Post by jc on Jun 17, 2012 3:42:17 GMT -5
[Events were months back during Lucy's first capture.]
Lucy Black hadn't slept at all that night... Seven's revelation and the affirmation that no hero was coming for her. Jack would have shown by the second day, wouldn't he? Caine could have lied, he could have trying to instill some sort of comfort before the Creole was to meet her end...who knew. Lucy would have been found in the same position in which seven had left her; knees were hugged up against her chest, and that sharp chin was nestled atop her knees. There'd be no hood for her this time.
Caine was to be her chauffer, and Seven the co-pilot. She didn't utter a single word on the treck out into the dirt roads of the hill country. Hazey gravel lanes surrounded by fields of winter frozen crops. She wondered if this would be limbo; to be wandering in unknown pastures, waiting for the rescuer... The scenery had passed by like movie. She'd thought about coaxing an assisted suicide, to attack Seven, or Caine. Her efforts would thwarted more than neutralized...they'd probably bind her then. And besides, what kind of death would that be. Cowardly, dismal..something they would have frowned upon, and never allowed. Besides, she had told King in the very beginning that she was no coward... The car turned down a path, or something that may have resembled a path fifty some years earlier. The tired suspension of the Ford warbled and groaned with it's efforts as it rolled over fallen logs got rotten and soft. It had been a bumpy session after hours of driving. The tumultuous pattern matched that of an angry tide, and would only come to peace as a clearing was seen up ahead. A final thunk into the mud, and the Model T would finally stop. Four rather familiar faces were infront of a rather cooped up looking shack. The dilapidated building was leaning and wet with mold as it hobbled beneath it's tattered roof. The weapons and demeanor the cronies were brandishing were juxtaposed to the sickly and sad building behind them.
Clean cut and shining with power, they looked onto the arrival with satisfaction, none so much as the shorter, older Russian man that stood in the center. A calm grin warmed his gnarled face, and an ushering hand was shown to Caine. "Ah, right on time..." This was four days ago now...and four days into hell she was.
Jack Coffin had arrived with the few amount of information he was given. But that's what he was. A dog. And he can sniff out his master from anywhere at any time. He owed her more than he could remember and being shot and left to die has given him an only temporary dilemma. He was different now, the hardened flip-butler now held a deep hatred for those who took her. Caine was more than happy to join along with Jack in his tirade, wanting to cast out his bad will with Lucy. After all, they worked together in things that even Jack could not do. He was no more than a couple hundred yards away from the building, four targets. No problem. Jack was told immediately and armed himself accordingly. Two Webley revolvers, two 1911s (one was Sally's), a few rolls of dynamite, his butterfly knife, and a rusty machete he had won in his time during the War. Caine was just deadset in his own rifle, he had ghillied himself so well that not even the keenest eye could see him. Caine had dug into his own little hidey hole.
Jack was smoking his cigarette and was waiting until night fall, where he was at his best. He smoked behind a tree as to not gain their attention, holding in his smoke as long as he could while Caine would keep on spotting them over and over, his rifle unloaded at the moment so he could not go into his usual PTSD and slip a trigger finger to more than likely kill all of them and thus ending Lucy's life before Jack had a chance to make a move. They were waiting too long though, her life was in danger and he had no way to even fight for her. Seven was back with King and them, doing their own thing without Caine. It was just Asimov and his goons under their dingy shack. How long did they torture her? What was known was that he didn't have much time. He could only count the seconds before they were to strike.
Jack spoke impatiently, "How much fucking longer?" And
Caine would retort instantly, "It's gonna' be cloudy tonight, just wait until the clouds go over the moon..."
Lucy Black had found the first day to be the simplest. Seven and Caine had dissapeared, and that's when everything had just gone numb. The door had shut with the surrounding crowd of killers in toe, and that had been the last bath of light she had seen clearly in days.
"Now Lucy..." He had said to her as the knob-less door was linked shut with a chain.
The Cajun had been strapped into a dentists chair, and locked in like one would do for the mentally ill at a sanitorium.
"I intend on getting all that money back that you took from me and my employer. As a matter of fact I already have after having taking up shop at your old joint. But I'm not satiated...I want my pound of flesh."
The cigar he had in hand was positioned like a pen, and jabbed into her mouth as it was forced open with a clamp, the tip seering the dainty flesh of her lips as she fought with a pucker. This was just the first of many things to come.
Beatings made up the first day; a battered face, bloody eyes and cheeks gnarled from colliding with teeth, blackened lids and brutalized limbs. Bats, rebar, glass bottles. Between her fingers and toes had been sliced, her left arm stomped until the wrist was fractured, broken thumbs...and finally she had been allowed to sleep, still strapped and now naked. They'd kept her cold and nude for the next two days, allowed to starve, and given no water. The bottoms of her feet were beaten and whipped, left bloodied and swollen. Earlier in the fourth day she had been brought outside. Scabbed feed drug along the dirt as she felt so blinded by the light of day. They tossed her into a tub filled with ice water, and it was there she stays. Hands had shoved her into the abyss, barking up questions for recipies, names, bank accounts, locations of suppliers...anything. Splash after splash soon came to feel like needles, stinging with frigid vengence against the water logged cheeks.
