To: Adams Felt
From: T.R

First off, let me apologize for taking so long to respond to your phone call lastnight.
I'd been up most of the night, and well into the evenings trying to complete my report for you. When you
called, I wasn't sure if I was awake or simply dreaming, my head has been spinning for weeks now, and to
be honest, I'm glad this is over. You were right to have
taken so long in contacting me, can't blame you for that. I was alittle jumpy there for a moment, and I'd
wondered even to myself if I had what it really took to complete this file for you. I have to tell you Sir, I
had doubts of my own.

I wish now that I could go on believing the truth about it, to set aside my personal beliefs
and to somehow come to the understanding that it's real. Fact of the matter is, I don't really care
anymore. I'm just glad to be done with it. I hope we can somehow meet, even if it's just for a minute. I'd
like to see the man responsible for my salary for the last six months.
I've done just as you've asked in keeping everything I found out, to myself.
The letters and forms I photo copied, I returned, untouched as you asked. There is nothing at all linking
you to anything enclosed below. As you've asked, I made sure.
I can only hope that for your sake, it was worth it. My friend, may I call you that? You've spent more
money on this report then most people make in 5 years, If I had only one question to ask, it would be
why? But that's really none of my business, and speaking of business, I believe ours is done. Thank you for
this glorious opportunity, I can only pray
that one day you'll need my services again.

BLADEWALKER

It would seem that amongst the war torn city of New York, one would have no problem finding any dirt on
any of it's urban dwellers. I started of gather as much information as I could on the rumors of the lower
end part of the city, be runned by some halfassed drug lord. I started off asking around, checking in a few
of the low rent sleazy motels down town. Every time I mention anything about "Kingpin" the people would
right away clam up on me. It was as if I'd spoke of a God or Devil lurking on the inside, with it's people too
frighten to speak let alone worship.
After a few weeks of hanging out and nolonger bathing, they warm up a bit. On my first night I spent most
of the morning throwing up from the stench, a week or so later, it began smelling like home. I tried as you
asked to force information out of them, I even slit the throat of an aging addict because he wouldn't talk. I
going to send some of the money your
giving me, to his parents, if that is I can find them.
Your subjects real name is "Aja Thomas" She works believe it or not as a fucking stock
broker on Wall Street! I damn nearly shit myself on that one. But wait just a moment, I'm getting ahead of
myself. I crossed lines, oh I'm sorry. During my mission of getting you information on her, I sort of
developed a slight addiction to Heroin. With the money your giving me, I should have no problem beating
it. I didn't want to, but while down there, there's no real way to get this kind of information without letting
them know your down.
I had to share a few needles a couple of times with some fuck they call "Dupper".
He seemed to know a lot of shit when he wasn't fucked up, only trouble is, he is.
About a month into my secret undercover mission, I managed to over hear him ranting on and on about
Bladewalker. He claimed to know someone who knew someone who may have information about someone
who knew her. It was then I needed to know more.
I crossed a line or two with him and while doing so, I tried to ask some questions without
letting in and all the while trying to keep from swallowing my own vomit in the process.
Dupper told me that  his friend who fucked around with some whore on the East side,
claimed to know a pimp who biggest customer was killed by Bladewalker.

I tried to pump this little shit for more, but found myself feeling so good, I pissed myself before passing
out. By the time I'd awaked, he was gone. Lucky for me I had scratched a
few of the names down and places he spoke about, before doing so.
Boss, you not going to believe this, but she lives right on 5th Avenue. Within a week or two, I had traced
her not only to a place where the Kingpin lives, but where 17 of his best guards were found dead. The
police haven't a fucking clue as to what's going on, and since it's only scum being killed, I don't think they
really care. You remember last year around Christmas time, when the news all over the country was going
on and on about those killings downtown? Remember the 5 dealers found with their heads chopped off?
That was her. The reports I found claimed someone had used a large knife, like a kitchen blade or
something. The report also said that after careful examination of the bodies, they found that she'd not only
removed the heads cleanly, but managed to place them on different bodies. I believe she did this as some
kind of sign. Across from the 87th Precinct sits a small coroners office. I broke in there one evening last
spring. It was easy really. No one expects anyone to do so, so they never really pay much attention to it. I
mean after all,
what the hell could you steal, a fucking body? I managed to take a few photos of some of the files linked to
Kingpin. NYPD has so much shit in the area alone, you wonder why they won't simply go public with it.
Seem even they have a no clue who it is let alone that it's a she and is bad as a motherfucker if you know
what I mean.
Most of the file where dated as soon as the last week of the date above. The folder however contained
reports dating back as far as 1996. According to what the office had on file, she started the thug hunt
around September of '96. The first body filed, had been killed
on the 5th of September. Apart from it being a holiday, it was also the birthday of guess who? Her sister. I
headed down to the old Times office on Lexiton Ave. after pulling up some microfilm on older issues, I
found that She(Bladewalker, born Aja Thomas) had
a sister Carol who'd been caught in what seemed like a sloppy drive-by shooting in June of '92. The paper
new said, but I managed to find out that she was walking in her home when it happened. My sources tell
me she was no only not involved, but at the time, was with child when it happened. She'd only been
married 2 years. In the following weeks
I found information from two separate new papers, it seems those who killed her, felt the need to brag
about it. They told a few and so on, it didn't take too long before the news made it back to the police. The
investigation remained open, the police claimed to have followed up on the leads, which they said lead
nowhere.
On September 5th, 1993 the police were called to the warehouse on 133 and Droned Blvd. where a
gruesome discovery was made. Five blackmen ages 19 to 31 were found in a red 92 Lexus dead. The cause
of death, well Sir, they were found beaten to death by what the report shows to be a crowbar. They're
bodies were neatly placed behind the wheel of the vehicle and in the back seat. A single caliber bullet was
inserted directly between each one of their eyes. No finger prints, no witnesses.
I believe this was her first Sir. After that, there seemed nothing for two months, then on April 15th 1994 it
started again.
A small boy coming home from school, was beaten to death for a pair of glasses he needed
to read. The frames however, were made of some kind of special plastic and design.
Someone also like them, liked them a little too much. Little Aaron Simms didn't have a chance. This too
was filed under "Kingpin". In less then 24 hours after the beating, three
young boy were fished from the sewer near by. In each of their mouths, contained a section
of the young boy's glasses.

There are some 32 such cases, all seeming to point to her. She's managed to avoid having anything left
behind linking her to them. I'm having copies of the files sent to you via UPS.
It'll be marked Hershey's Chocolate. Sorry but I had to use what I had. Inside you'll find a few of the
homicide photos a little off putting, I know I did. As for her, well, check this out.
Born Aja Thomas in December on the 7th in 1977 she was named after an album by a jazz
pop band called "Steely Dan". Her mother and father was big fans and may have even conceived her while
listening to it. She's educated at Howard University, where she works very hard trying to blend work and
school. Her sister's untimely death pushes her to the end. She finishes school and without batting an eye
lid, lands a job working the floor on Wall Street. 6 months later she's a broker thanks in part to a deal she
made with the one and only Robert Trussman. Heaven only knows how that came about. She lives alone
and doesn't even have a lover or boyfriend. She's 5 foot 10 about 140 pounds thanks to the butter pecan
ice cream I see her buying from time to time. She keeps her hair cut close, mostly because she can't stand
fooling with it I think. I did as you asked and tapped her phone. I managed some 38 hours of conversations
leading nowhere. Most of the calls were
to her mother now living in upper state New York. Her father is still employed, but only works part time for
a trucking company in Maine. It took some time to figure out why she wears the same pants and outfit
when she out in the urban city. The dark gray sweater and
black leather pants and boots, belonged to her sister Carol. She only wears them when she going to kill. I
can never catch her leaving for the night, she must change somewhere else,
but a few times, she came home wearing them. I waited outside her place and although
I was at a distance, I could almost make out a few blood stains.

She drives the same automobile everywhere. It's a white BMW 850i coupe.
I never see her wash it, but it's always clean. I believe she has it detailed for her. I've noticed that on a
couple of occasions, upon her return from killing, I was able to get a glimpse of her siting on her couch. She
seemed to be crying. It appears she doesn't care for what she does, only knows that she must do it. I
notice she goes well out of her way not to draw attention to herself, I guess this is how she's managed to
stay such a secret.
Sir I can tell you that I'd swear her own mother doesn't know. Their chats between mother and daughter
last about 20 to as much as 100 minutes sometimes. The taps I got back, show most of the conversations
are about old times, when Carol was alive. She often breaks down from time to time and has had on one or
two occasions, hang up on her mother.
The taps showed, she always called her mother back apologizing for her actions only to hear a warm and
comforting voice telling her that it was "OK and she needed that time to herself. They seem very close Sir.

For a woman making the kind of money she makes and living alone, she doesn't eat out much. In the six
months I followed her, I only seen her stop out to eat only once.
She picked up some fresh vegetables, and while walking a block or two from her house began eating then
raw. I put two and two together and found out that the one and only Aja Thomas known to the urban
underworld as "Bladewalker" is a fucking vegetarian.
I mean she doesn't eat any meat at all!
She often stops in at the grocery store on 62nd street. It's a small place but appears to have a large display
of fresh produce. I spotted her filling up in lots of bell peppers and fruit.
She uses the carrots as a snack.

As for her hobbies, besides the obvious obsession, she attends a small jazz club downtown. It is here that
she seems to find the most comfort. I peeked in a few times to find her along with others playing  Jazz
music. She's quite fond of the tenor sax Sir, and while I'm not critic, I think she's damn good. There's a
young man by the name of Glenn
Samperson. He tends to be the closest to her, but I note she never seems to lead him on, and I have no
record of him on the phone taps. In fact, there are almost no calls coming in the her place of residence. As
I said, I've got many calls of her, but all are incoming.
She almost never places a call out.
This gentleman Samperson, I call him that mainly because everytime I see him with her,
in or around the club, that's what he appears as. I checked up on him too, but decided to stop after it lead
nowhere, he doesn't even know where she lives Sir.
I'm not sure if this matters a damn, but I'm also noting that once a month, she seems to spend the entire
evening in her apartment lit only by candles. She seems to do this on the evening of every full moon, the
candles stay lit till morning. During that time, she never
leaves her place, never goes out...even to kill. She just sits there really, during this time there's not even
so much as a television on....only the candles.

In the six months and four days that I followed this woman of divine intrigue, I found
her mystery uncontrollably appealing. I been on many cases but none hidden so deep in secrecy. This
woman, this person, this all and all killing machine, has single handily
managed to create another life right under the very noses of those who make it their business to know
everything about everyone. She's done this Sir, so well.
I'll try to send more information at a later date.....................

--
Dreams are not for those who are asleep, but are for those who are awake and alive with
Imagination......KB (1986)

Sorry, but I couldn't resist this. Please forgive the bad pun:
 
 

    alChandler read the transcript of the intercepted transmission with
interest. He had no idea who T.R. was and he had never heard of Adams
Felt, but Bladewalker?
    Yes, he had heard of Bladewalker.
    He had always wondered about Bladewalker. She was a combination
of beauty and death that had not been seen in the world since Druna
disappeared several years ago. He had actually crossed paths with
her on a few occasions but fortunately, for one of them, they had
never actually had to oppose each other.
    After reading the transcript, alChandler knew that this lack of
confrontation would not go on indefinitely.
    Bladewalker had passion.
    alChandler had art.
    The two were not necessarily mutually exclusive but hypotheticals
didn't pay the rent.
    alChandler had become a killer for aesthetic reasons. The art of the
kill was his be all end all. Oh, he wasn't a total psychopath. He
tried not to kill the innocent, there were certain jobs he wouldn't do,
he wasn't a monster like his old rival Duke was.
    He wasn't a crusader either. And after T.R.'s report, he knew that
Aja was.
    alChandler was not always careful who he worked for, Aja seemed to
work for her own goals, honoring some private god, offering her corpses
as an atonement.
    One day, they would face each other as enemies.

