Behind age old walls stood the baddest man on the East Coast.
A criminal that had stood on top of Blüdhaven's underworld for
a long time. His name was Roland Desmond, but to those who
knew his reputation, he was referred to as Blockbuster. With
his massive hands gripped around the promethium bars, he looked around
his surroundings. His small, dark eyes glowed with hatred for
everything that lived. Including the man who stood outside
his cell. The twirling escrima sticks were a clear reminder
of past pains. A guttural sound escaped his lips, and he
jerked on the bars causing them to creak, but they would not give way.
The masked man, the elusive pest that just would not die simply smiled,
and taunted him; teased him with promises of pain. But, he
could not get beyond the bars, nor could Desmond. So, they
stood at a stalemate. That, Desmond believed was what
Nightwing wanted. He heard Nightwing laugh, and it was a
light kind of laugh; filled with a touch of malice. He walked
closer to the cell, but not close enough to be grabbed.
"What's up, Desmond?" asked Nightwing.
Desmond leaned close to the bars, his breath smelling of stale bread,
and overcooked beans.
"Hear me, boy," said Desmond, "when I get out of here, I will kill you
and everyone you hold dear."
Nightwing laughed, and this time louder, as if he didn't feel the
threat was serious. And then without warning he smashed
Desmond's knuckles with his escrima stick causing him to recoil in pain.
"Argh! You sonnova bitch," said Desmond, as he nursed his aching
knuckles. "You'll pay for that, I swear you will!"
"I'm not the one eating the slop provided by the penal system," said
Nightwing, as he tapped his escrima stick against his shoulder
lightly. "How is it in there, Desmond? Comfortable?"
Desmond snorted, "Why don't you come in here, and find out!"
"No thanks," said Nightwing, "I prefer the view I have from right here."
The constant tapping of the escrima stick against Nightwing's shoulder
started to get on Desmond's nerves. He pushed, and pulled on
the bars, but they would not give in to his great strength.
Nightwing laughed, to mock, and torment him. The heavy pants
for breath, and the sweat that glistened from Desmond's brow told
Nightwing more about his nemesis then he had ever learned when they
were at each other's throats.
He stopped tapping his shoulder, and began twirling his escrima stick
again; Desmond's eyes followed it, but there was no fear to be held in
them. Only rage, pure, and primal. Desmond licked
his lips, and wiped his forehead as he sat on the re-tiled floor with
his back against the wall. His eyes darting back and forth
between the twirling of the escrima stick, and the masked visage of
Nightwing.
"What did you come here for?" asked Desmond. "To GLOAT?"
The twirling stopped, and Desmond held his breath for a moment, but
when nothing happened he released it. He glared at Nightwing who stood
there silently, as if studying the former kingpin of Blüdhaven.
"Say something," said Desmond. "SPEAK TO ME, DAMN IT!"
Nightwing smiled, and he squatted down so he would be at eye level with
Desmond.
"Tell me," he said with his voice low, and serious. "Where did you
first meet Dudley Soames?"
Desmond eyed him, and then drew back as a smile played on his own lips.
"Having trouble with that little cockroach?"
Nightwing clenched his teeth, and his lip curled up.
Desmond’s smile became wider, and a look of glee played over
his face.
"The big, bad vigilante can't even put down a simple con artist," said
Desmond. "What is the world coming to?"
Nightwing stood up, and began twirling his escrima stick
again. But, this time Desmond knew the game. The
smile remained on his face and he scooted closer to the bars.
"You come here hoping to play my temper, so that I will spill
information on Soames," said Desmond. "What kind of idiot do you take
me for?"
Nightwing remained silent, his face impassive as he tried to rein in
his temper.
"That's interesting. Like me, you let your emotions rule
you," said Desmond. "Obviously the Bat failed in training you in--"
Desmond didn't get to finish his remark, as Nightwing had fired a
grapnel through the space between the bars, and it wound around his
neck, and back through the bars. He pulled tight forcing the
air from Desmond's lungs. He tried to pull himself free, but
the grip Nightwing had was insane for such a small man.
"It would be so easy for me to snap your neck," said Nightwing into
Desmond's ear. "But I have a feeling you won't push your
luck."
Desmond's eyes started to flutter as he began to pass out, and
Nightwing let some slack into the wire to let Desmond catch his
breath. He took in the oxygen in ragged, deep inhales and
exhales. Nightwing never let go of the wire.
"Talk, or this time I won't hesitate."
"Go fuck yourself," said Desmond. "I don't fear death."
This time Nightwing lost it, and jerked harder with his foot braced
against the bar. In his rage he could see his parents falling
to their death all over again. Amy being raped by
Brutale. The betrayal of his friend, Oracle, but then
something inside of him washed away that anger, and he let
go. The cable dropped to the floor. Desmond coughed
and hacked, spitting up phlegm as he tried to take in precious air.
Nightwing looked at his hands, those same hands that failed his
parents, who made a mistake that cost an innocent Judge to be killed by
Two-Face, and for Blockbuster and his gang to run Blüdhaven
for so long. He looked at Desmond who had collapsed on the
floor of his cell, exhausted. Perspiration dripped down
Nightwing's face.
The clack-clack sound of footsteps were fast approaching.
Nightwing picked up his escrima stick, which he had dropped on the
floor in his rage, and set it in its holster. Then he
sprinted down the hallway to the south wall that was still under
construction. By the time the guards arrived, he was long
gone.
Bridget combed back her wet hair, the droplets of cool water dripping
down onto her face. She looked into the mirror, and felt the
puffy bags under eyes from the lack of sleep she had got over worrying
about Rickie. She leaned onto the sink for support, and took
a deep breath, then exhaled. With her left hand she opened
the medicine cabinet, and she held it open with her right.
