2012-07-21 Two if by Interstate

It's well after midnight on the Eastern most dock of Gotham Harbor. Councilman DeCanter has a long standing 'agreement' with most of the union bosses controlled by the Salveon crime family. While the workers use the cover of Union Numbet six oh sixty as a front for their thugs, allowing for pension and 'honest money' to front for their illegal acitivites, the sizable monitary compensation continues to keep the Councilman in the city seat.
There are, ofcourse, honest laborers on the docks at this hour. People trying to clear a paycheck in an unforgiving economy, men who take work where they can get it. Even if some of the work they do is the kind nobody should ever ask any questions about.
Crates are moved off of an unmarked vessel into an unmarked truck. The sounds of labor and machinary heavy in the night air, mixed with the constant horns of the off shore barges being pulled into port by steaming tug boats.
"The boss wants these crates delivered on time, Joey.. no mistakes." Joey is one of those unfortunate men who's just caught in the middle of something far bigger than himself. Trying to make ends meet for his wife and kid.. It's not proud work, but it's work. "You got it, Mister Galvino."
Hawk sat on his souped up Hog ready for the action that was sure to come tonight. He was no stranger to crime, but he still got the nerves before a big job. Anything could go wrong, right? That wouldn't stop him from doing what needed to be done. His employer wanted that shipment and had said that the job could be dangerous. He wasn't afraid of dangerous.
"Check your weapons, boys. It's almost time for the fun" A round of cheers from the dozen bikers gathered around set his nerves at ease. The Birds of Prey weren't some pussy bikers. They were hardcore killers, thieves, and peddlers. He took his own advice and checked his weapons as he waited for sign of their prey.
Four black Suburbans screech to a hault in front of the gathered bikers. The passenger side window of the front Suburban rolls down to expose a man in a gray suit. "Are we ready for this, fellas?
From inside a score of hoots and laughter rings out. The man in the suit leans out and quickly says, "We're waiting on you. We'll hold off the fuzz."
oey climbed up in the cab of the long hauler transfer truck beside an obese italian riding shotgun. Literally. A pump action mosburg with a sawed down pistol stock rested against his lap. It made the civilian a little nervous, but the money was too good to pass up just on account of a few rotten elements. With a calming sigh he turned over the key and started the big truck moving with a hand over hand twist of the massive stirring wheel.
Nobodied mess with a Salveon shipment.
It's the only thing that kept him from bolting an hour ago when they pulled him off the dock and pointed him over to his truck. "Just keep to the route on the GPS and nothin'll go wrong... and try to be cool, huh?" The big italian snickered and lit a cigarette, letting it hang absently out the window as they road along the highway junction that would lead them towards the I-9 to New York City.
It was the perfect crime, really. The men running security for the shipment were all tried and tested made men and none of the drivers ever knew more than the first delivery. No two of them would ever ride the same route and no route was ever used twice. So the GCPD had a hell of a time actually tracking the trucks. With the corrupt officials lining the pockets of a few dozen 'beat cops'... it literally made the smuggled weapons untouchable.
A pair of GCPD black and white cruisers pull out ahead of the big Mac, providing routine route transfer security through the Bowery. They're well paid... this is why Gotham City is the worst city on the East Coast.
Little do they know exactly what they're riding into, however.
Hawk looks the man in the eye and nods, "We'll be counting on it. If you leave us, dicks flapping in the wind it won't be pretty." The look he gives the gangster in front of him is a threat in itself. "We'll see you at the unload."
Without another word he hits the start on his bike and motions for his troupe to follow him out onto the road. The sond of a dozen engines roaring to life all at once is deafening in the still night. The bikers all pull ski-masks down over their faces as they follow their leader out onto the road. Feather plumed helmets blow in the wind as the rip down the highway towards the I-9.
The rear Suburban's tires squeal out as it flys into reverse, the driver obviously planning on coming in from another direction. The remaining vehicles speed off after the bikers heading towards the mac truck and its escort. The leading Suburban takes center position behind the bikers. Inside guns are checked as fingers wait to roll down windows and let bullets fly.
Once the truck passes out of the congested city streets surrounding the docks and breaks out into the big highway that leads out towards I-9, the two cruisers take up defensive positions around it. One to the rear of the attached trailor and another out ahead to provide break support. They've obviously not got jurisdiction beyond the Delawere Bridge, so they'll exchange protection with their New York counterparts.
But by their way of thinking, this is really the easy stretch. Just a few short miles of less densely packed buildings and intersections, then they're at the onramp. From there, it's really just a straight shot.
The officers have made this trip a dozen times in the last two weeks. Always a different route, but it's always the same in the end.