*****************************************************************

    alChandler's thought's were interrupted by the apartment's intercom.
    "It's me."
    "Come on up."
    After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. alChandler opened
it and ushered his old partner, Mrs. Silverman into the room.
    "How are you...."
    "Cut the shit", Mrs. Silverman said, "you are in deep trouble."
    "I know, I've been reading the report you sent me about Bladewalker.
I don't think I've faced someone that dangerous since Duke fought me in..."
    "FUCK DUKE AND FUCK BLADEWALKER!"
    alChandler blinked like a sleepy owl. It was the first time he had ever heard
Mrs. Silverman yell, much less swear. He faced her. "Talk", he said.
    "The fight you had last week in the Fulton Fish Market bothered me", she said.
"It took you 30 minutes to kill the courier you were after and you burned down
half the market in the process. That's not like you. The nature of your work
demands secrecy and discretion." She stopped and looked alChandler in the eye.

    "He was good."

    "Good?"

     "Better, I got lucky."

    "Damn straight, you got lucky, I just finished my analysis of the corpse."
    alChandler resisted the temptation to ask how she got the courier's
body from the FBI crime lab and just waited. Mrs. Silverman stopped,
lit a cigarette and after taking a long draw continued:

    "He was a cyborg. His body had been augmented in a hundred different
ways. That's why it took you so long to kill him. In fact, I'm impressed
that you were even able to tag him, much less blow his head off."
    "Do you know who sent him?", asked alChandler.
    "I think I do. I've seen that technology before. Do you remember in '95,
that time you and Duke decided to work together to take down that
madman in China?"
    "Of course. It's the only time we were able to....wait a second, we killed him.
I saw him die, hell, Duke saw him die. We destroyed him, his robots, all
of it. I love you babe but your full of shit on...", his voice trailed off as he
looked into Mrs. Silverman's eyes.
    "I analyzed the technology I found in the man's body. The upgrades are
less then a year old. I've put out a few feelers and there's nobody else
working with this stuff. Everybody's too afraid, even now, four years later
to risk crossing the guy."
    "But he's dead, I saw Duke kill him", alChandler whispered softly.
    "He's alive", said Mrs. Silverman, "Lo Ping Chaung is alive".
    Mrs. Silverman went over to alChandler's bar and made herself a
martini. She sat down on the couch, took a long sip of her drink and
smiled slightly. "Now, I believe you wanted to say something about
Bladewalker", she said.

To: T.R
From: Adams Felt

Message is encoded using Ax6
 

T.R

Listen you punk ass motherfucker! I sent you out to gather information on the famed bitch
Bladewalker, and after six months and 567,481. unadjusted tax dollars, the best you could
come up with was that she lives in N.Y and eats fucking Ice cream!
You little shit! Do I look like the kind of man who pays out that kind of money, only to be jerk around by
some two bit P.I turned heroin addict? In case your dumbass has forgot
I own you. Now the report you sent me, is simply not good enough. You've told me nothing! I can't use shit
you've sent me. Do you have any idea how many blackwomen live in all of fucking New York? just take a
guess idiot!
And as for this 5th Avenue bullshit, I checked the phone book. There's is no Aja Thomas
on 5th Avenue, none in the whole fucking city!

Now you listen to me you drugged up shit! Your going back out and find me this walking bitch and get me
the information I paid you well in advance for. In case you've spent the last 24 hours dragging another
vein, there were four more bodies found in Urban Village
last night. All four look like her work. The drugs were burned and the bodies left beside
it. Fucking cops have no clue, either do you I bet. So get your ass downthere and do what I
paid you to do.

I strongly feel your chances of taking off with the remaining loot I forwarded to you are good, It is because
of this that I'm sending you a little reminder of who's running this investigation. It is with great pleasure
that I inform you that a gentleman by the name of Joey Fingers will be watching you. Like you he very
good at what he does.
If for whatever reason, you feel it's time to start fucking me, you'll find yourself being the one getting
fucked. Finger's will be our mutual friend you see. He'll make sure you get the job done, or he'll get the job
done...understand me?

Now let's for a moment assume that some of that bullshit about Bladewalker is true.
you say she's working for someone on Wall Street? OK, I can try to check some of that out myself. I do
have friends there you know. But I need more on the woman herself. Tell me
what makes her tick. I want to know how the fuck this woman makes her way down to the Urban Village,
kills off some of the baddest motherfuckers I know and gets back out with not so much as a fucking scratch!

Those bodies the police found this morning, used to belong to the Kingpin's Assassins Group(KAG). Their
well known for their killing style, and now it seems she killed them
the exact same way. How the hell did she know that T.R?
I want you to find out for me what you can about a weapon called a HMG. It's some kind of a nickname I'm
sure, but this Bladewalker using it almost exclusively. I'm going to
try and have someone down at the station get to you a copy of the homicide report, use
whatever means you have to check on the shell casings of the bullets used. find out whether or not she
bought them or had them made. Don't make me have to do this work for you. I'm trying to kick start that
fucking brain of yours to get me what I need.

Now, I have a few things to let you in on. Since there's only some 69 days left to the Millennium and you
know what she's planning for that. I've decide to send a few of my best down there to sort of assist you in
ending her. Don't get nervous, your job is not to kill her, not that you could anyway. You'd shit yourself at
the site of her no doubt. No, you just feed me the information, I'm sending a real killer to handle her. Does
the name "Alchandler" mean anything to you? I bet it does. He's not only met our friend, he's battled
with her a couple of times. This guy's damn good. she's been lucky in the past, real lucky
but i feel her time is running out. And when Alchandler get out of the hospital, and heals
up, I'm going to have him meet with you. When the time comes, you'll show him what your
supposed to and back off, I assume the two will have their way again. This time, he'll kill her. If not, don't
worry...there are more I can send....always more.

I want you to continue using the coded Ax6 lines. I own it and it's well protected.
Do not let anything happen to that lap top, you hear me? From now on send your messages
after 12:00 midnight and only on the odd number days. I haven't a clue where your hiding but make sure
you atleast keep in touch with me via eline. As for that nasty little habit you've picked up, end it, end it real
soon. I'm going to need you clear headed, if you fuck up and she finds out, she could link you to me and I
don't need that shit on my mind right now. Get me what I need, so I can get to her first. A bullet in you is a
bullet in me.

You mentioned her parents, you mentioned their alive and well living in upstate New York. Fine....but
where you shit? Your going to need to get you act together and bring me something I can use. I have little
time for this so move your ass. And don't keep me waiting
for you updates. I'll expect to hear from you soon...............

                                                                  END TRANSMISSION

alChandler read the message Mrs. Silverman snagged
for him and smiled. Only three of the bodies were Bladewalker's
work. The forth one had been his.

alChandler had temporarily put the problem of Lo Ping,
Bladewalker and the mysterious Kingpin Assassin's Group
aside. It was not that he had lost interest, it was just
that to properly investigate these things took time
and money. In alChandler's experience, if you had
enough money, you had the time as well.

And so it was that on Friday night, October 22 alChandler
was in a watching three members of the KAG wait for
a man who had a lot of heroin, an awful lot of it. The men were well
armed and professional. Hell, one of them was a player.
alChandler had worked with him in Vienna back in 87.
They were so good that alChandler was being unusually meek,
hiding on top of a column of crates of Sega Dreamcast machines.
He was right underneath the skylight.

Suddenly, the skylight wasn't there anymore. As alChandler hunkered
down, Bladewalker fell past him, landing among the three KAG men in
an explosion of fury. Her gun fired six times; three men died. alChandler
noted the make of the gun, "I've got to get Mrs. Silverman looking for one
these things", he thought.

"Now", thought alChandler, "unless I miss my guess, you want the heroin
those three lads were going to buy. So I guess we wait until you get
bored."

That took three hours. With a scream of frustration, Bladewalker
left the warehouse. alChandler smiled, stretched and jumped
for the skylight, hauling is dumpy body up to the roof. He then walked
to a ventilator shaft and retrieved to body of the heroin dealer he had
killed four hours earlier, he also retrieved the man's heroin
He went back to the warehouse and dropped
the body beside Bladewalker's trophies. The cops would notice the
difference between his corpse and Bladewalker's but the press wouldn't.
He then left the building, made a few phone call and by 9:00AM he'd disposed
of the heroin for three million dollars. He then went home, showered and had
breakfast. At 1:00PM Mrs. Silverman came by with the transcript of
Adams Felt's message to T.R. alChandler read it with a mixture
of admiration and annoyance.

"He's hired me? And I'm in the hospital?"

"Well, I know you want information on Bladewalker and Lo Ping,
I figured this was the best way to start."

"Yeah, but you told him I was in the hospital..."

"You'd rather I told him you've been shaking down mid level
heroin dealers for the last six months?"

"Hmm...good point. You've set up a contract I take it?"

"Yes, your usual terms plus an extra 25% for danger."

"Why, you think she can kick my ass?"

"I think she could kick Duke's ass."

At that, alChandler gave a grunt, went to the fridge and got
himself a beer. After taking a sip he looked at Mrs. Silverman and
smiled. "The next step is to find out if the KAG and Lo Ping is one
and the same", he said. "I noticed that their style, the look of the
KAG boys is very similar to the way Lo Ping ran things back in Shanghai.
I want you to pull anything you can find about the KAG and cross
reference it with all known information on Lo Ping."

"While I'm doing that, what will you be doing?"

"First off, I'm going to get me one of them HMG things. Next,
I think I'll look up my old buddy Joey Fingers. It's time
we had a long talk."

To: Adam Felt                                              Ax6 encoded:
From: T.R

Mr. Felt sir,

I'm sorry you found the conclusion of my report unsatisfactory. I've tried as you've asked to inform you as
best as I could, the information I had uncovered. Throughout the six months
of investigation I never once slept or cheated you of any info in my report.
I'm well aware of who and what you are. My job was to uncover her, and I did. The bodies found in the
Urban village was her. I headed over to the Westward projects late lastnight. There, I spoke to another
connection of mine, he promised me the information he'd given me was rock solid. I have no idea why you
find what was given to you to be false or mislead. She fit the description to a tee. You have to understand
Sir, I'm working with very little here. What I was able to give you was what I'd been able to gather from
many months of serious deep undercover work.
The only real people who could possible ID her, are now residing in the New York Cemetery. She's a
fucking myth to these people here.
I've spotted her only once in the village and I'd swear I may had even been dreaming. She
only comes here to kill Sir. The hours change for her all the time. If I show myself to be anything but one
of the people here, do you have any idea what they'd do to me? You could kiss off any fucking chance of
finding her. Not to slash back at you Sir, but Fuck you!
The only reason I've gotten this close to her is by keeping myself well covered. If you start sending people
here to help me, I'm fucked. Now let's not kid each other, I realize your
upset, I'm going to do what I can to make it better for you, but I'm going to need more time.
If she so much as smell something wrong.....she's gone.

I'm not really sure if you know just how delicate this situation is. We seem to have each other over in a
barrel. You can't afford to kill me because you know I'm the only one who may truly know where she is.
Secondly, how do I know that once you've got what you needed that you won't change our original plans
and decide to put a fucking bullet in my head. This is indeed a very nasty business we're in, you more then
me.
Let's not make any hasty decisions, although to you I seemed worthless, I can assure you I'm not yet
ready to meet my maker and I know damn well your not either.

Now as you've requested, I checked on the bullets used in last night's killings. One thing is true. The bullets
are specially made. I asked around in my own sweet way to find that there are only four such weapons
made in the world. The name "HMG" is used to describe
a form of machine gun. The weapon Sir fires only three burst at a time, but the burst are
deadly accurate, in the right hands, lethal. I have my underground sources working even as we speak to
find out who else may be in possession of such a weapon. We know she has one, but Bladewalker isn't the
only one. The corner's report showed that there may have been another killer there last night. I mention
this because according to the report I kind of stole, three of the bodies had shots directly through the front
portion of the head.
The blast alone promised a close coffin for the families. The fourth victim however was shot point blank
through the chest plate, when they tried to remove his body, most of what was left of his heart, spilled out
the back of him. I've studied her long enough to know,
she always aims for the head.

I do have a few a question for you Mr. Felts. Is there anyone else keeping tabs on me that I should know
about? It's just a gut feeling really but I feel someone else may be feeding you information about me or
what I'm doing. I don't want you sending anyone down here to assist me, I telling you I'll take care of this
alone. You mentioned this guy "Joey Fingers" or something. I don't need him blowing my cover here. I've
managed to fool these low life's
into believing that I'm one of them. You send him here and.......fuck it......just  don't ok?

