The Shit-Town Saga:

The Blood Circle part 4

Cavalier rushed to Danny Slade, quickly checking to see if he had been injured by the assassin’s bullet. Since Danny was sitting up with no visible injuries, he was satisfied and helped him to his feet. “Gatorback? You okay?”

“Yes,” Danny dusted his suit off, “And I just go by Danny these days.” He looked around the street, indicating the previous battle, “So what happened?”

“The Costa Tristen cartel declared open season on me, the Knights, Commissioner Reins… lotsa people,” he pointed at the dead body, “I made sure the kids got to a safe place, then I had to fight that guy over there. What about you? Why/re you here?”

“I was attempting to get the Knights’ endorsement, but that can obviously wait.”

“How’s the campaign going?”

“My opponent made an ad attacking me for my past.  Y’know, the part where I got powers illegally and injured someone on a movie set?  Surprised he didn’t bring up Street Force, too.”

“I’m not a political expert, but I’d lean into all the good you did as a crimefighter.  My… The previous Cavalier spoke highly of you.  For what it’s worth, you always sounded like a decent guy.”

“Thanks.”

“This is new territory for what superheroes can be.  Maybe it’s good that guys like you take activist roles.  Hell, they have City Council elections coming up soon, don’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“There are a lot more retired superheroes out there.  Maybe get them to run as well.  Solidarity goes a long way.  It could be an entire movement.”

“Not a bad idea,” Danny thought aloud.

****

It was late and the building was one of many still under construction in New York. Because of that, it provided a satisfactory meeting place for the Horseman and his two FBI handlers.

“That was a helluva trail you left on the interstate,” Agent Calvin said as the Horseman entered the partially-built room.

“Any idea who they were?” Horseman asked.

“A team of hitmen.  Word on the street is the Costa Tristens put a huge price on their enemies’ heads.  The Cavalier, the police commissioner, and even those kids that do martial arts… Metropolitan Knights or whatever.”

“Should’ve known,” the Horseman responded, “I didn’t have much firepower when those assholes rolled up.  I was traveling, so I didn’t have immediate access to any weapons with higher stopping power.  I need something heavier that’s easier to conceal.”

“Way ahead of ya,” Calvin produced a black backpack, “We got a beautiful little semi-automatic sawed off that’s completely collapsable and easy to hide.”  He pulled an object from the bag; the sawed-off shotgun was held by the grip with a mechanism at the ejection port, allowing the weapon to be folded in half.  With one movement, he flipped it open to full length with a satisfying locking sound.  “12 gauge,” Agent Calvin told him, “This foldy badboy can easily be stored in your pack while you ride without drawing unwanted attention.  Meanwhile, if anyone attacks you on the road, it’s ready to go.”

“That’ll work nicely,” he placed the weapon back in the bag and slung it over his shoulder, “I’m moving carefully now that I’m back in the city.  The cops are looking for me and this time, they’re not allies.”

The Horseman left the building and took off on his bike.  His resources had improved since being press-ganged into service by the FBI, but it angered him that they were exploiting the work and dedication of his mentors.  He remembered the training that started when he was younger.  Detective Jamie Morgan was the first to take him under his wing, teaching him basic detective work to help him on a few cases.  Jamie taught him about firearms and how shoot, but when Nathan asked for more training, Jamie put him into contact with one of the better marksman in his precinct.  The man was a former Army sniper and trained him in higher caliber weapons.  When Nathan wanted more, they introduced him to a marine buddy who taught him close quarters combat.  Later, a different officer from another precinct taught him martial arts due to being an amateur MMA fighter.  Another officer taught him defensive driving.  Another taught him about forensics.  When it came to amassing weapons or motorcycle gear, other officers pitched in.  If they couldn’t provide that, they provided information on cases, protection, or they sometimes even rode along on missions.  The resources came from all over the Tri-State area.  The officers had a vision of creating a hero, someone to aspire to and the Horseman was proud to take part.  The FBI, meanwhile, reaped what they didn’t sow.  Worse yet, many of his brothers and sisters on the force paid the price for their involvement in his network while Executive Assistant Director Thomas Barlowe and his agents were able to use their status to avoid trouble.

