"Pat, I don't like this." My supposed 'fight' was fast looking like a set up.
I arrived downtown as Pat instructed, ready to fight. The mother fucker kept from me two very important things. First, this wasn't a fight being sanctioned by the Maggia or any of the Irish families. Though the Maggia were sketchy, I knew how to roll with their gigs. If they didn't ask you to throw, you were free to win, but if they asked you to throw the fight you do it, or they'll throw you and your loved ones off a bridge. The Irish are more or less the same, but given my Irish heritage and citizenship due to my father being an Irish citizen when I was born, they tended to be more accommodating to me. Of course, that was only the case because I've done my reading on the IRA, Irish history, and I show respect for all of it. If I didn't I'd probably be beaten and left for dead.
This fight however, was being held by some unknowns. Well, most of who had said any words to us had Russian accents and spoke Russian to each other... At least I was pretty certain it was Russian. I mean, I have nothing against Russians in general, but their Mafia's and gangs... actually scratch that. Eastern European and Asian organized crime, are different beasts than what we have here in the States and the US. Not to water down how terrible any of the local criminals are, but excluding super-villains and the Cartel from down south, there's just something different about them.
Or so I'm told by my dumb ass friend Patrick Kelly. He's a fixer, not really adhering to one side or the other. He seemed like a professional the first time I worked with him but, the bastard is like a monkey's paw. Hard to think we were becoming buddies before we started down this path of criminal activity. Of course he was already deep in it before he met me. I should have known, the way he acted and spoke. Except he just seemed... like he didn't belong in that space. I think I'm right about that. His drinking indicates the inability to cope. As far as I know, he doesn't do hits or anything like that, and as far as I know, he hasn't gotten anybody killed. I'm starting to wonder though if he has, or used to do the killing.
The building we were in was a warehouse, boxes everywhere, none I paid too much attention to. It wouldn't do me any good if any of this shit was important enough to shoot somebody with wandering eyes. Best to keep my focus on the upcoming match. Show respect, don't step out of line, and you and Cindy will be fine. I should have just said no when I heard the Russian. God I am an idiot. I shouldn't be doing this at all.
Stop it. You need to not break down now. Remember why you're here. This one match will catch you up on bills and keep you a float for a little while. Give you the spending cash to get that equipment for Cindy's YouTube channel if she decides to do it. If she doesn't, you can always make videos about Martial Arts and what it was like fighting in the ring in front of loads of people, and what to expect in the business when it comes to promotions and what have you for young and upcoming fighters. People will find that interesting... right?
Okay, you got this. The last five fights didn't pay this much, hell two of them didn't pay at all, but it got you a little caught up. It's been months since the last one, but you win this, and you might not have to fight again.
"Damn it, Tommy, Relax. Just do what you do, get paid, and listen to their follow up proposal after the match." Pat seemed a little nervous. He's been adamant about hearing them out, whoever they are, every time I remind him that the only crime I'm willing to commit is fighting illegally for money. I'm not an enforcer, or a murderer. Though I do work as a bouncer some times, that's legal, and I'm not allowed to kill.
"If this goes south Pat, I'm going to put you in the hospital." I whisper to him. He rubs the back of his neck and laughs nervously. Mother fucker is hiding something.
A few minutes pass as we go through the warehouse and we end up in the staff room, where the workers definitely take their lunch break. In the room are five people. Half of which I thought were in jail. The room was big enough for six tables in a row, stationed to my right, five of which were occupied. To my left was a fridge, a counter and sink, and some cupboards. Standing there is a man an inch or two taller than me, with a weird light grey or white mask covering his head, revealing only his mouth and eyes, but his skin is covered so I have no idea what ethnicity he is. Other than the mask, he's wearing a navy blue three piece suit and tie with a pair of dark brown spotless gloves. This was looking great so far.
In the back corner opposite of the door we came in from was Benjamin Lester, christened Bullseye by the media. Wearing a simple bomber jacket and shirt with jeans.
Lester was a Disgraced FBI Agent that was on the take for Wilson Fisk. Fucker has insane accuracy, and there are rumours he may be more accurate than Hawkeye. Last year he tried to frame Hawkeye for some murders of rival crime bosses and witnesses by using arrows similar to his, acquired by so far unknown means. Daredevil luckily came across an attempted murder of one of the witnesses used to put Fisk in prison, which cleared Barton's name. He has a gnarly scar on his cheek, and even though he's smirking while performing trick shots of anything he could get his hands on into the trash can across the room, I could tell something was missing behind his eyes, I just don't know what.