Your precious little lap top is fine Sir, I hid it where no one could find it, not even you for that matter. I
know better then to leave it out, don't you think? How's it going to look, some lowlife junkie jacking into a
laptop computer to send coded information to man of your power while I shoot up? I've got the problem
under control, thanks for giving a shit.
I'll work on cleaning my act up later, right now I need to be on the inside and inside is taking the chances
needed to survive. I do plan to do so you know.

The building on 5th Avenue where Bladewalker lives has better security then most fucking banks, you can't
just walk the fuck in there asking questions. People get real nervous, they start asking questions of their
own and they start calling the police, you get where this is going? Let me do this thing my way, I don't
want you sending a bunch of fucking cowboys here to shoot up the place. She'll know before you get here, I
just know it.
This woman has every base covered four times over. Slicker then snot she is. I suggest you let me do what
you've paid me to do. When this is over, you'll have your half a million dollars worth out of me, I promise.
Just do me a favor and keep this Finger guy out of here.
I don't like him already. As for this Alchandler, I don't know him....don't want to.
The last thing I need Sir is a blood bath party thrown with me as the host. I can see it now,
your boys and her, me stuck in the middle with a fucking laptop in my hands....no thanks!
Call off the dogs Sir and let me do my thing. I'll try to get a photo of her leaving the building if I can. I
don't know what good it will do though, we have nothing on her really.
As far as the city knows, she's a high class working woman going to work, who'd think differently? just so
you know, she never takes that car to the Urban village you know.
She's much smarter then that. I believe she may be using her Saxophone case to housed
the weapon in transit. I'll have to get back to you on this matter.
I'll try to remember the odd days for transmitting...............

                                                      END TRANSMISSION

Urban Village
 

The night's crisp evening wind had created a chill in the air not unlike that felt around these parts. But on
this evening as the now quarter filled moon, broke past the remanding clouds of the night, the feeling was
that of only death. Below the city's landscape were
picture perfect postcards were photographed, was the real image of the city.
Here the dealings of dirty deeds and back stabbing handshakes, were given out like candy
during Halloween. It's children wore worn torn clothing blankets tattered beyond they're years and a since
of life long since past.
In a city that claims to never sleep, most were. The dealings of the night nolonger belong to those well
dressed high polished shoes wearing dealers of the day, this was the real
world. Here a man could make or break his soul in a simple blink of an eye.
The women here, not much better. For a simple bag of weed, a man could endure the pleasures of the flesh
for a good 5 minutes or so, if he was good enough.
For a bag of crack, he could own her  for a week. The rumblings of foul mouth women blaming anyone
who'd listen, were the evenings callings. But it was here, that the moments
of silence were the most frightening. The police very seldom came to the docks of the village. It was no
secret what was going on here. So much of the countries main drug supply came directly through this very
same dock. Unlike anywhere else in the world, these shipment came not with the blaring sounds of the
daytime chatter, but with the thundering sounds of night hidden silence.
So much death here..........
 
 

As she stood in here favorite spot now looking across the Atlantic Docks, Bladewalker
sat completely still. Her mind had been filled earlier with the hounding sounds of greedy men and women
screaming at the top of their lungs trying to capitalize on a clients bid before closing. She'd spent another
eight hours handing people's money to other people and back again. She sat with other brokers bragging
about stock sales and risky bids.
She listened to them yell out about how they could run the fucking company if only given the chance. The
S&P's and Mutual funds were all they talked about. It was the very same
line of garbage carried from one mouth to another, and it did so all day.
But now, it was night. The thoughts of heavy closings and predictions were buried deep in her mind now.
Hidden away were they belonged. They were of no use here, those very thoughts could cost you your life
here. The nights in the village were bone cold 365 days a week. Someone was going to die here tonight,
death was the village's heartbeat.

The night air was once again calling to it's children. They would play again for the rewards were most
seemingly worth it. A simple chance at fate, a chance to live again. The drugs and thugs called this dock,
home. Drugs had it's following as did the thugs. NYPD could never keep track of the bodies flowing under
the docks or the people putting them there.
They were too busy breaking up a fight between husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, in all man and
woman. The docks kept most of it's secrets to itself, hidden down below.

As she sat still, clearing her mind of thoughts one could only imagine a sound from off in the distance would
call her from her trance. The scuffling of shoes against concrete and stone carried two shadows. Barely
moving she darted her eyes in their direction. One was now smoking a cigarette, it's orange glow clearly
visible from her distance. She focused her attention towards the muffling of sounds pouring from the
mouths of thugs.
There would be more, she thought. They always come in groups. The two stood just outside an old shed set
just off from another small building. A bait shop or old motor repair building. She watched as one of the
men, kicked a stone into the docks waters, spitting as he did so. The lights just about the building was of no
help in revealing who
was under the hat and wearing the shoes, of the two. The hatted one was heavy, about 260
to 300 pounds. He did most of the spitting while the other, a bit taller and wearing what looked to be a
brown or black trench coat, spent most of his time looking around.
The two heard a sound, coming from the other side of the building and backed from under the light and into
the shadows. Three more figures appeared, all darken shadows, all carrying weapons. The first two stood
back from the shadows and were into the light again
this time greeting the others. From high above the docks, she could hear them laughing.
They gathered along side the building for another ten minutes, then began walking in her direction. It's
closing time she said to herself and readied her weapon.
the nickel finish of the HMG almost seem to shimmer in the low moon light. Her gloves black and tight held
it steady, as she looked into the site and with great care, placed the crosshairs across the first figure's face.
In her mind she counted, and at the count of three
would shift the site to another. Again she counted to herself, and again she shifted to another. The
shadowed forms were moving closer now, their voices closing in, becoming
clearer. Five in all she thought, waiting a little while longer.
She began hearing their sounds as they now made they're way towards her. The fat one in the hat was still
spitting and was now trying to lead the pack. She would skip over him for now, maybe save him for last.
With less then 250 feet, the echoing sounds of her weapon
ripped through the silenced night. The impact of the first three shots took all but a small portion of the first
thug's head, his body dropped motionless. The outburst of cries from one and the yelling sounds from
another called attention to the second body as it too dropped in it's place. The unholstering of a  9 mm did
little to break her steady concentration as she pointed the weapon and fired again this time catching the
third thug
in the side of his neck. The banging sounds of gun fire and last minute yells of pain, painted the
background. She now jumped for the second story ledge to the roof just below.
She grunted as she did and slung the weapon over her shoulder and in one motion, remover her pistol. She
could now see one of them waving his weapon around and was just firing it at random. she only seconds
now, her stepping sounds were surely giving her away.
From behind her, a bullet caught the metal ledge sparking as it did so.
They're on to me now was the thought racing though her head. She hit the ground with a thump and rolled
over behind the building firing at the same time. Her first shot missed, the other caught the fat one in the
arm, his yell was more of a yipe. The tall one was still
active and was now charging her firing and reloading his weapon. In her mind she counted
the shots, while backing off into the shadows. At round 15 the firing stopped, without thinking she darted
out with weapon in hand and while adjusting for his height, placed one shot directly across the bridge of his
hose. His lanky form dropped.
As she turned towards the other, a large hand caught her blind sided and for a second, she saw colored
stars. The voice was heavy and it yelled to her calling her a bitch. she could now feel the sharp pain of yet
another blow, this time to her midsection, she folded over
now spitting up blood. Trying to focus and at the same time remembering she how many were dead, she
felt her body being lifted upwards and thrown down on the cold ground.
He was laughing now, she could hear him deep inside her thoughts. The scuffling of shoes
were too close now. A thud came from the right side as he kicked her in the side of her face, a wisdom
tooth spat outwards. You fucking whore! He yelled and reached down to hoist her up again. As he did so, he
knew little of what his future held.
Attached just below the brown leather belt, was a six inch stainless steel blade. Double sided and sharp as
a razor. She pulled it from the side and in one stroke, slide it across
his throat, the warm salty blood sprayed her mixing with her own.
He dropped backwards, hands now clutching his throat, trying to hold back the blood.
She could hear him screaming beneath the gurgling sounds. Off in the distance and closing fast, were the
sirens of death. There was little time left. She picked up her HMG which had fallen, and with the butt of the
weapon, brought it down crushing his head, the screaming in that instant, stopped.
They were getting closer now, the red lights were now making their appearance known
on the building's outer walls. She reached over and picked up her pistol, stuffing it behind her belt buckle
and darting off, as best she could, wincing along the way.
 

alChandler met Joey Fingers in a small bar called “The Tabard”. He kept hoping that one day, somebody would get the connection to the Canterbury Tales. Sadly, English literature was not a high priority among his acquaintances.

“So”, said Joey, “you look pretty good for a guy in the hospital.”

“I got better. And why we’re at it, aren’t you supposed to be watching this T.R. idiot?”

“I subcontracted out to the caveman.”

“CAVEMAN?”

Joey smiled,  took a sip of beer and waited for the other patrons to go back to whatever it is they were doing before alChandler caught their attention. “Caveman”, he repeated smugly.

“Look Joey, it’s not that Caveman doesn’t know the business, it’s just that his idea of subtlety is to use a bazooka.

“First of all, I get the impression that subtlety is not high on this Felt guy’s list of priorities”, said Joey. “He hired you sight unseen, even though you were supposed to be in a hospital bed. Hell, he must of known you’ve been building up a ‘retirement fund’ by popping dealers the last six months. Shit, the Village Voice must have known it, yet you’re his guy. He’s hired you, this deadbeat T.R. and me. With all this muscle, Caveman can’t make it that much worse. Besides, I’m not an idiot, I haven’t told him about Bladewalker, I’ve just told him I needed the detective shadowed. Now, calm down and have a beer”.

“You’re sure Caveman just thinks he trailing T.R? If he knew about Bladewalker he’s be backing a tactical nuclear weapon”.

“Trust me”, said Joey. “Besides, you’re not meeting me just to talk about Caveman”.

“Nope”, admitted alChandler, “I’m not. You see,  I’m sitting around planning for my retirement. I’m nearly out of the game when I hear news that Lo Ping is in town. Then this Bladewalker woman shows up. Simultaneously, a new group called the KAG shows up. As if that’s not enough, Mrs. Silverman starts intercepting messages sent between this Felt guy and T.R., junior detective. Finally, you, me and Caveman all end up on Felt’s payroll, shadowing people, shadowing other people shadowing Bladewalker.”

Joey smiled, “you’re telling me that you see more then the dead hand of fate in all this?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

At this point, Joey’s cell phone rang. “Is that who I think it is”, asked alChandler. “Don’t worry”, said Fingers, “the call is encrypted”. Joey then pressed a button on the phone
“Hello.

What do you mean you switched targets, I told you to keep with the detective…

Oh, well then, I see your point.

No, of course your in on it, just use discretion till 2:00AM.

Yeah, this is big so be cool”.

“Well”, said Joey, “good news. Caveman was contacted by the KAG. Apparently, they want him to help set up Bladewalker”.

“What did Caveman say?”

“He said yes. Bladewalker will be expecting  a buy on the Atlantic Docks, pier 14. She’ll see five guys. The thing is, they’ll be another five guys as backup. One of them will be Caveman”.

“How’s Caveman going to play it?”

“Anyway I want, he owes me a favor”.

“Ok, why Caveman?”

Joey thought for a moment. “There’s a lot of killers in this town but at any given time there’s only a few players. You and I are working for Felt. Don’t think the KAG doesn’t know, they keep tabs. That leaves Red Ranger, Mr. Purple and Caveman”.

“But Caveman’s working for you”.

“Yeah, but that’s a private contract, player to player. Not even the KAG would know about that. With Red and Purple tied up with jobs of their own, that leaves Caveman as the only one with enough skill to take out Bladewalker if things get really bad. So the only real question is how do we want to play it?”
 
 

alChandler and Joey were enjoying the ambiance Triton’s Cove, an upscale restaurant by the docks, closed for renovations. It had an excellent view of pier 14 and all approaches to it. In short order several things happened:

1. Five menacing men arrived at the pier, looking as subtle as a WWF match.

2. Bladewalker appeared and killed them, not without getting tagged herself.

3. Bladewalker started limping away, as sirens howled. Two authentic looking NYPD police cars started to approach the pier.

