2013-01-24 Highway to Hell, part 3: Cincinnati

(Theme song: Rotersand - Dare to Live (SR Version))
(Continued from Highway to Hell, part 2: Gotham)
The Queen City.
Settled in 1788, Cincinnati, Ohio was once the midwest's industrial powerhouse, thanks to its location at the end of the Ohio-Erie Canal and upon the banks of the Ohio River, which connected the coal mining operations of Pennsylvania with the Mississippi River and beyond. There was once a day when the population growth of Cincinnati exceeded those of New York and Chicago combined.
However, Cincinnati eventually outgrew its usefulness. The Queen City, known for its steam-powered riverboats, local chili, and the invention of baseball, lost momentum with other major US powerhouse cities as industry shifted its focus from steamboats to railroads. Many have said that Cincinnati's ultimate failure was the incompletion of its subway system, which was abruptly ceased due to political and funding issues during the first World War.
Since then, Cincinnati has seen its fair share of problems. The Cincinnati riots of 2001 were the largest urban disorders in the United States since the Los Angeles riots of 1992, and were driven by race relations and the reaction to the fatal shooting of Timothy Thomas, a 16-year-old black male, by white police officer Steven Roach, during an on-foot pursuit through the old brewery district called Over-the-Rhine.
Over-the-Rhine, once considered one of the most dangerous urban neighborhoods in the United States, has seen a complete turn-around since then. Focused efforts by the city and civic organizations have turned the blighted neighborhood into a powerhouse of gentrified glory, filling the streets and their Italianete architecture with bars, restaurants, clothing stores and galleries. It is, for lack of a better term, Ohio's version of Williamsburg, NYC, or Wicker Park, Chicago.
As the Audi tears up I-71/75 through Kentucky, Shift looks on with a touch of fascination. Coming down into the central valley from Northern Kentucky in the middle of the night, the freeway races through a turn in the hills, revealing the beauty of downtown Cincinnati like the turn of a curtain. The buildings are all lit, framed by a football stadium on the left, a baseball stadium on the right, and a collection of street, rail, and pedestrian bridges connecting downtown with its sister centers on the northern side of the Ohio River in Kentucky.
"Would you look at dat," he says, unable to help but being impressed by the view from above as the freeway spirals toward the river and the double-decker bridge connecting the two.
Tonight is brought to you by the strongest coffee a soul can find at this hour at a fast food joint, a nagging urge to put on the miles, and Rotersand remixes on the Audi's wonderfully engineered sound system. There have been times along the way where Domino simply opened up the throttle, lucking out on avoiding the attention of highway patrols. Now reaching a heavy urban location, she's eased off on the throttle and backed the gearbox down to a somewhat more civilized manner.
She hasn't slept since leaving Gotham.
"Been a while since I've been through this way," she remarks while ducking around a flatbed truck with barely a hiccup of the powerful engine. Say what you might about Slee, he had a good choice in cars and kept this one in nice shape. Absolutely hell on fuel consumption with the extra cylinders packed under the bonnet, but one thing she's always been able to afford is drinking habits.
"Still a shit-ton better than Indianapolis, not looking forward to that hop."
There's no drumming of fingers on the wheel. No rhythmic tapping of her left boot in the footwell. No bobbing of the head in time to the music. It's simply ..absorbed, into her soul. The beat goes on, and so does she.
"Feel free to drop the window and take some pictures, if your hands are steady enough." Those night-time freeway shots are a real bitch, whether with a camera or a handgun.
One of those Christmas-Tree shaped air fresheners gets thrown up beneath the rear-view window before Shift lights a cigarette and rolls down the window. Aside from that, he scoffs at Domino's recommendation. "What, you want a picture album to go along with your medical bills from dis trip?" Either way, while he wasn't quite prone to keeping momentos, he can't help but agree. It's a pretty sight, might as well.
-Click!- -Click!- -Click!-
Hauling the cell phone back into the car, Shift blows a plume of smoke out the window, just as the freeway levels out and approaches the Brent Spence bridge- a double-decker monstrosity upon which the northern traffic will take the lower level. "So, where we headed?" he asks, while reaching for the bottle of water he'd taken to chase the cheap coffee. The pounding music serves as a good backdrop as the bridge envelops them, green signs barely visible between the aging supports holding the southbound traffic above them.
Dom rolls her eyes with a tiny sigh, hands still upon the wheel but fingertips jerking outward to punctuate her words, "Do you -have- to keep smoking that shit in my car?" Any further talk about pictures is ignored, half-gloved fingers curling back around the wheel with the subtle creaking sound of upholstry beneath black-nailed digits lost within the bass notes.
It's going to be a long fucking trip. Still, having someone to be pissed off at helps to keep her awake.
"Got some stops to make along the way. We're going to pass up into Chicago then hop on Eighty west most of the way to Denver. You're up for that stretch, nothing to it." Exactly where their final destination is, she doesn't yet know. That's something to figure out along the way. All she knows is that they're headed in the right direction, she'll get her answers over the next few days.
At normal speeds the only sound to be heard with the window down is the rushing of wind. Other people in other cars, everyone closed away within their own little world. Everything orbiting around its neighbors.
Worlds within worlds.
Domino's starting to feel a lot more like a precision-strike comet let on the loose.
"No," answers Shift, "I just do it to piss you off." He looks across the way with a daring smirk on his face. "Come on, Patches. Get off it. Leathah interior, a cold wind, you've got nothing to worry about."
Looking back forward, he watches as the city's central district grows closer, the car racing toward the other end of the bridge, where the road splits off into many directions. "We got business here?" he asks, curiously. Checking the clock on the radio, it reads off at 1:52am. That could be... problematic, depending on -where- their business took them. Local close out time for the bars was 2:00am, and, wait, what day of the week was it? Thursday? No, Friday.
Shift takes another long drag of his cigarette, frowning. "Slean's got a few contacts here. Used to traffic through some small town in Northeast Ohio, but de operatah's ran out of dis place." A smirk comes to his face. "Gotta hand it to dem, they know how to run a business. Threw off the DEA on too many occasions."
