Chapter 38.1&38.2
"Shocker? What the hell kind of asshole from the mountain is that?" Blade growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"One of Kingpin's meta-mercenaries," I explained calmly, carefully tracking his reaction. And it followed immediately.
"Damn!" he slammed his palm on steering wheel with force. The car barely noticeably swerved. "What the hell did Kingpin want from Frank?! Frank is straight as a rail, he never got into affairs of this level!"
"You know about Kingpin?" I inquired cautiously. I needed to understand depth of his awareness to build further conversation.
"How could I not know the biggest shark in this New York ocean?" Blade chuckled bitterly. "This is not my bloodsuckers who hide in holes and fear light. This is higher level. Monster who sits at top of food chain."
"Yeah," I confirmed grimly.
"So, kid. Let us be straight," he sharply reduced speed and turned his head in my direction. In semi-darkness of cabin his gaze was heavy as granite. "What is with this Shocker? And where do you get info from? I see you are not empty talker. But here they attacked my friend. So if you want to remain in category of 'useful acquaintances' and not 'potential problems,' spill everything."
Here it was. Moment of truth. Information that would determine how this night ends, and possibly our lives. About Shocker, easy to tell, no need to even lie here. But Kingpin... his identity...
"Do you know who he is? Kingpin?" I decided to give him chance to resolve my dilemma himself.
"How would I?" Blade snorted. "I periodically knock on bandit skulls, of course, but my main specialization is mysticism. I do not get into political games of big criminal business."
Dilemma was not resolved. Which meant I could only hope Blade had enough brains not to throw himself on embrasure. Or strength to withstand against conditional Rhino and Scorpion who would cover Shocker.
"Wilson Fisk," I did not drag it out, pronouncing name evenly and clearly.
"You. Are. Serious. Right. Now. Damn?" each word he pronounced separately, with spacing. Car jerked again when he turned to me in shock.
"Absolutely."
"Holy shit..." Blade exhaled, turning back to road. "Shadow bastard who hides under brightest light. Damn billionaire philanthropist. Man of year according to Time. I saw him on TV. He with fake, fatherly smile wrote check for treatment of cancer kids. Creature."
"As for Shocker," I continued, giving him moment to digest information, "I learned about him yesterday. Was helping one spider heroine patch wounds. She told who worked her over like that. Weak superhuman, but with terribly unpleasant vibro-gauntlets hitting by area. Name is Herman Schultz. She promised to run information on him."
"So, with this we can already work!" steel appeared in Blade's voice. "Call her. Right now. Find out everything about this Schultz. Maybe will not have to go to alleys and smash faces of Fisk's pawns to lure out bigger fish."
And here problem arose. Small, but extremely unpleasant. I had Gwen's number, which I received from Peter. But for her I should not know who Spider-Woman was. She should have contacted me herself from some different, "spider" number. Genius, damn. Making too many mistakes for guy under NZT. Feeling of own stupidity was disgusting. But there was no choice.
I dialed number.
"Hello?" cautious girl's voice sounded on other end.
"Hi. Did you learn anything about Schultz?" I decided to go straight ahead. She already understood who I was. Let her for now not know how to react to fact that I was calling Gwen Stacy personally.
"Um... what Schultz? Who are you even? How did you get this number?"
"Filed window frame in laboratory," I enunciated. "I do not have your heroic contacts, and information on Shocker is needed not just urgently, but vitally necessary. So let us stop playing misunderstandings. Herman Schultz. What is there on him?"
In receiver for several seconds hung heavy silence. Main thing, she did not hang up.
"Ha-a-a... okay," she exhaled with mixture of anger and resignation. "Herman Schultz, thirty-two years old. Former engineer from Hammer Industries. Fired for corporate espionage, but who he worked for is unknown. Officially unemployed, but judging by fact he lives in Manhattan, he has complete order with money. Kingpin pays his elite dogs well."
"Manhattan, then. And where specifically?"
"You..." alarm sounded in her voice. "Just do not say you are going to him. You are in car now, I hear engine."
Damn. She would now rush off and also race to Schultz. Here even without NZT it was clear as day.
"For now just give address," I said evenly.
"Second Avenue, house twenty-five, apartment two-thirty," she blurted out.
"Thanks. And... you do not have to be there."
"I will decide myself!" Gwen cut off.
"Well, as expected," I shrugged, though she did not see this. "With this my powers are all. Till contact."
