Drake caught the man's wrist with one hand, adjusting his index finger against a specific pressure point. The street punk gave an involuntary yelp of pain as his hand popped open by itself, the small blade dropping to the alleyway pavement. Whipping the wrist around behind the man's back, Marshall slammed him firmly against the brick wall. Holding him tightly pressed against the brick, the former urban vigilante kicked his right foot out, tapping another punk's 'Adam's Apple'. The muscled thug collapsed to the ground, dropping his lead pipe and clutching his wheezing throat.
Drake glanced over to his left just in time to see a third attacker slam, upside down, into the wall hard enough to bounce. A shriek of pain twisted Marshall's eyes all the way around behind him, watching as the last mugger was being pressed against the cold, hard pavement face-first, his right arm hyper-extended behind. The warrior queen Lykopis held her iron-stilletos, crawling into his jawbone, while holding the man's arm taught.....a fractured wrist dangling between her vise-like grip.
"...you spilled my coffee..." she growled to the thug, squealing in pain under her heel.
Drake turned back to the man he had face-first against the brick. Leaning in, his voice dropped a few octaves, finding a familiar old tone that he hadn't used in years....
"...sounds like bad news for your friend, Gordon..." 'Nightwatch' whispered into the ear. "....that is your name, right? Gordon. That's what your ID says....or...is the real Gordon someone else?"
"I'm Gordon!" the punk grunted under his grip.
"...are you sure? I mean, how do I know you didn't just kill someone and take their identity, huh?"
Lykopis' current toy squealed again, a very loud snapping sound coming from his thumb...
"No man, no! I ain't never killed NO one!" Drake's thug protested. "I swear to God I'm Gordon!"
"Gordon Bailey?" Marshall continued. "Word on the street is that you hold things for certain people. Do you Gordon? Do you hold things?"
"AAIIIGGHH!!" the voice screamed from behind Drake's man, making his eyes go wide as he heard another bone pop.
"Wh-What k-k-kind of things?!" Gordon asked, the panic in his voice evident.
"Information."
"Y-Yeah, YEAH!" Gordon tried to nod. "I know things! Lots of things!"
"Tell me about these things, Gordon. Tell me everything about everyone. Let it pour free. Get it off your chest."
"Who-Who are y-y-you?!" Gordon stammered out.
"I am your father confessor, Gordon. I am your best friend." Drake replied with a leering whisper in his ear. "And I want to know everything you know about the name 'Emma Sigfried'...."
Another scream, and Lykopis' friend became triple-jointed along his elbow....
*****************************************************************
Two blocks away, in the very extravagent and quite elite club, The Mandarin Parkhouse, two men laughed over smoked whiskey, and Turkish tobacco. Of course, if anyone had been paying proper attention, only one of them, a smooth asian man of delicate fashion sense, was the only one actually drinking.
The other merely played conversational cat-and-mouse with the companion, contstantly keeping him occupied to avoid having to answer why he wasn't drinking the liquor. He was a broad gentleman of old money, and smart business. Othello Golpe' was his name, and boardroom buyouts was his game...
"...and then you gobble up GlovTech, too?" Golpe' asked with a loud laughter. "My god, Ant-Woang....have you devoured enough of the small timers?"
"There are plenty to go around, Othello..." industrialist Ant-Woan Keichu replied, sipping his drink. "...do not become soft on me in your older years..."
Golpe's laughed his broad, German laugh, shaking his head.
"That, you should have NO fear of, my son." Golpe's grinned. "In fact, I've been hearing some rattlings I wanted to run by you."
Ant-Woang frowned, leaning in a bit.
"Tell me."
Golpe's scratched his face casually, leaning in as well.
"Well...heard some people say some things, that may or may not have anything to do with PanClectic..."
"The Sigfried portfolio?" Ant-Woang cocked an eye. "Is the heiress finally going to make the stocks public again?"
"Now, I'm not saying that...." Golpe' corrected him. "...I've just...heard things..."
"What kind of things?"
"Ah. No." Othello shook his head, leaning back up. "Too sensitive right now."
"What? You would not tell me? Don't you trust me?"
"Well, it's never about trust, now is it?" he replied. "It's about you riding the train for free."
Ant-Woang smiled.
"Correct, as usual my friend." the asian nodded. "And what can I offer you in return?"
Golpe' grinned.
"Well, we could compare notes....share what we both know about PanClectic...the Sigfried heiress..."
"Oh, yes. Emma Sigfried." Ant-Woang nodded. "I have heard much about her ingenious attitudes towards business and the conventional practices..."
"So, tell me, Woang..." Tommy Foxe smiled. "....tell me everything you know about Ms. Sigfried...."
