The Shit-town Saga:

Midnight Rider part 4

Michael had been parking outside the home of Officer Drake on and off for a few days, hoping to catch him at the right time. He was in his civilian attire and driving his usual car; it was unusual for Michael doing “night work” without being suited-up but he felt comfortable and since he was having trouble finding clients for his day job, it wasn’t as if he was particularly busy. According to Commissioner Reins, Drake was meant to take the night shift but Michael noticed he was leaving his house in uniform fairly early and got into his cruiser, which could prove interesting. Michael followed him, making sure there was a decent amount of distance so as to not be noticeable. Some time later, Drake arrived at a motorcycle shop and Michael waited a while before going inside. Once there, he saw Drake at the counter, talking to one of the sales associates with a customized rear fender on the counter.

“… should provide a lot of added protection and the reinforced titanium ensures it will take a lot of wear and tear,” the sales associate finished saying, “So how far along are you on the bike?”

“The motorcycle belongs to a friend,” Drake informed him, “He’s always upgrading and customizing, though. I’m just helping him out.”

“Well, y’know, we can put that fender on ourselves.”

“Thanks, but he prefers to do that part on his own. You understand.”

Drake picked up the fender and turned directly into the path of Michael’s chest. When they collided, Michael held onto the end of the fender to steady it as Drake appeared slightly annoyed. “Oof, sorry, Officer,” Michael said apologetically, “I should watch where I’m going.” “No problem,” Drake quickly moved past Michael and left, not realizing there was a small tracking device on the underside of the fender.

Hours later, in a scrapyard garage, a man wearing work gloves and goggles welded a new fender onto the back of the Horseman’s bike. Meanwhile, the biker sat in the dark corner, wearing his gear with the exception of the helmet which rested on a workbench. Drake stood on the other side of the room and watched the man work. “My brother’s real good at welding,” Drake boasted, “and that custom shop did a pretty good job building a new fender.”

“Looks good. Hopefully, it won’t get busted up after a few bullets,” the Horseman placed the helmet on, “Are we ready?”

“Yep,” the man removed his goggles, “Need anymore work done, just let me know. I’m not a cop but I support what you guys are doing, ya know?”

“Appreciate it,” the Horseman got on his bike and started the engine which sounded like a roaring lion.

“I’m gonna be on patrol tonight,” Drake reminded him, “I’ll make sure everything is taken care of, especially if we get company.”

“You’re a good man,” Horseman nodded, then sped out of the garage, never noticing he was being watched. Michael, now in the Cavalier armor, started the Knight-cycle and sped off after him. He had sent the address of the scrapyard to Reins in hopes of giving him enough evidence and in the meantime, he followed the Horseman across the city to Chinatown.

“I’ll tell you about my main concern,” the elderly man spoke Mandarin while addressing the men sitting around the table as was common in Triad leader meetings. They were very strict when it came to tradition. Meetings were held in the same restaurant once a year, Mandarin was exclusively spoken and they always drank the same brand of baiju. These traditions were upheld, even in the aftermath of the Resurgence when there was much uncertainty. Because of this, they were quite predictable and while few people would be brave enough to cause trouble during a meeting of Triad leaders, it would not be difficult to find them if one were so inclined. “The freaks from Agartha have taken over some of the desolate buildings in the city,” the old man continued.

“I thought they were only in Little Italy,” another leader spoke up.

“They are taking any empty building they can find. They’re powerful enough to do it without worrying about territories. Sooner or later, they will hit Chinatown.”

“That’s not all we have to worry about. There’s also that nutjob on the motorcycle,” another spoke up, “He’s been taking down scrubs so far but it’s only a matter of time until-”

On cue, the window behind the men burst inti shards from a shotgun blast. The leaders and their bodyguards retreated to the far side of the room and began pulling guns just as another object was hurled through the broken window. The live grenade bounced off the table and rolled onto the floor, giving the men a good look at it just before it went off.

The Horseman turned onto the street as the explosion ripped through the windows of the restaurant. His movements were so fast, Michael didn’t realize what he was up to until it was too late. He knew emergency personnel would be arriving to take care of the explosion so he focused on catching up to the Horseman. Despite the modifications made to the vigilante’s chopper, the Knight-cycle was a superior vehicle and closed in swiftly.

The Horseman saw him approach in his rearview mirror and removed the shotgun from the bike’s holster before leaning it across his shoulder. The shotgun blast mostly deflected off the shield-shaped plate on the front of the Knight-cycle but it forced Michael to swerve across the lane into oncoming traffic. He dipped around a car as a horn blared furiously, then glided back behind his target. They both went up a ramp, onto an overpass and as Michael got closer, the Horseman quickly hit his brakes which caused his bike’s back tire to rise while he balanced on the front wheel. Inertia forced Michael past him and as he tried to swerve back around, he started to fishtail slightly. The Horseman’s rear tire landed safely, then he raised his shotgun again and fired. The plate on the rear of the Knight-cycle was hit, forcing it to careen out of control before being laid down and sent skidding toward the concrete barrier. Michael, meanwhile, was sent rolling across the overpass.