Inside she took out her make up, and face moisturizer. After
applying both, she gave herself another look in the mirror, and then
went into the bedroom to get her clothes. There was work that
needed to be done on the second floor. A leaky pipe according
to John Law. It was leaking over the roof of his bedroom, and
disturbing his sleep.
As soon as she got her work clothes on, she opened the window, and the
summer wind hit in her the face. It was hot and dry, which
meant today was going to be a scorcher. She put on her socks
feeling the soft cotton against her delicate skin and then slipped her
boots on. When she walked out the door, she made a pass by
Rickie's room. She could almost smell his musk in the
air. She could feel the phantom sensations of his dark hair
slipping through her fingers.
"Rickie," she said, as a tear streamed down her cheek.
The door creaked when she shut it.
Soames ran a hand through his reddish blonde hair, which was covered in
perspiration. A notebook rested on his lap, and a pen was in
his hand. He had written down what information he had gleaned
from the Feds that he had bribed about the Crime Prevention
Squad. Most of the members were Spooks with no profiles in
any databases that he had access to. He called some old
friends from up north, and they were mum about the whole
operation. Which meant things were not looking good for his
reign over Blüdhaven. The phone in his hip pocket
vibrated, and he pulled it out, and flipped it open.
"Hello?"
"Boss, it's Deathwing."
"What are you calling me for you idiot," said Soames. "I can't be
connected to trash like you."
"Someone was in your house looking for you. She messed me up
pretty bad, and killed Sharp."
Soames seemed to go silent, but Deathwing could hear his muttering of
curses. When he came back on the line, he spoke in a cold and
deliberate manner.
"Find this bitch, whoever she is, and kill her," said Soames.
“And take as many men as you need."
"I understand," he said. "What do you want me to do about the Sharp
mess?"
"Nothing. I'm coming back to Blüdhaven," said Soames
as he licked his lips. "Get word to Giuseppe that I want a meeting."
"It's done."
Soames hung up the phone, and put it back in his pocket.
Aleta came out wearing a very conservative attire that revealed none of
her charming attributes. Beyond her stood Scarlet whose
breasts nearly hung out of her bikini top, and her bikini bottom was
practically non-existent.
"Get some clothes on, Scarlet. We are going back to
Blüdhaven."
"Now?"
"You heard what I said!"
"What do you wish of me?" asked Aleta, as she offered him a hand up.
"What you do best dearest," he said, as he got up, and kissed her on
the cheek.
Soames walked away to get prepared, and Aleta turned to the spot where
he had been sitting. Not a sliver of emotion crossed her
features. She bent down, and grabbed the stuff he left
behind, and followed him into the cabin.
The cracking sound of a whip against soft flesh could be heard in the
compound of the League of Assassins, which had formed a base in
Blüdhaven. Kasumi was strung up while she was
receiving lashes for the constant delays in carrying out the execution
of Mayor Soames. She cried out several times, and a time or
two she bit her lip drawing blood. The metallic taste caused
her to retch the contents of her stomach.
"Enough," said Sensei. "I do not desire her death; only a lesson to be
learned."
The torturer bowed to Sensei, and left the two alone. Kasumi
hung there, perspiration and blood drenched. Sensei placed
his hands behind his back, and walked around until he came face to face
with her. He cupped her delicate chin, and looked at her
face. Her nose was badly broken and it distorted her lovely,
and innocent features. Black and blue bruises welled up under
her eyes, and a cut was on her lip. Sensei leaned toward her ear, and
whispered his disappointment, which brought tears to her
eyes. He then let her head droop, and the tears dropped to
the floor making an almost silent splash. But, to her
perfectly trained ears it was like hearing the sounds of raindrops.
"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" asked Sensei.
Hearing his voice allowed her to focus away from the rhythm of her
tears, and on him. She tried with great effort to raise her
head despite how exhausted she was. So, that she could show
him respect, but the effort was to great, and her head sunk back down.
"Worthless," he said. "All of that training, and for nothing."
"No, Sensei-san," she said, "I will honor -- you."
"You, honor me?" he asked. "You cannot even retain your own honor!"
"P-please, allow me, one last opportunity," she said.
Sensei stuck his hands into the folds of his gi, as he considered his
answer. He looked at her, again, as he walked around behind
and to the side of her where an iron was placed in a forge to be heated
for the second round of torturing. He pulled it out, and
admired the dragon emblem that stood at the end of it before sticking
it into her soft flesh. She screamed, a deafening cry that
everyone in the camp including the young students heard. And
the senior members recognized it; as a warning to those that failed the
League of Assassins.
To
be Continued... Next Issue: More
Nightwing by Mick Edwards... NEVERMORE:
As Mick did not send anything for this section this month, I'll take it
upon myself to fill in this blank. I've known Mick Edwards for
some time now, and I like to think that I've seen him grow as a
writer. I remember the early days, years ago when he wanted to
write for JLU: 2001. He was new and unknown but already lighting
up the Message Boards with contraversy. I took a chance, and have
never regretted that.
Mick's stories were once very short and full of errors, but I always
saw the potential. And his ideas were always spectacular.
He went away for awhile, but came back the better for it. His
stories are still short (by my standards anyway), but they are tight
and hard-hitting, and leave me wanting more. And you as well I
hope...
DO ignore the politics, and take a look at the product. I don't
think you will be disappointed.
Curt F
EIC:
JLU: 2001,
WILDSTORM,
VERTIGO: SUBCULTURE
7/28/09