"It's working," Domino growls in a dark tone, canting her head forward while gunning the Audi past another driver. Maybe he was ticking her off, too. Maybe she just needs to vent some of her aggression. "The car's disposable, kid. Don't give two fucks about it."
Business here? "I just hate Dayton." Really, though. "I've got a contact in the area. Gonna get me in touch with some extra party favors. Also planned as a failsafe in case we needed to switch rides." Maybe she got lucky in Gotham after all, no heat after making a mess out of the gate surrounding their impound lot. That works out just fine and dandy for her.
"Sleaze's operation got out here too, huh. Care to pay the out of towners a visit, spread your influence a little?" she asks in an almost challenging tone, passing an intense stare your way. "Hear you're building up quite a reputation. That have anything to do with those other kids you're shacking up with? Think I would have heard about an underground mutant vigilante crew with that level of hardware."
"I have some few identities to roll with," answers Shift. "Odame is off de grid. No official records, except for what might show up in police records. His reputation is a force of necessity. -That- name is to be feared by people who need to fear it."
The remark about the others he's shacked up with? That one seems to go generally ignored, save for the way his lips press together into a thin line. He pointedly ignores looking at you in regard to them, but the subtext is thick. If it's an organization that, of all people, -you- haven't heard of, then he's certainly not going to be the one to spill those beans. Wasn't his place, after all.
The car veers off the freeway, skimming downtown and headed toward Central Parkway, the mutli-lane pass through between downtown Cincinnati and Over-the-Rhine. "Not exactly Sleazer's operation," he clarifies. "Partners. Slean was a trafficker, but he handled New York's operations. The guys out here? Took a heavy hit from the Northeast Ohio boys in blue a few years ago. Put a damper on incoming shipments from de south. Word is there's a silent war between the local cops and da traffickers now. Russian mob handles most of de drug trade in this area. Hopefully your contact isn't holed up inside one of their vodka-laden asses."
Vine Street, which runs north from downtown and into Over-the Rhine, passes through a few blocks of heavy gentrification. The drinkers are out in force now as the bars close down, spilling a motley crew of well-dressed suburbanites-turn-city dwellers, hipsters, hoodrats and counter-culturals into the brightly lit street. However, just beyond the reach of gentrification is an old club, one which recently re-opened after years of being shut down. Simply called "The Warehouse", it seems to be where most of the more oddly-dressed types are headed for a bit of after hours action. Domino and Shift? Seems they'll fit in quite well, especially since that's where Domino's contact tends to hang out at this hour.
That stare holds for a few more seconds before she simply gives up on it. Who is she to judge about someone keeping secrets, after all? The only soul on the planet that ever got through that wall is dead. No one else needs to get through. She's tried allowing it once, it didn't work out so well.
"I'm not gonna fill your head with worthless shit like 'so long as they're treating you right,' but I hope that what they stand for is something that you can get behind." You're a big kid, after all. Growing up quickly, though time in Gotham will definitely do that to a person. She's not a mentor, maybe not even a friend these days. It's personal experience she offers, nothing more.
"I make a habit of not getting involved with druggies and criminal minds," Dom flatly responds. It could have come across as a threat or a warning toward you some time back but you've done a good job of keeping yourself clean, so far as she could tell. "If you don't have a stable network then everything falls to pieces when you need it the most. Pay the extra grand, go the extra mile. Don't dick around, stick with reliable sources."
The anti-lock brakes effortlessly kick into gear as Dom slows the heavy car along the side of the street, the demand placed upon the tires causing them to skip through grimy water and patches of snow until the Audi comes to a stop. With the engine still running she reaches under her seat and procures a matte black .44 caliber Desert Eagle, double-checking the chamber before she scoots forward to tuck it into the small of her back.
"Whatever you do, don't order the absinthe. Knock you on your ass around here."
"Dat remains to be seen," answers Kwabena, providing a brief moment of honesty through his facade of sarcasm and lazy remarks. Who were the X-Men? Was he officially one of them now? Did he want to be? Did -they- want someone with his history amongst their numbers?
"I could have walked away," he offers. "And, in essence, I have. But not everyone knows how to speak da language of dat world. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty if it's for a biggah purpose. Sometimes reliable sources can't get you the information you need." He cants his head over toward you, smirking. "Besides, unless dey bring plasma's to de table, there's really nothing dey can do." To Shift, at least. The so-called 'invincible man'.
Fair point, there. Are there -any- criminal cartels nearly as powerful as, say, Victor von Doom? Not really.
Similarly, Kwabena tucks the pistol she'd given him beneath his jacket, slipping it into one of the gearloops built into his 'shift suit', which remains concealed beneath his black and denim street attire. "I think I'll stick with what I can handle, thanks." Flashing you a smirk, he turns and hops out of the car, moving with ease toward the line of freakishly dressed bar-goers who are waiting to get in to The Warehouse. From inside, deep throbbing bass is the first sign of what atmosphere awaits inside, and the dirt and grime speaks more of those riot-days, with the gentrification blocks behind them and nothing but ghetto ahead.
It's a good enough answer for Domino. For now. "Fair enough. Tread lightly in the meantime." She might even still be around if you need her later on. Given that you're here with her now, the odds seem to be in your favor.
A moment later and she actually passes a wry smirk back at you, right after you mention plasma. "If you don't mind wading through that mess, there may be a time where I'm coming to -you- for info."
Maybe she really trusts you, after all.
Getting into the club, that's the easy part. Domino takes point and just -stands- there, hands on hips, a tiny little albino chick staring up at the big, massive, scary bouncer at the door. "Call Duckie." She'll wait right here, thank you.
Looking significantly bored, and more than a little irked at being told what to do by this ghost of a woman, the bouncer makes the call. "Yeah. 'Duckie.' Thought you said no one was to use that na--left eye. Right." He snaps his phone closed, sneering down at the smaller woman and her dark-skinned companion as, with obvious reluctance, he steps out of their way.
"Thanks, Chuckles."
