lost sight of his target, he heard the telltale pop near the back of the building. Like stalking prey, he ran silently towards the noise and came upon an open area partially illuminated by moonlight that came pouring in through the high glass windows.
The man, who was tall and slim, leaned against a crate casually, and Daniel noticed his red leather jacket for the first time, so dark in color it was almost black. “Good of you to come,” he said.
Daniel opened his mouth to ask about the man’s intriguing ability, but a cold voice from behind spoke first. “The Black Hero, I presume?”
Daniel spun on his heel and came face to face with a man a few inches shorter than he, who had dark hair slicked back into a ponytail and an equally dark mustache, the rest of his face hidden by the shadows.
“So what are you, the mob boss or something?” Daniel asked, crossing his arms across his chest. The situation reminded him of a scene out of a comic book; he almost expected to see a dozen men stepping out of the shadows with rifles pointed his way.
A moment later, as if summoned by Daniel’s imagination, a dozen men stepped out of the shadows, with rifles pointed his way.
Oh shit.
Daniel felt the first trickle of worry down his spine, realizing that his arrogance was about to land him in a whole world of hurt. He could count on one finger the number of times he’d been shot and, though it obviously hadn’t killed him, it had hurt like hell. Besides, he had no idea if he could actually die from being shot repeatedly. Every comic book hero had a weakness, after all, so it would make sense that Daniel would have his kryptonite too, however banal it turned out to be.
“What do you have against me?” Daniel asked the group. The heat rose to his face and he wished he could take his balaclava off, but he couldn’t risk revealing his identity, not to this criminal, not to anybody.
The ponytailed man walked around Daniel like a panther, relaxed and secure in his control. “You, my friend, have hurt many of my men and you have hampered my business with your do-gooding. And I have to confess, I am no fan of the Boy Scouts.”
“Do you have something against being a good Samaritan?” Daniel asked, hoping to keep Ponytail talking while he figured out an exit strategy.
The man flicked the air dismissively with his long fingers. “Eh, it’s just so… cliché.”
“So is being an evil drug lord.”
Ponytail shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said casually. “Here’s another cliché for you: this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
Any other time, Daniel might have found the banter amusing. Any other time when a dozen guns weren’t pointing at his balls, that was.
One underling walked towards the boss and handed him a gun, maybe a Magnum or some other brand of hand cannon. Daniel gulped. He was no gun connoisseur, but judging from the size of that barrel, he guessed it would leave a huge freaking hole in its wake. Sure he was fast, but could he outrun bullets? Moreover, was it better to stand his ground like a man and be shot in the face, or run like a coward and be shot in the back? Either option really didn’t hold much appeal.
“You’re somewhat of a underground legend in New York, did you know?” Ponytail said with a gleaming smile, pointing the gun directly at Daniel’s chest. “Jocko tells me you’re fast and really strong.”
“Jocko,” Daniel said under his breath. If he ever got out of this alive, he would hunt that son of a bitch down and skin him for being such a tattletale.
“Is this true?”
Daniel pursed his lips and nodded, seeing no point in lying now.
“So, I have a proposition for you, Mr. Hero . And keep in mind that I don’t often extend such magnanimous invitations.” He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “My niece gave me a Word of the Day toilet paper.”
Somebody snickered in the darkness and brought Ponytail back on focus. “As I was saying, I want
The man, who was tall and slim, leaned against a crate casually, and Daniel noticed his red leather jacket for the first time, so dark in color it was almost black. “Good of you to come,” he said.
Daniel opened his mouth to ask about the man’s intriguing ability, but a cold voice from behind spoke first. “The Black Hero, I presume?”
Daniel spun on his heel and came face to face with a man a few inches shorter than he, who had dark hair slicked back into a ponytail and an equally dark mustache, the rest of his face hidden by the shadows.
“So what are you, the mob boss or something?” Daniel asked, crossing his arms across his chest. The situation reminded him of a scene out of a comic book; he almost expected to see a dozen men stepping out of the shadows with rifles pointed his way.
A moment later, as if summoned by Daniel’s imagination, a dozen men stepped out of the shadows, with rifles pointed his way.
Oh shit.
Daniel felt the first trickle of worry down his spine, realizing that his arrogance was about to land him in a whole world of hurt. He could count on one finger the number of times he’d been shot and, though it obviously hadn’t killed him, it had hurt like hell. Besides, he had no idea if he could actually die from being shot repeatedly. Every comic book hero had a weakness, after all, so it would make sense that Daniel would have his kryptonite too, however banal it turned out to be.
“What do you have against me?” Daniel asked the group. The heat rose to his face and he wished he could take his balaclava off, but he couldn’t risk revealing his identity, not to this criminal, not to anybody.
The ponytailed man walked around Daniel like a panther, relaxed and secure in his control. “You, my friend, have hurt many of my men and you have hampered my business with your do-gooding. And I have to confess, I am no fan of the Boy Scouts.”
“Do you have something against being a good Samaritan?” Daniel asked, hoping to keep Ponytail talking while he figured out an exit strategy.
The man flicked the air dismissively with his long fingers. “Eh, it’s just so… cliché.”
“So is being an evil drug lord.”
Ponytail shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said casually. “Here’s another cliché for you: this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
Any other time, Daniel might have found the banter amusing. Any other time when a dozen guns weren’t pointing at his balls, that was.
One underling walked towards the boss and handed him a gun, maybe a Magnum or some other brand of hand cannon. Daniel gulped. He was no gun connoisseur, but judging from the size of that barrel, he guessed it would leave a huge freaking hole in its wake. Sure he was fast, but could he outrun bullets? Moreover, was it better to stand his ground like a man and be shot in the face, or run like a coward and be shot in the back? Either option really didn’t hold much appeal.
“You’re somewhat of a underground legend in New York, did you know?” Ponytail said with a gleaming smile, pointing the gun directly at Daniel’s chest. “Jocko tells me you’re fast and really strong.”
“Jocko,” Daniel said under his breath. If he ever got out of this alive, he would hunt that son of a bitch down and skin him for being such a tattletale.
“Is this true?”
Daniel pursed his lips and nodded, seeing no point in lying now.
“So, I have a proposition for you, Mr. Hero . And keep in mind that I don’t often extend such magnanimous invitations.” He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “My niece gave me a Word of the Day toilet paper.”
Somebody snickered in the darkness and brought Ponytail back on focus. “As I was saying, I want
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