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#6
OCT 08 |
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“Tears In Heaven”
Abel Tarrant set down his third bottle of Tequila and let his eyes roll into the back of his head. He hadn’t been on a binge like this since the days of the old Injustice Gang.
Abe leaned back against the wall behind him and stared at the different drawings hung all over the tattoo parlor he had been in since yesterday. The owner tried to throw Abe out on his ear when he came in drunk and angry about his plight, but there was no way a shop keeper was any match for a guy who had slugged it out with Hal Jordan, with or without his tattoo powers. The fight was short and a few moments later Abe had the man tied up in back for his own well being; he would miss a few customers due to the store being locked down, but at least he would survive.
Abe had tried throughout the long day and a half that followed to recreate the tattoos on his body. He lovingly used the needles to make beautiful colored images throughout his arms and torso. But every time he finished one of his mini masterpieces he would touch it with the anticipation that it would leap off his skin with the life he willed to it; instead they remained inert mocking him, teasing him with false hope and giving him nothing, a lasting effect from the power of Superboy.
“Lousy sonofabitch!” screamed Abe as he threw the empty Tequila bottle against the wall across the room. “I swear if I ever get my powers back I’m going to make him bleed. And I will get them back, I’ll do whatever it takes, Superboy, whatever it takes.”
“Here’s the part I don’t get Floyd,” said Thomas Blake, better known as Catman. “Why doesn’t Abe let us help him out? I mean we’ve been through so much together in the past that he has to know that we’d do whatever we can to help him.”
Floyd Lawton sat at his computer terminal and continued typing his e-mail to Topper. “Tommy, sometimes a guy just has to do what he has to do. Abe’ll be back when he’s ready, and if he still needs help he’ll ask and we’ll give it to him. The best thing we can do right now is give him some space. The last thing he needs is a guy with a death wish and some fag hanging around him.”
“Hey! I am not gay!”
Abe staggered though the lit streets of New York, going from bar to bar, both Tattoo and Tavern, to find some sort of relief from his condition. He found that the only thing that gave him any sensation of pleasure these past few days was alcohol or the feel of the needle in his skin. And right now, he was fiending.
Watching Abe pass her, a young girl smiled to herself and clicked her six-inch heels on the concrete a little faster to catch up. “Hey honey, you all alone tonight? Are you looking for a date maybe?”
Abe looked the young girl up and down. She looked like she was in her mid twenties, which meant she was probably about sixteen. Her long red hair was a little stringy and she probably weighed all of ninety pounds. Abe smiled. “You know what baby, I think you might be able to help me out.” He reached out and grabbed her by the arm and quickly rolled up her sleeve to find track marks all over her. “Why don’t you tell me who your hook up is for starters?”
Floyd Lawton’s eyes lit up as he read the reply to his e-mail from Topper.
D,
Glad to hear you guys made it out of Smallville pretty much intact. Tell Abe I’m sorry to here about the tats, I’m sure he’ll rebound soon though.
Four more jobs are on the table, here’s the run down:
The latest coming out of Bludhaven is that a new boss is moving in to take over the gangs now that Blockbuster is out of the picture. I am sure you know whom most of the gangs are wanting out of the way. If you want to tangle with Nightwing again give me a shout and I will hook you up.
The word is out that Santa Prisca is looking for someone to take down Aquaman. I don’t know if underwater work is your thing or not but if so give the word.
If you want a shot at Superman it is a go.
The price on Jesse Quick’s head has doubled. I know you said you weren’t interested, but come on man.
Let’s talk.
T.
Floyd leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Do I really want to tangle with another big “S”?
Floyd looked over at Catman who was opening up a Fed Ex package containing his new order of twelve costumes from his favorite tailor in New Jersey. No, I want to stay around a bit longer I think, if only to annoy the hell out of Tommy.
Floyd started to reply to Topper for the job he wanted.
“Floyd, check this out,” yelled Catman. “Take a look at the NEW and IMPROVED Prowler of the Night, the fearsome, the ferocious, CATMAN!” Blake jumped from the bedroom adorned with his new Catman costume, which looked exactly like his old costume except that instead of orange it was black and instead of yellow it was pink. “So, how do I look?”