The air inside is dark and filled with smoke, colored lights casting hazy beams of luminescence across the bar in chaotic arrays that change at random so quickly that they could synch up with anything their speakers could spit out upon the writhing crowd. Dom's a woman who is easy to lose track of in here unless one manages to catch sight of her face. She cuts a line as straight as she can manage to the back, then up a set of stairs, then to a door where another bouncer takes one look at her and lets her through.
The room beyond is dark and gritty, overlooking the club below with a one-way window. There's a few more individuals standing about, many of them favoring the darkest shades of leather attire the market has to offer.
In a manner of seconds, one of those guys pulls a gun.
Moving even faster is the only woman within the room. One 10 millimeter aimed square at the man's forehead. One .44 Magnum leveled toward a spot up in the ceiling. At a hidden camera. "Your move, Ducko."
A new voice speaks out through an intercom, "Is that an IMI? Shit, girl, since when did you start carryin' the big boy toys, huh? Quit screwin' around and get your ass back here."
One meaningful glance to the man in Dom's sights later and the last door is opened, permitting the unlikely pair through. Along the way she sides to you, "Size always mattered with this guy."
Shift adopts a stance nearby the vehicle, where he can monitor what's happening with Domino while keeping his eye on the streets. Another cigarette is lit, and he casually watches while a CPD car rolls up Vine Street. Mismatched eyes narrow just slightly... would they catch the APB on Domino's Audi placed by the GCPD, or not?
Seems not. They roll right on past, most likely because they're looking for local troublemakers, rather than global ones.
Flicking the cigarette to the curb, Shift turns and follows Domino into the club next, keeping close beside her as if she needed some kind of bodyguard. In fact, at one point, a drunk fellow takes notice of her and heads her way, but he's intercepted by Shift. The Ghanaian places a hand against the young fellow's chest, glowering at him with such warning in his eyes that the fellow shrinks back, nearly spilling his drink in the process.
Throughout the standoff, Shift's eyes remain locked upon the individual who holds the gun toward Domino. He's chillingly still and silent throughout the exchange, until they are being permitted into the back room of back rooms. His murmured response is rather different.
"Chump with the gun knows me."
That's all she might need to know. In other words, get ready for bullshit to go down.
"One big underground family reunion," Dom mutters back while approaching 'Duckie's' desk. Monochrome security monitors line one wall. Heavy smoke hangs in the air, even more potent than the stuff coating the dancefloor. Beyond a slightly elongated nose, there's no obvious physical characteristics for the guy to have that sort of nickname.
"Dommie! So good to see you--and friend--seriously guys, lighten up a little, would get the impression you weren't happy to see me. Now then, what can I do to that fine white ass--"
-Duck,-" Domino cuts the man's train of thought like a cleaver through a slab of meat.
"Of course," he lilts with an audible sigh. "Business. Aaalways with the business." He raises a hand over his head and absently snaps his fingers twice, calling for privacy as the door closes behind the trio. "Righty-o, infodump and datacomb. Been a while since we last talked, but Iii never forget when -you- tell me something, my dear," he says with a toothy grin and a finger waggling across the table in her direction.
"Stalling. You'd better have some damn good info for me."
Duckie's expression suddenly turns very, very cold. "Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten what I've told you. -Don't.- Use. That name. Ever. Again."
"It got your attention, didn't it?" Dom challenges the clubowner. "I'm on a tight schedule, don't have time to dick around with pleasantries. You got some info for me or not?"
Without another word but with plenty of scowl, Duck pulls out a folder and tosses it onto his desk before heavily leaning back in his seat, glaring.
Dom takes the file, pulling it open and paging through its contents through the dim lighting. There's a handful of grainy photos and what look like Xerox copies from a place called Trinity Medical Research. One photo has a close-up of a license plate, originating from Florida. Pale eyes soon jump back to Duck, her next question summed up in one word: "When?"
"Three weeks ago. Check the dates on those copies. Once is nothing. Twice is suspect. Three times--"
"And you're onto something," she automatically finishes, soon followed with a muttered "Shit" under her breath.
Of course, there's plenty of smoke in here, so Shift has no problems lighting another cigarette and adding to the mess. He doesn't say a word while the two of them speak, but he's clearly on edge about something. He's smoking the cigarette a bit too fast.
Outside, Smithy Dan is on the phone with someone. He's off in the corner, whispering rapid, vulgarity-laced words into the cellular phone, while eyeing the door to Ducky's office suspiciously.
Inside, Shift is contemplating how long it would take for Smithy Dan to contact his people. He contemplates exactly what might happen if things go south on them here. His growing reputation could become as much of a liability as it was a benefit, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
With a frown, Shift takes a step aside, moving toward the door.
At the same time, Smithy Dan has made eye contact with Nautigroove, and they aren't friendly eyes. Nautigroove reaches behind his back where a sidearm has been safely tucked away, while Smithy Dan walks toward the fellow guarding the door, a switchblade held against his forearm in secrecy.
Inside the room, Shift suddenly makes for the door and throws it open. The guard outside darts to the side, angrily, but Smithy Dan seems -completely- caught off guard. Shift grabs Dan's neck, glowering at him while his fingers begin to harden and tighten, cutting off his air flow.
Slowly, Shift turns his neck to look back into the room, considering Domino and Ducky. With a few grunts, he drags Smithy Dan into the room, even as the switchblade falls guiltily from his hand and clatters across the floor. He doesn't say a word, but he looks between Domino and Ducky, as if waiting for one of them to tell him what, exactly, to do with the man who was -about- to betray his #1 boss in favor of his #2 boss.
There are, of course, other ways to tick off Duck. "Whoa-WHOA--hey, what's this all about, huh?! You guys -know- I don't like blood in here, it takes forever to get outta the carpet!
Throughout this exchange of testosterone, Domino is indifferently looking through the intel she's been given. She had her heads up. Shift can take care of himself. Her mind is quickly made up. "You still dealing in hardware?"
"Jesus, Dommie, your boy's got -my- boy by the neck, this state's got leash laws!"