4. One of the cars exploded into flames, courtesy of a Bazooka alChandler borrowed from Caveman.

5. The second car stopped abruptly the drivers window suddenly splattered with blood. Caveman, wearing a NYPD uniform came exited the car.

Caveman ran from the docks. alChandler fired two more rounds from the bazooka, shattering the pier and sending the intact police car and the wreckage into the water below.

Joey made a tsking sound. “And you said Caveman was unsubtle”, he said.
 

Later that night, Joey, alChandler, Caveman and Mrs. Silverman met at alChandler’s Turtle Bay condo.

“She’s good, shit she’s better then any one of us”, said Caveman, “but she’s a loner. They nearly got her that time. As a single, her days are numbered”.

“Well then”, said Mrs. Silverman, “It just remains to be seen which way you kids want to jump, Felt, the KAG/Lo Ping or Bladewalker?”

Caveman reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook and a zip disk. “This may help our decision.. I got it off one of the other ‘cops’ before I left the car.

“Why Agarn”, said Joey, “I don’t know why everyone says you’re so dumb”.

“Fuck the F Troop jokes and get me a beer, it’s been a long night”.

Smiling, Joey got up and headed towards alChandler’s refrigerator..

Urban Village II
 

How did he get here, were the first words now racing through his mind.
He was laying on the heavily padded carpet floor of an apartment building hallway, his hands were shaking.
He quickly looked from side to side trying to adjust and understand
his new found environment. The hallway's doors were painted a pearl white, they're numbers were in gold.
He tried to stand up but found himself falling down again like a child just learning to walk. It was quiet,
very quiet save for the low sound of a television set behind one of the doors now close to him.
He looked up at the number, it read 457 it golden knob now almost starring him in the face.
He shook of the first idea that had tried to fill his head and began working on the next.
Sorting out the obvious, he'd come to the realization that he'd landed somehow inside her apartment
building. Staggering to his feet he straighten his clothes and tried best to blend in the surroundings now so
new to him.
In his mind the workings of what once was a damn good private investigator, began it's
self induced starting mechanism, of deciding what to do with what had been given to it.

He headed up to the next floor, using the stairway, his mind needing the extra time to think.
The floor, the floor it though what floor? Still trying to shake the haze he figured it to be the seventh floor.
Shit he thought, three flights.
As he approached the final floor, he stopped to catch his breath. He was panting now, much like a dog in
the summer heat.
Which door now? he thought, not wanting to just knock on them all. He knew he couldn't afford the
attention, security was very tight here. A simple fuck up could cost him his life.
Holding his breath, he decided on room 734. It seemed to him to be the most logical, it appeared to face
what looked to be the side of the building he'd spent so much time watching her from. He placed his ear
near the door very carefully, listening in for any kind of sound. He heard nothing. Glancing at his watch it
read 7:23pm. Good he thought, she's at the club. I've got at least 2 hours.

A Dinging sound from down the hall, caught his attention. The elevator had stopped on this floor. His heart
began thumbing now, almost bouncing out of his chest. My God, what if it's her? he asked himself. Not
waiting to find out he darting towards the stairwell almost
tripping over himself in the process. Once in he quickly turned to see it was just a tenant.
An older gentleman wearing a long trench coat and leather gloves was walking away from him towards the
other end. He stopped only after 10 feet or so and reached in his coat taking out he's keys. He dropped
them at first, they're sound almost making a thump on the thick carpet. He bent down picking them up and
tried again. After a minute, he walked in,
the sound of a locking door followed.

He reached in his own pocket, hoping for keys to her apartment as well but know much better. What he
pulled out was almost as good. A few miniature tools from back in the day, now filled his hand. Perfect lock
picking tools from an old friend in New Jersey were now staring up at him. I haven't seen these in years he
said to himself almost smiling.
Checking the coast, he walked out and to the door. While far from breaking any world record, he managed
after awhile to open the door.
Quickly shutting it behind him, he checked the room hoping he was alone. He was.
The lamp by the window was on, it's orange hue came not from the shade, but from the bulb. The
apartment was far from anything he'd expected. Quite plain it was. The sofa had
no pattern and the carpet looked bleach white, not a stain anywhere.
He walked towards the bedroom, still uncertain. Peeking in he saw that the bed was made up and the room
barely looked lived in. He wanted to cut on some of the lights to really see, but didn't want to draw too
much attention to anyone who could be watching.

What am I doing here? he began asking. What the fuck could I find in here? Her weapon,
a knife, maybe the HMG? The questions were now bouncing around his head faster then he could sort
them, they're almost running over each other his inner mind said.
He decided to check one of the dresser drawers. He walked over to it and placed his hand around the brass
handle, he pulled. The drawer wouldn't move, it seemed locked.
He tried again and again, it seemed locked. He reached up to the next and it too seemed locked. "What the
fuck is this?" he said almost out loud, and from behind him he heard a slight sound. He turned to see a
shadowy form standing in the darkness. It was motionless.
He jumped back wanting to scream, but found his own terror had escaped him.
The darken form began moving forward, very slowly and extend it's hand at the same time.
It spoke not a word, but reached out handing him a key. He stood as still as he could,
trying to understand. The form came closer this time and just before reaching the light
of the moon now shining in, stopped.
T.R took the key, it's gold color almost glowing in the reflection. The shadowed hand
then backed up into the darkness, returning to it's place of void.
He could feel his heart pounding out of control now, the sweat now streaming down his face. My god he
said, I'm so fucked, so fucked. He took the one gold key and asked
why, please he said. "Don't kill me, please" his hands were shaking out of control now,
he couldn't decide whether he need a drink or a needle, what he really settle for was a miracle. He turned
to look at the shadow, it's size and form now taking shape of her.
She said nothing, only still standing. He tried once more to speak to her, to reason but mostly he wanted to
beg her, beg her for his life.
The shadow remained silent, put now lifted it's hand to point. Even as it did, he noticed
it never broke the darkness, remained without light. She wanted him to open the dresser drawer, her long
finger pointing. It was then he'd noticed the locks.
With hands still shaking, he tried the key. Deep inside his mind, past his soul he thought
about crying out loud, he wanted to just yell out and scream for help to anyone who'd listen. He figured it
was his only chance, his only card to draw in this obvious bad hand of poker. He tried to scream, tried to
even yell out, but couldn't. Instead, he turned the key
and slid open the drawer. As he did, the sound of buzzing flies came rushing up to greet him. The odor of
decay followed. As he continued to open the drawer, a darken object
appeared inside. He couldn't see it clearly, but knew in an instance what it was, a human's
head. It almost rolled towards him it's decaying form almost smiling. His mind had completely shut down
now, it's automatic pilot was now preparing to jump itself.
All senses had left him, all that was left was the soul of an old P.I who's body had just recently found itself
addicted to heroin and was now passing go and heading directly to hell. He now tried to turn again to face
her, his body shaking uncontrollably in doing so.
Please he begged, oh my God please.
She began slowly moving forward, still in the dark, she held out her hand once more.
He looked down to see it held a pistol, the nickel finish was the only color he could see.
He looked up at her again, his head now shaking, and without saying a word, begged again with his eyes.
Her form said nothing, her hand still holding the weapon.
He reached over now, taking the pistol he thought of pointing it towards her, of taking his
last chance at redemtion and found himself wonder if the gun was even loaded.
What if it wasn't when to pointed it at her and pulled the trigger? What would she do?
T.R took the weapon, held it in his right hand and placed it up to his head. A man once told him, your fate
is what you make it, and with that final thought followed by a "Please forgive me" he pulled the trigger, the
blast came quickly.........
 
 
 

The morning sun had cast it's full amber upon his face as the smell of rotten fish followed.
A trash truck was now starting it's first of several stages of dumping the trash, it's engine
wining. Her looked up, sweat matting his hair to his face and screamed.
"What the fuck is your problem"? a voice said.

Ax6 Encoded:

To: Lo Ping
From: Adams Felt
 

By now your no doubt feeling the same as I do.
This matter has taken us to the extremes of a friendship long pasted. We've had our differences in the past
and heaven knows, our run ins. It is now that I come to you for what could be our last attempt to rid
ourselves of the same problem. Despite my position here,
we're going to have to put our heads and muscle together on this matter. I'm uncertain of
the many plans you and your colleges have, I know their similar to mine in  a sense, but
we need to come together on an understanding concerning this issue of Bladewalker.

It's been some three years and God only knows how many deaths, since she's arrived.
Despite my attempts to find her, I've come up each time with nothing. I seem to have lost contact with the
last investigator, I hired to find her. You'd think money could buy you anything. Four days ago, that hit was
her. I can feel it in my bones. She's planning something big I feel, I don't like the way she's moving on us.
Those thugs of your are getting too fucking cocky about her, as a result, they're getting sloppy. The trade
off on the docks cost you a lot, I know. Seems a hard working thug, can't make a decent living around
here, since she came. I don't know about you, but I'd really like to know what the deal is with her. I mean
a whole fucking team! Five of your boys get whacked in one setting and now I understand there could be
more. What do you know about the three killed yesterday in the corner store by the village? Do you mind
telling me how three thugs carrying weapons armed to the gills, walk in to a corner store for fucking
cigarettes and walk out in body bags! Don't tell me they didn't know this bitch was still unknown. I've told
you in the past to keep your people ready at all times, until I find out who and where she is.
It's this kind of macho big ball shit thats sending a bad message throughout the village. I hear some are
even calling her a spirit. You try explaining that shit when we can no longer make our deliveries on time.
We both have people we deal with, do you want them going
elsewhere? What's going to happen, when we can't run the docks? huh? Take a fucking guess! We own this
fucking Village, and I plan on keeping it that way if I've got to find this bitch myself. I'm losing important
people here! Damn it!
I don't want to sound out of line here, but if I have to call in a favor, I swear a lot of fucking people are
going to die! I'll find this bitch so help me if I've got to nuke the whole fucking city! One fucking bitch, one
women and she's wiping us the fuck out!
Are any of your boys using a weapon on the streets called a HMG? I understand it's a preferred favorite of
hers. Try to keep me updated on this will you? Your losing more then I old friend, bout time we start doing
something beside throwing darts at a board.

I'm hoping to here from the PI I hired soon. Fucking idiot hasn't brought me shit in the last four days and
I'm beginning to worry. The times have come for unity my old friend.
Until this Bladewalker is caught and killed, I suggest we work together on this matter.
I tell you this, because I want you to end your cheesy sniper attempts on me. The last fucker you sent,
should be arriving somewhere near you in a box. I had my boys save as much of him as they could. I'm
find this a little annoying at the moment. A truce must be called for now, afterwards...we'll finish what we'd
started so long ago.

                                                         END TRANSMISSION
 

Ax6 Message encoding.
 

To: Adams Felt
From: T.R
 
 

Mr. Felt

I'm jumping the gun here, if you'll excuse the pun. I'm aware of the orders for transmitting on odd days
only, but something's really fucked up here. Like you, I read and are more then aware of last night's hit in
the Village. I'm sending you this message because we may have bigger problems here then we originally
thought. The New York Post claimed 5 were killed. I'm sure it wasn't good news for you to be reading
during this morning's breakfast.
But before you start in on me again, I thought there are a few things you should know.
According to the papers, the killings may have happened between the hours of 11:30pm and 1:15am. NYPD
confirmed the report of shots being fired at 12:20am.
The boys in blue always drag their asses whenever it comes to the Urban Village, because they already
know what's up. I spoke last month to a source inside and he told me the police take their time getting
ready on a call to the village, he told me the reason was always the same, why bother. At best you have
thugs and drugs. If it's the thugs, they'll
sort it out now their own. If it's the drugs, NYPD will be first on the scene to collect the money from the
take downs. Shit is all fucked up here.
What I wanted to tell you is, if the time of the hits are correct, it couldn't have been Bladewalker. Sir I
swear, I'd been sitting out in the cold all last night, across from her apartment. The lights were on all last
night, she never left. I'm beginning to think that maybe there's another thug killer running lose. I mean I
sat there all night, I was trying to follow what seemed to be a pattern with her, and I'm telling you she
never left the apartment. She has this lamp by the window, whenever she goes out, she cuts it on.
This lamp is always on when she leaves to go down town to the Jazz club.....always.
Lastnight, the lamp remained off all night. Her curtains were drawn and from time to time, a shadow would
pass by, but I tell you sir, the lamp never came on. I don't think she did it.