Joey, on the other hand, is a nervous wreck. Just trying to keep his calm as he looks from side to side in obvious paranoia. More so with 'cops' involved. How far does this rabbit hole go? "Just relax, nothin' can go wrong from here man..." The obese gangster says around a drag of his cigarette as they move through an intersection, presenting the profile of the truck to the almost dead city streets.
The bikers, riding in a formation similar to a flock of birds, a short time later they spot their quarry ahead. The bikers move into a staggered two by two line taking up only one lane of traffic and roll right past the target. The plan is to get 'em on the interstate but it might work out different than that if they can get rid of these coppers.
Hawk glances over at the lead GCPD cruiser and salutes with his shoulder slung Mac-10 as he passes. He can't help but think, 'I hope you kissed the kids goodbye you unlucky bastard' as he sees the cop register that there is an armed convoy of bikers passing barely five feet away from him.
The Suburbans flanking the lead one pull out wide left to the otherside of the line of bikers. The goal is obviously to get around and ahead of the truck without frontending a civillian. The leading suburban bides its time behind, closing in on the GCPD cruiser at the back of the trailer. Windows start to roll down on the Suburbans moving to pass. Inside the lead suburban the man in the gray suit screams into a phone. "I'm telling you it's the I-9. Damnit where else would it be headed? You get there and wait for my word, then block it off when I tell you to." Flustered the man sets the phone down in his lap. "He's not listening."
The lead cruiser's lights immediately come to life when the line of bikes roll past on either side. Sure, this isn't the particular kind of trouble they were expecting, but this is what they get paid for... so as the gang moves beyond they peel away from the front of the truck to follow in behind the two by two line of harley's. The Suburban coming up in their rear views a second too late.
Behind the truch, the GCPD are following in kind, turning on their lights to jump into the chase, only vaguely aware of the black vehicle pulling along beside them with the windows down.
This isn't a call in situation, since they're not doing this legally.. though if things get particularly hairy and they're open to do so, back could be incoming shortly.
In the cab of the truch, Joey is getting even more concerned. "Uh... we might have a problem." Said to the obese man who's checking his shotgun, "Shut the fuck up and keep driving the route on the GPS..." Lifting the weapon and pointing the barrel out the open window, clearly following the 'shoot first' method of thinking.
Seeing the lights behind them, Hawk slows his bike and turns to catch a glance at the target and get an idea of how close they are. Seeing the cops obviously speeding to catch up to them them, Hawk motions for the one bike carrying two riders to circle back by waving his finger in a circle above him. One bike carrying two riders peels off to a side street moving fast to circle back.
Slink is small by biker standards and for that very reason it is on him to perform any and all high speed acrobatics up to and including jumping from a fast moving motorcycle to the step-side rail of the truck. Normally this type of thing would scare a teenage kid, but he wasn't your average teenager. He was a BoP. A badass in his own right. He tucks his pistol into his belt after checking to make sure there is a round chambered and prepares himself mentally to shoot some poor guy that probably is only in this for the extra money and the overtime hours.
As the cruisers catche up to the bikers, now spread all across the highway, they open fire on the lead cruiser. Hawk manuevers his bike with the ease of a professional and puts on the brakes, Allowing the cruiser and the truck to pass him quickly only to give his bike some gas before the target was completely past him. He pulls in front and slows down just enough that the 'Birds of Prey' patch on the back of his black, leather jacket can be seen clearly in the headlights of the truck. He turns and shows the driver the SMG.
Slink taps his driver on the shoulder and points at the suburban, the GCPD cruiser and the back of the truck up ahead. The engine roars as the driver, a bigger fellow named Clept, pushes the bike to its limits. Pulling along the passenger side of the truck Slink steadies himself once with a deep breath thinking, 'Time to earn that patch' and leaps, catching the handle on the side of the cab. His feet land shakily on the steps and without a moments of thought pulls the pistol from his belt, opens the cab door, and pumps three rounds into the fat man sitting there.
With both the front and back seat passenger windows rolled down shotguns can be seen portruding from inside the Suburbans moving past rear GCPD crusier. The first Suburban continues on to intercept the lead police cruiser while the thugs in the second lean out and unload on the GCPD at the rear of the trailer with 12 gauge slugs. The once leading Suburban moves to pull in close on the GCPD's left side and finish the job. The man in the gray suit still swearing into his phone. "Dont you let them on- I dont care what you have to do. If you don't crash into them you let them crash into you. Do you get me?" As the Suburban pulls along side the police cruiser the gun blasts from their friends in the other Suburban can be heard. The man in the gray suit calls out orders to the driver and the men on the passenger side. "Pull out further... and aim for the tires. I don't see them getting away but give us some room to breathe." The Suburban drifts wide and inside more shotgun blasts go off.