"Try as I might, he just keeps breaking 'em," she calmly replies with the start of a malicious smirk edging into place. "The laws, that is. You want to try putting a leash on that, you go right ahead."
"Boss--"
"Yeah yeah, shut it, Dan," Duck quickly dismisses the caught man. "Look, you guys wanna sort this out with your balls then -do it outside!- Got a perfectly serviceable alley just for this sorta stuff. And no, I got outta the hardware biz eight months ago."
"Bullshit, you did." Domino pulls an envelope out of a trench pocket, lightly tossing it onto the table. "As agreed. Think we'll look elsewhere for the appetizers, this place is starting to get a little too gritty for my liking." The folder gets tucked under an arm and she starts to head toward the door, which is well blocked by one man holding another man by the throat. She addresses Smithy Dan, next. "We're not going to have ourselves a problem here, are we? Because I've got two hundred and forty grains saying that you're going to drop this shit and stay the fuck out of our way."
"Let it drop, Dan," Duck calls back from his desk. "That bitch is bad news. Anyone riding with her's gonna be every bit as bad."
There are, of course, other ways to tick off Duck. "Whoa-WHOA--hey, what's this all about, huh?! You guys -know- I don't like blood in here, it takes forever to get outta the carpet!
Throughout this exchange of testosterone, Domino is indifferently looking through the intel she's been given. She had her heads up. Shift can take care of himself. Her mind is quickly made up. "You still dealing in hardware?"
"Jesus, Dommie, your boy's got -my- boy by the neck, this state's got leash laws!"
"Try as I might, he just keeps breaking 'em," she calmly replies with the start of a malicious smirk edging into place. "The laws, that is. You want to try putting a leash on that, you go right ahead."
"Boss--"
"Yeah yeah, shut it, Dan," Duck quickly dismisses the caught man. "Look, you guys wanna sort this out with your balls then -do it outside!- Got a perfectly serviceable alley just for this sorta stuff. And no, I got outta the hardware biz eight months ago."
"Bullshit, you did." Domino pulls an envelope out of a trench pocket, lightly tossing it onto the table. "As agreed. Think we'll look elsewhere for the appetizers, this place is starting to get a little too gritty for my liking." The folder gets tucked under an arm and she starts to head toward the door, which is well blocked by one man holding another man by the throat. She addresses Smithy Dan, next. "We're not going to have ourselves a problem here, are we? Because I've got two hundred and forty grains saying that you're going to drop this shit and stay the fuck out of our way."
"Let it drop, Dan," Duck calls back from his desk. "That bitch is bad news. Anyone riding with her's gonna be every bit as bad."
All the while, Shift maintains his watch upon Ducky and Smithy Dan. He doesn't say a word until the very end, at which point he leans in toward Dan's face. "Now be a good boy and tell your friends to leave us alone. Dey don't want my trouble, and I think you all know that." Then, he gives the fellow a good shove toward the door, where he collapses, choking, in front of Nautigroove.
Shift reaches down and collects the switchblade from the floor, then looks back toward Domino with a knowing expression, as if to suggest that she ought to be able to piece together what just happened. He walks over to Ducky's desk, sitting the switchblade down. "I am a good ally to have. Keep your boys in line."
What..is Shift planning on doing with that switchbla--ah, okay. That will definitely work. The knowing glance is returned, and with Shift's piece said Domino gives him a sarcastic salute with a single clicking sound from the corner of her mouth. "Later, Duckman."
"It's -Ducato,- you crazy albino bitch!"
SLAM!
One final look around the assembled thugs later and Dom leads the way back to the car, though never taking her attention completely off of their backs as they go. Maybe she could trust Duckie, once in a while. His goons, definitely not.
"That was fun."
"It means trouble," answers Shift, leaning close to keep his voice a 'murmur' just beneath the throbbing bass. The back room of the club is absolutely throbbing with music now, and the people dancing couldn't be any more freakier. Cages scattered throughout the room are filled with dancers, most of which are chained to each other, or the cages themselves. Some of them are having hot wax poured onto them from above.
Seems Cincinnati knows how to party.
"I hope you got what you came for," he says while edging his way through the crowd. "Dat odah cocka-roach, Nautigroove? Russian mob. I'd have offed him if I didn't-"
-BANG BANG BANG!-
The gunshots throw the entire club into a frenzy. People start to scream and run everywhere. There's so much mayhem that it's almost impossible to tell which way is out. Instinctively, Shift reaches out to grab your arm, if only to keep from getting separated, while muscling off a few larger leather-clad clubgoers who try to stampede over him.
Shift's pistol is out and cocked, but suddenly, he's grabbed by a squirely-looking guy, barely an inch over twenty-one. "You've made enemies!" he shouts. "They'll get you at the front door! Follow me!"
Shift looks away from the kid and over toward Domino, blink-blinking once. Before he can speak, three more gunshots echo throughout the room, one stray bullet striking a chained dancer. Blood splatters all over the place as he slumps against the cage, falling down until the chain catches him by the neck.
"Come on!" cries the kid, who seems to be tugging at Shift in an attempt to pull him away from the mob that's forming near the front room of the club.
No amount of loud music will ever properly cover up the sound of a firearm being discharged inside of a building. Domino practically had a hand on the grip of a pistol of her own since they left the immediate company of Duck, not trusting the other thugs around this place.
This would be why.
It's a room -full of civilians.- Some of the worst shooting conditions one could possibly imagine! And someone's opening fire on them?!
BLAM!
A single magnum case flicks up and out of the chamber of her IMI, the shot deliberately angled up and away from the crowd-
-toward the chain linking a cage to the ceiling-
-shearing it and dropping it directly in the path of their pursuers.
The dancer was dead before she pulled the trigger, caught by their fire.
Who is this kid now, telling them to follow -him?- They don't have time to make a choice. "Go, I've got our backs!"
Shift keeps his weapon at the ready, but Domino is a -far better shot- than him, so he'll leave the tricky shots up to her. As they make their way toward a corner of the room, things begin to clear out a bit, which isn't really saying much. He keeps his weapon raised and ready, scanning about as he keeps tabs on the kid and Domino.
