I can do this, I thought. I just have to spin things the right way, provide a carrot to go with the stick.
I untangled myself from Turk while keeping the gun trained on him, staying well back from grabbing distance. The alley was quiet except for distant traffic and the sound of our breathing.
"Hey man," Turk said as I got to my feet, "look, no hard feelings, right? We was just—"
"Clearly we got off on the wrong foot," I interrupted, keeping my voice level. "What say, in exchange for my tolerance of this little misunderstanding, you brief me on the current state of organized crime in the city?"
Turk's eyes flicked to my gun, then back to my face. "What kinda briefing exactly?"
Grotto, his hands still up, shifted nervously from foot to foot, clearly trying to decide whether to run or stay.
"A lucrative one, hopefully. We should go grab a drink and talk. I have an opportunity for you both, and I'd love to cut you both in for fifteen percent each, if you can provide what I need."
Avarice flickered in Turk's eyes, and I didn't have to look at Grotto to know that a similar expression had briefly skittered across his face. Whatever qualms they might have had about doing business with someone who was holding them at gunpoint had clearly taken a backseat to greed.
"Well, funny thing," Turk stated, his posture relaxing slightly. "I know a place—"
I raised my other hand, cutting him off. "No offense," I said, my tone clearly indicating that I did take offense, "but I don't trust either of you enough to go to a secondary location. We can go to that nice bodega a block over, grab some drinks and have a talk."
Turk glanced at Grotto, who shrugged. "Fair enough, I guess. Lead the way."
The three of us made an odd procession down the alley. I trailed behind with the gun still visible but not directly aimed, Turk and Grotto walking ahead with occasional nervous glances over their shoulders. When we reached the main street, I tucked the weapon back into the shoulder holster but kept my jacket open for easy access.
The rest of the walk was somehow moreawkward after I holstered the gun, with us seeming to be in an odd twilight zone between mugger and victim. Without the immediate threat of violence, we were left with the uncomfortable reality of two men who had attempted to rob a stranger now making small talk. Turk kept clearing his throat like he wanted to say something, then thinking better of it. Grotto alternated between nervous chuckles and studied silence.
I sighed out of relief once I saw the bodega. It was exactly what I'd hoped for: a narrow storefront wedged between a laundromat and a check-cashing place, with grimy windows and a tired-looking clerk behind bulletproof glass who clearly had a policy of minding his own business. The familiar chime of the door announced our entrance.
"Grab whatever you want," I said, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. "My treat."
Turk immediately went for 2 Busch Lites, while Grotto selected a six-pack of beer. I opted for a Pepsi and a bag of corn chips—I needed to keep my edge sharp, and alcohol wouldn't help if this conversation went sideways.
After paying the disinterested clerk, we stepped back outside into the evening air. A few plastic milk crates were stacked against the wall next to the entrance, and I gestured toward them.
"Perfect seating arrangement," I said, dragging one of the crates a safe distance away before settling down. Turk and Grotto took the hint, grabbing their own crates and forming a loose triangle on the sidewalk.
The streetlight above us flickered intermittently, casting unsteady shadows across our makeshift meeting space. Traffic moved steadily past, but nobody paid attention to three guys drinking outside a bodega. We were just another slice of New York nightlife.
"Alright," I said, popping open my Pepsi. "Now we can have that talk." I gestured with the drink. "Just give me a run-down on who's doing what. I know the heroes disappeared two days ago, I just want a vague idea of the lay of the land before that."
Turk cracked open his Busch Lite and took a deep pull, then reached over and grabbed a handful of my corn chips without asking. "Well, a while back the Kingpin came back from Japan. Had less money, less men, but took over most of his old rackets within a week." He crunched thoughtfully. "Why? 'Cause he's got the trifecta - scary, smart, and ruthless. Plus he had dirt on every other boss in the city. Handed it all over to the feds through Daredevil himself."
Another swig of beer, another grab at my chips. "See, Lynch and the other bosses thought they could keep Fisk out by grabbing his wife Vanessa. Bad move. Fisk killed Lynch with his bare hands after Lynch got her killed. Two bullets in him and he still crushed that guy like a bug."
Turk was really going to town on my chips now, alternating between beer and crunching. "So Fisk's got this assassin, Bullseye - complete psycho. Originally hired to kill the Kingpin, but Fisk flipped him with a better offer. Then Bullseye gets his ass kicked by Daredevil and winds up in lockup. When he gets out, he finds Fisk replaced him with this Greek chick, Elektra."
Grotto winced. "The one with the—"
"The uh..sai, yeah." More chips disappeared into Turk's mouth. "Well, Bullseye don't take kindly to being replaced. Kills her with nothing but a playing card. A playing card! Turns out she was DD's old girlfriend or something, so now Daredevil's pissed. Chases Bullseye all over the city, fight ends with ol' Bullseye taking a long fall. Breaks his spine, leaves him paralyzed."