I'm trying to get information on the shell casings found at the dock, I'd bet my new black hat, there're  not
from her HMG. I had plans to head to the village myself tonight, I wanted to poke around and find out what
I could. Addicts love to talk about fresh killing you know. It kind of breaks up the normal run of the mill
chatter about needles and bags.
Besides, maybe one of them saw something? I'll check on my recent source and get back to you. By the
way, two days ago I ran into a junkie friend of mine, I'm not passing along any names right now because I
need him. I find this puke sitting along the sheds by the docks, shooting up one evening. Funny thing is,
he'd found someone who'd sold him some shit in a white envelope with gold lining. It was rather plain
really, except for the small gold "S"
in the upper right hand corner. You know it's even funnier the more I think about it.
You know how you rich people pay a shit load of money for things that look plain but cost a fortune, well it
seems some one did this with this envelope. It seemed made to order.
Anyone you know? I only mentioned it because he'd stored his shit in it as a pocket, said
a friend of his got it from someone who'd received it with hush money inside.
I'll try to find out more later.......

I'm keeping this one short, I've got a lot of work to do.
PS: I've asked around about this Joey Finger, like I said keep him away from me.
I work better alone.
 

                                                      END TRANSMISSION

Ax6 Encoded
To: Adams Felt
From: Lo Ping
 
 

Well old friend, this is a surprise. I'm always looking out for that special moment in time where, two old friends find a common ground on which to speak.
It's been so long since we touched bases. I can almost hardly contain myself. Your message while a bit crude, finds it's way to my softer side, if only for a moment. Your biggest problem has always been reading too much into the press. You my fat old friend should take a little time and sit back. Find yourself a nice piece of ass and get fucked for a change. Your spending way too much time on your ass, ole' buddy.

About this nasty business of ours. The papers were right about some of it. I lost some good men in that cowgirl shoot out shit. But more importantly, I have something you don't
a witness! That's right motherfucker, as you've read three were killed by this hidden
killing bitch, but there were four men in that store. You see Mr. Felt, in this world you really can get just about anything you want. For a simple favor, NYPD made sure to keep
the fact that one of my men, survived. Oh I guess survived is really too much of a strong word, but he's breathing. Im not telling you where, but as soon as he able to talk, We'll
have our identity of this thorn in both our sides.

I understand you've lost another PI, so sorry to hear that old man, third one isn't it?
Seems you got the knack for backing the wrong horse charlie, couldn't win with one card on the table. I believe it's your time to move on pal, this business seems to be getting the best of you. All this worrying over one bitch, it's not good for ya, burns away at the soul I tell ya.

I will tell you this, I promise I'll find this Bladewalker and when I do, the pain I bring upon her, will be that felt for a thousand years. Maybe after I cut her little ass up, I'll send you some of the pieces. For old times sake..................
 

                                                             END TRANSMISSION

Urban Village III
 

The city's streets were now glistening with the rain that had fallen earlier, the sheen of colored traffic lights
could now be seen upon them. It was upon these very same roads that the ambulance carry the body of
Richard Glen know in the underworld as "Raz" had not long traveled.

He'd been rushed inside the  Emergency entrance only minutes after police arrived, his body torn apart by
a series of bullets fired from an unknown weapon. His counterparts
"Fast Eddie" from the Bronx and " Tommy Tu-tone" from Brooklyn were killed instantly.
The new guy known only as Tate, never saw it coming, most of what little sense he had ended up
somewhere between the candy aisles and powdered detergents.
The owner of the store had just stepped out back to help his son with a delivery. The store
had been empty. Neighbors heard shots fired and before anyone had a chance to make out what was
happening, it was over.
 

Lincoln hospital on 73rd, housed most of the crime victims coming in from the village.
It acted as a go between from downtown and the village. Most of the village's crime victims would never
had survived without it. On this Thursday evening, Raz while still in
a coma, had found a forced haven from the rushed business world he'd found himself in too deep to get out
of. As he laid motionless, his thoughts were of a quiet place were nothing mattered and those who lived
were no longer living here.
His mind bounced around ideas and places he'd seen. The memories of his childhood, was now playing out
itself on the huge screen inside his mind. He could hear his mother calling him for dinner, her apron was
now spotted with tomato sauce as she stood by the front door calling. He'd been down by the highway
playing with his brother Steven and their best friend Arron Thomas. The boys had spent the afternoon
throwing pennies at the trucks rushing pass. Some of the big eighteen wheelers would try to stop, their big
wheels almost locking up, others would simply continue, paying little or no attention to the silly acts of
bored little boys in the city. He could now see the misty rain falling just outside his window of his bedroom
where only days later Arron Thomas would be found dead by the train tracks, his head crushed inward. The
images and the aftermath, were now causing tears to run down the side of his face.

Inside the room 237 the body now heavily bandaged and monitored, jerked a little.
His vital signs were now showing some signs of brain wave activity. His heart rate was improving a little at
a time. The room was quiet except for the recharging sounds of the respirator, the blinking lights of the
blood pressure and other vital signs tried to keep up.
Inside his mind, the real war of survivor was being won.

The second floor of the hospital was was just starting to get busy. Although the night was still young, the
village had no set time in which to send in it's victims. four over dose and
three successful suicides, had made this evening a real winner already. The doctors and nurses, were
already looking for some relief and by now had given up hope for this evening. A woman addict to crack
and eight months pregnant tried to deliver her her own
baby by performing a "C" section on herself using a butter knife. Two more gunshot victims and a child
burned from a blow torch, rounded out this evenings heading line-up.

The hallways were littered with people begging for help in one way or another.
Some had found comfort in finding a simple way to attract attention to themselves. Some
laid on stretchers screaming out every thirty seconds for help as the drug they'd taken tried
to wear off. The pain for most came from deep within, driven deeper then any knife or bullet wound.

The door to room 237 had been guarded by police. They of course were only concerned
with the five grand each was being paid to do so. Of course this exchange of money would
never find it's way to a pay stub, all under the table one could say. Officer Dan Boilings
became a cop after his father was killed 10 years ago in the village. His father had been on the force for 15
years, before biting the big one. Alfred Boilings had managed to make a name for himself years back as a
cop with way too many hands in way too many pots.
He'd help drug runners push most of their supplies through the docks right under the very
noses he'd worked for. Dan had decided to follow in dear ole dad's shoes, good work if you could find it.

Dan Boilings and his partner Officer Wayne Himmer, had be assigned to keep guard over
Raz. The order came from high up, Lo Ping meant to have this man alive.  >From around the corner of the
hallway came two more. The newest team consisted of Lo Ping's boys.
They'd been dressed in black leather jackets and boots, they're faces had been worn by the
battles in the streets. They walked over to the door and nodded to the two officers, no words only jesters,
and stood at the other end of the door. Anyone coming down the hall with half a brain would assume that
someone of great importance must be inside, on the other side of the door. The nurse walked up, her
attention aimed toward her notes.
She looked up seeing them and stopped in her tracks a moment before getting the all clear
to pass sign from the officer, he tipped his hat to her as she walked by. A snicker came from behind. She
walked in checking the monitors and IV's, her shift had just started and she had already wished she'd called
out. Her boyfriend had screwed her out of $200.00 and right now her mind was on how she was going to
get it back, before the check she wrote out cleared. "Fucking jerk" she said to herself, now looking at the
clipboard at the end of the bed. She checked the fluids and glanced once more at the monitors, before
walking out. Another snicker followed.

From down the hall, came another woman. She was pushing a baby carriage and was now looking down
and making faces at her child. The baby appeared sleep, making no sound at all. She started towards the
four men guarding the door, but was told to walk around, one of Lo Ping's thugs had pushed her a little
afterwards, seems he had a problem with mothers
including his own. The woman walked around not understanding why but did as she was
told, around the corner the thugs could still hear her making baby sounds to her child.

The carriage had been set aside, only minutes ago the mother pushing it had reached down
as if to pick up her new born, while bent over her hands began working quickly. As she slid over the colorful
blanket, it wasn't the sleepy face of a newborn but the shining glimmer of nickel steel looking back.

Miss Able Miller had worked more then 20 years in this hospital. She was facing the television behind her
chair. She'd just finished logging this evening's reports and was watching one of her favorite shows. She
was about to reach for the remote to check on the news when she heard the shots down the hall. At first it
sounded like someone had dropped a stack of books on the floor. She looked up and down the hall as she
heard more shots followed by the sounds of someone fighting. She jumped up from her seat, a big women
with a heart now racing and yelled out for security. More shots echoed and the sound of a door being kicked
in. She yelled again, and was now rushing towards the sounds as best she could. The youngest nurse on
staff was Amy Coles, she had just came
from out of the ladies room and could now see Able running towards her, her face was red as a beet. She
tried to explain, but found herself out of breath, instead she pointed and tripped over her own feet, falling
to the floor. Amy ran towards her trying to help her to her feet when she heard the final shot,  the was a
breaking sound of glass followed by silence. Seconds later the rushing sounds of security followed.

Along the walls of 237 were gapping holes and blood. The hallway had been painted red as well. The four
bodies were scattered as brain matter and bone had repainted the ivory walls. Inside the room, the
monitors were still on, although they no longer showed signs
of life. The window had been kicked out, scattered glass was now everywhere. There was no since calling
the police, anyone standing in the room could tell it's escapee was long gone.

Urban Village IV
 

From where she now laid, the cries of the city's streets filled with horror and anger, fright and uncertainty
could not be felt. From behind the closed and locked windows double paned and weather sealed, was that
alluring sound of comfort and warmth known only as
silence. The bathroom's mirror was coated with a thick layer of warm steam, it's reflective
power lost. The antique off white walls which housed images of colorful flowers, were now barely visible.
Across the back door hung a brass hook, it's curved shape designed
for holding a bath robe, tonight however it held nothing. The bathrobe was now draped over the toilet seat,
neatly folded. The showering glass doors were also pulled back as the owner was now fast asleep in a rose
colored tub, her dreams were anything but pleasant.

The woman had warmth in her heart, for she was with child as she walked the several
blocks needed to go home. Her husband had told her many times to use the other car when she needed to
go out, but being the stubborn and independent woman that she was, she preferred to walk. Her doctor
had told her as well as what she'd read, that walking was good for both her and the child now growing
inside. She often walked a little extra, believing it could only do just that much better. She avoided lifting
anything too heavy and never missed an opportunity to eat only the best food for her baby. A first time
mother, she intended on making no mistakes. As the evening drew near she decided to walk the four
blocks to the nearest corner store where Al's Bakery was just across the street.
Al's served the best sticky buns in the city as far as she was concerned, and was now high on order for this
evening's snack. Her husband had phoned earlier and told her he would be a little late this evening. She
blew a kiss over the phone to him and asked him to hurry home, she told him his two best girls in the world
needed him. He told her he loved them
and would do his best to be home soon.
She picked up her purse, checking it for her keys and after turning off the T.V, locked the door and walked
down the steps. It had been a hot summer and she could now feel the cool
breeze of the city night, working it's way downtown. She thought about heading back upstairs and grabbing
a light jacket, but decided against it. If she left now, she could be back in 20 minutes, if she headed back
upstairs, she would never come back down for the evening, cravings just seemed to work that way.

The summer's nights in the city were always filled with city sounds of people having fun and caught in an
endless loop of partying. Music, horns and laughter played as background music for a city eating away at
itself. The host forced to listen and watch as it's inhabits
danced their way in to frenzy of careless order.
As she walked, she waved and spoke to her friend Marie on the second floor of an apartment building,
across the street. Marie a mother of three, smiled and waved back.
Three blocks away, she noticed Derek Hollings. A small nine year old who'd spent most of his time drawing
and riding his bike, was now heading towards her. He yelled out
"Excuse me!" as he rode off the sidewalk and into the street, giving her enough room to walk. She turned
quickly to check for traffic before yelling back to me to get out of the street. She watched as he listened
and quickly turned up onto a curve, his bike shacking
just a little as he did so. She smiled and turned away.

