Wednesday, December 4th, 2013
One week later
We had found a house!
It was a foreclosure in northern Chicago, so it was not expected that the sale would take long to go through.
The house was a three-storey, four-bedroom house with a large attic and an equally large basement. The house had a main level, just above the ground and a lower level. There was also a two-car garage round the back. I was working on plans to convert the lower level to an overt training area with mats, and the basement into a covert training area, with a secure armoury and a place to store other . . . err, 'less legal' equipment.
Marty, apparently, was a tech geek and said he would help with the security, once we got the house.
Mindy was starting to get giddy.
We were in the first week of December and Mindy, apparently, loved Christmas. Our biggest problem, at the moment, was training as we did not have a proper training area and we could not pound on the floor in the apartment without upsetting the tenant below. We did what exercise we could at the apartment, including some very limited weapons training. When I was not working, we went out running. Mindy would be really happy, when we could train in private and properly in the new house. For the moment, though, the best workout was when we went out at night. We had been out almost every night, not always in our combat suits. Some nights we simply cruised around in Speedy and checked out the districts of Chicago. One essential area to be checked out was the area around the house that we were buying.
The area appeared reasonably nice and safe and it was also close to the Chicago River and Channel Runne Park.
I had spoken with Marcus a few times over the past weeks.
Amongst other reasons, it felt comforting to me to hear his voice and I think he enjoyed hearing my voice, too. I knew that he was living alone â just him . . . and that damn swear jar! Dave had also raised another subject. Not a very appealing subject, neither. Dave wanted to start a College course and he had suggested that maybe I should complete my High School education which I had quite literally walked out on. I definitely was not going back to school, but I agreed to finish my education from home.
At least I would have something to do while Dave was at work and we could both do our 'homework' together.
Tuesday, December 10th
One week later
The weather was really shitty.
It had been snowing for three days and the temperature was very low. One good thing, though, was that we found our combat suits provided very good insulation and protection from the elements.
For that night, we were intending to shut down a key drug dealer and his immediate boss. Despite the weather, the drug dealers were still plying their trade as we watched from halfway up an apartment block. The snow was swirling, quite heavily, and we were almost invisible in the darkness. Between us, we had counted six men, four of whom were the expected watchdogs armed with pistols which looked to be SIG Sauer P226 automatics. The watchdogs appeared very professional and they were not engaged in unnecessary chatter nor distraction. Approaching them would be difficult, but not impossible.
The weather was to be our ally that night and we used it to cover out approach as we moved to within ten yards of the first watchdog where I stopped to study him. He was large, very large. I had to put him down hard and I was not going to take any risks, so, I drew a pistol and fitted a suppressor to the barrel. With the suppressor in place, I aimed and I fired. The watchdog dropped instantly and silently, to the snow-covered ground, leaving a bright red patch of snow which was being rapidly covered in the fresh flakes which dropped out of the dark sky. We moved forward, to where the next two men stood; then it all went to shit.
..._...
The next watchdog was better than I had given him credit for
He must have caught some movement, because he drew his pistol and fired twice â all in one smooth movement; no challenge, nothing. Both rounds hit me, dead centre in the chest, and they knocked me down. Kick-Ass smoothly drew his Glock, just as I had taught him, and without any hesitation, he double-tapped the watchdog in the head, before he swiftly changed target and double-tapped the next watchdog in the chest, just as the fourth watchdog fired three rounds directly into Kick-Ass' chest. I recovered quickly and drew my other pistol as I had dropped the first one, and shot the fourth watchdog in the face. When the first shot was fired, the other two men had started to run. Kick-Ass stopped just long enough to check that I was okay, before he gave chase. The boots on our combat suits proved to be very well suited to the snow and they provided superior grip.
I checked the dead men. They did not have anything special on them, but the other two men had left two large bags behind. I opened the first to find . . . surprise, surprise: drugs. I moved onto the second bag and my eyes lit up. The bag was full of the green stuff: lots of neatly bundled $100 bills; there must have been tens of thousands of dollars, there. A few minutes later, Kick-Ass returned; he was dragging one man behind him.
"Missing one?" I asked, looking beyond Kick-Ass.
"He didn't survive," Kick-Ass replied coldly as he dumped the man on the ground; the man was still breathing, but unconscious. "The Boss-man."
"Oh, good," I replied triumphantly. "I have his bag of cash."
I searched the Boss-man, not finding all that much, but I did find a business card with a name and a Chicago address. We left him on the ground and headed out of the area, going via Speedy to deposit the bag of cash.
The streets were very empty; as you could reasonably expect at that time of night and in the current weather conditions.
Just drug dealers and vigilantes. As far as possible, we kept to the shadows, the flurries of snow helped to conceal our presence, too. After a short walk, Kick-Ass nudged me and pointed across and further up the street. I followed his pointing gauntlet and I could see two groups of two men each. They loitered either side of a small convenience store that was just closing up for the night. It was blatantly obvious what was about to happen.
I motioned Kick-Ass to move across the street, behind the closer group and I would deal with the far group. Ten minutes later, the lights in the shop went out and an elderly gentleman came out. He closed the door behind him and proceeded to secure his shop. The man had a small cloth cash bag under his arm.
The two groups moved forward, towards the shop owner.
..._...
"You cocksuckers have just one chance to make a career change," I snarled. "What's it gonna be, cunts?"
The two cunts closest to me spun around; they both had knives. The other two cunts looked over towards me; they too had knives. The shop owner just stood there and he looked scared.
"Who the fuck, are you, sweet chops?" One cunt, who seemed to be the boss, demanded.
"I am your worst fucking nightmare," I growled and I emphasised that fact as I swung my swords in a menacing fashion.
"We're not scared of some jumped up bitch!" the cunt replied and he turned back to the shop owner.
"You had your chance," I responded and I re-joined my swords, then embedded one blade into a snow drift.
A cunt flew backwards with a Hit Girl sized boot print on his chest.
He hit the side of the shop hard which knocked him out. The boss cunt spun around and he received a boot to the side of his face which flipped him backwards into the snow on the sidewalk. While that was happening, my pair each received a baton to the head and they both crumpled to the sidewalk. I smiled at Hit Girl and she smiled back as she grabbed her bÅ-staff out of the snowdrift.
"You okay, sir," I growled gently.
"Yes . . . thanks to you two," the shop owner replied.
"You going far?" Hit Girl growled.
"Just to the bank at the corner," the shop owner replied, motioning down the block.
"We'll watch your back till you get there," Hit Girl growled back.
"Thank you, young lady, and good night," the shop owner responded with a smile as he walked off down the street.
"I'll call the police for these idiots," I said as I pulled out my cell.
We headed down the street a short distance behind the shop owner and we watched him deposit his takings at the bank's ATM.
The man then caught a cab and, presumably, headed home.
"Tonight, has been fun," I commented to Kick-Ass.
"Yes, it has," Kick-Ass replied.
Updated: September 2017