"Damn! It's... it's locked!"
Shift shoves the kid away from the old doorway he's led them to. A snarl of the lips and the crackling of flesh precedes a rather powerful blow to the door, which gets busted open and smacks off a stone wall beyond.
Shift kicks the door shut behind them, quickly throwing an old bar across the door in an effort to barricade it from any pursuers. They are now in an old tunnel, with a stone stairway leading down into the dimly lit darkness.
"If you're lucky, they won't see where you went," breathes the kid.
In response, Shift grabs him by the shoulder, glowering at him. "Where does dis tunnel go?"
"Old brewing tunnels!" answers the kid, clearly spooked by the look on Kwabena's face. "Used to move the kegs to and from the canal. They're lit up now because they do tours and stuff-"
"-Where- does it go?" repeats Shift.
"Uhhhmm, okay, well, you take a left at the bottom, then take the second right. That'll get you to the old subway tunnels."
Shift pushes the kid up against the wall, taking a brief moment to aim his pistol at the kid's head. "Stay down and keep quiet. Don't follow us. Just stay out of dis and dey might not kill you!"
"So do something about it!"
Wherever Shift learned that trick, Domino approves. It saves on ammo not having to shoot out every lock that she comes across. Not that it happens as often as it probably should, but all the same. Seconds, and bullets, count.
As soon as the door is closed and barred behind them, Dom yanks out a concussion grenade and wedges it between the wall and the bar, leaving the pressure of the makeshift lock to keep the priming arm in place. As soon as they muscle that door open they'll be in for a nasty surprise! Heat and shockwave, hot enough to fuse metal, powerful enough to batter people around and cause plenty of internal hemmoraging. Non-lethal, if they've got even a sliver of her luck.
Oh goodie, now they're going down into the tunnels. Away from the car. Away from all of the gear that she had selected for this trip. That's ..less than ideal. To the kid, her only motivational words are "Stay clear of that door if you value your organs."
They do -tours- and shit, that's exactly what they need. Run into another mob of unarmed civilians while evading multiple armed thugs. "This place is gonna turn into a bloodbath if we don't get out of here quick."
Domino's little trick with the concussion grenade earns an approving glimmer of mirth in Shift's eyes. He'll have to remember that one for later. "Listen to her," he echoes, before turning and taking the steps two at a time.
Seems the kid has had death scared into him, probably at seeing a concussion grenade, not to mention having a gun pointed at his head. However, before they can get too far away, he finds his voice and calls after them. "They don't do tours this late, don't worry!"
"Well, that's a relief," breaths Shift as his feet clamber onto level ground once more.
The tunnels are old, very old, hewn out of rock, stone and dirt in a very narrow oval shape, with old lights running across the ceiling. They were made just large enough for a large keg of ale to be carried by two people, one in front, one in the back. Stairways and doors lead off to the side here and there, toward other basements that were at one time breweries, but are now God knows what.
They're just coming near to the second bend, having gone not more than an estimated three blocks, when the concussion grenade goes off, filling the tunnels with a loud noise and a shock of heat. Shift presses himself up against the wall, waiting until Domino has gone past him and to the right, before taking up the chase. It isn't until they have reached the old, abandoned subway tunnel that voices can be heard in the distance, angry voices.
"I don't think they liked your little trick," he quips.
"Yeah, no shit," Domino mutters while jumping down the stairs. "You make friends like I do."
She's expecting that grenade to go off at any moment. She -put- it there. She knows how they work inside and out, knows what to expect when they go. She still jumps with the door-slamming explosion that resonates within the cramped underground passage. "Someone found the prize," she offhandedly comments while pressing onward. It'll take them approximately twenty seconds to recover, find someone brave enough to take point, and descend the stairs enough to get a bead on either of them. And that's if they hauled ass down here.
Plenty of time.
"Frankly, I don't give a shit. We're stuck under Cincinnati with limited supplies, an unknown number of very upset thugs after us, no idea of where we are, and a car full of illegal hardware just sitting on the curb. Which problem do you want to tackle first?" If she knew about where they were and could find a way back to the street then they'd have enough time to reach the Audi. Not knowing -any- of the details keeps it from being a viable option, that amount of time can't be afforded.
"Ah, comes with de territory. Pushing around mob bosses, threatening drug cartels. Doesn't end kindly, in genarahl."
As they burst into the old, abandoned subway tunnel, Shift takes a moment to look around. He'd spent months surviving alone in the jungles of Africa, years on the streets of Accra, and more time going from American city to city. His sense of direction is beyond keen. Eyes dart here and there, observing everything, considering how they'd driven to get here, the map he'd studied on his phone beforehand.
The voices are getting louder.
"Dis runs undah Central Parkway," he murmurs quickly. "East to west. Main drag." He pivots to the right, motioning that way. "Go. Quickly. Find an entrance you can get through, bust it open and light off one of dose grenades." He turns back to face the tunnel. "I'll hold dem off here."
He looks over at you urgently. "Go! Quick!"
"Good to see that you're keeping yourself out of trouble," comes her sarcastic reply as she jumps up onto the dusty platform.
Sure is a good thing that you know where they are! "Got it," she simply offers back while mentally mapping things out for herself. "I'll be back for you." It's a good defensible position, you can't be harmed by conventional methods, she knows where you'll be hiding. She would have been upset if you didn't choose to hold up here.
The rhythmic impact of heavy boots echo out within the tile-lined passageways as Domino rushes through the station, flying up a flight of stairs to reach a barricaded door beyond.
It isn't barricaded for long.
WHAM! Splinters of wood go flying as the albino slams her shoulder into it, grunting and coming out to roll across the floor of an old loading dock for a nearby business. "That's gonna leave a mark," she huffs while flicking another grenade free. Does she need to use it? As soon as it goes it's going to draw a crapton of attention their way...