I hung up and noticed we had just pulled up to my garage. Excellent. Needed to seriously increase our survival chances in this mess. And that it would happen, I no longer doubted. Question was only what scale it would take...
"You heard everything, right?" I asked Blade as soon as heavy garage door closed behind us, cutting us off from night city.
"Yeah," he cracked his neck. "Plan is simple. We barge into this freak with gauntlets at his place. We make him very painful until he tells where boss sits. We find boss. We make boss even more painful. Frank is avenged. Questions?"
"I wish I had your optimism," this time I chuckled. I approached cracked mannequin on which "Proteus" hung. Its hour had come. I delayed this moment as I could, trying not to get into Marvel affairs. Delayed too long, damn. Vampires compared to what was coming were like... child's babble.
Taking elastic fabric from plastic torso, I proceeded to final assembly. I carefully fixed plasma barrier generator on belt, connecting it directly to palladium reactor. Now battery was eternal, which removed any time limitations from barrier. Without delay, I put suit on myself. It fit perfectly, like second skin, even left small gap for future muscle volume increase. Still, sewing by own measurements was priceless.
"Eric, now try not to be surprised," I warned Blade, starting to quickly dump into several open boxes various stuff: stimulators, weapons, first-aid kits. Then I touched one of boxes, and it simply disappeared. Dissolved in air.
"Are you mutant, like?" Blade tried to keep poker face, but his raised eyebrow betrayed genuine astonishment.
"No idea," I honestly spread hands, making second box disappear. "Spatial inventory, as I call it. Just part of me. And how it works, I do not know. Maybe I am mutant."
I mentally conducted quick inventory revision of contents. Stimulators, weapons, protection, even anti-vampire flash-bang grenades, flash and toxic cloud would inconvenience ordinary people too. Seemed I forgot nothing critical. Could move out.
"And what are its limitations?" Blade approached closer with unconcealed curiosity. "Must you touch object? Can you shove me in there?"
"No, only inanimate objects with clearly defined boundaries. Revenant vampires, by the way, fit this definition, but awakened ones probably not. I suspect everything is tied to presence or absence of soul," I answered, again heading to Charger.
"Still not bad. And can you remove equipment from me? Try my armor."
I approached and touched his tactical vest. Light mental effort, and heavy plates disappeared, leaving vampire hunter in just form-fitting black turtleneck with Kevlar inserts. Another touch, and armor with dull click returned to place, perfectly fitting under his body. Yes, inventory was much smarter and more adaptive than I thought.
"Overpowered," Blade delivered verdict, and in his voice was heard genuine respect. I agreed with him. Despite all my knowledge, skills and crafted goods, inventory remained main trump card in sleeve of current me.
"What next?" I asked when we sat in car again.
"We go to Shocker. Meet there with Spider-Woman. Decide on spot."
And we drove. My brain, spurred by NZT, worked at limit, calculating hundreds of variants of upcoming events. Multi-layered plans, retreat schemes, analysis of potential allies and enemies... No. All this was excessive. All this would only complicate and make worse. Specifically here and now needed to act in Blade's style. Directly. Brutally. Decisively. And, if necessary, bloodily. Shocker gives out Kingpin's location. We kill Kingpin. And... drown New York in anarchy. After all, too much was tied to such figure as Fisk. His disappearance would not just remove player from board, it would flip entire board to hell.
"City will be restless..." I muttered, looking at night lights rushing past window.
"And when was it calm?" Blade snorted. "Special services what, eat their bread for nothing? They will figure it out. If new gang war touches civilians, it will be tangentially. Main thing is Frank will be avenged. By the way..." he hesitated for moment. "Do you... happen to have any healing potions for him? I will pay. Any money."
"I have," I nodded, still considering his words. In his dismissive attitude toward "global consequences" was its own, cruel logic. "But for now only recipe. Tomorrow Lucas brings components, and I will cook up first batches. For Frank, of course, I will allocate free."
At this Blade only gratefully nodded, and next part of journey we drove in silence. Finally, Charger smoothly braked near unremarkable apartment building on Second Avenue.
Schultz was inside. And if not, then sooner or later would return home. Into trap.
Electronic lock on front door of building beeped and clicked, surrendering without fight. Blade did this in three seconds, inserting into speaker grid something resembling stylus. My internal engineer helpfully suggested this was probably not simple paperclip. Most likely, on end was piezoelectric crystal. Sharp press generates short, high-voltage pulse that burns or, more likely, simply "blinds" lock's microcontroller, forcing it for couple seconds to go into emergency mode and open doors. Simple, dirty and effective.