As she crossed the street, she could smell the sweet aroma of pastry snacks. Pies and cookies all baked
and awaiting the hungry mouths of the neighborhood. Big Al had open the small shop over twenty years
ago. He greeted her in the very same manner he greeted everyone in the neighborhood, with a kind and
warm smile, his fat cheeks hiding what seemed to be a pair of small dimples. He placed inside a bag for
her, three sticky buns.
She'd only ordered two, but she was always kind to him and he figured it was a chance to get a head start
on a future customer, now only weeks away.
As she headed out of the store and down the street, she began to feel a slight chill come over her. The
warmth of the bakery had quickly left leaving the night air to it's evening shift. Glancing at her watch, she
thought she should be getting back now, her craving had
already begun to subside. The city lights were just starting their evening glow and as the city that never
sleeps began to come alive, as did it's people.

The vehicle's owner had two problems, one was with a man he knew only as "Jake", the other was a
problem with Jake's sister. One owed him money, the other owed him an explanation. It had been weeks
since he'd found out about her seeing her new lover, he'd found out in the worst way. As for her brother
whom he'd taken care of, everything had fallen apart over the last buy, just two weeks before. He'd heard
rumors of a possible hit
put on him and after several lines of cocaine and half a bottle of Mr. Daniels, he decided
it was time to settle up. He called a few of his must trusted friends and on a cool summer night, took a
ride.

She was now not more then a block away when a man approached her, she looked up almost as if she
knew him and then realized she didn't. He said nothing, just nodded and walked around her, glancing down
at her large midsection. She picked up her pace and began telling herself, she should have stayed home.
From behind her, a loud pop followed
by another and another broke her inner thoughts as she turned to see a brown car who had just come from
around the corner. It's wheels were screeching. She could now see
the flashing of gun fire from inside. The man who had just walked past her had been shot,
his body was now leaning against a fence, he was still moving. The car slammed on it's breaks as the heads
inside pierced through the windows, followed by pointed weapons.
Now it was the crackling sounds of gun fire showcasing the evening's party, as people
nearby ran for cover. She turned quickly away and tried as best as she could to run for shelter, before the
sharp burning pain of a hot bullet caught her in the back. The bag dropped from her hands, hitting the
sidewalk seconds before it's former owner. As she lay
clutching her stomach barely breathing, her dreams of the future, began racing before her eyes as more
gunshots and people screaming, played in the background.
The final sound she would hear, would come from her sister now racing towards her screaming.

They met in alChandler's condo on 46th street: alChandler,
Joey Fingers, Caveman and Mrs. Silverman. They were
reading the latest email from Felt.

"So," asked Joey, "now that you know Felt & Lo Ping
are working together, you gonna waste Felt?"

"No, in fact I'm going to take a shot at Bladewalker
for him."

"Why?"

"You see, I don't know where Lo Ping actually is. Mrs.
Silverman still can't trace where Felt was actually sending
the message to in the real world. I have a hunch I can find
out from Felt's office."

"You're just going to walk in and get it from him?"

"Well I could, Joey, I am an employee after all, but
I think it would be more fun if Bladewalker did it."

Tuesday 11/2/99 1737 hours

T.R. is in his dingy room, shooting up. As the drug starts
to take effect, T.R. smiles. He never bought from a lady
before, not to mention  one like Barbara. He feels the rush,
the sense of power. He loves it.

Soon, he sleeps, for a very long time. In a way, the transaction is
even, Mrs. Silverman never sold heroin before.

*********************************************************************

Tuesday 11/2/99 2300 hours

Caveman looks down from his perch. He
can see the three men doing business. At one time
they would have looked very confident. Now they
were very, very frightened.

With good reason. Bladewalker would almost certainly
arrive. This was going to be a major transaction, after
all.

Not one of the men thought he was going to live through
the night. But, scared as they were of Bladewalker, they
were more frightened of Lo Ping and Felt.

In fact, Bladewalker had arrived before they had. When
this kind of transaction took place, she always knew,
almost if she had access to financial records. She
was setting up when a dart from Caveman's gun dropped her.
She was now sleeping it off under a tarp in a dumpster, 100
yards from the men she had planned to kill.

"Don't bother to thank me gents," thought Caveman, "just
doin' my job."

*******************************************************************

Wednesday 11/3/99 0100 hours

A frightened looking alChandler bangs on the door of a building
owned by Adams Felt. Mr. Felt has a lot of security, but they
all recognize alChandler. The night shift security chief lets
alChandler inside. "What the fuck's going on?" he asks. "Plenty,"
says alChandler, Baldewalker is planning to do a hit here."

"Here? She'd have to be crazy."

At that moment, the buildings power goes out. From the penthouse
offices, the muffled thrumping sound of an HMG can be heard.
 

*******************************************************************

Wednesday 11/3/99 0103 hours

Mrs. Silverman is looking at the security grid via her computer.
Mr. Felt has no idea Mrs. Silverman can access his building's
security grid. He certainly has no idea she could shut off access
to Con Ed, just by tapping a few keys while sipping a martini.

Too bad, that knowledge would have been useful to him.

********************************************************************

Wednesday 11/3/99 0115 hours

Via the stairs, alChandler and 8 security guards make it to the penthouse.
They burst into Felt's office. There, they see Bladewalker and a man with
a beard, standing in the shadows. Bladewalker's HMG fires four times and
four guards go down. The bearded man fires five times with a .45. Four
more guards go down. The fifth shot nicks alChandler, who grunts in pain
and shoots. The bearded man is now down, his chest a mass of blood. Bladewalker,
turns the HMG on alChandler, fires but the shot goes wide. Her HMG was hit
by a bullet from a .357 fired by Caveman, who entered from a window
on the north side of the office. alChandler tries to get a shot
at Bladewalker, but goes down, apparently the wound was more serious then
it looked.

Then they hear the sirens. Caveman and Bladewalker lock eyes. "Take your
murdering friend," she says, and go. As for me, I will not have my friend's
body sullied by jackals like you. Showing a surprising strength. She picks
up the corpse of her partner and goes out the window on the north side
of the office. Caveman helps alChandler up. Swaying slightly, alChandler
points to the north window, shrouded in the shadows of the room. Caveman
nods and they leave that way, right behind Bladewalker.

***********************************************************************

Wednesday 11/3/99 0437 hours.

T.R. wakes up and looks at the clock on the night stand.

"Shit."

alChandler was back in his condo on 46th street.
Joey, whose massive chest wound seemed to have
gotten better, was drinking a beer on the couch.
Caveman, alChandler and L.A. were watching a tape.
L.A. was an old friend of Mrs. Silverman's. Currently
she was wearing a one piece leather jump suit. "Damn,"
she said, on that tape I could be anybody." Mrs. Silverman
nods, "even Bladewalker."

They watch the tape. "Bladewalker" and a temporarily
long haired and bearded Joey Fingers take Felt's laptop computer.
Then alChandler and the guards burst in. Joey and L.A. kill
the guards, Joey wounds alChandler, alChandler kills Joey and
then Caveman does his shtick.

"How'd you time the cops arrival?" asked Joey.

"Oh, they didn't arrive for another five minutes, that
was a tape recorder I placed out on the ledge."

Joey snickered at that, got up and went for another beer.
"Anybody else want one?"

"Not me," said L.A., "I have another job tomorrow."

"Well thanks for helping me out," said Mrs. Silverman.

"It was worth it, I've wanted an HMG for years. Where'd
you guys find one anyway?"

"In another life, alChandler used to deal arms."

L.A. left. They finished watching the tape. Joey was
well disguised, "Bladewalker" was in the shadows and
alChandler and Caveman came off as heroes. The only
ones in the city to run off Bladewalker. alChandler looked
at Mrs. Silverman and said one word.

"Jackals?"

"L.A. gets sort of melodramatic at times."

"So I see. Think you can crack Felt's computer?"

"I'm fairly sure, but why do you think it will lead you
to Lo Ping?"

"Felt keeps everything on computer. Joey grabbed the lap
top, all the Zip disks and floppies he could find. Even if it
doesn't lead us to Lo Ping, it will lead us to someone
who know where he is. That's all I need to know. In
the meantime, Caveman and I are the heroes who
ran off Bladewalker."

"What about Bladewalker, by the way?" asked Caveman.

"Well," said alChandler, "I have a feeling her life's gotten
a little more interesting."

Wednesday 11/3/99 0415 hours

Adams Felt was talking to his Director of Security. Mr. Felt was not
a happy man.

*******************************************************************

Wednesday 11/3/99 0530 hours

T.R. was staring at his computer. He was looking at a line
in his mail box that read:

Message                    Adams Felt                   3:57AM

He has never been so frightened.

                   Traveling

On a KLA flight to Copenhagen, a short, overweight
man sat in the first class lounge drinking champagne.
Next to him was a tall, attractive woman. She was
drinking too, but she was lacking her companion's
smug expression.

"I'm telling you, you're making a mistake, leaving
Caveman back in New York," Mrs. Silverman said.

"Caveman can take care of himself," said alChandler
as he finished his second glass, "he's better then
you give him credit for being."

"I'm not denying that, but you did a dangerous thing,
alerting her to our presence like that. You should
have waited until there was no activity to raid Felt's
place. Instead, you send Caveman and his dart gun to
put her out of action because you couldn't wait a couple
of days. Now she know about the other players; she's
ten times the danger she was before."

"Look, Caveman isn't stupid," said alChandler, "all he
has to do is lay at my condo for a week or two. He knows
he's not in her league."

alChandler signaled the bartender for a third glass. Mrs.
Silverman changed the subject, "how long do we have before
Lo Ping bolts from Denmark?"

"Well, you indicated that there was a chance he has his
own sources inside Felt's but, right now, he thinks the whole
thing was some unbelievable fuckup involving Bladewalker.
He may be aware that felt's laptop was stolen, but he's
unaware of my involvement. I figure we have at least
a month before he gets antsy enough to move."

"We're not going to be in Denmark for a month, are we?"

"I figure we can wrap this up in a week."

"Famous last words."
 

              On the Top of the World

Caveman was feeling pretty good about himself. He was
a good friend of alChandler's but he was a man with plans
of his own. Those plans did not involve house sitting alChandler's
plants while everybody else jaunted to Europe. Still, he
wasn't a fool. He knew he should lay low somewhere.

Shanghai was nice. He had an old girlfriend in Shanghai. With
the coming of wide open capitalism to China, there were a lot
of opportunities for a man like him.

But first, he needed money. That's why Caveman was standing
on a fire escape watching a truck marked "Dunkin Doughnuts"
pull to a stop below him. Caveman had contacts of his own and
he knew that Lo Ping had started to vary his routine. Too much
shit was going down on the docks these days.

Still, Caveman wasn't a fool. He waited for the truck to stop and
watched as the heroin was loaded into a hummer parked in the
alley. "These guys really are trying to vary the routine," muttered
Caveman to himself, watching the four men below him.

After the heroin was fully loaded and the money changed hands
everybody waited.

No Bladewalker.

"I knew she wouldn't know about this," thought Caveman and
began firing.

He got the first three quickly. The fourth broke and ran. In a
graceful movement, Caveman made it to the alley, scooped
up the suitcase of money from one of the corpses and followed
his frightened prey. There he was, trying to climb a chain link
fence. Caveman raised his .45 and the man fell, the back of his
head exploding in a mist of bone and blood. Exploding before
Caveman had been able to get a shot off.

Caveman dove across the alley and was cut down before
he could reach any cover.
 
 

                             Graveyard Shift

Tom Joad did not like being the night editor of The Daily News.
But, he was philosophical. Most people didn't like what the do,
at least he made a fair living of his miserable job. Some
couldn't even say that.

Bob Parker the News' crime reporter strolled into the city room.

"Hey Tom."

"Let me guess, shoot up at the docks, 15 people dead, all killed
by a maniac wielding a gun the size of Nebraska, right?"

"Wrong, shoot up outside of a Dunkin Doughnuts, 5 dead, 3 killed
with a .45 and two killed with an HMG."

"Ok, but it's still not news."

"Maybe, maybe not. Do you remember a piece we ran last
year called "The New Urban Mercenaries"?

"Yeah, why?"

"Remember a guy called himself Caveman?"

"Yeah, a cold hearted killing machine."

"Well, he was one of the guys killed by the HMG."

"SHIT."

