Schweinfurt, Bavaria. Somewhere in the middle of Germany.
The sleepy small town railroad station was nearly deserted. Gone the commuting people, mainly students from the nearby villages returning to their homes, the station had taken over it’s sleepy mood, helped by the fist sun of the incipient spring.
Only a party of strange looking people remained under the large metal shed covering the main dock at the first track. Sitting on wooden benches painted green, the seven people, six men and a woman, were all silent and still. Every ten seconds, the face of one, in no particular order, lift up to look at the large clock hanging outside the wall. It would have looked at it for an instant, then it would had shaken slightly, it would have taken a lost-any-hope look, and then would have returned to concentrate over the pebbles in the railroad track.
It was ten past four in the afternoon.
The silence was broken just by the monotonous song of a male collared dove, defending his nest territory from the top of a large spruce in the station’s garden.
Do-doooo-do.
Do-doooo-do.
Do-doooo-do.
Do-doooo-do.
Do-DOOOO-do.
Do-DOOOO-do.
Do-DOOOO-do.
Do-DOOOO-do.
“ENOUGH” shouted one of the people, the larger one, standing up and walking to the railroad side. He kneeled, took one boulder in his right hand and, all of a sudden, he cast it to the bird, in a perfect parable.
The bird took flight just one instant before the boulder touched his perch, to fall miserably on the ground, a few inches from an officer who was checking parking disks on cars in the parking lot behind the station.
The bird posed a few branches away and began to net its bottom’s feathers.
The officer angrily looked at the man, still in a pitcher plastic pose, receiving a mix of applause and laugh from his companions. The officer’s anger build up, but the size of the man counselled him not to bother.
The man smiled.
The dove suddenly started to sing again.
The big man shouted. “Sixteen. Fucking. Hours! Five. Change. Of. Trains!” His eyes were fixed over one of his companions, who just shrugged.
“Grimm, for that ridiculous amount of money, these tickets were just what we got. It’s a miracle they were enough for all!”
“Merrick is right. We got all what we can from that slimy! And you should just thank I had something to sell” replied the only woman, a tall beauty.
“Right, Lycopis”, said Merrick, nodding. And, again to Grimm: “It would have taken that money for just ONE ticket, for one of the fast trains. There was no way we could afford them”.
“And don’t forget we are less of a target using secondary ways. We are in the middle of nowhere, now, and it’s very probable whoever is following us has no idea where we are” explained another one, a young man with short hairs.
“Phil, that woman has resources above the average. How the hell she has found us in Merrick’s home?” asked Grimm.
Phil shook his head.
“Maybe we have bugs on our body. Tracking devices,” suggested another one, older, his eyes moving around strange paths.
“No Victor, we are clear. I would feel anything like that,” added the one looking younger in the group, trying to conceal his appearance under a fedora hat. But there were evident gleaming strings of metal covering his features.
“And don’t you feel anything about our assaulter, Icarus?” asked Grimm to the young man.
The young men shrugged. “I don’t know the slightest about her… even her name… it’s difficult to start a search about her…”
The six people continued to talk, waiting for the next train. Just one remained silent all time, seemingly lost in distant thoughts.
Then, he stood up.
“Where are you going, Baxter?” asked Grimm.
The other opened his arms. “We drank a lot at Merricks home…” he replied, believing it was a sufficient explanation.
Grimm’s head bended on one side. “No, not alone:”
“Grimm, I’m an adult. I don’t need you acting mommy…”
“And I don’t need you acting childish. That wore can be around here right now…”
Baxter shook his head. “No, nooo… you chained her in Munich, she had no way to find where we go… she will be searching us there, if any…”
“Don’t care. Phil, go with him,” ordered Grimm.
The man known as Phil Smith looked at Grimm. It seemed it has to reply something, but then he shook his had and said nothing. He stood up, and shrugging at Baxter, looking at the sky, followed him toward the toilets.
The place was ample and empty. Ozzy entered one of the smaller rooms and Phil remained outside, confident there was no one in the place. Otherwise, he would have felt.
One minute had passed, when a bolas tightened to a rope fled around Phil Smiths neck.
The man’s eye opened way, the mouth gasped for air. The heavy bolas, hanging from the neck like an oversized necklace ornament for an instant seemed to levitate, pushed away by telekinesis, but it had just the effect of tying more the rope around the neck. And then, the lack of blood to the brain cut off the masterful mind of Phil from his body, and he fell to the ground, senseless.
Nadia Li looked at her Rolex. Two minutes more safe, then the other people could come to check.
As expected, the door opened, Ozzy Baxter alerted by the thud of the body of Phil over the pavement was coming out, but he had still the trousers opened and he was trying to close them.
The tip of an electrical whip hit him on the back; he screamed, stumbled upon his own trousers, which were falling at knee level, and fell to the floor.
Next to the main door, now closed, was Nadia Li. Covered in back leather, a wicked smile on the face.
“It looks soon I will have the money for the boob job and something more, thanks to you, honey”.
The whip produced a long arc in the air and fell again over Ozzy, who endured a big pain. But before the woman was able to snap the whip again, the metal man took the end of it in his right hand and hauled it back.
Nadia pointed her feet to make resistance. Ozzy, with the other hand, ripped away his trousers and get back over his legs.
Nadia gritted his teeth. This time was Ozzy to smile.
A pull, and then the rope of the whip was passed around the arm, so that it was shorter, pull after pull.
The distance between the two fighters was shortening second after second.
Nadia was pushing harder over the charge button, but as much Ozzy had visible pain when electricity discharged from the tip of the whip, he was holding up.
Nadia was sweating. “Are you ready to punch me like you did with Marshall, Fist?”
The pull over the rope loosened.
Nadia pulled harder, regaining the whip and sending Baxter to roll over the ground.
The man was again on his feet in no time. But his expression had changed. It was like… begging…
“I can’t have killed Drake” shouted desperately Ozzy.
“Ah no?” said Nadia. And with an ample gesture, dozen of pictures fled for the room, landing all around the man. “Look at the hamburger!”
Ozzy froze. What he was seeing… it was unbelievable. The picture were footage of a security camera… and like in the frames of a comics, there were depicted the last battle of Drake Marshall with the Fist. The green armoured hero head to head with the metal skinned gangster… up to the point where Marshall was killed punch after punch, until his whole body and his face were just blood dropping masses of chopped flesh.
A tear crossed the gleaming face of Baxter.
“The tin man has a soul?!” noted, cynically, Nadia. And then, out of patience: “care to dance?”
Ozzy raised his eyebrows, and looked at her, but there was no trace of fury. “No. Not anymore. I am guilty. Take me”
And saying that, he raised his hand, one next the other, offering her to handcuff them.
Nadia was astonished. “It ends like this?”
Ozzy just nodded.
“Do you believe I’m going to trust you?” asked Nadia, eyeing his Rolex. One minute and forty-five seconds had passed.
“Do what you want, I will not fight” replied Ozzy.
_______________________________________
One minute fifty-five seconds later Grimm rushed in the bathroom, only to find Phil Smith tied like salami to one of the radiators, still senseless.
Of Ozzy Baxter there was no trace.
