DEFENESTRATION

Part IV

By James McKenna

Richmond Industries at sunset

The “friend” Kyle Richmond had enlisted in aide of Marlene Alruane was, in fact, Kyle himself but in the guise of Nighthawk. Marlene related the tale of Marc’s disappearance, as much as she knew anyways. One day, while she was out and Marc was alone he was taken by two cops and imprisoned at the local precinct. She and Frenchie—his pilot and friend—had gone to visit him. The next day, there was no trace of him, no calls and the prison he was slated to go too had not received him.

Crooked cops and a crooked system had seemingly won out again. But Kyle Richmond was not a man without resources and five minutes later, he was standing over his secretary’s shoulder as she reviewed the police files on the matter.

“I knew I hired you for a reason,” Richmond joked, trying to add levity to the serious matter.

“Thank you, Mr. Richmond although you’ve been stingy with the raises,” she quipped back. Deftly and with a sort of grace her fingers danced across the keyboard, finding information pertinent to their case. She tried to work fast, she’d hacked into the Police mainframe, they quickly reviews what records they could as she copied the files to her computer. Soon they were done and she quit out of the police system.

“What are the chances they’ll find out what we did?” Richmond questioned.

“Little to none, the system was a bit difficult to get into, but after that it was cake. I doubt anyone will notice we were even in there, if they do, well, the proxies that Richmond tech allows for are far beyond anything tax dollars allow for. They’d just hit brick wall after brick wall,” she smiled at Kyle, glasses falling low on her nose as her brown eyes looked up into his.

“Well done. Now can you pull up the Marc Spector file?”

She did and they perused the information; he was taken in on what Richmond believed to be falsified charges. Brought to the station oddly—to avoid public nuisance the file said in a footnote. He was slated to go to some federal penitentiary upstate. So the file says.

“Can you get the names of the cops who handled the case?”

She found them. Seamus Keene and Matt Hodgkin they were. Richmond decided to go after the first one.

“Pull up the Keene’s file. Let’s see what we can find out about him.”

Marc’s Cell

“Spector!” the syllables came in an imperative staccato, the voice was a deep growl, churning hard like an engine that just won’t start.

Marc Spector fought the urge to ask who was there. A cloud of stoicism enveloped him as he peered out, searching grimly for the source of the beckoning voice.

It was Frank Castle’s voice. This fact did not serve to relieve Marc.

The Apartment of Seamus Keene, several hours into the night

It was just after one in the morning when Richmond had finally learnt all he wished to know and came after the crooked cop. It was no task to break into his apartment—Kyle was a creature of the night, after all. The abode was a nice place, nicer than Seamus should be able to afford as a cop.

Kyle Richmond is not considered the cream of the crop in his world, the superhero world. There are others, faster, stronger, smarter; there are others simply better than he. Yet over the years, Richmond has paid his dues, hatching clever plans, heroic rescues, he’s taken his lumps and given more than he’s gotten. He’s even paid the ultimate price a time or two. Now, a friend’s life is on the line and he will be a great hero.

Though Kyle knows his status in the hero world, he will not allow that to hinder him, and in one fluid motion, he grabs the still sleeping Seamus’ foot and rushes out of the big window in the man’s bedroom. The window is about four feet in height and three in width. With the proper maneuvering Kyle glides easily out on his wings and carries the now rudely awakened Seamus, by the foot, with him. Seamus now awoke with a start.

The miniature jet motors hidden within Richmond’s cape and costume carry him and the screaming cop to the roof. Kyle stands on the ledge, holding Seamus upside down, dangling him like a marionette. The puppeteer feigns dissatisfaction with his toy.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

“My, my, what a mouth you have. Seamus, my boy, you’re a walking stereotype. Seamus Keene—that sound Irish enough? Sure you should be a cop, boy? I’m not so sure you should be; I’ve looked into your past Seamus. I don’t like what I see,” Richmond teases cruelly.

“W-what do you want, man? Put me down. I ain’t done nothing,”

“Ain’t done nothing, that’s a double negative my boy. Means you did something. You’ve got a badge, says you’re a cop, but a cop protects people and serves the law. You’re a marauder. A bastard,”

“You can’t prove shit,”

“Seamus, I’ve got access to all your files,” Nighthawk began in a patronizing tone, like a father displeased over his son’s report card. “I’ve seen the arrests you’ve made, and I can see the arrests you’ve stopped making. First couple years you were big on the drug pushers. We know how prison works, the revolving door it is, you put a few guys away multiple times. Then you stopped putting them away. You’ve tried to be smart about your finances, but trouble is—you’re a dumb crooked cop.” Now Richmond’s voice dripped lethal venom. “You have several accounts, you try to hide some of the dirty money by investing and putting it into other assets, but the truth of the matter is, anyone with half a brain can see you’re burning up cash like a madman. Your rent, insurance and other expenditures would eat up your paycheck, and you’re still putting money in the bank every month.

“So I put two and two together. The guys you stopped arresting, I found them, I found their bosses and well, I’m a bit more intimidating than you. They told me everything, Seamus. Now you’re going to help me, or you’ll be just another stain on the concrete.”

Ryker’s Island

It would have been much easier to use a key, but the locks on the cell doors were all electric and automated now. Frank and Marc wrested with the metal, but to no avail, as they knew would be the outcome.

