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Entry tags:
Why don't you do right?
Who: Mordecai Heller and Alley
What: Mordo's in a bit of a pinch. Alley unpinches it.
Where: Attleton, some fuckoff abandoned alleyway.
When: Early morning hours, 1 AMish.
Warnings: Talk of VIOLENCE and crime
It'd been difficult, after Viktor had vanished, to stay on the straight and narrow. With someone else around, someone else there to help suggest more mundane ways of filling the silence, an anchor for his thoughts, he'd started to settle into white collar life rather comfortably.
Without him, well.
Without him, what he'd convinced himself was not boredom, nor certainly a painful itch to stay ahead of the money game, not some junkie like desire for adrenaline, drove him to take up less scrupulous side jobs. It started so easily, so stupidly simply. A little bit of money laundering here, some embezzlement on command there for some unnamed, off the books company that honestly he couldn't recall who it was, they come and go-
And when thepower-rush money became too unsubstantial to keep him invested, he'd been all too happy to turn the tables. Why not? Why not push his luck just a little? Just because he could?
And push it a little further? And then further again?
His luck at this particularly dangerous game of accounting Russian Roulette wore out, eventually, as all things do. The intermittent period between that and now was unimportant.
Now was what was concerning him, backed into an alleyway, his pistol empty, a pilfered tire iron in hand verses a quickly encroaching assortment of low level thugs.
Playing on an even field was never the goal here. This wouldn't have been an issue with a partner.
Or from a rooftop.
As it was, it seemed he'd probably be waking up in the hospital now, one way or another, but he'd decided he'd not be eating the pavement here all alone.
A few of these motherfuckers were going to take a nice long dirt nap with him.
What: Mordo's in a bit of a pinch. Alley unpinches it.
Where: Attleton, some fuckoff abandoned alleyway.
When: Early morning hours, 1 AMish.
Warnings: Talk of VIOLENCE and crime
It'd been difficult, after Viktor had vanished, to stay on the straight and narrow. With someone else around, someone else there to help suggest more mundane ways of filling the silence, an anchor for his thoughts, he'd started to settle into white collar life rather comfortably.
Without him, well.
Without him, what he'd convinced himself was not boredom, nor certainly a painful itch to stay ahead of the money game, not some junkie like desire for adrenaline, drove him to take up less scrupulous side jobs. It started so easily, so stupidly simply. A little bit of money laundering here, some embezzlement on command there for some unnamed, off the books company that honestly he couldn't recall who it was, they come and go-
And when the
And push it a little further? And then further again?
His luck at this particularly dangerous game of accounting Russian Roulette wore out, eventually, as all things do. The intermittent period between that and now was unimportant.
Now was what was concerning him, backed into an alleyway, his pistol empty, a pilfered tire iron in hand verses a quickly encroaching assortment of low level thugs.
Playing on an even field was never the goal here. This wouldn't have been an issue with a partner.
Or from a rooftop.
As it was, it seemed he'd probably be waking up in the hospital now, one way or another, but he'd decided he'd not be eating the pavement here all alone.
A few of these motherfuckers were going to take a nice long dirt nap with him.
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Which was exactly how she heard the scuffling and clunking and shuffling and Maker knew what else of a beat-down either about to happen or already in progress.
And she had no idea what the specific context was, but she knew a many-on-one when she saw it and hey, no one here was any employer of hers to give a shit about.
So.
You know.
Inquisitor gonna Inquisitor.
A sharp, loud whistle to draw some attention was followed instantly by her grappling chain zipping out to snag one of the many and then bring him flying through the air to her feet. Across, you know, the whole length of the alleyway.
And then that guy was discarded as, shield up, Alley charged forward to do a little bowling.
With spikes.
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Up until Mook #1 got hookshotted into the pavement.
Mooks 2 through 5 clumsily halted to see what the diggity dang happened.
Only to get a demotion from kneecap cracker to bowling pin in five seconds flat.
Men this way and that, panicked yelling and scrambling to get out of the way, not a single asshole there with a gun because, well, guns were loud, and they had been trying to rub Mordecai out without attracting too much attention.
Oh well, so much for that.
As for Mordecai, way back there at the end of the alley with a tail like a bottle brush, he knew an opening when he saw it.
One fleeing man took that tire iron to the back of his head. The other, if he lived, would be getting through life sans his left eye when the hitman whipped the makeshift weapon into his face.
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...Eventually, everyone was either on the ground or gone, and Alley turned to the... cat man, who hopefully wasn't mid-swing at a downed attacker. "You good?"
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He glances up mid-swing: "I'm fine."
And then goes RIGHT BACK TO TOWN on this poor fucks skull.
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"Knock it off."
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The man on the ground is doing his best to slink away, but Mordecai has been distracted by the woman with his tire iron in her hand.
"Look, I don't want to do this anymore than you want me to.
But my gun is empty and I cannot abide him getting home, please endeavor to understand."
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And to the guy trying to slink away; "Oh, walk it off."
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The gurgling coming from said injured murderer trying to crawl away would indicate he might not have that much left in him, but Mordecai is not one for half assing anything.
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You know who doesn't want to participate in a murder tonight? This gal.
"I'm guessing from your eagerness to return the favor that I didn't just rescue some innocent victim."
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Well, guilty as charged but-
"Are you insinuating that you wouldn't want to ensure your continued safety? What if he comes back?"
The wet gurgling continues, unabated.... and Mordecai is forced to eventually add:
"What if he has coworkers who come back?"
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Simple. Damn near cheerful, even.
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Said while she still has a hold of the tire iron, of course.
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"Are you going to let me put this poor man out of his misery or not?"
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"Why was this poor man and his... coworkers, as you said, attacking you?"
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He can still call this self defense. Sort of.
Self defense and temporary insanity.
"Protection money collection." Look, the one guy who could argue with him has no teeth in his mouth anymore, who's gonna call him a liar?
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"Again, you're awfully eager to beat that guy's brains out for a poor victim of extortion."
Not to mention that beating a man to death takes a certain kind of personality. She ought to know, she's done it before.
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He glances over, noting that he hasn't heard gurgling in a bit...
aaaand then lets go of the tire iron.
"Oh never mind, he's done."
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Alley shoots a glance thataway as well, but doesn't seem particularly shocked or concerned with seeing a dead guy. She tosses the tire iron away once he's let go of it. "What'd you do to warrant them possibly coming back for a second round? And for that matter, how'd you run out of bullets?"
Hey you know who wasn't born yesterday? This gal.
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... And shot a few-
"Do you have a warrant?"
Look, he knows his rights. "I refuse to say anything that may incriminate me." AKA: I've done some bad shit and I've had to speak to law enforcement before.
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But then she shook her head, and slid her shield off her arm and back onto her back.
"...Suit yourself. You best find more bullets before they find you, instead."
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Look, he didn't make it this long in life without some form of paranoia, okay? It's necessary to not die. He does, however, straighten up a little more, out of that vaguely defensive posture he'd taken as she puts her shield away.
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Oh. Well. That's a little better then. He guesses.
"What on earth would you even do with all the information you were asking. Is this how you fill a boring evening out?"
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No he's not going to argue it's not a real story.
But it's the story he's giving!
"I can assure you, it will not happen again."
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