Haley-Dix Bar’n’Pool, Calvin City
He doesn’t bother looking up as he slurs “I know exactly what’s going to happen.”
“Oh yeah?” grunts the bald tattooed biker with the broken pool cue in each hand, flanked by some similarly dressed cronies in the biker bar on the outskirts. The twangy steel guitar of the band abruptly stopped as they cleared the stage, they knew what was coming.
“You’re going to try and stab me with the pool cue,” he points, head still down “Because you’re angry I kissed your girlfriend. You think that’ll make you a man, or tough, or save face or I don’t know! Even though she’s banging your buddy Rex there.”
“What?” grunted the biker.
“What!?” yelped Rex, the man on the bikers immediate left.
The man wearily raised his head from the table “I’m a little bit psychic okay. Rex here has been doing your girl for some time coz it left an imprint,” He tapped his forehead as he got to a shaky upright position. “So you’re going to go low and high with the sticks and then try to kick me if I manage to dodge, right?”
The biker’s brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what was being said. The man shook his hands and then calmly cracked his knuckles. “You want to fight, then let’s go! If not stop interrupting me getting plastered you fat sack of badly tattooed crap! Is that a flamingo?”
The biker roared swinging the pool cue to the side of the man’s head. Without looking, a hand shot up and caught the stick.
“Now the other one,” he smiled as the biker seemingly did as he was told. The cue was again easily caught.
The man smiled and leant back “What are you gonna do now?” And followed up with a head butt that splattered the biker’s nose across his face like jam on toast, sending him to the floor. The man spun the broken cues about.
“Anyone else? Rex?” He pointed at them.
The remaining bikers looked at each other before gathering their fallen leader and beating a hasty retreat. The band retook the stage and began their version of hillbilly Shake It Off. Slowly, cautiously the bartender wandered over to the man.
“You scared off my customers.”
“So?” Replied the man throwing a wad of notes onto the table “They were scum. I don’t like drinking with scum. What’s your name? Don’t tell me, let me guess…” He put his hands on his temple and gritted his teeth. “Brian.”
“James,” said the bartender taking up the wad. “Stop fighting or I will kick you out, Archer.”
The man stopped and grabbed James by the collar “How do you know my name?”
James looked at the hand and then deep into the man’s eyes. “You told me, you drunken idiot. You’re Archer Braun, the world’s greatest fighter. Now get your hands off me before I call the Justice League.”
Archer threw his hands up and back as he stumbled a few steps away. “Easy Jamie, no need for them drastic measures. I’ll behave. Can I h…” James pointed at the table where a waitress plonked down a fresh bottle of tequila and a new shot glass. Archer smiled and staggered back to the table. “Good boy.”
James walked back to the bar and nodded at the white haired man with the eye patch, who raised a shot glass in return. Slowly he turned and watched the man called Archer Braun drink himself into oblivion. He glanced at the clock on the wall before heading outside.
**
“You boys want to make some cash?”
The bikers looked at the man in the eye patch. Rex stepped forward. “How about we just ki…” He stopped as a silver stick came out of nowhere and lodged up under his nose.
“Yes or no?” said the man “I hate time wasters.”
“S-sure man.” Replied Rex as he backed up. “What do you want us to do?”
“The guy who broke your bosses nose…” He pointed at the comatose man strewn across his bike “He’s still inside. Made you all look like chumps. I want to pay you to go back inside and kick his ass.”
“How much?” asked Rex.
“Four hundred dollars. Each. Plus an extra thousand to anyone who actually draws blood. No guns but knives, bottles, chains, chairs are fine.”
Rex looked back at the gang who nodded and the back to their mysterious benefactor. “Cash upfront?”
The man tossed a wad of notes into the air. Rex caught it as the staff shot out and tapped him under the chin, forcing his head up.
“No guns. I see a gun and I’ll kill you all myself. Understand?”
Rex gulped as he nodded. The staff went away and the biker gang marched back into the bar.
**
Archer Braun pulled himself up from the table as the sound of thundering steps came closer. “Okay, okay, okay.” He wiped his mouth, took another shot of tequila then wiped his mouth again. “Which one of you b!tch^s wants to dance?”
Rex and the other bikers looked at each other before moving as one. Archer started to smile but rapidly it drained from his face.
“I can’t feel any of you!?” he said in disbelief as a lead pipe cracked him in the head. He raised his arms like a child as the burly mass beat him like a rug. He would’ve died except the man who hired the biker gang called them off after a few minutes.
“That’ll do.” He said with authority that made them all stop. “Seems I owe you each a thousand dollars. Now load this sorry sack into the truck.”
