DEFENESTRATION

Part V

By James McKenna

Richmond Industries

“So, if Bain plays this dirty in real life—contracting mercs and assassins for industrial sabotage and more—how messy do you think her business is?” Kyle had another day in the office ahead of him; he’d cancelled or moved all of his appointments. Today he would do his best to free Marc Spector.

“I’d guess she has a few fiscal skeletons in her closet.”

“See if we can get Tony Stark on the phone, he’s clashed with her enough times in the market and he’s had a few encounters with her as Iron Man, too.”

Ryker’s Island

Marc Spector and Frank Castle did their best to sneak about the Prison. This was a land of shadows and the guards knew that, in effect, they had no true control. Steel bars and locks could never hope to hold some men, Spector and Castle included. As long as they played nice, the guards would turn a blind eye to such practices. Especially for Castle, they loved Castle secretly; he kept the idiot crooks in place and reduced the population of the harder criminals, making the guards’ jobs easier.

But if a force for good could easily escape, make its way about these crooked hallways, so too could men with malicious intents find release. And if guards could turn a blind eye to many an unlawful happening in the prison…might that negligence follow to higher positions? Even, perhaps, to the Warden himself?

The sickly yellow-white lights that Spector had grown accustomed to went out. Now, Spector found himself bathed in the ghastly red of the emergency lights. Ryker’s seemed hellish enough under normal circumstances, now, bathed in macabre crimson hues, the walls appeared as the ramparts of the inferno itself. He heard a loud clicking noise, the locks came undone and those held down for so long, found themselves divested of incarceration.

Richmond Industries

“Stark here. Talk fast,” the voice was terse and commanding.

“Tony, it’s Kyle Richmond here. A mutual friend of ours stirred up some trouble with Sunset Bain. I need any dirt you’ve got on her.”

“What happened?”

“Moon Knight gave her some trouble, she retaliated against Marc Spector.”

“How’d she get that info?”

“Some of us aren’t as careful as we could be. If you know the right people, if you leave enough money on the table…you know.”

“I’m sending you everything I have now. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

The line went dead and Stark was off on his business.

Richmond’s secretary opened the newly received e-mail from Stark. After putting it through several deciphering programs, they finally saw the long list of Bain’s dirty laundry.

“Jeez,” his secretary muttered. Richmond nodded.

Ryker’s Island

“Hnn, long fight ahead,” Frank Castle stated.

“Good,” Spector said. He’d been jerked around for too long now.

Many of the prisoners ran elsewhere, some stayed in their cells, but there were a few who wished to prove something. Taking out the Punisher would be a great boost to any of their resumes.

Castle let loose, “Don’t worry about escaping now, or playing nice with these scum. Just keep alive.”

Spector rushed at the small crowd before him and Castle. He caught one man off guard and broke a couple of his ribs with a well placed blow and his fist found another man’s solar plexus with ease, sending the crook reeling and gasping for breath. He broke a nose, caught yet another man in the mouth and felt his teeth give way. Spector checked for Castle out of the corner of his eye to see the Punisher holding his own expertly. For his wandering mind, Marc took a sloppy punch in the chest, but he ignored it; jumping, he spun into a devastating Savate kick that broke some prisoner’s jaw. On the way down he lashed out, his hands like lightening, catching another would-be opponent in the face, crushing his cheek bone and eye. He landed, already prepared to spring again.

Yet now he simply stood, adrenaline pumping through his body, feeling his heart race. Each pump sound like a grenade in his ears. Spector’s hands were warm from blood that’s not his and the metallic sanguine scent filled his nostrils. He thought how much he’s missed this. He’s had a few encounters here in the prison, but mostly he’s been cooped up, forced into that tiny, unjust cage. Now he doesn’t feel like a defensive Marc Spector. He feels good, he feels at ease, even. He feels like Moon Knight again.

“This was me going easy and I trust what you’ve seen means I don’t have to threaten you now. Go back to your cages like the animals you are and don’t dare even peek out,” he addressed the few left that would contend with him and Frank and luckily, they listened.

Richmond Industries

“If Stark had this information just lying around, why didn’t he use it to bust her?” his secretary asked.

“If she has ties to the CIA or Feds—or any other acronymic organization—she can make a few large donations and proceed relatively uninterrupted. I hate that it can work that way, but some times it’s the sad truth,” Richmond said, rubbing his chin, trying to figure out a way to bust her and save Marc. The money she’d wired to Blizzard and Blacklash was made via several intermediaries, leaving almost no discernable link to Bain.

The arrest on Spector had been made because of some trumped up charges regarding his other identity, Steven Grant, claiming Spector had siphoned monies into accounts in the name of Steven Grant, claiming them as tax-free donations and gifts. The paperwork simply became too confusing and Richmond at the moment was trying to find another way to prove his innocence, or at least, get him out of jail in a hopefully legal manner.