As the sun set, the Horseman drove carefully past shipping containers, making his way to a warehouse at the docks.  It was the place indicated by Mano’s map, so he knew his target would show up.

Situated in an adjacent building, an old man with a white beard sat patiently, occasionally taking sips of coffee from a thermos.  He was known simply as The Serbian.  As he was an international assassin, he had sniper rifles stashed in different cities around the world for easy access without worrying about smuggling weapons across borders.  One such weapon was near New York, so it was easy enough to collect his gun and wait for one of his targets to approach Mano’s departure area.  The way he saw it, one of Mano’s enemies was bound to make it to that point and when that happened, he’d be ready.

The Horseman stopped his bike and looked ahead at the warehouse on the dock, not noticing the man in the second story window, peering through a scope.  For a split-second, he saw a flash in his peripheral view and a thunderclap followed.  There was no time to react.  The bullet hit his helmet and, luckily for him, it was reinforced by his FBI handlers.  He was thrown off his bike, which toppled with him.  Despite the protection his gear provided, the impact left him with a throbbing headache.  He rolled onto his feet and threw himself behind a few crates.  He knew the general direction of the bullet, but it was difficult to know which of the many windows it came from.  As he lay on his back, he removed his helmet and took notice of a nearby pole used for scaffolding.

The Serbian waited patiently for his prey to reappear.  As he anticipated, the Horseman’s helmet began to peek above the crates.  Once he saw sight of him, he fired again.  The visor exploded and the helmet disappeared behind the crates.  Wasting no time, the Serbian slung his rifle over his shoulder and produced a pistol before making his way down a flight of stairs.  He approached the front door and opened it just in time to see a helmetless biker.

The shotgun in his hand unfolded in a second, the barrel pressing against the bottom of the Serbian’s jaw.  The Horseman pulled the trigger before any action could be taken.  He now knew he had the right place.

****

The next morning, Michael Hawkwood woke up on his father’s couch. He yawned and moved to the secret passageway leading to the Castle. There, he saw his father, Arthur, replacing the lenses in his helmet.  The replacement lenses were spares from his previous armor, but he found they were compatible.  He used a soldering iron to weld them into place and then took a look at his handiwork.  Once Arthur noticed Michael, he turned and showed off the repaired helmet.

“I’m no Ryan Bennings, but I got it where it counts.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“How’re you feeling, Mike?”

“Everyone’s safe at the moment, but there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

“What’s the plan?”

“I don’t want any more of these psychos going after the Metro Knights or anyone else.  Reins nearly got blown to pieces leaving the city already.  I gotta make myself known, draw all the assassins to one location and end it as quickly as possible.”

“When are you planning to do this?”

“As soon as possible.  With these assholes taken care of, I can finally focus on finding Mano.  With any luck, I’ll bump into the Horseman too and take them both out.”

“You’re not gonna take on a whole mob empty handed, are ya?” his father asked in a worried tone.

“Don’t worry, Dad.  I’m not gonna do something suicidal,” Mike stretched his arms, “I’m sure there’s something here in the Castle that can help.”

“Hey, when this whole thing blows over, I’d like to introduce you to Mariah.  Let’s have dinner next Saturday.”

“Sounds great,” he took the helmet and gave his dad a hug, “Thanks again, Dad.”

He hated lying to his father, but he didn’t want him to worry. Whether he caught Mano or not, Michael had a promise to keep.  He told Nadie he would go to Costa Triste if he caused trouble in New York again and this certainly qualified.  He knew where he would likely be by the following Saturday.