The table in front of him is a man I don't recognize. Wearing nothing but a vest and brown cargo pants. He looks like an animal, long, blond, wild, hair, scruffy facial hair, and from the looks of his exposed arms and torso from under his vest, he was a hairy bastard. When we locked eyes, he growled, baring his teeth at me and I swear I saw fangs. His eyes were an inhuman yellow, just adding to his animalistic aura. He seemed extremely dangerous.
In front of the unknown is none other than the Vulture himself. Adrian Toomes. Wearing an aviator jacket, blue jeans, and from the looks of it steel toed boots. He didn't have his wings with him, so I don't know what to expect.
Man was Spider-Man's first villain. Older guy, took advantage of his position cleaning up after the Invasion and stole some of the alien tech that was left behind, hiding what he had collected before the joint operation of Stark Industries and the federal government called "Damage Control" had come in to take over. Used it to make his equipment. A harness that allows him to fly and gives him enhanced strength. Guy has admittedly a cool mask and boots with metallic talons. His wings are some complicated piece of tech. Apparently the guy wasn't just a technician and salvage company owner, but an inventor.
Eventually, he lost his business due to DC when they were sent in to clean up New York. At least that's what he claims. According to the co-founder of Bestman and Toomes, Gregory Bestman, Toomes assaulted Bestman and was kicked out of the company. Than Bestman sold the company for less than it was worth the year prior to prevent further losses and kept the money for himself.
Bestman claims he offered Toomes his cut, even though he didn't deserve it after what happened, but I don't know that I believe that. Vulture used his new suit to rob Bestman, and then went on a crime spree before he was caught by Spider-Man. I just feel bad for his daughter and ex-wife. They were seemingly a normal family, but then the invasion happened and everything changed, falling like dominoes.
On the other side of the room, sitting at the front table, is another guy I don't recognize. He looks to be Japanese, but probably mixed with Caucasian because his eyes are blue, but he could have been wearing contacts... yeah looking at him I doubted he was the type. He had a long black mohawk, some kind of black tribal tattoo on the left side of his body that ran over his left arm and shoulder all the way to the back of his hand. The rest of it was covered by the white tank top he was wearing. He also is wearing blue jeans, with a pair of black and white runners.
Last but certainly not least, was this bombshell of a woman, wearing a black skin tight body suit. There were elements to it that hinted at some sort of protection, but none of it reduced the effect of showing off her figure. Especially since the front of it was showing off her cleavage and her breasts were probably as big as Cindy's, if not reaching the double d cup size. The only difference in their form is that even though my girl was in shape, she was a little thic, which I liked. Cindy had toned legs, her stomach wasn't abs, wasn't necessarily completely flat either, and her arms weren't toned but clearly gave the indication she wasn't lithe. This woman was athletic, with curves. Despite her black suit, I could sort of make out definition in her muscles. Her face was something else to behold, though she was wearing heavy makeup, it was probably to cover up her identity a bit. A small portion of it had a mask that was around her yellow eyes, kind of giving her a cat like appearance. That combined with her long and luscious silver-white hair, made me realize this was the world renowned thief, Black Cat. I didn't know her true identity, wasn't reported on. If she has a record though I'm sure I could figure it out.
I am stunned for a moment. Two reasons really. The circumstances of this gathering, were unclear, given the fact that there were people with clear super powers in this group, if not enhanced by gadgets or what have you. That, and a world renowned thief is attending an underground fight. My staring at the Black Cat stopped when my realization that I had been duped set in and I turned on Pat, slapping him across the face.
"You daft cunt." I whisper in a threatening tone, grabbing him by his collar with both hands and lifting him off the ground.
"Wait, Tom-!"
"Don't say my name dumb ass!" Throwing him against the wall I turn back around and see that everybody is now looking at me.
"I already know your name, Mr. Doyle." The masked guy at the front is the one who speaks first.
"Green as the grass. Afraid to get your feet wet?" Lester mocked me from the back corner. I wanted to fire back, but realized he probably had something on him that he could probably throw and kill me with based on what I was seeing him do while surveying the room.
"Too late to have second thoughts kid. You've seen our faces, and at least two of us shouldn't be here. Don't know about the Cat." Toomes was the one to speak next. He had a slight smirk, but he didn't seem to enjoy my predicament as much as Lester.