**
White Whale Bar, Boston
“No ID, no entry!” growled the large man made of rock standing guard at the door. The little weasly guy in the cheap suit snarled and glowered before pulling out his wallet.
“Like you can read!” Quipped cheap suit holding up his licence.
The large man cocked an eyebrow before grabbing the little man and hauling him up to eye level. “You implying that I’m stupid huh? Just because I’m a large granite guy on door duty, you think I’m some kind of moron?”
The little guy squealed as the big rock fingers tightened around his neck “No, I swear, I was…”
“Blah blah blah! You little pricks are all the same,” He roughly shook the little guy before dumping him on the ground. “Now hit the bricks before I throw your ass to Gotham.”
The little guy scrambled to his feet as he pulled a gun from his jacket pocket. “Ya big dumb ape!”
“What a surprise,” scoffed the large man as he held his arms out to protect the other patrons. “Always the little squirrely ones who pull guns. You have til the count of five before you end up in orbit. One…”
“Do you know who I am?!” screamed the little guy furiously stabbing the gun forward. “Well?”
Schwing! Schukt!
“You’re the guy without hands,” said a voice as the man screamed in agony, his hands lying severed on the floor as his stumps gushed blood. The little guy looked at the guy with white hair, eye patch and wielding a sword. “Boston General is six blocks. Start running and you might make it before you bleed to death.”
The handless man screamed and bolted up the street in the wrong direction.
“Put the sword down old man,”
“Last time someone called me an old man, I cut their head off,” replied the man with the eye patch “But seeing as you once went toe to toe with Wonder Woman I’ll give you a free pass, this once. You like this job Rockface?”
“Pays the bills.”
“I think I can do better. Get in the truck; I’ll make it worth your while.”
“That sounds great but I’ll get in your van when I’ve finished my shift.” Rockface returned to the door and looked at the next guy in line. “Got some ID?”
The man smiled and walked to the back of the line. “Good work ethic.”
**
“Holy $#!T!” said the bartender as he placed the lime and soda down “You’re Sl…”
A knife came up and rested on the soft flesh under his jaw. “Son, you say my name and it’ll be the last thing you ever say. Leave the drink, walk away and shut your mouth. Understand?”
“Y-yes sir.”
The man with the eye patch stuffed a note into the bartender’s pocket, swept up the drink and preceded to the table where several people were playing poker.
**
Several hours later the eye patch man walked out and tapped Rockface on the shoulder. The big man turned to him.
“Yes?”
“I won your employment,” he said “You now work for me.”
“Really?”
He nodded and then watched as the big guy stomped back into the underground casino. There were screams, gunfire and the sounds of destruction. Soon the rock man returned his suit in tatters with flecks of blood.
“Feel better?”
Rockface smiled “Just wanted to make sure they were clear that I was leaving their employment.”
**
Opal City, Maryland
Zeiss crouched on the side of town hall looking down at the Mayor Eli Robinson as he gave a rousing speech to the assembled crowd. His cybernetic goggles had stored Robinson’s biometrics, calculated the trajectory of the descent, plus plotted the positions of bodyguards and police officers. In less than a minute Opal City would need to go to the polls again. Zeiss leapt from his vantage point and in for the kill.
WHAM!
From out of nowhere Zeiss was tackled in midair and slammed onto a nearby rooftop. He spun and twisted and broke free to see Deathstroke the Terminator standing before him.
“Your contracts been cancelled Zeiss.”
Zeiss got to his feet “The infamous Deathstroke.”
“We can either waste both our time by fighting or you can listen to my proposal.”
“You attack me and expect me to hear you out?” Zeiss crouched low as his eyes focused on him feeding info into his brain.
“I do,” Deathstroke said “I’m putting together a team and I want you on it.”
“Don’t do groups,” Zeiss said as he leapt forward with a jump kick, the battle computer in his brain predicting at least a shattered jaw. Deathstroke moved at inhuman speed, catching the leg and smashing the assassin into the ground.
“How?” gulped Zeiss as Deathstroke jammed his promethium staff under Zeiss chin, pressing firmly on the Adam’s apple.
“Read up on you,” Deathstroke said “Your computer eyes slow things down to a crawl to process information. I took a small dose of Velocity-9 to confuse your computer while the disclination field built into my buckle fed you wrong information. Now, you going to listen or do I just kill you.”
“Talk.”