Shift merely gives you an earnest nod of his head, before raising his pistol and aiming it squarely at the tunnel they'd come from. It isn't more than a beat later when the thugs come around the bend, and upon seeing Shift, all hell breaks loose. Bullets from an assortment of almost-illegal to extremely-illegal weapons pour forth, all but shredding his black leather jacket, pants, everything except him.
A few cracks issue forth as Shift returns fire, unphased by how his body is peppered with bullets passing through him. One by one the thugs are taken out, with most of the gunshots finding legs and a few torsos. An empty clip hits the floor and another one is inserted, but the moment a couple of thugs climb over the bodies of those in the entryway, Shift makes his move.
Shredded clothes fall to the dusty station floor, and a cloud of black smoke bursts toward the stairs where Domino fled. The pistol, a spare clip, and a wrist-watch shaped object are carried with it, but in the darkness, the thugs have absolutely no idea what just happened. For all they know, their target simply -disappeared-.
The air next to you is disturbed, and the black smoke reforms into Shift, standing right beside you. He doesn't say a word, not wanting to draw any additional attention. He simply looks toward what you've found, nods his head in approval, then makes to follow.
To find you standing beside her rather than a mob of unhappy goons is nothing Dom's going to complain about, sweeping the dim space beyond then passing a lightning-quick glance your way as you reform.
"That was quick."
It might actually be a compliment.
"We're walking as much as we can," she declares while putting her two weapons away. "The instant we start running we're going to draw eyes. Start casual, take up line behind me. Counting on you for rear guard, ten foot spacing minimum. We get to the car and we get the hell out of here."
Dom's doing that thing, again... Leading. She had to have known this was coming, so why did she invite you along? Instinct. It had to have been instinct.
She steps back out onto the street with the collar of her trench turned up and her hands riding deep within its pockets, taking up the act of a chilled club-goer rather than a guarded killer. Her thoughts are racing. Adrenaline is hammering through her veins. Sometimes the most challenging part of a fight is simply not fighting at all. The rest of the world only cares about the impending storm once it hits. Until then, no one's going to know it exists.
"I've learned a few more tricks," he quips. As if that much wasn't obvious in the middle east.
Doing as he's told with nothing in the way of complaint or sound, he follows you out to the street. Clad in naught but his 'shift suit' now, it's at least entirely appropriate that they'd found themselves in one of the more freak-friendly districts of an otherwise relatively conservative city. Looking about, Shift directs you up Race Street, across Thirteenth, past some homeless people, and back onto Vine Street.
When the Audi comes into view, Shift frowns. Cop cars have swarmed the club, parked up and down the street with their lights flashing as the officers usher frightened clubgoers into ambulances and safe zones. From their vantage point, it seems clear that if they can just get to the Audi, before the cops set up a hard perimeter, they might be able to get away.
"I foresee a significant problem," mutters Kwabena. He stops and looks over at you, frowning. "Either we get dat car and try to hit Chicago before de APB tightens too far, or we find anodah." He perks an eyebrow. "I say we take her back and see how far we can get, but dis is not a democracy."
A smirk curls at the edge of his mouth.
'Not a democracy.' That gets a tiny grin from Domino, proving that her sense of humor hasn't been completely killed after the Latveria incident. "I can shake a couple of cops. More concerned about them getting their hands on our gear."
Hmm, idea forming... "How good at you with that smoke trick? Cops are on edge so two's a crowd. If you can manage phasing into the seat through an open window then I can pick it up and roll right on through, never have to stop."
An onyx-nailed hand catches the Audi's FOB within her pocket, getting ready to unbutton it and hop inside nice and quick-like. With her luck, this should be the easiest thing they've done all night! One more glance is passed your way before she sets off. Wait or follow, she'll make it work either way. There is no right answer to this problem, it's largely out of her hands. Just get the car, swing around, and go.
It's a good thing Vine Street is a two way. Honestly, it really is. Check Google Maps. All of the other north-south streets out of downtown Cincinnati are one way streets -except for Vine-. What we have right here, folks, is a Domino-style stroke of luck that actually played out without the writer's foresight. How's that for irony?
"I'll manage." He hands the gun over, however. "Take this, in case it won't fit through de window."
With that, Shift stands back against the curb, a safe distance from the action, eyes peeled upon the albino as she sets off.
"Dispatch, Unit 1-57. Gonna need help from District Five, too many pedestrians and patrons to handle. Over."
"Copy, 1-57. Requesting five additional cars from District Five, ETA ten minutes, over."
Shift plays it cool, watching with subdued ire as two equine cops trot up the street from downtown, leaving the bright lights of the central club district for the grittier streets of Over-the-Rhine and beyond. "Christ," he mutters under his breath after they've passed. "-Horses-."
Horses are only a problem when you don't have a vehicle. If you don't have a set of wheels that can't outrun a horse, you've got bigger problems. Now, canine units, those might be an area for concern, if they had any out here. The longer she waits, the tougher this is going to be. Pay no attention to the ghostly woman in black that's wandering toward the scene of a shootout.
One more reason why you never, ever, park right at the entrance to a building you're planning on setting foot inside. Seems like she put just the right amount of distance in her parking location.
The locks click open. Some of the Audi's exterior lights come to life, meant to make the car easier to locate and get into. Domino pops the door open and rolls herself into the seat, the door closing behind her in the same instant that the keys settle into the ignition.
One.
Two.
Three. The city-friendly exhaust helps keep the ignition of the sedan's eight cylinder down to a low purr. It's the headlights coming on that concerns her more than the engine, at this hour no one would move a car two feet without the lights on. By drawing attention to her car, she in turn draws less -un-wanted attention.
She's still holding her breath while prepping for a U-turn.
How long will that luck hold out?
Seems it has it's limits, if even temporarily. The Audi hasn't made it much past the U-turn when one of the officers notices. He pulls his cruiser out of formation and begins following. Once the Audi has moved just beyond the scene, the lights come to life and the siren chirps twice.
Shift hisses quietly under his breath. Time to focus. If he knows you as well as he thinks he does, it will only be a few short moments before you put metal to the floor. Finding his inner focus, he locks his eyes upon the vehicle, ignoring the horse-mounted officer that has taken an interest in him.
