Marvel Mayhem: Season 3, New York Finest #3
Dallas Riordan looked at the blinking cursor on her computer screen and rubbed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her face to make the numbness subside.
“Feels like I’ve been looking at this screen for seven years!” She yawned and stretched back looking around to engage with anyone who’d heard her but alas it was just her in the NYPD bullpen. Dallas stood up and looked watched her phone beep with a message from Elias. She flipped it face down before walking across to the kitchen.
“You’re here really early or very late,” Molly Von Richthofen remarked as she walked up beside Dallas. “So, I’ll just say morning.”
“How much is too much?”
Molly looked at Dallas with concern. “Like coffee or wine? I’d say for you for y...”
“No, ugh!” Dallas plonked herself on the counters edge. “The doctor guy I’m seeing...”
“Elias.”
“Yeah, turns out he’s like effing Tony Stark.”
“Serial alcoholic womanizing glory hound?”
Dallas tried not to guffaw. “No, he’s rich.”
“So?”
“I mean Tony Stark rich, we stayed in a hotel that cost what some people make in a year! It is obscene.”
Molly shrugged. “And he spent it on you. Is that the problem?”
“There are people...”
“Dallas, there will always be people who have less than other people. Something tells me the good doctor worked hard and is doing some good instead of what Stark does which is some days missiles, some days T-shirt’s...he’s like a child!”
“With billions of dollars.”
“Would you like Elias more if he was a garbage man? Or a bike courier.”
“It’s just a waste of money, so indulgent.”
Molly shrugged. “He’s rich, how terrible. You’re lucky he’s not a flight attendant like Amy, she’s always off here there and everywhere. Does your doctor have a sister?
“How is she?” Dallas laughed.
“Last call was from some place in Africa I’d never heard of,” Molly smiled. “So, enough of your terrible rich boyfriend who spends money on you, boo hoo. What’s on for us today?”
—
“Thought you were in prison?” said Ethan Slaughter remarked as Bullseye stood inside the remodeled shipping container in a trench coat and hat. Bullseye cocked an eyebrow at him, flipped the toothpick in his mouth over, and spat it into the counter like it’d been shot from a crossbow.
“How about you shut your mouth and get me that 90 Cal off the top shelf.”
Ethan exhaled and moved the step ladder over to get the gun. Every time Bullseye came in there was drama. Mainly because he was a psychotic mass murderer with no morals but also, he was a cheapskate. Always haggling and trying to get more for way less.
Bullseye watched Ethan like a hawk as he went up to get the beautiful weapon. He was a former SHIELD agent who was a better arms dealer than protector of life, liberty, and Nick Fury’s whims. Bullseye didn’t trust him an inch but he was the man to get reliable specialised weapons from.
Ethan got it down and handed it to Bullseye who examined it like one would if they were a judge at a dog show. Then like a marine he spun the rifle in a series of twists and flips before he pointed right against the salesman’s forehead.
“How much?”
“One hundred.” Ethan sighed unimpressed.
“Too much.” CLIK. The sounded echoed through the room. “No bullets?”
Ethan snatched the rifle back. “You must think I’m an idiot to hand a loaded gun to YOU! Seriously man. It’s bio-coded to the owner, so at the moment, it won’t fire for you. I’ll code you in. Bullets are extra.”
“What!? I could go to Eb…”
“You could, but you don’t! And you don’t because I’m one of the best. So, either pay up or get out.”
Bullseye glared at Ethan. There were twenty was and forty items he could kill him with, and then there’s the stuff he could do if he knocked him unconscious. He reached into the coat pocket, Ethan’s eyes widened as he imagined a pistol or a sai coming out.
SLAM! A stack of money hit the counter. “Don’t bother wrapping it, got me a spider to kill.”
__
Rykers Island
Antoine Delsoin, Nicholas Powell, and Raoul Chalmers, aka The Hypno-Hustler, Chance, and The Black Fox, stood near the fence in a triangle formation so they could each watch each other’s backs. The Aryan League had targets on Antoine mainly because he was black and on the other two because in their eyes, they were race traitors, which made for some very unpleasant times in a confined space full of murderers, rapists, thugs, and sadists.
“I say we have a seventy percent chance of failure,” Nicholas quipped. “Any takers.”
“Oh, very optimistic, honky!” Antoine scolded him. “This will work if we all work together because I can’t stay here any longer.”
“Our friend of the funk is correct,” Raoul added. “I’m old and I belong on the French Riviera, not here in this squalor.”
“I bet three pack of cigarettes we get interrupted before Antoine finishes explaining the plan.”
“I’ll take that bet if you just shut up for a moment.” Antoine snipped as he scanned the lunch time crowd in the yard. “I’ll get the Aryans riled up. They come after me because they’re stupid racist morons. You two the towel and tube we got to keep the against the fence. We go up the pile, over the wall to the chopper. And as much as you’ve helped me, if I can go and you can’t, I will leave your white asses here, ya dig? Now I think you owe me some c…”
“Move away from the wire!” barked an amplified voice. Nicholas smiled smugly at Antoine.
“Godspeed,” Raoul said tapping Antoine on the shoulder.
“Time to go pick a fight!” The Hypno Hustler strutted confidently across the yard towards a group of Aryans hogging the benches of the basketball court.
__
Dr. Stephen Strange sat in mid-air, cross-legged, and observing several floating spheres orbiting around him. On one he could see three fugitives hiding in an alley, another was Wilson Fisk savagely playing racquet ball, whilst another had the dark lord Mephisto staring right back at him. Another ball showed X-Force, whilst another showed the Silver Surfer streaking across the universe, and another showed simply an evil looking book with a stylized D upon the cover.
__
<This is Dallas, don’t leave a message!> BEEP
“Um hi Dallas, its Elias. Just checking in because you bailed on me the other day. Could you call me please?”
Dr Elias Wirtham tucked his phone into his belt pouch and pulled his mask down over his head becoming the vigilante known as Cardiac.
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