The Shit-town Saga:

Midnight Rider part 6 (finale)

“Cav, are you okay?,” Reins asked as he met with the Cavalier on the roof of the police station, “I got your note downstairs.”

“I’ve felt better but I’m still standing,” he told him, “We need to switch up our channels of communication for a while,” he tossed him a burner phone, “If anything comes up, call me. The number’s in there already and I synched it with the Dragon and my helmet.”

“I probably will. Listen, you know shit has hit the fan by now.”

“Yeah, but with any luck, I can bring down the Horseman and put an end to all this. I need you to go to the hospital and spook Drake. Let him know the heat is on him and his buddies so they’ll think twice about providing any support.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna end this tonight. But before I do, I’m gonna need you to put a little fear out there.”

Later at the hospital, Officer Drake woke up to see Reins and Officer Mendoza standing at the end of his bed. He now had his foot in a cast and couldn’t sit up very easily so he opted to remain lying on his back.

“Commissioner Reins,” he greeted Reins respectfully, then turned to the Internal Affairs officer with barely-concealed scorn, “Mendoza.”

“How’s the foot?,” Reins asked.

“I lost a toe but the rest was able to be stitched up. I should be ready for duty soon enough.”

“You and two more officers were assigned to patrol the Triads’ territory for any suspicious activity,” Mendoza told him, “But there were a few more on scene were never assigned to that area. Do you know why they were there?”

“They heard the commotion and arrived on-scene.”

“That’s funny because they told me you radioed for backup.”

Drake was silent for a moment, then continued, “Y’know, I probably did. This morphine really-”

“And there was one officer from Atlantic City who decided to show up and help you fight the Cavalier. Any clue what that was about?”

“No clue,” Drake seemed to be doing his best to remain confident.

Reins continued, “Officer Mendoza and I suspect the Horseman might have some connections in the city and elsewhere. Specifically, connections to cops,” he leaned in, “And with both the DA and FBI looking into this whole mess, I wouldn’t wanna be caught within fifty feet of anyone riding a chopper. Might wanna spread the word… in case people get the wrong idea about you and some of your friends.”

Drake’s demeanor shifted, “Y’know, I’m not surprised Mendoza is here but when it comes to you, Reins… I thought you were one of the good ones.”

“And there you go,” Reins shook his head.

The two left the room and once they were in the hall, Mendoza turned to Reins, “During an investigation, we don’t normally play our hand and let the suspects know to be careful.”

“The Cavalier is about to deliver the Horseman to the feds,” he told her, “You’ve been a cop long enough to know you sometimes have to let the little fish go to catch the big fish.”

Meanwhile, Michael hovered over the scrapyard with the Dragon set to auto pilot. He had released the drone shortly before sunset and flew it over a field of twisted metal consisting of old cars, run-down appliances, piles of discarded parts and destroyed military vehicles from the Resurgence. As the drone searched the area, he checked the tracking device monitor and saw that the Horseman was patrolling the city so he had plenty of time. Soon, the drone’s footage revealed a garage with spare motorcycle parts, signs of repair work and scattered guns and ammunition. In the adjoining room, he found a cot, a workout bench and a mini fridge, indicating someone had been staying there. “This porridge is too cold,” he said to himself before recalling the drone. Soon, the Dragon hovered in front of the garage; with no one around, he quickly ignited the Dragon’s breath and set it on fire. Once it went up, Michael waited a bit before turning on the Dragon’s water jets which put out the flames, leaving the garage burnt up and severely water damaged as black plumes reached to the sky. When he landed the Dragon, he got out and noticed Sammy Drake’s brother staring at the wreckage, mouth agape. “You should probably call your friend,” Cavalier said casually, then watched the man race back to his office.

In a shadowy alley across the city, a plain-clothes police officer met with the Horseman. The officer was from a precinct in Jersey City, acting as a go-between among the police allies in the Tri-State area. With the current situation, information was passing quickly and quietly among the biker’s contacts. “Our New York allies are dealing with Internal Affairs and the DA,” he explained, “Your man from Atlantic City also got pinched so the feds are getting involved. The whole operation might be in danger.”

“I understand. Spread the word. You should all lay low for a while,” the Horseman told him, “I’ll take the heat. You know what to do in case I -,” he suddenly stopped when he felt his phone vibrate. He reached into his jacket and once he read the message, he turned to his liaison, “Shit! I gotta take care of something.” He stashed his phone away, kickstarted his motorcycle and sped off.

In Reins’ office, he received a knock at the door and curiously looked up. “Come in.” The District Attorney was a Mediterranean woman named Chelsea Kassia who was already fairly tall for a woman but saw fit to wear high-heel shoes to make her appear even taller; a trait Reins assumed was to make her seem more authoritative.

“Hello, Chelsea,” Reins stood to his feet, “I’m gonna assume this is about the recent vigilante activity.”

“You would’ve made a great detective,” Reins took note of the derision in her voice, “You seem chipper considering what’s going on in your precinct; there’s a vigilante dick-measuring contest in the middle of the city and a multi-state conspiracy of dirty cops. What do you have to say about all this?”

“Don’t get it twisted, this didn’t play out like I’d hoped but I am actually happy it’s all gonna be over soon.”

“Look, I know you’re rooting for the Cavalier over the Horseman and that’s only because of nostalgia and the fact that the Cavalier doesn’t kill. Me? The difference is negligible. I don’t like vigilantes and I want them both behind bars,” she placed a single hand on Reins’ desk and leaned forward, “The Horseman situation has become a federal matter and I’ve given the FBI everything I have but I implore you to give me whatever you have as well.”

“You’re right, Chelsea,” he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I was actually about to call this evening but since you’re here, it makes things easier. I’ve seen this escalate far more than I wanted and I’m willing to give them both to you,” he rapped his hand on his desk, “Tonight.”