"This shit sack behind me failed to inform me of the true nature of what this was. I was supposed to fight somebody for 20 grand and leave with my money. Maybe get offered a job or more opportunities for fights. The only law I'm willing to break besides J-walking, illegally downloading music and movies, and the occasional assault of anybody threatening me or my... the only law I'm willing to break is illegal underground fighting for money. That's it. Leave me out of whatever this is. I didn't see you. I don't know what's going on. See ya later." I turn but as I do the guy with the mohawk gets up and moves towards me.
In half a second from when he stands, he closes the distance between us, which was about ten feet, and grabs my shoulder with his left hand. He has a grip that indicated that he is stronger than me, and my instincts to protect myself regardless of my clear disadvantage kicks in. He pulls me towards the table he was sitting at and as I am spinning away from the door, I grab his left arm with my right hand, applying as much pressure as I can to his wrist. Simultaneously I'm throwing an elbow into his throat, and then using that arm to hook his left. It lands, he chokes for a moment and I throw my hips into his as I complete the hook motion and sweep one leg behind me to hit his ankles as his feet come off the ground.
Following through with the momentum he unintentionally gave me, I chuck the fucker over my shoulder and he skips across the table he was sitting at, crashing into the chairs at the table and hitting the ground. The first person I see is Black Cat, who has this coy smile on her face. I hear a guttural laughter to my left, and an impressed whistle. The animal was the one laughing. He is now standing up. He is big. Probably six feet four inches, where as the guy I just chucked was around my height. Maybe shorter by an inch or two. Toomes was just leaning back with his arms crossed, unimpressed, and Bullseye pulled out a baseball from his jacket and stood up while looking at me with this intent to kill.
Black Cat looked over to see the other two stand up, and then I saw the mohawk stand up, no longer coughing from the injury I gave him. That shouldn't be possible.
"I'm going to kill you." The look on his face told me he meant it, and I silently curse myself for letting this happen. Cindy is going to be so heart-broken when she finds out I'm dead. Especially if it's found out it happened in a place like this.
Even so, I pull the knife out of my pocket, and square up. As I do this, the larger man stops and holds his hands up, revealing claws that he was extending from his fingers. I hear skin tear to my right, and I notice the other guy has two giant bone claws protruding from the back of his hands. I hear a sigh come from Black Cat as she begins to stand.
"Boys, boys. Leave him be. No need to let your unchecked testosterone ruin a perfectly good gig." I see she turns to face them instead of me, extending claws from her fingers, her gloves apparently having an opening on the tips to allow such a thing. I couldn't tell if they were organic or cybernetic, but either way, I'd appreciate any help I can get. Than I look back at Mr. Four-Claws with a very important question.
"How the hell can you speak after that blow?" They continue their advance, no answer, and Cat looks like she's about to pounce somebody. I don't take a step back. Stupid move. I should be running, but something tells me they can out run me, and Bullseye will prove his namesake if I do. Besides, if there is anything fighting for my whole life has ever taught me, it's that I shouldn't give my back to my opponents ever.
As I could hear Pat apologize profusely behind me, I discover I am blessed with my good luck tonight, despite my current situation. The guy with the mask stepped between us and put his hand up to the three men.
"That's enough. Everybody take a seat. Lester, I will send you to jail. Creed, Daken, you'll never find Logan if you keep it up. Now, sit." Clearly, the big guy being Creed, and the smaller one being Daken, looked at the guy with the mask in disdain, though Creed growled like an animal. Lester just sat down, keeping the baseball in his hand.
After a moment or two of staring us down, Creed and Daken put their claws away, returning to their seats. Black Cat remained standing for a second before retracting her claws and taking a seat as well. Then the guy with the mask looks back to me.
"If you want to get paid Mr. Doyle, and see Ms. Moreau again-" My hand grabbed the guys throat and I placed the blade next to his ear. A rage I haven't felt since I was a teenager surges through me and I almost push my knife into his ear, through his brain, and beyond.
"Want to try that again?" I don't shout, but rather deliver the threat with a cold fury.
The man in the mask sighs before continuing.
"I do not mean to imply that we have taken her. As far as she knows, you're working the night shift at the warehouse tonight. You are in a warehouse, she is at home, or whatever it is she does at this time of night alone." I hated this guy. I could already tell he was slimy. In fact, I've been a room full of criminals before, but this is different. This was something that dealing with on my own if things go south would be unlikely to work out for me.