Floyd put his cigarette out in the ashtray, walked from his recliner to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the refrigerator. After drinking the brew down in one swig he came back out and continued typing to Topper.
“Well,” Catman said with a look of annoyance on his face. “Is this the most awesome thing you have ever seen or what? I mean black and red go great together.”
“Pink,” Floyd said, not looking up.
“Huh?”
“Its pink,” he said again.
“It’s not pink its red, I picked it out myself.”
“Its not red, its pink, you’re a color blind fag, Tommy. It explains a lot of things in your past.” Deadshot hit send on his e-mail and closed his laptop. “Pack up your fag pink costume and let’s go, we got a date in Bludhaven.
Thomas looked down at his costume in dismay. “Pink? Fuck me, maybe…just maybe he’s right. Maybe I am…colorblind.”
“What’s your name?” asked the young hooker as she led Abe through the alleys of New York City. “I mean, I’m doing you this favor, you can at least tell me your name.”
“Why, you didn’t tell me yours,” he said matter of fact.
“You didn’t ask,” she said sarcastically. “I’m Stephanie, but everyone calls me Steph.”
“Well Stephanie, it’s a pleasure to meet you, my name’s Abe, but my friends know better than to talk a lot around me, it pisses me of real fast. Now how much further is it to your connection?”
“Don’t be such a fuckin asshole! He’s right in here,” Steph yelled as she pointed to a small club called GATEWAY.
“He’s in a fuckin Goth club?” Abe said in disgust. “I hate fuckin Goth kids.”
As they entered the club Abe took in the sites and sounds of teenagers painted and wearing leather and latex moving to and fro to music that made absolutely no sense to him.
There was blatant drug use everywhere as kids snorted coke from the hands of their friends and took pills like they were Skittles. “God I hate fuckin Goth kids.”
Steph led him to the back of the club to a table that was covered in empty glasses and silver plates with traces of coke still on them. Four skinny girls dressed in electrical tape and latex writhed around and on the lap of a pale man who looked like Vin Diesel without the tan and a whole helluva a lot bigger. “Abe, this is Shooter.”
Shooter pulled down his rounded sunglasses and licked his lips at the sight of Steph. “Baby, you are looking better each and every night I see you. Come here, I got something for you.” Shooter pushed a couple of the girls away from him and Abe could see that his pants were down around his ankles. Steph walked over, got down on her knees and began pleasuring Shooter at the table. A few moments later Abe saw Shooter produce a small needle from his shirt pocket and watched as he held Steph’s arm and allowed the milky white substance inside of it to enter her body.
Both Shooter and Steph looked to Abe with wide smiles on their faces. “Now then, Abe,” he said. “What exactly can I do for you? Or more importantly, what can you offer me?”
Dick Grayson picked up his phone on the first ring as he flipped one of his escrima sticks into the air playfully. “Hello?”
“Gotham City. Robinson Park.”
Dick’s smile faded when he heard Bruce Wayne’s voice on the other end of the line. “So I just come running when you order it again?”
“I don’t have time for this, something’s come up with Tim. I need your assistance.”
“I’ve got things to take care of here in Bludhaven, but if Tim needs help you know I’ll be there.”
“Don’t worry about Bludhaven. I’ve already taken steps to make certain things do not get out of hand while you are away. Jean-Paul should be there in a few hours.”
“You sent Azrael to Bludhaven?!”
“Yes.”
“Great, so when I come back I’ll probably have a whole new mess to deal with here.”
“He knows what he is doing. I could have him backtrack towards Gotham but you know how Tim feels about him still. I need you to be professional about this.”
“Well, maybe I’m overreacting a little bit, I mean what can happen in one night?”
Thomas Blake and Floyd Lawton got out of their taxi and checked into the Holiday Inn. “Welcome to Bludhaven, sirs,” the hotel clerk said with a perky smile on her face. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”
Floyd pushed cash towards her on the counter. “Both.”
Abe laid back at the booth at GATEWAY and watched as Shooter stuck the fourth needle into his arm. He felt the sensation as it cut into his skin, it reminded him so much of getting tattoos, and the things he was seeing while the drugs made their way through his system almost made him forget his depression.