“Really?”

Reins nodded, “I know where they are right now. If any federal agents have been put on the case already, you might wanna give them a call.”

It was twilight when the Horseman raced through the scrapyard and despite darkness falling, the billowing black smoke could still be seen against the purple sky. And while the smoldering wreckage of the garage was visible to the Horseman, he didn’t notice the trip wire stretched between two piles of scrap metal. The bike went end over end with several parts snapping off while its rider rolled along the muddy ground, his biker gear protecting him against serious injuries. As he painfully dragged himself to his feet, he looked around for his shotgun which had fallen out of its holster during the wreck. When he finally spotted it on the filthy ground, he also saw the Cavalier standing over it.

“Did you make up your mind?,” Cavalier asked as he indicated the gun, “Do I deserve this or not?”

“Hell yeah, you do,” the Horseman sneered.

“Good,” the Cavalier dropped an acid pellet from his belt onto the receiver of the gun, dissolving it, “I’d be offended otherwise.”

“That changes nothing.”

“Don’t need the shotgun, huh? What about your ‘brothers and sisters’? Need them? I don’t see a swarm of cops arriving to bail you out this time. Something spook `em?”

“I can take you apart alone and with my bare hands if I have to.”

“Let’s test that theory.”

The Horseman raced forward and threw a punch that was blocked by Cavalier’s arm guard; this was followed by a punch across Horseman’s helmet. The Horseman stumbled back, then spun into a kick that landed against the Cavalier’s injured shoulder. Michael leaned in, favoring the arm as pain shot through it, which exposed the opposite side. Horseman was allowed a punch to an already-bruised torso and in response, Cavalier grabbed the underside of his opponent’s helmet, then delivered two rapid punches to his face shield, cracking it. The Horseman brought both fists down across the back of Michael’s elbow, forcing him to release, then threw a hard right-hook, which sent him falling against the mountain of scrap behind him.

The Horseman advanced, but the knight slammed the heel of his boot into his midsection. He doubled-over and stepped back, so the Cavalier took the opportunity to grab the back of his helmet and pull him in, shoving him face-first into the side of the scrap pile. The biker hit him with an elbow to force him to let go, then reached inside the pile; when he returned, he had a rusty tailpipe in his hands. He raised it above his head, ready to bring it down but Michael quickly grabbed him by the forearms. The movement was painful for him but his grip was firm. What he wanted to do next would only take a moment. He brought his foot down in a stomp-kick, putting all of his weight into the inside ankle socket. The motorcycle gear absorbed the impact but it did little to protect against dislocating joints. There was a loud popping sound and a scream; once the ankle was compromised, the Horseman fell back into the mud. Once on the ground, the tail pipe was yanked out of his grip and tossed aside. Then the Cavalier went for the helmet.

The Horseman tried to pull Michael’s hands away as he undid the retention strap but he wasn’t in much of a position to stop his helmet from being removed and once the helmet was taken off and tossed into nearby garbage, Michael got a good look at his face. He was in his 30s with hair cut short in a military style and a vengeful look in his eyes and Michael was sure the truth of his identity would come out eventually. He slammed his fist down once more, rendering him unconscious.

He had little time to celebrate his victory when a call from Reins came up on his HUD. “Hey Cav, the DA took the bait and a group of FBI agents will be rolling into the scrapyard soon. I hope you took care of business in the meantime but either way, ya gotta get the hell outta there.” Moments later, the Dragon lifted into the air and took off into the distance.

When the black car pulled up, two agents emerged with guns drawn. They saw no sign of the Cavalier but someone matching the description of the Horseman was lying unconscious with a dislocated ankle. They sat him up and his eyes began to flutter open. The lead agent looked at him firmly and asked, “Are you the Horseman?”

“I am,” he growled without remorse.

The agent turned to his partner and they shared a nod before he leaned in and whispered, “We’re gonna take care of everything but you just need to stay quiet and do as we say.”

Several blocks away, the Dragon sailed between badly damaged buildings. Michael was in desperate need of rest. His work was far from done, however and he would need to get back out there soon. Below, graffiti was sprayed along a wall that read WELCOME TO SHIT-TOWN.

Epilogue …

“This morning, New York officer Samuel Drake and his brother Thomas Drake were arrested for their alleged connections to the vigilante known as the Horseman. Drake is one of several police officers arrested for their involvement in recent vigilante activity, particularly concerning a brutal fight with the Cavalier on an overpass. The Horseman is currently in FBI custody with his real identity yet to be disclosed.”

The man watching the news coverage shoved his device in his pocket with a look of disgust. The Horseman’s liaison in Jersey City was disappointed to learn his mentor had been captured but, as the situation was not unexpected, a plan was already in motion. He was soon met by three men who, like him, wore hats and sunglasses to conceal their identities.

“You guys ride?,” the Jersey City officer motioned to his motorcycle parked at the end of the alley.

“Of course we do,” one of the men explained, indicating exactly who they were and why they were there.

“Good. Listen up. As you guys know, Internal Affairs from every precinct in the area are getting pressured by the feds to find anyone associated with our friend, so we don’t we want our names out there. I’m from a Jersey City precinct so you can just call me Jersey. I suggest we all name ourselves likewise.”

“Stamford,” one of the officers tapped his chest.

“Philly,” another one responded.

“Syracuse,” the final one answered.

“Nice meeting you. I contacted you men, knowing that you were dedicated to the cause. At one point or another, you all supplied protection, funds, information or gear. You may have even ridden alongside our friend on a mission. We’ve all done our part and we want to continue where the Horseman left off.”

“When do we start?,” Stamford asked.

“When we’re ready,” Jersey responded, “… And our first target will be the Cavalier.”

Next: The Shit-Town Saga continues with a brand new story!