Elsewhere, Officer Mendoza entered Commissioner Reins’ office as he poured over some paper work, illuminated by a single lamp. “So I looked into that address the Cavalier sent you,” she told him.

He looked up with a raised brow, “And?”

“That scrapyard belongs to Drakes’ brother.”

“Okay,” a smile crossed his face.

“You know just as well as I do that it only means Drake bought a motorcycle fender and took it over to his brother’s place of business. There’s no point wasting ink on that paper work.”

“But it’s a start.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more to have a full on investigation.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, “In a case like this, something big is always around the corner.”

On the overpass near Chinatown, Michael was winded but he picked himself up as the Horseman calmly stepped off his bike and began to walk toward him. He took note of the Knight-cycle lying on its side, which meant he had a clear shot to the fuel tank without the armor plating getting in the way. “Your bike’s probably a better build than mine but you haven’t learned to ride like I have,” as he spoke, Michael noticed a series of cars approaching, “During the chase, I radioed some friends. Hope you don’t mind.” The Horseman raised his gun and shot Michael’s downed motorcycle, putting a hole in the fuel tank and spilling gasoline onto the pavement. The cars were getting closer, Michael’s bike was about to explode and his best escape was leaping over the concrete barrier on the other side of the overpass.

Thinking quickly, he ran to the opposite side of the street as the first police cruiser barrelled down on him. He managed to leap and roll along the hood before landing on his feet but he wasn’t so lucky with the second squad car. The braked and Michael tumbled over the windshield, cracking it before being thrown back to the pavement. He tried to stand up again but more cruisers came, blocking off all lanes of traffic as they lined up. It was another set up and he cursed himself for not seeing it. The Knight-cycle went up in a ball of flames which created an orange glow that washed over the street.

The armor protected him against serious injury but he was still struggling to stay conscious as multiple police officers leapt on top of him with batons. “That’s for Rex Robinson, asshole!,” one officer roared as he slammed his baton across his face plate. “Piece of shit!,” another officer stomped on his midsection. The Horseman silently removed a phone from his jacket and began filming.

“Why did it have to be Rex?,” an officer shouted as he brought a baton across his back, “It should have been you!” Michael’s head was swimming; he kicked his leg out and felt a knee twist under his boot. A second later, an officer fell to the ground screaming. Batons landed on his chest plate. He ignited the tasers along his knuckles and swing wildly at anyone nearby, which dropped two more men. Another officer reached behind him and tried to remove his helmet but an electric shock in the armor’s defense system stopped that from happening. With a handful of his assailants down, the remaining officers spread out to form a new strategy.

Michael felt a sharp pain with every breath as he sat up. He could see one officer raising his sidearm so, from a crouching position, he raised a gauntlet and fired a disc-shield that shattered the officer’s jaw and took him out of the fight. A second later, a baton struck Michael’s forearm, so he reached up, grabbed the officer by the lapel and pulled him down. The officer fell on his back after the head-butt and from the fire nearby, Michael could see that his nose had been shattered. Now that he was on his feet, he slammed his fist into another officer’s face before he could get a shot off at close range. A second officer managed to fire a round which deflected off the side of the knight’s helmet so Michael grabbed him and pulled him to the nearest squad car where he bounced the man’s head off the hood and tossed him to the pavement. It was then that he noticed someone familiar standing by the concrete barrier.

Officer Drake had his gun raised. “Don’t take another step!,” he warned. Michael was wracked with pain. Fire shot through his lungs with every breath, his knees felt like they were going to give out, his head was throbbing and his left forearm was numb. Despite the pain, there was a rage inside him. Rage at himself. Rage at the Horseman and his dirty cops. Rage at Rex Robinson. Inexplicably, the focus of his anger and pain somehow zeroed in on Drake’s boot. He forgot about everything else for the moment. “Get down, you’re under arrest!,” Drake’s words were useless, “You wanna die tonight? Do not pull that sword!” Michael wasn’t even aware he was pulling the sword from his hilt but once he noticed, he thought to himself, “Why not?”. He soldiered through the pain and with one last lunge, cleared the distance and brought the blade down as a bullet passed by his head. The end of the sword found its way to Drake’s foot and straight down the middle. Blood erupted from the boot and Drake shouted in agony before falling against the barrier.

Michael was clear to escape but stopped for the moment to gaze at his surroundings like a drunk man sobering up after a blackout. His motorcycle was covered in flames across the overpass and nearby, the Horseman was calmly putting his phone away. One officer had a twisted knee, at least three were unconscious from electric shock, one had a broken jaw, another had a swollen eye, one was unconscious with a broken nose, another was unconscious with a gash on his forehead and Drake was trying to stop the fountain of blood gushing from his foot. Somehow the Hawkwood family curse rang in his ears “Violent deaths for violent lives”.

The Horseman cocked his shotgun once more which snapped him back to reality. He raised the gun and Michael quickly threw himself over the barrier just as a chunk of concrete burst next to him. The overpass was ten feet off the ground. As Michael sailed through the air, the street below rose up to greet him.

Continued…