“There has to be a secondary means to open the doors. In case of a power outage,” Frank grunted. They’d found the locking mechanism and managed to mangle the casing a bit. Marc was put in a separate wing from the general population, a much neglected wing. Over the years the prison had been refit several times to accommodate new upgrades in technology. Marc’s section had simply slapped a few hasty upgrades onto the existing, older frames.

“Stand back, in the corner,” Frank advised. With the locking mechanism singled out, he fired a couple rounds at it. He’d “borrowed” the weapons of a few guards he’d knocked out. He feared the attention that weapons fire would draw to them, but having Marc out was more important.

“Thanks, Castle. What do we do now, though?”

“I’ve got a couple escape routes mapped out. I’ve been in and out of here a couple times. Batroc and his fools and Boomerang are out for you; you’re good but those are bad odds.”

“They have me here on fake charges, if I just run I don’t know what the fallout could be.”

“Do you want your life, or a nice P.R. image?”

Richmond Industries

So after his tussle with Seamus, Kyle had found out quite a few interesting things. Seamus and his partner had been paid off by Sunset Bain of all people. Or rather a contact between Bain and the police, but the ties were there.

Richmond knew Bain was dirty, but could never quite prove it. But what were her plans for Spector?

Kyle sat at his desk, slouched, tired, in his big expensive chair. The chair meant he was important, the office, the desk, everything around him, all the money and privileges. It meant he was important, yet he couldn’t make the connections enough to save his friend.

He started to sketch a bit on a note pad. Writing the names of everyone involved that he knew of: Marc Spector, Moon Knight, Sunset Bain and now himself. What had Spector done to anger Bain? He knew the histories of both companies, they rarely had any dealings, and their most recent was years in the past. So what then, had Moon Knight done to incur such ire?

Moon Knight’s last actions had been helping Richmond, which was why Kyle was now trying to save his peer and friend. Moon Knight had taken down Blizzard and Blacklash, two super-crooks intent on some industrial sabotage. But why? They were small time, working for money, neither were big thinkers.

Richmond Industries had been working on a fuel converter for the military, making other fuel sources easier to harness and use. When Blizzard and Blacklash attacked, it was only a few days before the converter was unveiled and the government contract fulfilled. He wasn’t the only one working on such a project, there were a few rival contracts out there. The most notable of which, he now recalled, was with BainTronics. The first company to unveil got most of the money and the patents—the patents could later be turned into a fortune as the converter went public and garnered a widespread usage.

In the corporate world, they all played dirty, but Richmond had heard tales, especially from Tony Stark, about Bain carrying it a bit further than anyone else. Kyle now believed he’d had it worked out.

Bain hired the mercenaries. Moon Knight stopped them. Bain found out who Moon Knight was. Bain paid the cops. Marc Spector went to jail.

Kyle slouched in his large leather chair, meditating on his deductions. He sighed, if it had all happened as he now guessed it had, there was a great deal of work ahead of him. He had to bust Marc out; the easiest way to do that would be to prove Bain’s dirty deeds. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to prove Bain’s misdeeds. Again he sighed. With his Nighthawk uniform, it was a short flight to Richmond’s lavish apartment.

It was early morning now, nothing unusual for Richmond. Being the owner and head of his own company afforded him a flexible schedule; he had a wise board of directors who were used to his absence.

Kyle landed gently on the roof of his apartment building. He owned the building and took residence in the top floor, with an ornate and functional set of windows on top, easy for Kyle in his nocturnal guise to flit in and out of.

He mused over the details some more as he raided his liquor cabinet. His weary mind and body found some solace in a glass of rum and coke before he succumbed to sleep’s whims.

Ryker’s Island; Boomerang’s cell

Castle held a potato up to the end of his gun and it somewhat muffled the shot that killed Fred Myer’s cellmate. Spector and Castle had raided the cafeteria, using a set of keys Frank stole to get into the back storage room. Castle grabbed a few potatoes to use as makeshift silencers, his absurd tactical mind working in overdrive.

Spector himself wouldn’t kill any of the prisoners, but he didn’t seem to mind if Frank Castle went about his job.

The potato was a poor silencer, but kept it quiet enough to not alert the guards. Some other prisoners woke up, saw the guns and kept quiet.

“What the hell…” Myers trailed off, in the light he could make out Castle and Spector, Frank had his gun pointed. Another potato lost to Frank’s war on crime. Starch white and messy, thanksgiving trappings; instant stigmata. Myers’s was on his knees his left hand clutching his right which now had a gunshot wound clear through it.

“Who set me up, Boomerang,” Spector started in.

“No, no man…no,” eyes watered as the mercenary answered.

“He’s got more bullets.”

“No…oh, God. Fuck. No,” each syllable quickly exhaled, short bursts of air through a constricting throat. Blood gleamed in the moonlight coming through the window.

“Frank….”

“Fine—Moon Knight. Yeah, Spector we know,” he coughed out. “Sunset Bain. Goddammit. Bain set you up. Some shit you pulled with this guy Richmond or whatever.” His wound still hurt, and Boomerang seethed in pain but it was abiding now, and he was trying his best to block it out.

Spector was silent for a minute, as he recalled the rooftop encounter with Blizzard and Blacklash. It was starting to make sense now.

“You’re mine, Myers. I’m going to leave you alive for now. If and when you get out of here, I own you. Don’t forget that. You helped ruin my life and I’ve got the Punisher next to me with an itchy finger. Your brains should be nothing more than a stain on the wall.”

Boomerang sneered and looked back down at his hand. When he looked back up, the vengeful Knight and his companion had gone.