Sleepy concierge in spacious, marble-finished lobby did not become obstacle. Blade simply threw short glance at him, and middle-aged man sighed heavily, closed eyes and dropped head on chest, plunging into world of Morpheus. We with calm step moved to stairs, elevator was too risky, and not needed, only second floor. I simultaneously noted camera locations, Panasonics, wide-angle, with good vision. Internally I rejoiced that simple respirator mask and deep hood of "Proteus" at least hid my face. And Blade?
"Pssst," I cautiously called him on stair landing. "Are you invisible to cameras, or do you just not care?"
"I am invisible to system, kid," Blade shrugged, not even slowing step. "Whatever surfaces, guys upstairs will immediately wipe and write off to solar flares. And I have nothing to hide. I am law-abiding citizen in service of Her Majesty."
We were already on second floor. Long, quiet corridor with carpet covering muffling our steps. By law of meanness, apartment numbering started from beginning, so our target was at very end. Moving behind this superhuman, and also in protected suit, I felt relatively safe.
We passed twenty-fourth apartment. And then I noticed her. In dark corner at end of corridor, almost opposite thirtieth apartment, lurked female figure. She sat right on ceiling, hugging knees, like gargoyle from monochrome nightmare, and drilled us with gaze from under white mask lenses. Gwen. Already here. Judging by fact Blade did not even slow down, he noticed her much earlier than me.
With absolutely silent, graceful jump she returned to floor and headed toward us. Specifically, toward me. I expected anything: reproaches, accusations, another flash of anger. But either Gwen was more mature than I thought, or sight of grim Blade and my equipment influenced her mood. She gave me quick, assessing look, lingering on belt with unremarkable box of plasma shield generator, and understood I came not empty-handed.
"And what next?" was first thing she asked in half-whisper.
"John," Blade threw in my direction when three of us froze at door with number 2-30.
I nodded. Under what I was sure was Gwen's stunned gaze, I simply touched palm to steel door. Instant, and it disappeared. Dissolved in air, leaving after itself perfect rectangular opening leading into apartment. Yes, Blade knew how to adapt and play all cards in deck. And as for Gwen... let her consider this mutual revelation of secrets.
Blade did not wait. He tore from place with such speed that air whistled. He flew into apartment like shadow. Gwen and I heard only short cry, sound of breaking glass and dull thud of body on floor. When we entered inside, everything was already over.
Blond man, Schultz, lay on floor in middle of living room. Blade pressed him to carpet with knee planted exactly on neck. However Schultz tried to break free, his body did not even jerk. Strength was obviously on hunter's side. I think Chi was involved here, Blade's movements were too smooth, too powerful for simple adrenaline surge.
I silently stepped to opening and returned door from inventory. It with dull thud stood in place. Fastenings slightly loosened, but this was small price for such cheat.
"Well, let us talk about Aryan race superiority," Blade muttered grimly, addressing wheezing Schultz, turning his head and body so he looked into Blade's eyes.
I, ignoring beginning mental interrogation, began searching apartment with gaze. My goal was his vibro-gauntlets. They could not be left here. Would have to expropriate for good of... well, let us say, for good of my garage and internal engineering toad.
Absurd thought flashed in head. An honest black man, Nazi mercenary, capitalist heroine and engineer with communist encroachments on others' property gathered in apartment... Sounded like beginning of excellent joke.
"Why did you kill Frank Castle's family?" was first thing Blade asked. His voice was quiet, even, and from this seemed even more threatening.
While he began interrogation, I, using moment, set about studying apartment. My heightened perception, enhanced by NZT and master watchmaker, absorbed every detail. Typical bachelor's den: ingrained smell of sweat, stale food and something, elusive-metallic. Single toothbrush in bathroom, mountain of dirty dishes in sink, cardboard pizza box on coffee table. No traces of female presence. However, against background of this entropy kingdom, one object looked alien. Unremarkable closet in corner. Carpet in front of it was trampled harder than anywhere else, which was strange for place where junk should be stored, when Schultz's everyday clothes were carelessly scattered on chairs.
"O-order... I am just exe-kh-cutor..." Shocker wheezed, choking, not tearing frightened gaze from Blade's face.