In Agartha, Emily Koboshi stood on an upper platform and watched a group of teenage Knights play basketball with some of the Agarthan teens.  It should have been a beautiful scene- kids having fun in the face of danger despite their differences, but she was in too much pain.  She held on to the railing for support as her hip throbbed.  Her walker was left in her room, despite her doctors telling her to continue using it until she was fully healed.

“It hurts,” she heard Raphael behind her and when she turned she saw him rolling his wheelchair through a nearby doorway.  The Felidae Guard followed.  “I can sense your discomfort,” he continued.

“It’s fine,” she said as she rubbed her bandaged hip.

“No one doubts you can fight through the pain,” he told her, “You’re strong.  It’s why your mentor left you in charge of the Knights in case of his passing.  You have nothing to prove to anyone except yourself.”

“If I can’t physically fight to protect these kids or myself, then what use am I?”

“You can do all that.”

“How?”

“Do what the doctors told you to do.  Take care of yourself and heal quickly, properly.”  He pointed to the wheelchair, “The doctors told me I might walk again, but I’ll need to stay put for a while, so that’s what I do.  I sit.  And because I sit now, I can stand later.  Do you understand?”

She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, thanks.”

That evening, at the Broken Sword, Freddy and Joey sat at a center table, Joey drinking a beer and Freddy having soda.  Freddy looked around the room at the odd characters surrounding them – a humanoid salamander sharing a drink with a muscle-bound old woman, a man glowing with electricity, a bouncer who had a face like a block of granite, and more.  “Freddy, I need your attention, please,” Joey told his brother and then whispered, “Seriously,… probably not a good idea to stare at these people.”

“Okay,” Freddy took a drink of his soda, “What’d you wanna talk about?”

“You killed that Japanese guy last night, but remember, we don’t get incentive for killing other assassins.”

“But he was fighting the Cavalier. He might’ve gotten the kill.”

“Yeah, but seeing the knight in action, I’m not so sure he was in too much trouble. Your gun didn’t do much to `im, either.”

“His armor’s really strong,” Freddy agreed.

“Yeah,” Joey appeared concerned, “You’re my little brother and you know I love ya, but Cav might be too much even for you. I’m not sure I like the odds of you fighting him fresh.”

“We can’t give up!”

“Oh, don’t worry. We won’t. See, Cav’s the big hero of the city, right? Chances are, he’s gonna go after all the other guys the CTs hired. Whoever’s still alive, anyway. He’ll either track them all down or maybe, I dunno, find some way to draw everybody out. Fight `em all at once.”

“Okay?” Freddy gave him a curious look.

“And we’re gonna let those dumbasses fight Cav.”

“But what if they get the kill?”

“Nah, he’ll beat the shit outta those other clowns. But see, there’s two reasons why this works.  First, when the other guys fail, we know the price on his head goes waaaay up, so we can pretty much retire off this job.  Second, once he’s been put through the gauntlet, he’ll hopefully be too exhausted and torn-apart to put up a decent fight.  That’s when you come in for the coup-de-gras.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like a good plan, Joey.”

He smiled at his brother, “It’s a great plan.”

****

Madison Square Garden already had its framing and most of its interiors and exteriors completed.  Reconstructing it was well underway but far from finished.  As the Cavalier flew the Dragon to the location, he called Commissioner Reins to discuss his plan.

“It’s a crazy idea,” Reins told him as he sat in a safe house outside the city, “But I’m used to your crazy plans at this point and I know it’s best not to try to change your mind.”

“Can you do it, though?”

“It’s not like we have a mayor that’s gonna chew me out for it, so sure.  I can make some calls.”

“Thanks, Reins.  Hopefully, we’ll get you back in the city as soon as possible.”

Within minutes, an emergency alert was issued across the New York metropolitan area.  Normally, the system was used for Amber Alerts, natural disasters, or similar issues.  This one was for a different purpose.  It read: The Cavalier is at Madison Square Garden.  Time to get paid.  It was obvious bait for the assassins, but Cavalier hoped their greed would override their threat-processing. He was ready.

Continued…