After looking around the room another second, I see Black Cat is staring right at me, her hand propping her chin up as she smiles at the scene before her. Wasn't sure what about this she was enjoying, maybe the drama, doesn't matter. I look back to the grey mask and take a deep breath before pulling the knife from his covered ear and release his throat, stowing my blade as I do. I realized in that moment that I wasn't even sure if it would have penetrated the material. For all I know he has some space fabric that's indestructible or something. He claps his hand together as he nods.
"Very good. You made the right choice. Hate to see somebody throw away the chance to make millions of dollars. Now please take a seat." My jaw almost dropped, and I thought that was too good to be true. I didn't have much of a choice now though. They knew about Cindy, by her maiden name even. Turning around, I look to Pat.
"You told them about Cindy?" Pat was shaking with fear. The man has seen me fight up close before, and I've told him about how I've repaid betrayal before.
"My kids, Tommy. I have to make-"
"Shut the fuck up Kelly. You want to protect your kids? Stop drinking. Get clean, stop doing this bullshit. In fact, if you don't, I'll kill you. Whatever you're getting paid, if a single dime is wasted on booze or hookers... I will kill you. I don't think I have to say we aren't working together ever again after this." Pat looks down to the floor in shame. I see tears fall from his face, and he makes no effort to hide them. Frankly, I felt guilty almost immediately. It's more likely I'd just give him a beating, but even then, I know he's probably suffered worse. In the end, I was speaking out of anger, and I didn't want to take him away from his kids, even though he was no good for them right now. Looking at him, I couldn't help but think about my dad.
"I-I'm sorry, T-Tommy. Can I go now, Chameleon?" Fuck, now I feel really shitty.
Patrick Kelly. Honestly, I'm probably his only friend. The guy has burned nearly every bridge in his life, and I can't help myself. Even though he's fucked up royally before, and I've had every opportunity to drop his ass, I can't. He's an addict, something my dad, and most of his side of the family was. It's a miracle that I didn't get hooked on anything. Save maybe fighting, and I like sex a lot. I don't detriment my relationship for the latter though. Don't need to. Cindy-Cane and I love indulging in our sexual desires with each other nearly every opportunity they arise. As for the former... well if she found out about this I don't know what would happen. I know she doesn't like Pat that much, but given the people we've known growing up and the fact that she knows about my families extensive history with the addiction issue, she understands why I keep in contact with him.
Pat isn't just a fixer for me. I met him separate from this criminal life. Though, it was through a shared interest in blood sports. After awhile, he realized who I was, and remembered what I used to do for a living in my early 20's. He wasted no time to ask me to do him a solid. Long story short, I fight for my friends, and the guy's life could have been in danger if he didn't pay some loan sharks. So, I went and pulverized some assholes in some fights. Earned some money, gave most of it to Pat, and than realized I was getting behind on bills, so I kept doing it. Because truth is... I missed it. Though it felt different, doing it this way. I still wanted to hit something. Pat provided the opportunities. Yeah, if anything is going to destroy my relationship it's this. I need to stop it as soon as possible.
The poor bastard was released by Chameleon, mentioning the money would be wired to his account. With that said, he wipes his tears, and turns to leave. I'm torn between yelling at him more, and apologizing for threatening to end his life. I wrestle with it for mere moments before realizing I don't want to find out he killed himself or drank himself to death or something like that because of what I said to him.
"Pat, wait." He stops at the door, but doesn't turn to face me.
I can tell he's shaking still, and I'm wondering now if this is from the alcohol, or trying to contain body wracking sobs.
"I'm not going to kill you. I meant everything else though. Don't go drinking yourself to death. Go ask your Lisa if you can visit your kids or something." I turn around and head for the back corner table, but Black Cat reaches out her hand to grab my attention and beckons me to sit next to her. She isn't smiling anymore, at least not with that weird look she was giving me earlier, or the smirk. It was a genuine, compassionate smile.
I'm realizing she was the only one that stood up for me and is probably the most humane person in this room. As far as I know, the only person that hasn't killed before. Given the reaction of the brief altercation earlier, Creed and Daken definitely have taken lives before. Toomes has killed three people, Lester is a heartless mass murderer. I don't belong here.
Chameleon moved to the front of the room once again, and gestured to us all.