"Excuse me, sir?"
No response.
"Excuse me, sir! Were you in that club back there, say, ten minutes ago?"
Kwabena pointedly ignores the officer, even as the trotting of hooves grows closer. Instead, there's a determined look on his face while his chest rises and falls with the perfect mixture of serenity and anxiety.
It's dark. They haven't caught sight of Dom's face yet. She needs to try and keep it that way. Cherries and berries in her mirrors. Trouble approaching you at the corner. As nonchalantly as can be she rolls down the passenger-side windows, front and back to give you what she believes are the best odds for finding a way inside, and keeps on rolling.
Slowly. Steady.
The hammer drops twenty feet away from where you stand. Traction control kicks into overdrive as the Audi's famous quattro drivetrain bites into the water-slicked roads as if it were riding on rails, the purr of that engine rapidly building into a deep hum, then a growl. There won't be any doubt in the squad car behind it, the driver's giving chase.
"Make the jump, kid, make the fucking jump..."
So much for a clean, subtle getaway. Cops from two different states are going to be hunting down this car, now! She's got no choice but to make other arrangements for the rest of their trip, but that can wait until after they ditch Cincinnati's finest.
"Hey! You deaf -and- dumb, you sone of a bitch!?"
"No," whispers Kwabena without looking at the cop. "But you are." A grin curls around his lips as the Audi suddenly accelerates, taking the officer behind it by surprise and drawing the attention of Kwabena's hassler. He takes one more deep breath before leaping toward the street, in what many might consider to be a suicide move!
-Poof!-
Black smoke takes Shift's place, colliding with both front and rear windows at once. The cloud seems to fill the entire car, momentarily blinding you as it bounces off the opposing windows. Then, it all gets sucked into the back seat, where it swirls and reforms into man again.
"Damnit, Dom!" curses Kwabena, holding up his hand, which seems to be missing two fingers. "You breathed me!!!"
Sirens blast to life behind the Audi as the lead officer finally realizes what's happened. The CPD car gives chase, but the mounted officer merely -stares- in shock, as if he'd just seen a ghost.
"Spit it out! Spit it out!" cries Kwabena, who's still staring at his dismembered fingers in horror.
Now she can't see where she's going. "Fuck!"
Something..doesn't feel quite right after you've reformed in the back seat. Like a catch in the back of Domino's throat. Like she's coming down with a nasty cold--
Oh. Oh god. Eww.
There's an entirely counter-endearing sound from behind the wheel as she attempts to hack up -smoke- that should have been fingers. It's that same sound and expression that people get when they're trying to hack up a tooth or two that they accidentally swallowed during a bar fight.
"God-Damnit!-" she blurts out while sliding the large, heavy car around a right-angled turn, "I got Shift in my lungs!"
With the street opening up before the Audi she stomps on the accelerator once more, one hand on the wheel and one hand on the shifter. "Mind checking the -rest- of yourself, make sure I didn't end up with something a little more personal than a finger?! God, I'm gonna be sick!"
Nevermind the fact that there's police chasing them. They can wait their damned turn!
"Same deal as Gotham, kid. We're not killing cops on this run. You shoot to disable. And help me navigate this stupid place. I hate one-way streets!"
That doesn't stop her from spinning the wheel and sliding the sedan right down one of them from the wrong direction, however. Another car heading in the proper direction lays on the brakes and horn alike, the Audi -just- squeaking by before the oncoming car comes to rest blocking most of the road.
"Not that they don't have some redeeming qualities," she admits.
"Euugh!" emotes Kwabena as a tuft of smoke gets spat out of his compatriot's mouth. He shoves his hand up next to your face, which momentarily poofs and collects its missing quarry, before reforming into a full human hand again.
"Jesus... -Christ- that's never happened before!" he breathes. "I swear to God, if my hand smells like bourbon de rest of my life...!"
He's cut off as the car makes another abrupt right turn. He wiggles his toes and checks his fingers, before... ahem... doing something in the back seat nobody ever wants to have to admit to doing. He closes his eyes and breathes a quiet sigh of relief, before reaching to find the cellular phone he'd thought well enough to leave behind in the car.
"I'm all in one piece. -Don't- ask. Nobody evah has to know about dis, -evah-." Bringing the phone to life, he checks the maps application. "We want to avoid de freeways, too open. Left! Here, now!"
Assuming the car wheels its way left onto Liberty, they'll blow right past Central Parkway through what is hopefully a green light. "Take a right on Linn, four blocks!"
"It'll be the least of your concerns!" Domino automatically finishes your line of thought, sliding around another car that's obeying the traffic laws.
There's a second sigh of relief when you announce being complete, the merc muttering an "Oh thank god" while dropping down a gear, water spewing out around the wheels. "I don't -have- to ask, kid. Taking this shit with me to the -grave.-"
Left turn, "Got it!" Even with the sedan being as stable as it is she still manages to kick the back end out, dropping another gear and tearing through the intersection on her way toward Linn. "We can catch the freeway as soon as they're off our backs, until then give damn good directions!"
Red light? Oh, nuts to that. Fingers tighten around the wheel, Dom's attention so completely focused forward that she ignores any urge to blink. Her foot starts to press harder upon the pedal, a little further, further still..then -whump- as it bottoms out. The Audi screams through right as an eighteen wheeler is barreling down from the side, the airhorn close enough to make her ribs vibrate as she pulls through, -just- in time.
It'll take a while for the truck driver to work out that jack-knife.
"Come on baby, what else ya got for me!"
A hissing sound fills the din as Shift watches the eighteen wheeler heading for them. He even closes his eyes, anticipating the impact, but it never hits. Instead, the car goes racing up Linn St, with old dilapidated homes and abandoned warehouses passing by on either side.