Near dark was when her body could finally give no more. Her head had been plunged under for a moment too long, and when she had been pulled up, a limp body would be all to greet them. The slow descent into darkness had been welcome, and thought to be her final allowance to sleep. She'd give nothing to them, no names or relevant speech whatsoever. She just thought of Vinny and Michelle...Vinny and Michelle... Waking came as a suprising thing to her. Why hadn't they killed her...it would have been so easy. This was not her agenda though, no matter how much she would have liked it to be. A tattered tunic was all that covered her, and she back in that shair, strapped in tight; the impressions of the last time she was restrained had left bloodied rings in her wrists, now they were growing irritated with infections. Asimov was sitting down beside her, petting the pained but still somehow lovely face of the woman.
"You're of no use, Lucy, I can see that...and like all things of that nature, you should be discarded..." A violent grip siezed her swollen cheek as he yanked her neck up as far as it could naturally reach. "But not without a mark. To those who find you....it will be a reminder not to take me and my employer lightly..." Behind them was a wood stove, and within it was brand. An infinity symbol rounded out in a horizontal figure eight that was ignited in the bath of hot coals. Asimov's set of dark blues were examing Lucy as she realised what he was going to do.
"It's a shame you have to be a ni**er....I would have kept you otherwise..." Her head was allowed to drop. "Lift up her shirt..." One of the three remaining did so, exposing the womanly figure once more. Her breathing was becoming hysterical, as she heard the wood stove creaking shut. Wrists were ripping once, the fratured left making her wail as she jerked.
She wasn't cattle...she wouldn't be marked, she wouldn't! "Asimov! ASIMOV! STOP!" A scream came rushing from the cabin like a bullet, hellish with it's severity and blood-chilling shrillness. Once could feel how painful it must have been to yell out like that, let alone the pain that must have initiated it. The brand was seering into her ribs, just under her left breast.
Jack Coffin was talking before they were branding her, something that tried to calm his nerves as much as the cigarette.
Caine spoke first, "So, out of all the bosses you had.. I'm sorry, Dog... All the masters you had, which one did you like the most?"
Jack would sigh and shrug, "I don't have a favorite master. The one I like most is the one I'm currently with. And the one before that, and the one before that."
Caine only chuckled and held his rifle steadied, "They use you, Jacky boy, they always do. You let them use you, if you keep on letting them use you, you'll be all used up. If it wasn't for Lucy's petty rivalries, you wouldn't have been shot up and dead- in fact, you could have been in the midnight crew too... You're a dog, Jack... And that's all you're ever gonna' be."
Jack merely took it through his heart and made a pained face at him, only to shrug it off, "And what? That's better than being a Hellhound-for-Hire? You're the lowest of the low... you almost killed your own friend.."
Caine merely nodded, "And I'm here right?"
Jack shook his head, "Why are you here?" The cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down while he spoke, lighting up a new one once it was smoked to the butt.
Caine spoke simply, "Because, fuck head, I owe her." Jack merely laughed at the thought, "Owe her- I ain't owe her shit and I still feel loyalty to-" Caine finished the sentence, "That bitch whose been either getting beaten or getting fucked like a whore in there? Leave her, let me finish these fucks and pay my debt.."
Jack had already taken off towards the house, not wanting to hear any more of Caine's bullshit, he was no more than a hundred yards from the shack before he looked offwards towards the house. He had flash backs of himself, tortured by the Americans and the Muslims alike, he closed his eyes and tried to forget like he always did... He could feel the waterboarding drown him again, the beatings he received daily and the constant breaks of his own appendages and ribs. He was silent for a moment, silent for everything that he had endured. And silent for Lucy. He opened his eyes again when she screamed, the long ash of his burning cigarette finally fell off and he drew out both weapons from underneath his trenchcoat, the clouds slowly washing over the moon and destroying the moonlight. He revelled in it, he walked towards the shack, weapons to his sides and walked fearlessly towards what might be his own death.
Lucy Black's skin was popping like butter atop a skillet. Flesh fringed and curled around the burning hot iron, and each breath brought it deeper against her ribs. They held it there for an obscene amount of time. Her skin had stuck to the pice, and had to be ripped free as they'd finally yank back once the metal had lost most of its redness. She had grown a terrible shade of pale, teals were drowned out in agony, and a clamy sweat now doused her body. Shaking limbs rattled in their restraints, and she seemed on teh verge of collapse.
The sadistic Russian would move in closer now, Lucy's own .38 in hand. "Things will happen quickly now my dear, I promise..." Each slot was filled in her revolver as he stepped up beside the mess of a woman.
"Koulangyet Manman'w" malpwopte!!" Fuck you, you dirty motherfucker, she sputtered it in her swamp tongue as she approached. Despite the trembling, she'd stay resiliant.
Like Michelle had said, they were pirates, they had to endure; take what ya' can, give nothin' back... She saw that gun, and knew though...this was the big finish.
Jack Coffin was sprinting now, the darkness concealing his form until he was nearby the window enough for him to be seen in clear sight, he took out his machete from across his back and stopped for a moment, lifting it up high over his head before he heaved it quite skillfully into the window where the man would be looking out,
"HYAH!"