I approached closet. From corner of eye I noticed Gwen was watching me first of all, not interrogation. She clearly understood I was looking for something.
"Order from Kingpin? Purpose of murder? Why did Frank survive?" Blade peppered him with questions, not letting him recover.
I flung open closet doors. Inside on hangers hung simple clothes, t-shirts, couple sweatshirts, jeans. But something was wrong. Too clean. In this apartment where dust was full-fledged resident, closet's internal surface was sterile. And clothes hung with almost military pedantry, perfectly ironed. Uncharacteristic for such slob. Final argument was Schultz himself, who, even being under Blade's pressure, for fraction of second shifted panicked gaze in my direction. Bingo. I was on right path. Obviously, for Fisk's elite operatives who could be called at any moment, equipment should be at hand.
"Yes... purpose unkn-khz-own... he refused boss several times... He was not supposed to survive!" Schultz pronounced last with genuine astonishment. Clear. Frank Castle somehow cheated death.
I began tapping closet's internal wall. Could have, of course, simply removed it to inventory, but if mechanism was built into furniture itself, this would not help. Finally, at very floor my fingers felt small cavity. Understood.
"Where is Kingpin now?" finally Blade asked main question.
I straightened and delivered short, sharp kick to found point, then another and another, picking key, after six attempts I succeeded. Mechanism, reacting not to force but to resonant frequency of strike, clicked. This was clever system: lock reacted only to specific vibration that only knowing person could create by striking right place at right angle. Like frames from spy action movie, closet's back wall smoothly slid aside. Inside, on quick-release fasteners, hung quilted yellow-brown suit, but my gaze was riveted by them. Vibro-gauntlets. Steel, simultaneously massive and elegant, they looked like work of futuristic art.
"I don't knoooow!" Schultz howled.
"And who knows?!" Blade growled.
Gwen approached me silently.
"And what will you do with this?" she quietly asked, nodding at gauntlets.
Without saying word, I touched them, and they disappeared. I did not need damn suit. Would study them later. Now, if I put them on and made one careless movement, from this apartment would remain pile of rubble.
"My handler... J-fzv-effrey Wykle... He is one of Kingpin's deputies!"
"Jeffrey Wykle. Where is he now? Address! Base! Does not matter!"
"Base... on Sixth Avenue... underground complex under house four-khr-teen!"
"Excellent," Blade gave us look. "Anyone else need to learn anything from this bastard?"
I took out from inventory one of gauntlets, but Gwen beat me to it. Her voice trembled from restrained pain.
"Captain George Stacy. Who is guilty of his death?!"
"First time I hear," Shocker answered without hesitation. By his face was visible he was not lying. For Gwen this was another dead end, no, with mind she understood order was given by Kingpin or someone from his top, but she needed specifically executor, at least for start.
"Okay, now me," I stepped forward, shaking gauntlet. "How to control this thing?"
"Compression force..." Schultz wheezed. "Internal lining... piezo-sensor matrix. Sharply squeeze fist, short, focused pulse, like shock wave from fist. Squeeze and hold, charge accumulates in capacitors, and you release wide, constant vibration. With finger pressure can change frequency: from low that crush concrete to high that turn glass to dust..."
"Pitfalls? Tracker?"
"Recoil..." he wheezed. "Stronger impulse, bigger it is. Suit... It absorbs vibration, distributing load over entire surface. No tracker. This is my technology. Only... suicides attack Kingpin's people."
Excellent, meant suit was important after all, so need to take it too.
"Sorry, buddy," Blade's voice became cold as ice. "But suicide here is you. From moment you decided to touch my friend. Ciao-cacao in other world."
"Wait! No! You will kill him?!" Gwen exclaimed, taking step forward.
But it was too late. What sounded was not loud crunch but quiet, wet, sickening sound of tearing ligaments and shifting vertebrae. Herman Schultz's body went limp. Blade straightened, not even glancing at heroine. Dirty work performed with ultimate efficiency.
He turned to me.
"Let us go, kid. Excessively proper heroines are not on our path."
I did not think she would lag behind us, but I hoped she learned some lesson. Freak killed entire family, and these were definitely not his first murders... It would be mistake to leave him alive. Mistake that would be made by ordinary friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but not death machine like Blade or Punisher, and here I agreed with them. Although possibly excessive pragmatism spurred by NZT was speaking in me. Did not matter, important was that now we would go to damn Fisk's base, where we would hardly be met with open arms.