"Alright, now that the excitement is over, we can continue this meeting. Yes, Mr. Doyle, you were lied to. We did not tell Mr. Kelly to lie, though we did imply it was in his best interest to get you involved anyway he saw fit. We are pleased that you are here." Something I noticed about this guy just now was that he wasn't using a Russian accent. Do the Russians outsource their guys? Maybe they weren't apart of a specifically Russian gang. Shit maybe they were just hired guns for this guy.
"Can we just get through this bullshit so I know how I'm fucking up my life for a million dollars? Black Cat is here so I know we aren't doing cage fights. Toomes and Lester don't strike me as the hand to hand combat types, and the other two are like animals. So, super senses?" Chameleon started clapping as the rest of them all turned to me.
"This is why the boss wanted you here. You're prowess in combat so far has been unmatched. We are aware of your career, you're last match and the injury sustained during the bout, and your decision to leave the professional fighting behind you to keep your health. Despite the head injury, you seem to retain your calculating mind. Deducing the nature of the situation, and those around you, with such accuracy despite never meeting them before, is no small feat." I scoff in response to his praise.
"I was outmatched in my last career fight, and as for reading the room, I don't think it's actually that hard to do. Most people just don't pay attention. The Vulture and Bullseye were heavily covered in the media. The former because he was Spider-Man's first major villain and because he had his hands on alien tech for a long time, which scared the public when they realized the government and Stark Industries has had their hands on such tech for quite awhile. So I know he likes flying around and using gadgets more than anything else. As for Benny-boy, he spends more time throwing shit around than he does throwing hands. Even if he is a decent hand-to-hand combatant from his military background and FBI training, I don't think he spends nearly as much time training that as he does practising his trick shots." A paper ball flies past my head, hitting the wall to my left, and pegs me in the face. I look over to see Black Cat has been leaned back in her chair, giving me a shrug as I look at her and turn back to face the front. Yeah, I wasn't dignifying that with a response.
"Want to find out how good you really are you wash up." That was a lame comeback, which I also didn't validate with a response.
"He isn't wrong Bullseye. You are a good shot. He is better at using his body as a weapon." The masked man berated Lester in a calm and chill tone.
Lester looked ready to throw the baseball at Chameleon but restrained himself. I imagine Chameleon's threat of returning to incarceration was enough to keep him in check.
"Also, whatever this is, it must be big. I imagine Toomes and Lester are earning freedom by completing whatever this job is for you. I don't think it's that impressive to deduce any of this. Anybody with more than two brain cells to rub together could figure it out." The white haired thief next to me gave a small laugh before chiming in herself.
"I think this room is lucky if they have even that many between them." I chuckled a bit with her about that. Glancing at Daken I noticed he seemed unfazed by the insult, while Creed looked over with a smirk.
"If you had any yourself, Little Kitten, you'd be more careful about not getting eaten by bigger cats." Black Cat just giggled a bit.
"Only in your dreams Creed. Even then, unlikely." Creed shook his head and turned away.
"Enough. Focus." Chameleon demands everybody's attention and we all turn to the front. He turns away to pull a white board he had set up over to the front, which Black Cat used as an opening to lean in and whisper in my ear.
"You seem to have a big heart. You shouldn't forgive people who betray you." Her breath was warm and I felt slightly uncomfortable with how erotic she was being. Her choice of tone was definitely sexual and her hand was placed on my leg. Not wanting to make a scene I only slightly lean away from her.
"Maybe, maybe not. What's it to you?" She takes a breath in and blows on my ear again, sending shivers down my spine. I liked it, but since it wasn't Cindy, I was getting annoyed. Couldn't deny the arousal that was starting though.
"I'm just trying to look out for you. You don't belong here. Too kind, simple fighter with morals and I'm assuming honour. It'll get you killed. I can try and watch your back but, this Cat isn't interested in using one of her nine lives to save you... especially if you are just going to throw yours away." She starts to rub my leg a bit, and I decide to stop her right there. I was getting hard, and if she moved her hand slightly she would have been able to feel it grow. Didn't want to give her any ideas.
"That's quite enough of that. And thank you, Ms...?" I grab her hand and remove it from my leg, placing it on the table and giving it a pat before putting my hands together in front of me, keeping my eyes forward.
"Nah-ah. You don't get to know my identity newbie. Prove yourself, and maybe I'll unmask for you?" She gives me a wink and leans away, paying full attention to The Chameleon's presentation.
"Alright, now that we are finally settled, let's get down to business."