The blade swishing as it whirlwinded itself towards the man. If that was not enough, Jack quickly drew his pistols from his holsters akimbo style. The 1911's were placed off safety and aimed towards the window, BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM! He quickly fired almost half the clip each into the window before he made a running jump and lifted his feet up into a kicking motion, trying to kick through the window.
Caine would be looking through his scope saying, "What the fuck..."
Lucy Black had her own gun pointed toward her heart as the man by the window began to raise his gun.
"Hey Asimo-..." It was all he was able to hurriedly shout out as the machete came bursting through the aged glass. A shrill clatter of shards were followed by the explosion of gunfire.
Lucy would flinch, thinking it to be the hot lead meant for her.
But then Asimov turned the beastly revolver outward, along with his closest inner circle.
The watchman was more than dead, a blade intruding in on his skull as his corpse sank backward onto the dental chair, tipping it along with the creole. It slammed on its side with her along for the ride. More pressure was placed on the now broken wrist, and she was trying to break free. There simply wasn't any strength left in her though; no food, barely anything close to sleep, no water. All she could was lay there, and hope not to be shot in the crossfire. Asimov came to kneel beside her, using the table as a shield as he sought after the attacker.
Jack Coffin flew inside the room with guns ablazing. He rolled into the room, turning around and whipping his guns towards the door, blasting them open before he dropped his 1911 but kept the one labeled Sally. He went over to the skull quickly and started kicking towards the wooden stove to make it fall over. He had a bit of time it seems...
Because Caine now had a clear view inside the shack with the door blasted open. He didn't have a clear shot but he made a few shots at the table and their other cover to keep them suppressed.
Jack kicked his damn hardest to pry the wooden stove all over the floor, releasing hot embers. He then stood up again weapon with only 4 bullets and unloaded them all before kicking down the remaining table to serve as cover before he reloaded. He brought a hot coal over to himself and sighed, his dynamite out just in case.
He withdrew his heavy revolver and yelled out, "How-dee-do, Asimov, you piece of shit!" He sighed and looked at his watch before dropping his pistol to bring the skull with the machete over to him, getting out of cover a bit.
Lucy Black was behind her chair with Asimov, while the remaining crew were trying to gain some cover. One as wise enough to follow Asimov, the other pair retaliated as Jack came through the window.
Their Tommy's were hissing with hot lead, putting so many holes in the already barely standing building. Soon the whole damn thing would come down. Holes bore through them though as Jack had that killer instinct, and knew where to shoot and how quickly. Exit wounds doused the walls with splatter marks as the fallen were grasping their gnarled skin, trying to save themselves in a last act of desperation.
Of course, these attempts would swiftly fail as both men quickly grew still. Yellow teath stretched across his cheeks as Jack finally spoke up. A knife was taken from his pocket, opened, and put up to Lucy's neck as he peeked around hte corner. One of the six shots that had been meant for lucy was fired at him as he was reaching for the machete.
"dobryj vyechyer.." 'Good evening' In russian and he'd soon be chuckling. "I have a knife to her throat...do you think this wise, Jack? Let her have her peace...she's endured so much these last few days...."
Jack Coffin felt the hot piece pierce through his forearm and he groaned out, "Ahnn! Fuck!"
He dug his fingers into the eyes and pulled the corpse over to him, while he looked at his wound. Through and through. He didn't have time to fuck with it for now so instead he pulled out a bottle of pain killers and popped some in his mouth, munching on them soundly.
He only chuckled out and would say, "Alright, just hold on a minute..." He would pulled himself up openly for Asimov to fire his guns while he aimed for the last remaining goons and popped them full of lead.
Before Asimov had the chance to even slit her throat, he merely let the guns swing by his fingers as they clicked empty.
The only weapon remaining was the hidden Webley Revovler in his coat.
"Alright-alright... We can't have you being any sneaky now and shooting me... Go on, I'll give you your last 5 shots in me... Least ways you can have it happen..." The way he held his arms out it was as if he was embracing death, his tanktop shown that he had no armor. "C'mon..."
Lucy Black watched as Asimov laughed at the hit he hand inflicted on Jack. The blade was pressing more into her throat as the last of the torturers fell in a limp heap of death. The Russian man would feel the pressure of singularity, and was about to speak when the Filippino stood and showed himself.
Lucy heard the plea from her loyal butler, and was now trying to jerk free once more. "Jack! No! Run dammit, run!!"
Asimov stood aswell, that jagged expression fearless as his opponents. "Four shots...the last will be for your mistress..." BAM BAM!! The revolver bellowed as two shots went into his thighs
"JACK!" Lucy screamed as Asimov reached down and smacked her branding mark.
The turned-over table shuttered as she writhed in the seering sting, teeth gritting as she screamed through them. Asimov would aim the final shot on Jack's skull as soon he righted himself to fire.
Jack Coffin almost sank to his knees when he shot him, goraning out, "Motherfucker..."
He laughed and looked up to him while he was sideways towards her, he chuckled and stood up slowly, "How long do you think... you can keep that blade before I sever your brain stem?"