He kept reading the files Stark had on her, and came across an interesting tidbit.

Ryker’s Island

Marc Spector sprinted through the prison with Frank Castle following. It was time to get out now, he’d wanted to seek legal means, keep some sort of good name for himself but that seemed not only implausible but dangerous now. The prisoners had been let loose and there was no safe haven now, sure they’d secured one wing, but everyone else was still out for blood.

“Get to the courtyard,” Castle grunted, he had several escape plans in place.

The problem was, the courtyard had been seized by the mob already, convicts from another wing of the prison had spilled out into it, the grass was wet and stained a murky red as Batroc, Machete and Zaran did their best to take control. Spector and Castle hung back in shadow for a minute as they watched Batroc and his companions; for, despite their reputations for goofy bombast and disgraceful failures, these three men were fighters, their trade is violence and they are masters of it.

“What should we do?” asked Spector.

“Go out and hurt them before they can hurt us, and if you’re so inclined maybe tell St. Peter you might be comin’ along soon.”

Sunset Bain’s New York Penthouse

Reclining in the luxurious Jacuzzi, with a bottle of champagne she sighed, enjoying the heavenly pleasures afforded her.

She had come to New York to be close to the action, as close as she would get her well-manicured hands at least. Unfortunately, Boomerang had phoned in, his mission derailed a bit by some foolhardy mercenaries already in the prison. And the Punisher had put a bullet through one of Boomerang’s hands, a bit of a hamper. Luckily, she and the warden were on good terms, and a generous early retirement package had convinced him to turn his head the other way and give the prisoners’ a bit of a recess. Of course, the official story would be an electrical malfunction, which opened all the cell doors. The things money could buy.

So it was that she became quite displeased when the ceiling to floor window behind her was smashed through by the red, yellow and blue clad figure, Nighthawk.

“GUARDS!” Bain screamed. Several men entered with guns at the ready, Richmond quickly grasped a large chair and hurled it easily at the door they were entering from, catching a few of them, he leapt over the Jacuzzi with Bain still in it, almost gliding to the other side of the room landing atop the fallen men as he dispatched the rest.

“Now, shut up and listen. You’re going to turn yourself in and offer up all your records and do your best to get Marc Spector out of jail,” Nighthawk said, his voice an imposing rasp.

“And why would I do that?” Bain sneered, unfrightened it seemed.

“Because I have records of the weapons you’ve been helping to build. The problem with you is, you think paying off a few officials here and there and getting cozy with the government will protect you from everything, but this stuff…this just crosses the line. You’ve got stuff that not only Uncle Sam would have trouble with, but the international community as a whole,” Nighthawk explained, “so give it up.”

He pulled an envelope he’d folded up and stuck in the back of his belt out, it contained several documents and photos. He opened it and tossed them at her.

Her face went white. He’d struck a chord.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

“WHAT?” Nick Fury growled, muscles and veins in his neck tensing, he chomped down extra hard on the as yet unlit cigar in his mouth.

“You heard right,” Nighthawk replied dourly.

Fury turned to his aide de camp Dum Dum Dugan and told him what to do, Dugan set off with a few new S.H.I.E.L.D. officers to go and meet up with the local precinct involved in the matter.

“Need any help, Fury?”

“Nah, ‘Hawk, we got it from here. I owe you one if this stuff’s correct, an’ Spector definitely owes you. Fury out.”

The screen in Richmond’s office went blank, he took off the Nighthawk mask and relaxed. His secretary came in with drinks and sat down, it was late now, past office hours.

“So how did it work out?”

“I think it’s all set,” he took a sip from his glass, then began the tale.

Ryker’s Island

The wave of violence was a primordial force, unstoppable it seemed. One would do better to take on the ocean.

Batroc had spotted Spector and leapt at him, opening with a devastating kick which Marc just narrowly avoided. Spector ducked and pivoted, Batroc landed and Marc launced himself at the mercenary before he’d had the chance to turn and right himself. They landed hard, Spector on top, digging his knee hard into the man’s back, he reeled back and sunk a blow hard into Batroc’s kidneys.

“Hardly sportsmanlike, Monsieur,” Batroc tried to hold onto some sense of bravado as the blow struck and his face was pressed hard to the ground.

“Good thing this is no sport,” Spector rolled off of him, grabbed the mercenary by his belt and shirt collar, grunting he tossed the man a yard or two into the remnants of a wrecked table. He jumped, planning to come down with hard kick on the Frenchman. Batroc had other ideas.

A high kick met Spector in the stomach, deflating his ego. Batroc, still uneasy from the initial attack, fell over, he and Spector tumbling to the ground, the fight degraded to basic grapples and holds, no form, just rage.

