Continued from: Part OnePart Two and Part Three
Two vans screeched to a halt out the front of Cornell Cottonmouth’s last known residence and a dozen men in brown tracksuits and white helmets poured out.
“Not these idiots…” Jackie muttered as he slipped his gun from his hip into his trench coat pocket slightly stepping back to watch what was going on. He recognised the men; members of a low level street gang with ambitions called the Tracksuit Draculas.
“Hey bro!” One of them pointed at Jackie. “You didn’t see nothing bro, okay bro?”
Jackie nodded taking another step back as he watched the almost comical scene unfold. Seven more tracksuited men came out of the stairs carrying a man in his pyjamas with a hood over his head.
“Twenty guys to get less than ten g’s,” Jackie said quietly. “Idiots.”
“Hey bro! You looking at us bro?”
“I think bro, he’s looking at us bro.”
Jackie gritted his teeth as the Tracksuit Draculas turned their full attention to him. This was supposed to be an easy hit. Head up to Harlem, whack the old guy, head home. But no. All this needed now was some moron in spandex to show up and turn this into a complete cluster…
“Okay everyone, just relax.”
Arriving on the scene was a man in an NFL uniform, hands on hips and completely out of place.
“Bro! Who the hell are you bro?”
He looked almost shocked at the question. “I’m NFL Superpro! Now kindly release the old man while I call the police.”
Underworld shook his head at the joke of a superhero who’d shown up and couldn’t help but laugh when the Tracksuit Draculas began wailing on him. But all this commotion was drawing too much attention. Jackie drew his gun.
“Hey quarterback! Think fast.”
Jackie aimed and fired BLAM! NFL Superpro ducked and wove between the tracksuits as the bullet followed in the straightest path, through them! The hero ran for his life like he was heading for a magical touchdown and one by one the adamantium bullet chased him in almost comical guided missile style until it finally tagged him in the shoulder. Jackie looked around at his handiwork; eighty percent of the bros were dead, the rest wounded, the package untouched and the hero out of the picture.
“You shot me!” screamed Superpro.
“You’re lucky I don’t end you!” Jackie replied as he pulled the bag off the man’s head. “Now lie there and bleed quietly. Cornell Cottonmouth?”
The old man with dulled fangs and yellowed eyes looked up “Thanks fo…”
BLAM!
“Don’t thank me old man,” Jackie said as the body went limp; a slime trail of brains splattered on the walls. Jackie took some shots with his phone before dropping the body on the ground.
“That was our mark Bro,” complained a Dracula as he held his neck.
“WAS.” Jackie sneered as he walked off leaving the carnage behind him.
**
Sal Pazzo looked up at the man in the zebra print and eye patch standing over his table at the café It’s All Black Sugah. “Help you?”
“You Sal?”
“Depends on whose asking?” Sal replied. “And since I don’t know you, no.”
The man smiled as he took a seat opposite, grinning like a chesire cat. “He said you’d be all cagey.”
“You seem to know me,” Sal dropped his cup roughly onto the saucer and stood up. “I ain’t got time for games.”
“Sit.”
Sal paused. This guy had trouble oozing out his pores; from his bleach blonde 90’s haircut to the metal skull insignia chain around his neck topping off the lightning bolt earrings. “Say what you gotta say.”
“Big guy wants his money back.”
“I don’t owe nobody nothing!” Sal stated emphatically.
“Underworld.”
“Never heard of him,” Sal lied.
The man smiled. “You’re his arranger, the middle man. The big guy paid Underworld to whack Hammerhead...”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sal replied.
“And Hammerhead’s still breathing. The big guy wants his money back because your guy hasn’t delivered. He’s got til tomorrow to cough up or complete.”
“You’re…” Sal’s sentence never finished as the man was up in a flash and clotheslined him to the floor with a mighty arm across the face. Sal lay on the pavement like a drunken turtle flailing about. The man the put a boot onto Sal’s neck.
“Just pass the message along,” the man smiled as he pulsed his foot making Sal gag. “You get me?”
**
Jackie sat at a bar of Josie’s Bar in Hell Kitchen. He usually came here after a job, not for a drink but to restock. Telly the bartender knows a guy who knows a guy that yadda yadda yadda gets adamantium bullets off some smart guy called Machinesmith at a reasonable price; well reasonable for adamantium.
Jackie watched as an orange juice slid down the bar in dramatic fashion and stopped perfectly in front of him. He looked down the end of the bar to see Telly giving a knowing nod.
“Swear that kids a mutie,” Jackie said quietly as he took his pills out of his pocket as his phone buzzed.
{Fat mans gunning for you}
Jackie lowered his glasses to look at the text to make sure he saw it correctly.
“How many?” Telly asked as he walked over.
“Think I’m going to need a whole box.”
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