Joad thought for a second, then said, "Bob, I want
you to go to the cops and call in a few markers. I'm
not going to run the story yet but I am going to start
to prepare something about this. If the mercenaries
are fighting among themselves this could be bad
shit."

"I'm on it. Lieutenant Goldberg owes me a favor and he's
one of one of the few honest cops in the Village. I'll see
what he knows. Oh, buy the way, the 3 killed with the
.45, they were Lo Ping's men."

After Parker left, Joad got up and looked out the window.
One dead mercenary and Lo Ping back in town.

One way or another, a lot of newspapers were going to
be sold over the next couple of weeks.

***********************************************

In the cab alChandler suddenly shivered. "What's wrong," asked
Mrs. Silverman. "Nothing," said alChandler, "somebody
just walked over my grave."

Urban Village V
 
 

Saturday night's city sounds of Fourth St. were very different from the everyday running grind of party
giving, drug exchanging thumping rhythms of the night. The Jazz club had a full house and some of the local
players were in rare form. Their instruments were filled with a passion not always displayed. Inside, the
heavily smoke filled room and stage, was now presenting it's star attraction. Glenn Samperson was now at
center stage, his sax smoking with the burning sounds of Charlie Parker's "April in Paris".
The drummer Frank Clemmons, had worked up a sweat only two minutes into the opening selection and by
the third tune, was now soaked. He welcomed the chance to now catch his breathe and relax. Slick "finger"
Willy, called only by those who really knew him was fingering the fluid notes carried out by the black and
white ivory keys. On bass, the one and only Clarence "Thumper" jones, he too was a local favorite who'd
played for years in
the underground circuit.

With a packed house and ladies night to boot, the band was indeed smoking. A feeling of
musical utopia packed inside a brass sax, had found an outlet, now flowing outward and
covering every ear in the house, except one.
The warm and even flow of Parker's "Ornithology" had everyone's right foot tapping, some even tried both.
A quick break into "Lester leaps in" assured the planets were aligned.

The Jazz club had been founded over fifty-five years ago. It's original owner had been a devoted lover of
jazz music and often played on the stage with some of it's greats, before they were discovered. Sonny
Rollins, Ron Carter, Art Farmer and of course Miles, rounded out the top list. Their music had always been
favorites here, and the locals did everything they could to keep it that way.

He sat in the corner, his face revealing a solid frown and waited. His orders were clear
although his mind wasn't. On stage, Glenn had transformed back to yesteryear, he performed a tune
written only days ago for a very special female friend. The club's audience had silenced as they listened.
Ever so soft was the tune, it's melody blanketed only by the piano. As his hands gently held the tarnished
instrument, his fingers carefully ran up and down it, holding and releasing the scales, deep inside, his heart
wept.

He'd seen enough now, his mind convinced it was time. He headed one last time to the bar and ordered a
drink, staring at those still looking up towards the stage, he swallowed the drink and smiled. Placing his
dark hat upon his head, he buttoned his jacket and headed for
the door, the soothing sounds of Glenn's sax continued in the background.

As the tune came to it's close, the audience jumped to it's feet applauding, their clapping now filled the
club's room and stage with repeating thunder. Glenn stood proud bowing and nodded his head. He turned
to the band, bowing to them as well, he headed off stage.
The musicians backstage greeted him as he walked towards them, his smile ten feet wide.
Onstage, the announcer cheerfully introduced the next artist, a since of pride too came over him. Tim
"Slide" Roles took the stage smiling and with one nod to the band behind him, broke into the famed tune
"Bitches Brew" by Miles.

As Slide played on, Glenn walked still proud of himself down the hall to the bathroom.
along the way, he wondered is she had heard him, wondered is she shown up. She kept so much from him,
a woman covered in mystery. The bathrooms of the Jazz Club or JC as the in crowd called it, left much to
be desired. It's walls were rather plain covered in old and in some place peeling wallpaper. The mirrors
were long since stained and there was even a crack in the upper corner that Glenn was told, was older then
he. He stood looking into the very same mirror that so many of his idols had once gazed, and considered
himself
privileged. He thought of the many people and faces that had gazed into this very mirror,
and wondered of the loves they too had as they prepared to go out before the crowds.
How many had felt, as he felt today? Inside his head he once again heard the piece he'd written for her.
Outside and behind the door and walls, he could hear Slide still going at it.
He listen for a moment and even grinned just a bit at Slide's small mistake, how many
had caught that, he thought.
 

The yellow cab had come to a screeching halt, hailed by a large and heavy hand.
It's driver had been waiting for two hours, sitting. He'd got the go ahead and raced over to
the club. As a large jazz hating man wearing a black hat got in, he said nothing, only glancing in his rear
view mirror and waited for the go ahead before pulling off, the screeching  wheels of the cab blending into
the city's soundscape.

As Glenn walked from the mens room to the dressing room backstage, he looked once again out front for
her. Through the smoky fog he saw many beautiful women, all dressed
very well. He saw the suave men of the club too, they were working their rounds looking for this Saturday
night's best. All local, all willing and all very smooth.
He turned his attention once again to the stage, Slide was really hamming it up. He'd taken a tune 14
minutes long and managed to stretch it another nine.
He smiled at Slide and turned away, popping his fingers alittle as he did. He had no way of contacting her,
never did. Kind as she was to him, she never even told him where she lived. He assumed the city, but
knew how that could be.

The waitress had come over to the table where the jazz hating man had once sat.
She reached over picking up the three dollar tip left for her. She picked up the glass and by accident,
dropped it on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and noticed a large sized black bag tucked underneath.
She reached for it and was hoping to find some identification
of the man who'd once sat there, when it went off.............
 

The blast came quickly as the bag detonated sending shards of glass and metal racing in every direction at
once. Those in the back of the club bared witness to the two seconds
of life they had over those up front. The exploding sound smashed ear drums and blew apart limbs and tore
both male and female bodies to shreds. Very little screaming came as many tried but failed to run for
cover, many saw their lives blown away faster then they had time to realize, what had happened. From
outside the club, those walking by had found
themselves blown across the sidewalk and some into the streets were on coming automobiles finished the
job. A few witness from across the street were killed instantly
when pieces of brick were sent sailing. One man lost his sight to flying glass.

By the time the explosion had finished, 167 people who'd spent Saturday night at the Jazz Club listening to
a local talent named Glenn Samperson, were dead. The young man who'd
played so wonderful a tune he'd written only days ago, was one of them.

To: Purple

From: Lo Ping

Subject: A little problem

Ax6 Encryption Enabled

    I didn’t think it would come to this my friend, but I want to send you to New York. I realize you’re semi retired these days, devoting yourself to more, shall we say “historical” pursuits but I know of know one better suited to aid me here.
    To give you some background, Mr. Felt and I have a little business arrangement that is, or should I say was, profitable to us both. In the course of his business dealings, Mr. Felt seems to have incurred the enmity of  a woman called Bladewalker. Bladewalker is good, in fact she is better then any of Felt’s operatives, or mine (who seem to have dropped off the face of the earth) for that matter.
    A sensible man, given these facts might very well have altered his business procedures. Perhaps even set up shop elsewhere, especially when his business, not to mention that of his partners, requires a good deal of discretion.
    Alas, I fear that Mr. Felt’s sense of proportion has been affected by the very brazenness of this Bladewalker. Indeed, she is so daring I begin to admire her myself. Admiration doesn’t disguise the fact that conditions in New York are reaching dangerous conditions. The war between Felt and Bladewalker has turned into such a godawful bloodbath that the papers, the public and even the police are beginning to take an interest in what’s happening down in the Village. In the latest “incident” 167 people were blown up in a jazz club.
    Those of us who have an interest in maintaining order wish you to go to the city and restore peace. We don't want you to kill anybody, necessarily. If you feel things can be handled peacefully, by all means choose that path. If, on the other hand, you feel that stern measures must be taken, my partners and I authorize you to use them. If you wish, after this is over, we will be grateful. Indeed, you could very well be a partner yourself when all this is over. Think it over, we will pay you five times your usual fee. The cancer in New York must not spread to Europe. The damage must be contained.. Think it over.
 
 

To: Lo Ping

From: Purple

Subject: New York City
 

Ax6 Encoding Enabled

    I hear it’s a hell of a town. I’m there.
 
 

    alChandler  looked around the small church with admiration. It was small, very small, but a gem none the less; Father Soerensen was quite flattered by the attention he was getting.
    “So, this was all part of one estate?” asked alChandler. “Oh yes,” replied the priest. “At one time the manor house, the village and this church were all part of the land ruled by the House of Juel. The estate itself is called Hverringe.”
    “Does the Juel family still own the estate?”
    “No, no, that ended long ago. I met the current owner once. He showed up for Christmas mass, to my surprise. I don’t remember his name, Chinese, I think it was, like its owner. I was delighted to meet him, he was quite charming. I just wish I could have told him about the connection this church has to his estate.”
    “I wanted to ask you about that myself,” said alChandler. “I’ve been doing some digging into local history, for my book, and I’ve heard rumors that the Lord’s of Hverringe had tunnels dug  throughout the province.”
    “That is an exaggeration,” laughed the priest. “The only tunnel is between this church and the manor house. It was dug in the 15th century. Apparently there was a Lord of Hverringe who used this church as a way of meeting a rather attractive young lady. Anyway, that’s the legend. At any rate I wanted to show the new owner when he came to Christmas service but he left before I could tell him.”
    “Is the tunnel in the cellar?”
    “Yes, it is, would you like to take a look?”
    “I’m not normally one for messing about in cellars, but for the sake of the book let’s go. Oh, how do you spell your name again?”

Urban Village VI
 
 

2:33am.

As he walked from the alleys of broken glass to the urinated hallways of the neighborhood, he's still
smiling. His orders carried out completely called for a little celebration. On the corner of 123rd. st. and
Lennox avenue now stood just the thing he needed. It had been just three days ago that he'd done what
many considered, the impossible. So far, nothing.
Not a peep or sighting. NYPD had decided to turn over the investigation to the Feds and allow them to
spend the remaining twelve weeks sorting out the bodies.
In the village, he was on his way, making a real name for himself.

He walked up to her not saying a word and handed her a fifty dollar bill. She smiled back and told him in a
voice too sweet for the souring form it came from, that if he wanted a real nice time, she'd need a little
more. Reaching up into the left corner pocket of his brown leather jacket, he pulled from it a cluster of bills
all rolled together and held with a rubber band, showing her he had more, much more.
She smiled back and asked if he was a cop, the look on his face alone was enough and she took him by hiss
large hand and led him to a motel just around the corner. As they walked,
the village sounds of junkies and sirens, voices filled with both anger and passion passed by.
Under the upcoming street light stood a figure of a woman, leaning against it's pole.
She'd been shot up with heroin and left along side the street to find her own way home.
He could smell her as they passed, the blending of filth and sweat. His new found lady
didn't seem to care or even notice, her mind was centered on entertaining him as best she could and along
the way kept promising him just that.
From around the corner came a black late model Lexus coupe, it's window were rolled up but that did very
little to stop the thumping music, being played within.
It slowed for a minute as if the driver knew the man or woman, he watched as the blacken
windows remained up and the drive moved on, the music now fading.

She started opening her mouth again allowing more of that sweet sound to flow out, from it came more
promising of a great time and the pleasures she'll bring him. He'd been drinking earlier, and probably gave
much of the credit to that. As they walked up the stairs of the motel, he could already see some of her
offerings on display, he like it.
Her tight fitted ever so short pink skirt was having trouble keeping most of her inside, the view turned him
on. He reached up with his large hand grabbing at it still smiling and for a moment she stood still, allowing
him.
She swatted away at his hand, suggesting that he wait, and after arriving at her room door
reached inside her small white purse, for he keys. He was ready for her, she could feel it.