Slink grabs the arm of the fat man he just ended and guides his body out of the truck and turns his body to not get tangled in the mass as it falls to the asphalt, 'If he wasn't dead, he is now.' He clambers up into the cab and with the butt of his pistol he shuts the man's plea for mercy short, "You made the right choice in pulling this puppy to a stop."
The police dealt with and the truck stopped, Hawk begins issuing orders, "Alright make this shit happen, FAST!" The bikers begin unloading crates from the back of the truck a few short minutes later 2 large, non-descript U-hauls pull up.
That isn't all that pulls up.
The batmobile roars around a corner and the engine revs like a bull about to charge. Hawk screams to the six bikers not working to unload the trailer, "IT'S THE BAT! OPEN FIRE!"
Gunfire erupts in the night air as the bikers spray round after round.
The once leading Suburban slams on breaks to avoid the cruiser as it barrels past and into the light post. "It's stopped- you get back here now. We're going to need-" The man in the suit hears the unmistakable roar from the Batmobile and nearly drops the phone considering the force from the applied breaks and the terror from the Batmobile showing up. "If we don't make it back, tell the boss the Bat showed." He hangs up and orders his men out onto the street. The Suburban that launched the attack on the rear GCPD unit comes to a halt at the back of the trailer. The men inside obviously questioning the worth of stepping outside of their vehicle. Even knowing fullwell that doing nothing meant death they still questioned the rationality of stepping out to fight the caped crusader. The other suburban at the front of the mac truck screeched to a stop and the men filed out to offer support to the bikers unloading the precious cargo.
Batman rolls out from beneath the truck near to the back set of three wheels and grabs one of the Biker's around the throat with a heavily armored gauntlet. His fingers close quickly over the larynix, cutting off his oxygen and covering his mouth with the other hand to cut off even the whimpering initial cry as his companions move forward to open fire upon the batmobile.
Turning with the man, he drops him unconscious at the wheels of the truck and moves at a brisk pace towards another set of two Biker's on the driver side of the cab. Once he's directly behind them, his foot comes up and forward, stomping into the back of one's knee hard enough to tear the ACL. His right hand slaps over the top of his mouth to absorb the scream, the left snaps out in a side chop against hte carotid artery, reversing after the dizzying attack to push his thumb up between the junction of his jaw applying pressure to the mandibular artery to quickly put both men down in a heap.
Like a stalking panther, he rolls back into the darkness beneath the truck towards the other side where more bikers are still firing on the unmoving, engine reeving, batmobile. Bullets plinking against the slick black armored vehicle leaving chipped white marks along the matte black paint.
A black boot snaps out from under the cab, shattering another biker's knee, using the press of his back leg to come out of the darkness with his cape whirling out ahead of him like a bull fighter distraction. A gauntlet follows through, shattering the jaw of another, twisting his body weight down on his ankle in a spin, palm gliding the barrel of the mac-10 down, and releasing the clip as he steps forward out of his crouch to bash another goon square in the chest with enough force to collapse one of his lungs and throw him over his own motorcycle in a battered heap on the otherside.
The bikers have nearly unloaded half of the the 14 crates, the gunfire nearby and the presence of Batman cuts their assembly style unloading short and with only one of the U-hauls loaded Hawk calls out, "Let's RIDE!" The bikers loading the shipment quickly mount their bikes and take out into the night. No one going in the same direction as the other. The small biker Slink grabs the side rails leading into the cab of the loaded U-haul, opens the door, reaches in and grabs a surprise from off the seat. He pulls the pin to a anti-personel fragmentation grenade and bowling style lobs it at the batmobile before cranking the engine and pulling away. Though he is almost certain he is safe, he can't help but glance in the rearview mirror, anticipating the explosion.
The four men from the suburban at the front of the mac truck turn to face the Batmobile, unloading their remaining slugs in the firefight along with the bikers. When they hear the bikers splitting they follow suit and return to their SUV. Leaving the scene. The man in the grey suit pulls his m 1911 from its holster as he approaches the suburban at the back of the trailer with the group of three from his Suburban. The men in the final SUV still shaking at the possibility of stepping out. When he reaches the Suburban the man in the suit yells to the frightened men inside the vehicle. "Get your asses out and help or I swear I'll kill you myself." Upon hearing the order, the driver flips the Suburban into reverse and peels out saving himself and the remaining men in the vehicle from agony...even if only for a little while. The man in the suit screams at the driver as he beats a hasty retreat, firing a few rounds at the fleeing SUV. He turns to face the trailer and sharply pushes his men forward. "Get up there and fight." They didn't notice that he stayed put, all the while watching the men run into the danger while he pointed his gun into the darkness, frozen in place.
The batmobile is built to handle a lot of punishment, including grenades. It's not sure proof, obviously, it leaves it in less than advantagous condition to chase after the fleaing bikers, but it'll still ride.