Machete and Zaran attacked Frank Castle, Zaran made sure to disarm him first, throwing a couple small shivs from across the room, catching Castle off guard, he managed to avoid any serious injury but they caused him to drop his weapons. Machete rushed and kicked the guns aside, they came to rest under a table, which then collapsed as two prisoners crashed into it, fighting.

Castle didn’t wait, he lashed out and a palm strike to Machete’s face disabled the Latin mercenary temporarily. Zaran rushed at the Punisher, brandishing another shiv he’d fashioned at some point during his stay in Ryker’s.

“You’re the weapons master, huh?”

“I have been called that,” Zaran replied, his eyes narrowing as he struck, a small slash appeared across Castle’s chest, mostly tearing his shirt, but a few drops of blood were drawn. Frank smiled, he was in his element, while Zaran was still following through with his attack, Frank got in close, the back of his right hand connected with Zaran’s face, his left hand going for the throat and holding tight.

Castle grasped Zaran’s right wrist, the mercenary bucked hard, sinking the shiv into Frank’s forearm but Castle slammed him into a wall, pulled him away and then laid him back into the wall. Hard. Frank applied more pressure to Zaran’s wrist, as his arm started to weaken from its wound. Machete picked this moment to reorient himself and launch another attack at Castle.

On the ground, Spector got his arm around Batroc’s throat and smashed the Frenchman’s head into the ground while he pressed on his windpipe. Batroc flailed, trying, in vain, to grasp at something, to find some way to best the Moon’s Knight. He managed to get an elbow into Spector’s stomach, but Marc held fast, applying more pressure until Batroc’s form went limp. He waited a minute, to make sure he was truly unconscious, then he noticed Castle’s plight and went to help.

Marc remembered his original encounter with Machete and decided to go after him, revenge on his mind, he tackled the Latino unceremoniously to the ground, landing blow after blow on the man, but Machete grasped Marc’s shoulders and kneed him hard, rolling back and tossing Spector off of him and into a wall.

“It’s the Fuzz!” one of the random inmates called out. Inwardly Marc almost laughed. What peculiar wording, he almost grinned, were it not for the pain.

He rolled and struggled to his feet as Machete attacked again, out of the corner of his eye, Marc saw men entering the room, but he was determined to pay back the mercenary. In an adrenal fit, he grabbed Machete by the throat, finding new strength, with a knee in the gut, he tossed Machete at the wall, the mercenary went down, and a kick in the face removed him from the fight.

At this point Castle was deeply involved in his fight with Zaran. Each was covered with a variety of cuts and markings. At that point the police and S.H.I.E.L.D. team intervened, taking Zaran into custody. Dum Dum Dugan approached the wary Marc Spector.

“I’ve been ordered to free ya, an’ Nick Fury wants an audience with ya, so I’ll be takin’ you back to the Helicarrier with me. C’mon,” he motioned with his thumb behind him, the S.H.I.E.L.D. troops took it as an order and attended to the prisoners.

Dugan turned, “Frank, with all this commotion, Nick figures a talented guy like you could easily get lost in the shuffle, he tells me it might be a day or so before all prisoners are accounted for, if one went missing…well, I think ya can get the idea. Nicky told me to say you’re even now,” he finished, and tossed Frank a S.H.I.E.L.D. badge.

“Yeah, right, give that warhorse my regards,” and Frank Castle, the Punisher, made himself lost amongst the frenzy. He snuck out of the prison, through gates laid open by police and S.H.I.E.L.D., flashing them the badge Dugan had given him, his path unobstructed.

“Dugan said you’re to give me a ride into the city,” Frank found a young, unsuspecting S.H.I.E.L.D. officer and took advantage of the young man’s naiveté, showing him the badge Dugan had just given him. Moments later, Castle was whisked away in a hover-car.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

“So, how do we explain two world-class mercs got beat up by some Wall Street whiz? Or are you the cabbie today?”

Marc sat in silence, as Fury began his tirade.

“So I’ve busted Bain ‘cause she was in cahoots with North Korea, they were givin’ her money to help them with their weapons programs, she figured havin’ a whole country on her side would help her next time she clashed with Stark. An’ fer us getting’ that info ya owe Kyle Richmond, or Nighthawk, whatever ya wanna call him, a debt o’ gratitude. Problem is, now that yer free, ya gotta find a way to explain it. Yer a bit of a public personality, Marc. Yer trial got a load o’ media coverage, meanin’ ya gotta explain the dual identities ya got goin’ on. I’m gonna leave that to ya. Ya ever need any help, give me a call, I could use a man like you,” Fury finished, he opened the cigar box on his desk, tossed one to Marc and took one for himself.

“I don’t usually smoke, but after all this, I’ll make an exception,” he bites off the end and lights a match.