Grotto winced.
Turk took another long pull from his beer, then helped himself to more chips. "Should've been the end of it, but somehow this nutjob gets shipped off to Japan, finds some kook called Lord Dark Wind. Word is this guy does experimental surgery, fixes Bullseye's spine and makes his bones metal. Comes back walking and even more dangerous than before."
I watched as he continued his assault on my snacks. "Course, Daredevil still kicked his ass when they had their rematch. Beat him down at some old arena in the Bronx and handed him over to the cops. So now Bullseye's back in lockup where he belongs."
"Meanwhile, I'm trying to make my own moves. Get my hands on the Stilt-Man armor..." He paused to crunch more chips.
Grotto chuckled. "Oh man, you in that suit.."
"Shut up, Grotto." Turk washed down the chips with more beer. "So I figure I'll impress the Kingpin, march up to his window like I'm some big shot. You know what Fisk says? 'You are an idiot. I do not employ idiots.' Just like that! Try to prove myself anyway, naturally it goes to hell, and Daredevil drops me like a sack of potatoes."
Grotto shook his head. "At least you didn't get thrown through Josie's window this time."
Turk sighed. "Give it a week, Grotto. Give it a week." Another handful of chips vanished. "But anyway, bottom line is this: Kingpin's the dominant force in the city now. Maggia families are holding second place, and traditional Cosa Nostra's running a distant third."
I interjected. "What about Boss Morgan? Harlem's crime boss? Sounds like if you're a minor crime type, you gotta be affiliated with the Kingpin, the Maggia, or Cosa Nostra to get by."
Turk made a teetering gesture with his free hand while continuing to munch. "Morgan's kinda affiliated with the Maggia, from what I hear. But his leash got a lot shorter since one of his big enforcers got tossed in jail a couple years back - guy called the Pusher. Word was the Pusher had AIM connections, which gave Morgan some clout. Once the Pusher goes down, the Maggia starts leaning on Morgan harder."
He paused to think and take another swig, then grabbed what had to be the last handful from my bag.
"Morgan himself just got out of the slammer. Got busted when some street gang called the Hole in the Wall kidnapped Franklin Richards - yeah, Reed Richards' kid - and used the Invisible Woman to rob Morgan's operations. Whole thing turned into a three-way shootout between Morgan's crew, the kidnappers, and Spider-Man and the Invisible Woman trying to keep everyone from killing each other. A NYPD tactical squad swooped in and arrested everybody. Morgan's been trying to reestablish himself ever since he got out. He's clever though - that's coming from people smarter than me, so take it for what it's worth."
More beer, more chips. I was starting to wonder if there were any left.
"Thing is, Morgan's main connection to the Maggia was this guy Bushmaster, but word is he's dead. And that's just the start of it - Silvermane's dead, Nefaria's dead, Hammerhead's in jail, and the Owl's been in a jail hospital in a coma ever since Doc Ock beat the brakes off him. Madam Masque is MIA. Thing is, without all them big shots callin' the shots, the Maggia's got no direction. Most of 'em are just keepin' their heads down, waitin' to see what happens next."
What the fuck? Guess I hadn't been paying attention to the timeline of various mob bosses' prison stints closely enough when I read the comics.
"But I thought the Maggia had more influence than the Cosa Nostra?" I interrupted. "If the leadership of the American side of operations is that scattered, then how the hell are they doing anything?"
"I was getting to that," Turk said, holding up a hand while finishing off the last of my chips with the other. He crumpled the empty bag and tossed it aside.
He took another swig of his beer. "Only reason they still got an edge over the Cosa Nostra at this point is the firepower differential."
Grotto interjected. "I heard some Cosa Nostra types tried to move in on a Maggia racket a few days back. The Eel fried em up like onion rings. Wasn't even enough left of em to fit in a matchbox."
I looked forlornly at the empty chip bag on the ground, then took a sip of my Pepsi while considering my next move. The power vacuum Turk had described was massive - bigger than I'd realized. With so many major players dead or imprisoned, there had to be opportunities for someone smart enough to navigate the chaos. The question was how to insert myself into this mess without ending up like those poor suckers the Eel vaporized.
"Say Turk," I said, leaning forward slightly. "It's a scary world out there, and with the state of things, I think a lot of people would appreciate some more firepower from a prospective business partner. I can move 10 M-16's and I'll toss in 2 plasma rifles to sweeten the pot."
Turk smirked. "Now I see your angle. My man Grotto here knows someone on the arms dealing side of things, and they need a new supplier. The gangs need supplies, but they ain't going to trust a new face - especially not some black kid who just wandered in off the street."