"Christ!" curses Shift, who seems to be struggling with his maps app. "Dese roads are like -spaghetti-!"#r
The directions are almost mayhem. Indeed, once out of the downtown valley, Cincinnati's street grid becomes hectic and chaotic as it curls around the seven hills that make up the region. The car is sent left onto Bank St, right up Colerain Ave for two short blocks, then onto a winding bridge that passes over Central Parkway and onto McMicken Ave.
The upside to such hectic maneuvers? It's giving the pursuing police officers hell. The downside? They're still not on the freeway.
The bridge dumps them out onto McMicken, a two lane residential road that curves around the Clifton Hill. It is darkly lit, and more than a few prostitutes are noticed as the Audi whips around every unexpected curve.
"Look out!" cries Shift, as a large Metro bus turns onto the road in front of them. He braces for the inevitable spinning of tires, then takes a moment to lean out the window, discharging a few shots at the lead car.
Flat-out on an open straight, the cops wouldn't stand a chance once the Audi built up some speed. In the narrow streets and frequent hairpin turns, however? They stand even -less- of a chance. Where the squad cars slide and spin, the sedan simply grabs and goes.
"Think I'm starting to like this car," Dom offhandedly says while palming the wheel around another dangerous corner.
The cruising music is left off for the chase, she doesn't want to miss any audial clues that could work to their advantage, or work against them. The bus is more visual than audial, but it's also virtually impossible to miss.
"I'm looking!"
Where most people might try to cut on the inside, she goes wide for the outside. Like an ice skater upon the rink the Audi dips and slides out through traffic, tearing by the bus at so much of an angle that she has to look out the side window in order to watch what's ahead of them.
Tires grab, -bite,- and jerk the German sedan back to its rail-like state. Dom glances at the rear-view mirror, watching another squad car lose control and slide off of the road behind them. So far, so good... "Shit, bet she's cold wearing that tonight--How's it looking over there?"
"Uhhhh... hold on! Uhhhh..."
The road seems to be straightening out now. The bus is visible, jackknifed in the rear view, but additional cop cars are now picking up where the others left off, blocked by the Metro bus.
"Oh... SHIT!" Shift looks up, eyes frantic. "Dead end ahead! Sharp hairpin to the left, another SHARPER hairpin to the right..." There is a momentary beat as he considers their options, then turns to look at you with surety.
"Jump it."
Ahead, the dead end comes into view. McMicken stops abruptly, and Martin Luther King Jr Drive angles sharply to the left and down a hill to Central Parkway. Another impossibly sharp right turn would dump the car into the Parkway, and almost immediately into an on-ramp.
Or, they could jump the hill, and basically land on the on ramp.
"Jump it!" he insists. "We'll lose dem for good!"
"'Uh' is right, where'd the rest of my street go?"
You don't have to say it. When Domino hears the layout of the road ahead, she's already planning on taking the late Mister Slean's car airborne.
"Wish I had my seatbelt on... Don't go vapor on me kid, I'm not turning around for you!"
Glance back--still making good headway. Glance front--this is really going to suck, isn't it? She finds what appears to be the 'best' angle of approach for launching it, shifts gears, and absolutely goes for the gold.
For one breathless moment weight takes on a whole new meaning. The engine screams before she can let off the accelerator, friction suddenly missing from the wheels as empty air surrounds the car from every inch. Bright halogen headlights start to pitch downward to a gleaming, wet on-ramp.
WHAM!
Sparks spray out from beneath the front end, then flash once from behind as the monster of a car strikes at a less than perfect angle, bottoms out, bounces, then seems all too happy to grab the new piece of pavement and surge forward like it was launched from a catapult.
Beside you, Domino is cringing from smacking the top of her head against the roof. "One thing to consider when you're getting a work car--"
Another glance behind. The cops? Hah. They're yesterday's news.
"You can't go wrong with a little bit of rally heritage."
"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere!" cries Shift. As the car accelerates, his hands clamp down upon the door and the armrest next to him. The crackling sound of his hardened flesh goes unheard beneath the roar of eight cylinders, but as the car goes airborne, his eyes are wide with a perfect mixture of terror and excitement.
When all is said and done, the Audi is racing onto I-75 Northbound, with no cops behind them, a fresh dent from his head in the roof, and dented marks where his hands had grasped onto the car's interior with fury.
A burst of air escapes Kwabena's lungs, and he looks over toward you with his mouth ajar. "I'll drink to dat," he finally says upon finding his voice, then motions toward an upcoming ramp to I-74 Westbound, which will take them to Indianapolis and, ultimately, the Windy City.
"Whoever designed those streets should be taken to a dark alley and -shot-."
Ease back on the throttle, Domino... Breathe. Back to incognito mode.
The growl of the engine slowly drifts away, using the incline of the ramp to -shed- speed rather than gain it. The albino slowly peels her fingers away from the wheel, controlling her breathing.
"Only after I've run him over a couple of times."
The car's really starting to show its miles, yet it soldiers onward without complaint. It's like a street-legal tank, normally it would have a separate tax in the state of New Jersey simply because of its sheer mass and the effect it would have upon the pavement.
"Nice navigating, Shift. You've got ownership of the radio until we hit Illinois."
Already her mind is working in overdrive preparing for the next leg of their trip. They'll have to keep good momentum going all the way to Chicago where she can find them another vehicle, but not so brisk as to draw further attention to themselves. It's a familiar situation, really. One hand tugs the phone out of her pocket and sets it on her leg. The earbud mic is next, hooking it into place then sweeping jet black hair out of the way. "Just give me five minutes before you crank the volume." She's got an old contact to call.
The ramp to I-74 Westbound sends them into the hills of Cincinnati's west side, where the dirty and gritty urban decay of Cumminsville and Northside dip away beneath the forested hills through which the freeway slices. Shift looks about at the scenery for a moment or two, before shaking his head in wonder at -what just happened-. All of it.
Finally, when the call is done, the Ghanaian inserts his thumb drive and calls up Bootsy Collins. Because, you know, Bootsy was from the Nasty Natti, and Bootsy knows how to jam.
(The story continues in Highway to Hell, part 4: Chicago.)
(IC News article: Club Shoot-Out (CNN))
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Category:RPLogs