He then turned his body and in a lightning fast quick-draw, aimed his revolver at the him and shot Asimov in the nose where the bullet would hit and sink down in an arch and come through the back of his head, severing the brainstem and render his body from his neck down paralyzed.
Not before Asimov would have enough time to fire off his last shop against Jack's chest, causing him to wheeze and fall down in a heap.
Lucy Black heard the three shot ring out, and heard two bodies fall and his the floor. Asimov was piled over his latest dead cronie, gurgling like a drowned microphone, and blood was slowling circling around the coals that had rolled close enough. She was panicing, smelling smoke and feeling a rise in heat.
"Jack!!! Jack please! I'm tied!" She was screaming, her voice cracking with the pressure as she finally crunched her poor, shattered hand past the leather strap. Useless fingers were trembling now, coated in blood as every breath made her brand sieze with pain. Only her pinky and ring finger were somewhat mobile, and were beginning to yank at the belts that wrapped around her throat and chest. They were weak and slow as the fire began to really roar in the background.
Jack Coffin dragged himself over to her while he left he dynamite on the floor near the coals, he slowly crawled to her and spoke out through gasps of blood, "I'm here... it's alright... it's alright..."
He crept to his feet and tried his damndest to pull her of her leather strap, wrenching it free before taking her in his arms and slowly limping himself out the door. He was bleeding all the way he made himself known to Caine who was having a cigarette, driving the car to the field while the house caught on fire.
Caine tried to pry her away from Jack, "C'mon, let me help, you look exhausted..."
But Jack pulled her away from him, "No, it's going to take a lot more than exhaustion for me to let go of her now..."
He sat down in the car with her cradled in his arms and cuddled her close...
They drove off in the midst of the shack exploding.
Lucy Black would have started cryin the moment he came into view. The mangled hand was still trying to tug as it trembled in the pain so great it had gone numb. She was a ruined heap at the moment, broken ad burned, battered and drowned... Lucy was sunk into his chest, grabbing like a vice as finally felt the weight of his protection once more. She felt Vinny for a moment...that chest and that stamina to be her hero. Finally...sleep slapped her in the face.
She would be out cold long before reaching the car, finally able to be content in the safety of his shadow.
Three days past.
Caine slowly made his way through the apartment door, his face wrapped in a heavy scarf, body covered by a long black coat, a large fedora on his head. The mummified man dropped the heavy doctor's bag on the floor before he undressed his coat and his hat. He rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt, revealing his scarred, bandaged arms. Even the bandages on his hands were undone as he pushed the door past into the bathroom.
Jack was sitting there with his messy hair over his face, half naked in a bath tub. Bloodied chest covered in bandages in a similar way as Caine, dress pants stood ruined but his thighs were bandaged as well. A cigarette was dipping between his lips as he sucked his air in slowly.
Caine pulled the cigarette from his lips and placed it between his own, taking in a air of smoke before blowing out through the cuts in his cheek, "She's stable. She'll be alive, if not exactly well... Broken wrists, several broken ribs, fractured skull... hnnn... Yadda fuckin' yadda... Wanna know how you're doin'?"
Jack spoke weakly, "Hell, why not?"
Caine grinned, "Your lung got busted, reinflated it. How're you breathing?"
Jack looked through one weak eye to Caine, "You tell me... I sound like you,"
Caine grimaced, "Fine, asshole... Get up, we're going to eat. Hungry?"
Jack nodded and with the help of Caine, rose to his feet from the bath tub and led towards the hallway, "Where we eatin'?"
Caine nodded up and led him to the roof of the apartment. A coat around himself but none for Jack as he showed him a small round table with two dishes for both of them. Eggs, bacon, sausage, English muffin, coffee, and orange juice.
They say and ate silently for the most part until Caine spoke to him.
"They already want you dead. Your figure is rising,"
Jack suddenly wished he had someone else for company or at least a weapon on him, "I guess I'll be leaving then..."
It was an answer that Caine seemed to accept and they both ate in silence until it was all coffee, cigarettes, and OJ.
Caine spoke through a cigarette, "Mind telling me where you goin?"
Jack did not blink when he responded, "Depends, are you going to kill me?"
Caine took some time to think before he drank in his coffee and said grimly, "Yep. When the figure is high enough. I will,"
Jack finally looked at his mummified companion and said confidently, "You mean you'll try,"
Caine returned the gaze and spoke roughly, "We're not friends. We're killers, we got a lot in common. But we're not friends. Maybe at a time you admired me-"
Jack cut him off, "As you admired me,"
Caine spoke in turn, "Mutual admiration aside, this is business. I've got mouths to feed,"
Jack almost laughed and coughed while drinking his orange juice, he licked his lips before he spoke to Caine, "The righteous and noble Caine, killing politicians and gangsters alike to feed orphans mouths,"
Caine smiled wickedly, that cheshire grin on his face made it look wider, "Yes. I've got to feed me, myself, and I. And I am very hungry,"
Jack pushed his almost bare plate to Caine, "Then here, have some of my left overs..."
Caine's grin dropped to a soft smile and he looked over the scene of the city, "When I do kill you, I think I will make it quick..."
