. But the grenade does. The shock wave catapults all four of them into the air. The fragments tear into their flesh. The ground is strewn with blood and body parts.
I hear sounds of panic all around. The cops will show up soon. But I think I still have time. I casually walk over to my victims. They're all dead except for one. A woman. And by the look of her wounds, she doesn't have much longer either.
"Who sent you?" I ask her.
She doesn't answer. She just stares up at me, taking quick shallow breaths. I wont be getting any information out of this one. She's in shock.
I aim the .38 at her head,...and end her suffering.
#
That night, my feet take me back to the Briarway Church of Samson. I use a nearby pay phone to give Christina another call. It rings several times, then I get her machine. I hang up.
Should I have left a message? What would I say? I'm sorry? For what? Putting a preppy asshole in his place? I think he got off easy! I'm the Punisher!
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I can't be The Punisher and be with Christina at the same time. Maybe I'll have to choose.
I walk down to the church basement.
#
When I open the door, I find them all sitting together in a circle. Except for Olivia. She's on her feet, telling a story about how she refused to have anal sex with a client. But she stops suddenly when she sees me come in.
I quietly take one of the metal folding chairs leaning against the wall, and sit myself next to Raymond.
Olivia gives me a smile, then continues her story.
Raymond claps me on the shoulder. I nod in return. Then I listen to the rest of the story.
END