“Its good, isn’t it?” asked Shooter. “You know, Abe, I could make you feel this way all the time. It wouldn’t cost you much, I mean it would cost you only one little thing, and its not like you’re using it anyway.”
Abe lolled his head over in a daze and smiled. “And what’s that?”
Shooter’s form started to change before Abe’s eyes. “Your soul.”
Abe watched as Shooter’s features seemed to fade as a fine mist was making its way up from the ground. “What the hell is this all about?” he asked trying to clear his head as best as possible. All around him the clubgoers started to look like twisted versions of people, people that seemed almost demonic looking. Their laughter started out of nowhere but was now overwhelming.
Abe grabbed his head and shook himself. Shooter was also changing, long blonde hair grew from his head and his eyes started to glow an unearthly green. “Who are you?” asked Abe.
“I’m your best friend in the world Abe. I’m the one who is going to give the Tattooed Man back his powers. I…am…Neron.”
Azrael arrived in Bludhaven one hour after Nightwing departed. Batman had charged him with guardianship of the city as Nightwing assisted on another case; Azrael had no intention of letting them down, he had made that mistake already too often.
Jean-Paul Valley had a deep fear inside of him that he told no one else about. He feared he would be forever remembered as the one member of the Bat Family that couldn’t get the job done right.
He failed as a replacement to Batman. Nightwing hadn’t, and even young Timothy Drake knew more about being the protector of Gotham than he did. He just didn’t listen, and since the one true Batman had taken him down he had been on a road of recovery, both as a human soul and away from the influence of the System.
The System was his unconscious training given to him by the Order of St. Dumas to be their avenging angel. They wished him to commit murder in their name, to strike down those not found righteous, Batman had been trying to help him break the training, but every now and then he heard the voice of St. Dumas in the back of his mind crying out for vengeance. Azrael did everything he could to make the voice a memory by redeeming himself in the eyes of justice each night.
Within the first thirty minutes of entering Bludhaven he had already foiled a carjacking and aided in a domestic dispute that saw the husband try and kill his wife. When Nightwing returned home Azrael was certain all would be as he left it.
As he approached the Dixon Street overpass Azrael spied a car up on the curb, its front fender smashed into the vacant Drewry Theatre. As Azrael approached he saw there was a man slumped over the wheel, the smoke from the engine was billowing into the air and fluids leaked from underneath the car. He summarized quickly that the accident happened mere moments ago, perhaps no more than a minute or so. Azrael pulled the man gently back from his steering wheel to try and ascertain his injuries as he used his cowl mic to radio 911 to bring an ambulance to the scene.
As Azrael pulled the man back he saw a small hole in the front windshield that was about the size of a marble. He looked at the man’s face and saw the blood covering his forehead, blood coming from a small bullet hole wound in his forehead. The crash hadn’t killed this man; someone shot him while he was driving.
Azrael searched around for possible areas where a shooter may have struck from, an angle that suited the shot better than the others. All he saw was the right fist of a black and pink clad man smash into his face.
“Ha, how do you like that punk?” Catman yelled in triumph. He jumped onto Azrael’s back and swung his arms around his neck while his legs clamped around the hero’s midsection. “You’re going down, Nightwing! No offense and nothing personal, it’s just a job.”
“No. I am not Nightwing,” Azrael said matter of factly as he grabbed Catman by the head and flipped him off forward.
Catman did a tumble in the air and landed on his feet and hands in a crouched position. “What did you say?” Catman asked as he reached in his utility belt and threw a cat toy at Azrael.
The cat toy bomb exploded as Azrael jumped to the right to avoid being hurt. “I said ‘I am not Nightwing’. I am Azrael, but do not doubt that by the end of the night you will wish it was the Dark Knight’s apprentice you found rather than the avenging angel.” Azrael tumbled out of his jump and held his wrists to the side where a blade of fire unsheathed itself from his gauntlet on each hand.
Catman flicked his own wrists and razor sharp pink claws flicked out of his hands. “Let’s dance choir boy.”
Across the street, Deadshot lined Azrael up in his sights. Then he lifted his wrist cannon up in the air and held his shot. “Alright Tommy, let’s see what you really got.”
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To Be Continued...
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