Jack looked back to the city and took in a deep breath before smiling, "...And I hope you will try,"
Lucy Black hadn't slept at all that night... Seven's revelation and the affirmation that no hero was coming for her. Jack would have shown by the second day, wouldn't he? Caine could have lied, he could have trying to instill some sort of comfort before the Creole was to meet her end...who knew. Lucy would have been found in the same position in which seven had left her; knees were hugged up against her chest, and that sharp chin was nestled atop her knees. There'd be no hood for her this time.
Caine was to be her chauffer, and Seven the co-pilot. She didn't utter a single word on the treck out into the dirt roads of the hill country. Hazey gravel lanes surrounded by fields of winter frozen crops. She wondered if this would be limbo; to be wandering in unknown pastures, waiting for the rescuer... The scenery had passed by like movie. She'd thought about coaxing an assisted suicide, to attack Seven, or Caine. Her efforts would thwarted more than neutralized...they'd probably bind her then. And besides, what kind of death would that be. Cowardly, dismal..something they would have frowned upon, and never allowed. Besides, she had told King in the very beginning that she was no coward... The car turned down a path, or something that may have resembled a path fifty some years earlier. The tired suspension of the Ford warbled and groaned with it's efforts as it rolled over fallen logs got rotten and soft. It had been a bumpy session after hours of driving. The tumultuous pattern matched that of an angry tide, and would only come to peace as a clearing was seen up ahead. A final thunk into the mud, and the Model T would finally stop. Four rather familiar faces were infront of a rather cooped up looking shack. The dilapidated building was leaning and wet with mold as it hobbled beneath it's tattered roof. The weapons and demeanor the cronies were brandishing were juxtaposed to the sickly and sad building behind them.
Clean cut and shining with power, they looked onto the arrival with satisfaction, none so much as the shorter, older Russian man that stood in the center. A calm grin warmed his gnarled face, and an ushering hand was shown to Caine. "Ah, right on time..." This was four days ago now...and four days into hell she was.
Jack Coffin had arrived with the few amount of information he was given. But that's what he was. A dog. And he can sniff out his master from anywhere at any time. He owed her more than he could remember and being shot and left to die has given him an only temporary dilemma. He was different now, the hardened flip-butler now held a deep hatred for those who took her. Caine was more than happy to join along with Jack in his tirade, wanting to cast out his bad will with Lucy. After all, they worked together in things that even Jack could not do. He was no more than a couple hundred yards away from the building, four targets. No problem. Jack was told immediately and armed himself accordingly. Two Webley revolvers, two 1911s (one was Sally's), a few rolls of dynamite, his butterfly knife, and a rusty machete he had won in his time during the War. Caine was just deadset in his own rifle, he had ghillied himself so well that not even the keenest eye could see him. Caine had dug into his own little hidey hole.
Jack was smoking his cigarette and was waiting until night fall, where he was at his best. He smoked behind a tree as to not gain their attention, holding in his smoke as long as he could while Caine would keep on spotting them over and over, his rifle unloaded at the moment so he could not go into his usual PTSD and slip a trigger finger to more than likely kill all of them and thus ending Lucy's life before Jack had a chance to make a move. They were waiting too long though, her life was in danger and he had no way to even fight for her. Seven was back with King and them, doing their own thing without Caine. It was just Asimov and his goons under their dingy shack. How long did they torture her? What was known was that he didn't have much time. He could only count the seconds before they were to strike.
Jack spoke impatiently, "How much fucking longer?" And
Caine would retort instantly, "It's gonna' be cloudy tonight, just wait until the clouds go over the moon..."
Lucy Black had found the first day to be the simplest. Seven and Caine had dissapeared, and that's when everything had just gone numb. The door had shut with the surrounding crowd of killers in toe, and that had been the last bath of light she had seen clearly in days.
"Now Lucy..." He had said to her as the knob-less door was linked shut with a chain.
The Cajun had been strapped into a dentists chair, and locked in like one would do for the mentally ill at a sanitorium.
"I intend on getting all that money back that you took from me and my employer. As a matter of fact I already have after having taking up shop at your old joint. But I'm not satiated...I want my pound of flesh."
The cigar he had in hand was positioned like a pen, and jabbed into her mouth as it was forced open with a clamp, the tip seering the dainty flesh of her lips as she fought with a pucker. This was just the first of many things to come.
Beatings made up the first day; a battered face, bloody eyes and cheeks gnarled from colliding with teeth, blackened lids and brutalized limbs. Bats, rebar, glass bottles. Between her fingers and toes had been sliced, her left arm stomped until the wrist was fractured, broken thumbs...and finally she had been allowed to sleep, still strapped and now naked. They'd kept her cold and nude for the next two days, allowed to starve, and given no water. The bottoms of her feet were beaten and whipped, left bloodied and swollen. Earlier in the fourth day she had been brought outside. Scabbed feed drug along the dirt as she felt so blinded by the light of day. They tossed her into a tub filled with ice water, and it was there she stays. Hands had shoved her into the abyss, barking up questions for recipies, names, bank accounts, locations of suppliers...anything. Splash after splash soon came to feel like needles, stinging with frigid vengence against the water logged cheeks.