And even if it /wouldnt/, there's fail safes for it not getting into anyone's hands.
With the U-haul on the move and the gangs all spreading out in either direction and the suburbans followed in hotp puruit, Batman again disappears into the gloom of the street. The trio sent to engage him find only mangled bikers until the drape of his cape from above dangles down around one of them, pulling him up into the junction between trailer and truck and quickly rolls backwards to the otherside of the vehicle to put it between himself and the other two with him. His fist snaps down in a side chop, followed by a deep knuckle stab into his solar plexus which leaves him gasping for air.
Bullets ring out where the Bat was, snapping flashes of light, strobing his approach. Dipping to one side, his palm comes up flat against a barrel and turns the pistol out wide, then down with his arm wrapped around the gunman's at the elbows. He pulls the man forward and throws his face in, smashing his armored cowl into the bridge of his nose, shattering his orbital bone and leaving him fighting to keep blood from oozing down the back of his throat.
The last stammers quietly as the shadow rises, gun shaky in an outstretched hand... Batman's flings forward, launching several batarangs from between his fingers to stab a half inch into his forearm at three places. He barrels in at the man as he yelps, drops his gun, and tries to turn and run...
Futile.
Batman catches him by the back of the neck, pulls him off balance and throws his right leg into a sweeping kick that brings the man up off his feet. His body turns, left elbow comes down and smashes his straight into the concrete.. folding his jaw over with his knee until his jaw bone snaps.
One left.
In the dark.
With the Batman.
"Who sent you."
It's /not/ a question. It's a comand.
The Iceberg Lounge is the place to be at this hour and the Penguin is standing in front of the one-way mirror staring down at the many men and women oblivious to the carnage that is no doubt taking place across town. He puffs his cigarette and holds the smoke a second, letting it out slowly as he brings a glass of Scotch to lips. "What a tough life you lead down there" he absently mumbles to himself at the crowd of dancing Gothamites, "Wah wah wah."
A ringing behind him shakes him from his half-drunken thoughts. It is Bossworth's cell. "Yes?" A moment of silence as the party on the other line speaks into the phone. The person on the other line is excited and the Penguin can hear them talking but not make out what is being said. Bossworth eventually replies, "I will let him know" and quickly ends the conversation. His face is unreadable, as always, as he informs his boss, "They only got half the shipment. Batman showed up while they were unloading. Hawk is saying he lost six of his bes..."
The Penguin sqwacks, "I DON'T CARE WHO HE LOST! /THAT/ IS HIS JOB!" Oswald's anger subsides a bit and he quickly adds, "To lose people... That is his job." He swirls his drink around and downs the glass. "That's his job." He slowly paces to the desk and sets the glass down he turns to Bossworth, "Call Two-Face... Tell him,,, Bats!" He walks to the sectional and takes a seat.
The man in the gray suit weighed his options. Through a busted face he mutters. "Jussh... kill mehh-
The remaining suburbans return to Two-Face's hideout where he gives them all a tirade until his cell phone rings. He answers but knows mostly what he's going to hear. "Yes?" Upon hearing the news from Bossworth he nods. "Thanks for the call, tell your employer I'll be seeing him once things have cooled down." He turns to face his thugs, glaring with his evil side. "So who is going to be responsible? When no one answered Two-Face produces the coin from his pocket and flips it. He catches the coin and chuckles. "Any two... any two will do..." He pulls his .22 pistol with his left hand and fires at two random members of his gang, placing two bullets in their foreheads. "Get rid of them. I'm done here."
The Bat seps forward from a different direction than was likely anticipated. The darkness is his home, it's his weapon. His hand closes over the muzzle of the weapon and lowers down enough that his hand can come around to chop the suited thug in the throat.
With a deep growl, he settles the man down onto the ground and presses his thumbs into either side of his jaw, crouched ontop of him with the full weight of his body pressed into the two digits until there's only a slow rythmic breathing of unconsciousness.
He'll find them. The man's wrist is taken and his fingers pressed into a slot on his wrist computer.
After standing, he moves over and tears one of the 'BoP' patches from the cut of one of the motorcycle thugs.
"Alfred. Bring up everything the GCPD organized crime unit has on the 'Birds of Prey' motorcycle club."
"I don't think they will accept the Batcycle as suitable for membership, Master Bruce."
"Now, Alfred."
"Ofcourse, sir."
"And run the prints I'm uploading against the database. Let me know when there's a hit."
"Shall I inform the board that Bruce will not be present at tomorrow's meeting?"
"Yes. Let Lucius know something's come up."
"Of course, sir."
The blue and white lights of other cruisers can be seen further down the street, but Batman is long gone before the police come to 'collect' on what remains of the gun shipment and thieves intent to steal them.
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