Deathstroke released him and walked over to the building edge and fired three blasts from his staff down at the mayor. “As I said, your contract has been cancelled. Mine on the other hand. You’re going to be part of a group I’m forming. You do what I say and you get paid. Better than shadowing Lew Moxon or accepting chump change contracts on elected officials. Yes or no?”
“How much?” asked Zeiss sitting up rubbing his throat.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
**
Lazaretto Point, Baltimore
Deathstroke looked at his three recruits; Archer Braun, Rockface and Zeiss, and shook his head. “Going to need someone who can keep you three in line when I’m not around. Which is why you’re going to rescue your fourth member from a Hasaraguan prison.”
Archer stepped forward “What if I don’t want to?”
Deathstroke pulled out a large calibre handgun and aimed it. “Then I’ll blow a hole through your head and get someone else who will.”
“That gun won’t hurt me,” said Rockface confidentially.
Deathstroke turned the gun on him “Really? Care to find out what kind of bullets I have loaded in here?”
“Explosive phosphorus coated depleted promethium rounds,” stated Zeiss as he studied the gun. “May not kill you but it’ll knock you on your ass. You on the other hand,” Zeiss ran his finger across his throat at Archer.
“Why are you assembling a team?” asked Rockface “Far as I knew, you worked alone.”
“I do,” replied Deathstroke as he lowered the gun slightly “But I need things done that don’t require my direct attention. You three have shown to be good. I can make you better and together we can make money without having to punch on with a cape wearer every five minutes.”
“Why not get the Suicide Squad?” asked Archer.
“Because if I don’t need a one eyed gunman, a clown girl, and a guy with a black fishbowl on his head!” snapped Deathstroke. “I need professionals which I presumed you were.”
“I am,” replied Archer as he walked forward only to stop as the gun came back up.
“You step within arm’s length of me and I will execute you.” Deathstroke stared at the psychic fighter and tapped his temple. “I know all about your little martial arts technique.”
“So,” said Rockface changing the topic “Where is Hasawhereever?”
**
Instituição de Correcção e a Execução Penal, Hasaragua
Her arms were numb from the days of hanging by her wrists from the roof. For the past week she’d been used as a piñata by the guards. One of them tried to do something other than hit her and she bit him on the jugular, possibly killing him.
“You’ll have to drink sometime chica,” sang the guard as he dropped some tablets into the metal water jug. “Been nearly a week. And when you do…”
“You’d have to drug me,” she growled “Because there’s no way I’d willing sleep with you.”
The guard sniggered and cracked his knuckles “You American women are all the same.”
“You think I’m American?” she said snidely. “How little you know.”
“English then?”
She shook her head. “How about you take your turning hitting me, I could do with a massage.”
The guard grunted, stepped forward and smacked her in the mouth sending her head snapping back. He shook his hand “That shut you up.”
She began to snigger then break out into a full laugh that echoed through the concrete room. “Harley Quinn hits harder than that and she’s a clown!”
The guard yelled in frustration and proceeded to wail on her to silence her mocking laughter.
**
Managua, Nicaragua
Slade Wilson and his team got off the private jet and walked across the tarmac. Customs checks down in South America were easily avoided and or bribed away.
“Your mission is simple. You are to break Vanilla out of jail and get back here within forty eight hours. If you don’t bring her back, don’t come back.” Slade watched as their luggage and gear was taken off the plane and rushed over to a nearby hangar. “She’s more important than you three.”
“Why don’t you do it,” asked Archer cautiously “I mean if she’s so important.”
“I have to deal with something else,” replied Slade as he grabbed his sword and unsheathed it, checking it over.
“How are we getting to Hasaragua?” asked Zeiss wiping the sweat from his brow from the warm night heat.
“I’m not going to hold your hands,” said Slade as he grabbed his gear. “You can work that out, at least for your sakes I hope you can. But if you want a clue Hasaragua is south-east of here. There’s north.”
Slade threw his gear into a waiting jeep and drove off leaving the trio there slightly confused.
“Where are we anyway?” asked Rockface looking around.
**
Deathstroke said quietly in the back of the small rickety Cessna as it flew close to its maximum height ceiling, the windows rattled and the floor shook as the whine of the engine filled the small plane.
"Estamos cerca de la zona de descenso senor!" barked the oily pilot over the noise as the plane jerked about at the altitude.
"Gracias." Deathstroke pulled a gun and blew a hole through the pilots head, splattering brains across the windshield. He was a low level gun and drug runner for the cartels, people like him were a dime a dozen. Deathstroke quickly opened the side door of the Cessna and dove out into the early morning sky as the updrafts caught the folds of his wingsuit as he hurtled towards his target.
To be continued...
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