Near dark was when her body could finally give no more. Her head had been plunged under for a moment too long, and when she had been pulled up, a limp body would be all to greet them. The slow descent into darkness had been welcome, and thought to be her final allowance to sleep. She'd give nothing to them, no names or relevant speech whatsoever. She just thought of Vinny and Michelle...Vinny and Michelle... Waking came as a suprising thing to her. Why hadn't they killed her...it would have been so easy. This was not her agenda though, no matter how much she would have liked it to be. A tattered tunic was all that covered her, and she back in that shair, strapped in tight; the impressions of the last time she was restrained had left bloodied rings in her wrists, now they were growing irritated with infections. Asimov was sitting down beside her, petting the pained but still somehow lovely face of the woman.
"You're of no use, Lucy, I can see that...and like all things of that nature, you should be discarded..." A violent grip siezed her swollen cheek as he yanked her neck up as far as it could naturally reach. "But not without a mark. To those who find you....it will be a reminder not to take me and my employer lightly..." Behind them was a wood stove, and within it was brand. An infinity symbol rounded out in a horizontal figure eight that was ignited in the bath of hot coals. Asimov's set of dark blues were examing Lucy as she realised what he was going to do.
"It's a shame you have to be a ni**er....I would have kept you otherwise..." Her head was allowed to drop. "Lift up her shirt..." One of the three remaining did so, exposing the womanly figure once more. Her breathing was becoming hysterical, as she heard the wood stove creaking shut. Wrists were ripping once, the fratured left making her wail as she jerked.
She wasn't cattle...she wouldn't be marked, she wouldn't! "Asimov! ASIMOV! STOP!" A scream came rushing from the cabin like a bullet, hellish with it's severity and blood-chilling shrillness. Once could feel how painful it must have been to yell out like that, let alone the pain that must have initiated it. The brand was seering into her ribs, just under her left breast.
Jack Coffin was talking before they were branding her, something that tried to calm his nerves as much as the cigarette.
Caine spoke first, "So, out of all the bosses you had.. I'm sorry, Dog... All the masters you had, which one did you like the most?"
Jack would sigh and shrug, "I don't have a favorite master. The one I like most is the one I'm currently with. And the one before that, and the one before that."
Caine only chuckled and held his rifle steadied, "They use you, Jacky boy, they always do. You let them use you, if you keep on letting them use you, you'll be all used up. If it wasn't for Lucy's petty rivalries, you wouldn't have been shot up and dead- in fact, you could have been in the midnight crew too... You're a dog, Jack... And that's all you're ever gonna' be."
Jack merely took it through his heart and made a pained face at him, only to shrug it off, "And what? That's better than being a Hellhound-for-Hire? You're the lowest of the low... you almost killed your own friend.."
Caine merely nodded, "And I'm here right?"
Jack shook his head, "Why are you here?" The cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down while he spoke, lighting up a new one once it was smoked to the butt.
Caine spoke simply, "Because, fuck head, I owe her." Jack merely laughed at the thought, "Owe her- I ain't owe her shit and I still feel loyalty to-" Caine finished the sentence, "That bitch whose been either getting beaten or getting fucked like a whore in there? Leave her, let me finish these fucks and pay my debt.."
Jack had already taken off towards the house, not wanting to hear any more of Caine's bullshit, he was no more than a hundred yards from the shack before he looked offwards towards the house. He had flash backs of himself, tortured by the Americans and the Muslims alike, he closed his eyes and tried to forget like he always did... He could feel the waterboarding drown him again, the beatings he received daily and the constant breaks of his own appendages and ribs. He was silent for a moment, silent for everything that he had endured. And silent for Lucy. He opened his eyes again when she screamed, the long ash of his burning cigarette finally fell off and he drew out both weapons from underneath his trenchcoat, the clouds slowly washing over the moon and destroying the moonlight. He revelled in it, he walked towards the shack, weapons to his sides and walked fearlessly towards what might be his own death.
Lucy Black's skin was popping like butter atop a skillet. Flesh fringed and curled around the burning hot iron, and each breath brought it deeper against her ribs. They held it there for an obscene amount of time. Her skin had stuck to the pice, and had to be ripped free as they'd finally yank back once the metal had lost most of its redness. She had grown a terrible shade of pale, teals were drowned out in agony, and a clamy sweat now doused her body. Shaking limbs rattled in their restraints, and she seemed on teh verge of collapse.
The sadistic Russian would move in closer now, Lucy's own .38 in hand. "Things will happen quickly now my dear, I promise..." Each slot was filled in her revolver as he stepped up beside the mess of a woman.
"Koulangyet Manman'w" malpwopte!!" Fuck you, you dirty motherfucker, she sputtered it in her swamp tongue as she approached. Despite the trembling, she'd stay resiliant.
Like Michelle had said, they were pirates, they had to endure; take what ya' can, give nothin' back... She saw that gun, and knew though...this was the big finish.
Jack Coffin was sprinting now, the darkness concealing his form until he was nearby the window enough for him to be seen in clear sight, he took out his machete from across his back and stopped for a moment, lifting it up high over his head before he heaved it quite skillfully into the window where the man would be looking out,
"HYAH!"