Grotto nodded, lighting up a cigarette. "My contact's been in the game for years. He supplies half the Cosa Nostra families in the city, plus some of the smaller crews. But his usual pipeline got fucked when the Maggia started that fight with the Rosetti family last month. Lost two shipments to hijackings these past two weeks."
"So now he's scrambling," Turk continued. "Got orders backed up, people getting antsy. The gangs don't care about his supply problems - they need hardware, and if he can't deliver, they'll find someone who can. Or worse, they'll start thinking he's been skimming or playing favorites."
"That's where you come in," Grotto said, exhaling smoke. "You got quality merchandise, he's got the reputation and the network. He takes a cut for handling distribution and vouching for the product. The gangs get their guns from someone they trust, you get paid,we get paid and everybody stays happy."
Turk leaned back. "Course, if the merchandise ain't what you say it is, or if you try to cut him out and go directly to his customers..." He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, let's just say the man takes business relationships seriously."
"Understood." I turned to Grotto. "When's the soonest you can hook me up with your contact?"
Grotto scratched his head. "He's less busy now with all the supply issues. Guy's getting pretty desperate - his regulars are breathing down his neck. Think I should be able to get you at around 1 PM tomorrow." Grotto stretched. "I got a van. We meet at Josie's at noon, you load up the stuff and then we drive over to his place."
"Excellent." I said.
Then I smiled, turning to Turk. "And Turk? I'll bump your cut up to twenty percent if you can do this for me." Turk leaned in. "I know you broke into the Cord Long Island facility to get a Mauler battlesuit a few years back, and I want details on who you went to for info on that job."
Turk raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting slightly. There was something calculating in his look now, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. "That's... pretty specific knowledge there, pal. Not many people know about that little adventure." He paused, studying my face. "But hey, twenty percent is twenty percent. I'll get you those details after we handle the dropoff tomorrow."
Grotto nodded. "If something goes sideways with the timing, I'll leave a message with Josie. You know Josie's bar?"
I shook my head.
Turk grabbed a napkin from his pocket and started scribbling. "Here," he said, sketching out a rough map. "Closest intersection to Josie's. Can't miss it - it's got character."
I stood up and extended my hand to both of them. "Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen. I'll see you both tomorrow at Josie's."
Turk and Grotto shook my hand in turn, Turk's grip lingering just a moment longer than necessary, his eyes still holding that calculating look.
After we parted ways, I had some shopping to do. It took me about an hour of walking through the city before I found a sporting goods shop that was still open. They were about ten minutes from closing, but I must have looked especially pathetic, because they let me shop quickly and leave. I grabbed three large athletic bags - the kind that could easily hold some rifles without drawing attention - and a cheap analog watch.
After a brief subway ride back - I was too tired to retrace my steps - and a short walk to my cache, I took the elevator down to the bunker and made my way to the armory. The familiar hum of the charging stations and the green glow of emergency lighting greeted me as I opened the armory door. I carefully selected ten M-16s from the weapon racks, checking each one to make sure they were in working condition. These were in much better shape than those beat-up Glocks - barely any wear on the metal surfaces, actions that cycled smoothly, and what looked like factory-fresh barrels.
The two SHIELD plasma rifles smoothly detached from their charging cradles, their sleek black polymer housings unmarked by use. Judging by the green LEDs on both weapons I assumed the cells inside were currently charged, and a visual inspection showed them to be in similarly pristine condition. I packed everything methodically: four M-16s in one bag, three each in the other two bags along with one plasma rifle each. Extra magazines and power cells went into a separate compartment of the first bag. I wrapped everything in some drop cloths I found upstairs to minimize rattle and keep the contents from shifting around during transport.
The plan was simple: take a taxi to Josie's, meet up with Turk and Grotto, then ride in Grotto's van to wherever this dealer wanted to meet. Keep it calm, professional, and hopefully profitable. If everything went smoothly, I'd have some cash and a foothold in the city's underworld. More importantly, I'd have more contacts who could help me with the Stane International job.
Back in the small bunk room, I stripped down and draped my shoulder holster over the back of a metal chair. The emergency lighting cast everything in that sickly green glow, making the cramped space feel even more like a tomb. The thin mattress was barely more comfortable than sleeping on the floor, but exhaustion was catching up with me. Between the adrenaline crash from the mugging attempt and the mental energy spent planning my next moves, I was running on empty.
I pulled a scratchy wool blanket over myself and tried to ignore the cold concrete walls. Tomorrow would bring new complications, but for now I just needed a few hours of sleep.
I woke up to the shrill scream of an alarm, the electronic roar filling the whole bunk room. I scrabbled for my holster, eyes still crusted with sleep. Evidently, the universe had decided I didn't need a good night's rest