act four: saviors and traitors
There's a certain sense of satisfaction that fills a hunter who comes upon its prey in a completely unsuspecting state. In the case of the roaring lion and I, he was standing in a darkened alleyway, hidden by the shadows and finding comfort and safety in them. He'd sent some of his boys off for the night, probably to take part in the big gathering Chris was preparing to crash... and he was waiting all the while for his best friend, his confidant, the man who'd been his partner for so very long now...
To put it simply, he was waiting for a dead man, and a dead man did arrive.
"Drew? Hey man, the fuck took you so lo...ng..."
Thud.
He'd heard my approaching footsteps. He'd mistaken me for his dead friend, for the only man he thought would know where he was tonight. He learned from that mistake the moment he saw Graham's body crumple to the ground beside the shadowman standing before him, all life drained from his longtime friend's face. Grinning all the while, I studied his expressions, first of shock and revulsion, then of horror... and then of anger.
"You fucking son of a..."
He drew out his revolver, pulling it forward and hoping I wouldn't close the distance between the two of us before he could fire. I did. The gun clattered against the pavement and with a solid "oomf" sound, the roaring lion found himself sent staggering back, further into the dark alley.
To Carmine, that might have been thought to be a blessing. The shadows meant an easy escape, just as they had when we'd busted him and his boys that night long ago... I was certain he was thinking about bolting to save his hide. I knew that, on any other night, the little bitch might do just that.
Yet if there's one thing to say about the traitorous rat, it's that he's loyal to his fellow rats, and especially loyal to the dead man now lying several feet behind me. With a guttural yell of anger and anguish, Carmine stepped in and swung wildly for my head. For what it was worth, the kid knew how to fight well... training in our Police Force tends to grant you that ability in time.
But he was wild. Angry. Unable to control his movements, just acting out on raw emotion alone. Picture a man who thought he could take the city by the balls and drag it to the depths of his little underworld. Picture a man who believed he could make us ripe for picking by those punks dominating the city over. Picture a man who believed he'd join rank with them and reap the prosperity they'd be rewarded for it all.
Carmine Vestieri was all of that and more, and because of it all, he had degenerated into a predictable, avoidable, staggering storm of mixed emotions ready to be quieted by the simple housecat who'd exposed the lion for the rat that he was. I allowed his next swing to follow forward over my shoulder, barely missing a strike across my cheek in the process. Reaching up, my arms wrapped over his still extended arm and I braced my shoulder, clasping my hands together tightly and bringing them down upon Carmine's elbow with as much of my weight as possible.
A satisfying crack resounded through the air. It was followed by an ever-more satisfying guttural scream of pain, as Carmine ripped his arm back and staggered over himself, nearly falling on his ass as his arm dangled uselessly at his side, his eyes as wide as I'd ever seen them, almost mimicking his fallen friend's eyes from those hours before. He sputtered insanities beneath his breath, realizing quickly how fruitless this fight would be for him, realizing he wouldn't be avenging his fallen friend...
... realizing I wouldn't be letting him get out of here alive.
"W-w-what the fuck, D-Dom?! What the fuck?!"
I stepped closer to him, backing him further into the alley as I reaching to my holster, drawing my own revolver out and kicking his fallen one beneath the dumpster at our side. He was shaking now, staring a hole into the gun in my hand, sweat dripping down his brow. I remained silent, taking the safety off of my gun and watching him squirm before me, finally falling over himself and to the ground below, yet another cry of pain escaping his lips.
His arm looked downright mangled, I knew it was causing him a great deal of pain... it was as I'd intended it to in the first place, after-all. His breathing was sharp and his eyes darting every way they could, looking for a possible escape route, looking for a last chance at survival from the man before him... looking for any hope that he might cling to, any chance that he might take.
Finding nothing in return. Resorting to begging. Resorting to pleading. Resorting to negotiating a means for his hopeful survival.
"C'mon man... the f-fuck are you doing?! You've got me, you f-f-finally caught my ass... slap some fucking cuffs on me, Dominic! You broke my fucking arm, I can't fucking hurt you, man!"
Crack.
A shout of pain, distorted by the sound of his mouth caving in on its right side, escaped the lips of the roaring lion. I heard the clatter of teeth just a foot away as the druglord before me clutched at his face with his good arm, blood pumping from the side of his mouth. His breathing was ragged now, his tongue blanketed by the crimson copper invading his mouth.
"Y-y-you fuck! You... you fucking... you work for the Bureau, man! You... you can't kill people...!!"
I chuckle darkly and his eyes go wide, searching desperately to see my own, covered by the shadows as I hovered above him. Finally, I speak my first words to the scumbag I used to call a man of justice... and the words echo through the alley, sending a visible chill down the spin of the man.
"I can when they don't know it's me."
He's squealing now, turning more into a dying pig than a rat as he pushes himself backwards in a pathetic attempt to escape. The squeals and grunts aren't exactly high-pitched, however... less offensive to the ears, at least, and I'd rather savor his suffering than silence him early to save myself the damaged eardrums. His back hits a wall at the end of the alley, his journeys stopped in their tracks as he winces at the impact, eyes widdening in terror as he lifts his shaking head to look up at me, sputtering out his plea.
"Christ, man... but you... y-you're a fucking hero to t-t-these people... heroes don't murder, man! Heroes don't do the shit you did to Drew! Heroes don't--"
"You're right," I interrupt, lifting the gun on-level with his head, making the shakes in his body grow ever-more violent as I stare at him in his final moments of terror, his body trying desperately to fight through the fear coursing his veins, trying desperately to get his legs working again, to get the so-called roaring lion out from the alley and to the safety of the underground, "I am a hero to those people... and heroes don't kill."
He stops for a moment, eyes still wide but a small glimmer of hope flickering through his eyes. The flicker fades when the revolver begins to click, the shakes returning in force as I chuckle after my words, shaking my head softly.
"But more than that, I am this city's savior... and in betraying the code that this hero follows, I'm saving his city from shitbags like you."
Carmine shakily reaches his good arm up to grasp at the revolver as its cold steel presses against his forehead, his hand trying desperately to pull the weapon away. He's sobbing now, snot and tears disgustingly mixing and falling past his lips and chin, falling to the ground below and leaving strings hanging in gravity, a sickening display from a sickening man. My finger begins to press down upon the trigger.
"Let's face it, kid... not even a savior like me would want to save you now."
"OH GOD, DOMINIC, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME--"
BANG!
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