The blade swishing as it whirlwinded itself towards the man. If that was not enough, Jack quickly drew his pistols from his holsters akimbo style. The 1911's were placed off safety and aimed towards the window, BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM! He quickly fired almost half the clip each into the window before he made a running jump and lifted his feet up into a kicking motion, trying to kick through the window.
Caine would be looking through his scope saying, "What the fuck..."
Lucy Black had her own gun pointed toward her heart as the man by the window began to raise his gun.
"Hey Asimo-..." It was all he was able to hurriedly shout out as the machete came bursting through the aged glass. A shrill clatter of shards were followed by the explosion of gunfire.
Lucy would flinch, thinking it to be the hot lead meant for her.
But then Asimov turned the beastly revolver outward, along with his closest inner circle.
The watchman was more than dead, a blade intruding in on his skull as his corpse sank backward onto the dental chair, tipping it along with the creole. It slammed on its side with her along for the ride. More pressure was placed on the now broken wrist, and she was trying to break free. There simply wasn't any strength left in her though; no food, barely anything close to sleep, no water. All she could was lay there, and hope not to be shot in the crossfire. Asimov came to kneel beside her, using the table as a shield as he sought after the attacker.
Jack Coffin flew inside the room with guns ablazing. He rolled into the room, turning around and whipping his guns towards the door, blasting them open before he dropped his 1911 but kept the one labeled Sally. He went over to the skull quickly and started kicking towards the wooden stove to make it fall over. He had a bit of time it seems...
Because Caine now had a clear view inside the shack with the door blasted open. He didn't have a clear shot but he made a few shots at the table and their other cover to keep them suppressed.
Jack kicked his damn hardest to pry the wooden stove all over the floor, releasing hot embers. He then stood up again weapon with only 4 bullets and unloaded them all before kicking down the remaining table to serve as cover before he reloaded. He brought a hot coal over to himself and sighed, his dynamite out just in case.
He withdrew his heavy revolver and yelled out, "How-dee-do, Asimov, you piece of shit!" He sighed and looked at his watch before dropping his pistol to bring the skull with the machete over to him, getting out of cover a bit.
Lucy Black was behind her chair with Asimov, while the remaining crew were trying to gain some cover. One as wise enough to follow Asimov, the other pair retaliated as Jack came through the window.
Their Tommy's were hissing with hot lead, putting so many holes in the already barely standing building. Soon the whole damn thing would come down. Holes bore through them though as Jack had that killer instinct, and knew where to shoot and how quickly. Exit wounds doused the walls with splatter marks as the fallen were grasping their gnarled skin, trying to save themselves in a last act of desperation.
Of course, these attempts would swiftly fail as both men quickly grew still. Yellow teath stretched across his cheeks as Jack finally spoke up. A knife was taken from his pocket, opened, and put up to Lucy's neck as he peeked around hte corner. One of the six shots that had been meant for lucy was fired at him as he was reaching for the machete.
"dobryj vyechyer.." 'Good evening' In russian and he'd soon be chuckling. "I have a knife to her throat...do you think this wise, Jack? Let her have her peace...she's endured so much these last few days...."
Jack Coffin felt the hot piece pierce through his forearm and he groaned out, "Ahnn! Fuck!"
He dug his fingers into the eyes and pulled the corpse over to him, while he looked at his wound. Through and through. He didn't have time to fuck with it for now so instead he pulled out a bottle of pain killers and popped some in his mouth, munching on them soundly.
He only chuckled out and would say, "Alright, just hold on a minute..." He would pulled himself up openly for Asimov to fire his guns while he aimed for the last remaining goons and popped them full of lead.
Before Asimov had the chance to even slit her throat, he merely let the guns swing by his fingers as they clicked empty.
The only weapon remaining was the hidden Webley Revovler in his coat.
"Alright-alright... We can't have you being any sneaky now and shooting me... Go on, I'll give you your last 5 shots in me... Least ways you can have it happen..." The way he held his arms out it was as if he was embracing death, his tanktop shown that he had no armor. "C'mon..."
Lucy Black watched as Asimov laughed at the hit he hand inflicted on Jack. The blade was pressing more into her throat as the last of the torturers fell in a limp heap of death. The Russian man would feel the pressure of singularity, and was about to speak when the Filippino stood and showed himself.
Lucy heard the plea from her loyal butler, and was now trying to jerk free once more. "Jack! No! Run dammit, run!!"
Asimov stood aswell, that jagged expression fearless as his opponents. "Four shots...the last will be for your mistress..." BAM BAM!! The revolver bellowed as two shots went into his thighs
"JACK!" Lucy screamed as Asimov reached down and smacked her branding mark.
The turned-over table shuttered as she writhed in the seering sting, teeth gritting as she screamed through them. Asimov would aim the final shot on Jack's skull as soon he righted himself to fire.
Jack Coffin almost sank to his knees when he shot him, goraning out, "Motherfucker..."
He laughed and looked up to him while he was sideways towards her, he chuckled and stood up slowly, "How long do you think... you can keep that blade before I sever your brain stem?"
He then turned his body and in a lightning fast quick-draw, aimed his revolver at the him and shot Asimov in the nose where the bullet would hit and sink down in an arch and come through the back of his head, severing the brainstem and render his body from his neck down paralyzed.
Not before Asimov would have enough time to fire off his last shop against Jack's chest, causing him to wheeze and fall down in a heap.
Lucy Black heard the three shot ring out, and heard two bodies fall and his the floor. Asimov was piled over his latest dead cronie, gurgling like a drowned microphone, and blood was slowling circling around the coals that had rolled close enough. She was panicing, smelling smoke and feeling a rise in heat.
"Jack!!! Jack please! I'm tied!" She was screaming, her voice cracking with the pressure as she finally crunched her poor, shattered hand past the leather strap. Useless fingers were trembling now, coated in blood as every breath made her brand sieze with pain. Only her pinky and ring finger were somewhat mobile, and were beginning to yank at the belts that wrapped around her throat and chest. They were weak and slow as the fire began to really roar in the background.
Jack Coffin dragged himself over to her while he left he dynamite on the floor near the coals, he slowly crawled to her and spoke out through gasps of blood, "I'm here... it's alright... it's alright..."
He crept to his feet and tried his damndest to pull her of her leather strap, wrenching it free before taking her in his arms and slowly limping himself out the door. He was bleeding all the way he made himself known to Caine who was having a cigarette, driving the car to the field while the house caught on fire.
Caine tried to pry her away from Jack, "C'mon, let me help, you look exhausted..."
But Jack pulled her away from him, "No, it's going to take a lot more than exhaustion for me to let go of her now..."
He sat down in the car with her cradled in his arms and cuddled her close...
They drove off in the midst of the shack exploding.
Lucy Black would have started cryin the moment he came into view. The mangled hand was still trying to tug as it trembled in the pain so great it had gone numb. She was a ruined heap at the moment, broken ad burned, battered and drowned... Lucy was sunk into his chest, grabbing like a vice as finally felt the weight of his protection once more. She felt Vinny for a moment...that chest and that stamina to be her hero. Finally...sleep slapped her in the face.
She would be out cold long before reaching the car, finally able to be content in the safety of his shadow.
Three days past.
Caine slowly made his way through the apartment door, his face wrapped in a heavy scarf, body covered by a long black coat, a large fedora on his head. The mummified man dropped the heavy doctor's bag on the floor before he undressed his coat and his hat. He rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt, revealing his scarred, bandaged arms. Even the bandages on his hands were undone as he pushed the door past into the bathroom.
Jack was sitting there with his messy hair over his face, half naked in a bath tub. Bloodied chest covered in bandages in a similar way as Caine, dress pants stood ruined but his thighs were bandaged as well. A cigarette was dipping between his lips as he sucked his air in slowly.
Caine pulled the cigarette from his lips and placed it between his own, taking in a air of smoke before blowing out through the cuts in his cheek, "She's stable. She'll be alive, if not exactly well... Broken wrists, several broken ribs, fractured skull... hnnn... Yadda fuckin' yadda... Wanna know how you're doin'?"
Jack spoke weakly, "Hell, why not?"
Caine grinned, "Your lung got busted, reinflated it. How're you breathing?"
Jack looked through one weak eye to Caine, "You tell me... I sound like you,"
Caine grimaced, "Fine, asshole... Get up, we're going to eat. Hungry?"
Jack nodded and with the help of Caine, rose to his feet from the bath tub and led towards the hallway, "Where we eatin'?"
Caine nodded up and led him to the roof of the apartment. A coat around himself but none for Jack as he showed him a small round table with two dishes for both of them. Eggs, bacon, sausage, English muffin, coffee, and orange juice.
They say and ate silently for the most part until Caine spoke to him.
"They already want you dead. Your figure is rising,"
Jack suddenly wished he had someone else for company or at least a weapon on him, "I guess I'll be leaving then..."
It was an answer that Caine seemed to accept and they both ate in silence until it was all coffee, cigarettes, and OJ.
Caine spoke through a cigarette, "Mind telling me where you goin?"
Jack did not blink when he responded, "Depends, are you going to kill me?"
Caine took some time to think before he drank in his coffee and said grimly, "Yep. When the figure is high enough. I will,"
Jack finally looked at his mummified companion and said confidently, "You mean you'll try,"
Caine returned the gaze and spoke roughly, "We're not friends. We're killers, we got a lot in common. But we're not friends. Maybe at a time you admired me-"
Jack cut him off, "As you admired me,"
Caine spoke in turn, "Mutual admiration aside, this is business. I've got mouths to feed,"
Jack almost laughed and coughed while drinking his orange juice, he licked his lips before he spoke to Caine, "The righteous and noble Caine, killing politicians and gangsters alike to feed orphans mouths,"
Caine smiled wickedly, that cheshire grin on his face made it look wider, "Yes. I've got to feed me, myself, and I. And I am very hungry,"
Jack pushed his almost bare plate to Caine, "Then here, have some of my left overs..."
Caine's grin dropped to a soft smile and he looked over the scene of the city, "When I do kill you, I think I will make it quick..."
Jack looked back to the city and took in a deep breath before smiling, "...And I hope you will try,"