He pushed himself against her as she opened the door and after removing the brown hat
he'd always wore, began touching her all over. The room was very dark save for small
watt bulb in the corner, by the nightstand. He could see she like it dark, better for her he guessed. She
removed her top and skirt, slinging them across the room. Her white body seem bronzed under the low
lighting, it added to him somehow. She spoke to him some more in that sweet but now low voice and
began running her hands through what was left of his brown hair. He was now exploring her with those
large hands, find her special places, she moaned a little letting him know he's done well.
He pushed her back onto the bed and after spreading her legs, forced himself inside her, a grunting sound
now came from him. Outside the window, an ambulance with a n old man praying inside for another day of
life, went screaming by it's red lights flashing along the walls of the dark room.
He continued humping her on her, his face now changing expressions. She kept the music of her sweet
voice in his ear now in form of a whisper, as she worked her hands up and down his back.
Turning her over, he pushed down on her back, arching her backside up and towards him.
He could now see her back and the few scars it contained. He removed his member from inside and her
and while still panting, reentered her. She moaned for more as he pushed on, trying to fill her. With a face
now filled with sweat, he pulled himself from her again, this time he looked down at the sweat droppings
now covering her back. A tattoo of a lion
had appeared on her right shoulder blade, it's head the size of a male fist. Poking his thumb in her rectum,
she yelled out. She turned, he eyes glaring and told him she'd love him there, but warned it would cost
more, her sweet voice was now begging him.
He smiled to himself and told her he'd pay while he entered, her voice now filling the room with pleasure
signals. The tightness alone was more then he could handle and after only a few strokes, he released
himself inside her, some of him now spilling out.
He dropped back on the bed, now looking up at the ceiling his heart still racing and closed his eyes. He
could feel her laying then moving towards him. She placed her head on his chest and lied to him about
being the best she'd ever had, her nails were scraping slightly
across his chest.
Outside the window he could hear two men walking by. One had been complaining about some money he'd
lost while the other advised him to take action.

His heart had returned to normal and he'd grown tired of his company. He pushed her off, telling her to get
him a drink. He wanted a beer and asked if she had one in the little fridge
in the corner. She told him no but that she could get him one from down the hall. He reached in his jacket
and handed her some money, which included her fee. She picked up her clothes and after getting half
dressed, grabbed the money. She looked at it briefly before sticking it in her purse. She promised him
another round when she got back, if he wanted and closed the door behind her, allowing the darkness to
return. He waved his large hand at her, informing her to just bring back some beer and dropped back on
the bed.

He could hear her saying "OK" to him and walking down the hallway. He listened as she told a neighbor
she'd be right back. Outside the window, a motorcycle with screeching wheels sped off.

Ten minutes later, he could hear her returning, the sound of keys dangling just outside.
As the door opened, he reached out his large hand for a beer, when it didn't come he opened his eyes and
was about to curse her when the shadowed figure appeared.
He tried to focus upon it and was surprised to hear the sweet voice he's spent the last
hour or so with, had changed. The voice he now heard was no longer sweet, the voice was
now voided of warmth completely. As the form stood in front of the door, he could see
it had changed. This female form was taller, he turned towards the small watt bulb on the nightstand,
wishing for more light. The form now closed the door.

An extension appeared from the shadowed female form, and after raising it, it came down.
The edged point of the crowbar was the first to greet him in the chest, he answered in a scream as his
chest exploded in pain. A burst of fresh warm blood splashed on his face as he tried to get up. The second
blow came right afterwards again in the same spot, the pain now rushed upwards racing to his nervous
system shutting off communication to the brain.
He could no longer feel anything, could no longer move. His mind had forcefully shut out everything except
her, the shadowy figure now having her way with him. Deep inside what was left of his mind......he
continued to scream.

The NYPD would arrive later to find the him still laying on the bed, his body now a mound of matted flesh
and blood. It would be weeks before test of any kind could reveal
who he was. Outside the window, a visibly shaking woman was trying to explain.

It was 2:00AM and alChandler was in a tunnel that led to Hverringe. He’d been able to get into the church without disturbing Father Soerensen, This was a good thing. In order to practice the 7th Tantric meditation, you had to be pure. alChandler didn’t know if he qualified as pure but he figured that the murder of a priest would definitely impact him negatively on the ol’ pure-o-meter.

As he made his way through the tunnel, alChandler remembered the last time he faced Lo Ping. It had been in Shanghai. He and Duke were facing him, Duke raised his gun, smiled (a rare thing for Duke) and then…

They were somewhere else. Duke was still firing his gun at Lo Ping but nothing was happening. Lo Ping was saying, “of course it seems cheesy now but wearing your holosuits, the effect will be amazing.”

alChandler found himself saying, “yeah, Red Ranger and I had a trial workout in the arena this morning. It was the most amazing thing I ever saw. Half the time we were to impressed with the surrounding to kill each other.”

“Good,” said Duke, “if I’m going to lend my name to something, I want only the best.”

At the back of his mind, alChandler was screaming. What the fuck was going on here? Why am I saying such things?

As if he knew what alChandler was thinking, Lo ping turned to him and said, “I am a Buddhist, alChandler. I believe that this world truly is Maya, illusion. Those of us who can practice the 6th Tantric meditation can move between the veils of Maya, can move between the worlds, each one as impermanent as a drop of dew on a rose. The strong can take control, the weak, well, they’re just along for the ride.”

Duke smiled,  “nice speech, Master Po, but you were going to show us the chain gun.”

“Of course, how rude of me. It’s in this closet.” Lo Ping went to the back of his office, opened a door and went into a large walk in closet…

Reality warped and alChandler was back in Shanghai with Duke. Duke looked, stunned, almost frightened. alChandler looked at Duke and pointed at Lo Ping. Duke nodded pointed his gun at Lo Ping. Lo Ping looked confused and said, “Duke, what the hell is going on here? I…”

He never finished. Duke blew the top of his skull off for him.

It took alChandler a long time but he finally figured it out. Lo Ping did indeed, but it was Lo Ping, owner and manager of the Mays Landing Duke Nukem league who died that night. His Lo Ping switched places with him. Duke had killed an innocent man (not for the first time, of course).

By the time alChandler came to the heavy door that opened up into Hverringe he was deep into the 7th meditation. Virtually on autopilot, he opened the door, took out the guard at the top of the stairs and then took out the other seven guards that stood between him and Lo Ping’s bedroom. He opened the door to the bedroom. Lo Ping was sitting up in bed smiling.

“I see you’ve been busy, alChandler. The last time you faced me, flight was a key concern. Now, however, I’ve long prepared for your coming. You, my friend, are dead.”

And reality warped. He was back in Lo Ping’s high tech office, the Home of the Duke Nukem League (whatever the hell that was). Lo Ping came out of the closet and had a massive machine gun in his hand. “Behold the chaingun,” he said. “Want to see how it works?” He then pointed it at alChandler. “It’s real you know. Those of us who’ve mastered the 6th level can bring objects from one of Maya’s veils to another.”

“Yeah,” said alChandler. “You can bring shit over on the 7th level too.” He then fired his gun and blew a rather large hole in Lo Ping’s chest. As Lo Ping crumpled, Duke shouted, alChandler, what the fuck are you doing!”

Reality warped one last time.

alChandler was back in the master bedroom of Hverringe. Lo Ping’s corpse was staining the bedsheets.

alChandler headed back down to the basement, taking time along the way to liberate a rather fine bottle of Burgundy.
 

Postscript

It was 12/30/1999. alChandler, Mrs. Silverman and Joey Fingers were comparing notes.

“So, when are you going to waste Bladewalker?”

“I’m not, Joey”

“But goddamnit, Caveman was your friend, and a good man too.”

“Cavem…John, I should say, was a good man. He was also foolish, going up against someone way out of his league. Probably out of my league too, if you want the truth.”

“Maybe alChandler. But together we could take her down.”

“Take her down, Joey? You don’t get it do you? Somebody took her down long before we came along. I don’t know what happened or who did it but in her own way she’s as dead as Caveman.”

At that point, Mrs. Silverman got up and poured herself another cognac. “So, we’re just going to do nothing”, said Joey.

Mrs. Silverman looked at Joey and smiled sadly. “Of course we’re going to do something,” she said, "we’re going to let the dead bury the dead.”

Nobody said anything else for a long time.

                                Here ends alChandler's involvement in what have come to be known as:

                                                             The Secret Wars

Urban Village VII
 
 

The only way into the office had been blocked off, sealed from the inside.
Apart from the window over looking the vast empire of corporate stocks, bonds and heavy trading, the building was a solid
block of mass. It's size alone every bit as menacing at the man inside, or so many had been led to believe.

It had been more the several weeks of terror blanketing the urban village, the countless number of bodies piling up,
alarming. NYPD had nothing to go on and by now had also failed to keep the mystery surrounding the killer or killers a
secret. An insider at the precinct had leaked to a girlfriend of his the happenings going on and she in turned to another, the
trap had been set and within hours, the press was all over it. by now every every half ass journalist from the "Star Ledger"
to "The Times" were busy working overtime building their side of a yet still unknown story.
Many were asking question and because there were no real answers, were now making up ones their own. One fact
remained clear, someone was killing thug throughout the urban village faster then the local authorities could discover the
bodies. The streets inside the village had never seemed so quiet. Rumors had begun that the person doing the killing
wasn't even even real, that he or in some she, was a ghost.
Stories were spun that it was an evil spirit, from one long gone, who'd come back for revenge. One writer had gone so far
as to create this story solely by memory of his own grandfather, who 28 years ago was shot and killed along these very
same docks.

All along the streets, they waited. Some had come together for the first time, buried their differences for the time being, just
so that they could find her or it. The mayor and townsmen wanted nothing to do with this. They're involvement was
minimum, this they made very clear to the press and media now building. They only wanted this matter resolved as quickly
as possible, and one was quoted as saying "By any means". One senator of the state, moved his family out of New York
altogether. He said he wouldn't return until this matter was over. The press had the spark they now needed, soon there
would be fire.
NYPD had put every working officer in the streets, looking. Some had reported that secret bets were being placed by some
officers, as to who'd get them first. It seemed every bit as confusing to all, half believed it was one man doing it all, others
felt it could only be her. The dealings and exchanges within the dock, had almost come to a complete halt, very few wanted
to take their chances, far too many had been killed trying.
 

He now stood facing the window viewing the world he helped build. His thoughts were on the money he had made, or the
places he'd been. He didn't concern himself with the millions he was now losing, slipping through his hands. His thoughts
were of nothing but her. He knew it was her, could feel it. She'd become his cancer, crawling slowly through
his body and dissolving him from the inside. As much as he tried to forget her, he couldn't.
How could one so small, so meaningless in the scheme of this business, mean so much now? He'd spent most of his life
building this empire, now carrying his family name.
His father had died believing in him. He trusted no one.
Adams Felt's empire was now sitting on a pile of wet mud, formed by her.
How could he had been so wrong about her? He thought. After all he tried. One woman had taken everything he'd been
and in a little over 16 months, hand managed to shut a billion dollar operation down.
"Fucking thugs were of no use" he thought. "She's burying those motherfuckers, trained killers and she's sending them to
the morgue!" his thoughts were now ringing loud.
He could now look below and see the city's lights coming on. It was dusk now, and from the city just across the river, she
stood. She would be coming for him soon.

The village was deserted save for the many thugs dressed in their best and waiting.
Some had gone as far as to put on their best suit for this very occasion, some did to show off, others thought that if you
were going to get it, better to get it in style. The young one seems more confident then the older ones. Seems that like any
other business, the long timers enjoyed being just that. The various gangs, that had made packs to kill each other on site,
found themselves standing across one and other, tonight working together. No ne was sure why so much attention had
been paid for tonight, no one really knew how anyone had a clue about when or how she would strike. They'd done this
many times before in the last few months, and in each event , shot blanks. Since no one really knew who it was, how was it
that they'd know she'd strike tonight, and where?
These were just some of the questions now forming inside their criminal minds.
Outside the village, the police in unmarked vehicles waited. "This killer has lead us all on a wild goose chase several times
before, what the fuck makes them think, this killer will strike tonight?" He said.  His partner of seven years turned to him,
humped his shoulders and said. "What the fuck do you want from me?" I'm sitting in this cold car with you aren't I?" "Yea, I
guess you are." he replied. "It's just that for weeks now nothing's happen, I'm wondering why the big fuss?"
He turned to his partner, almost not believing what he'd just heard. "What the fuck is inside your head man, shit for brains
you have." Who do you think killed those four dealers two weeks ago?" And what about the Robert Haines murder?" Has
sawdust covered that portion of your brain as well? He sat looking at his partner, almost sorry instantly having said that.
Officer William Tuga wasn't the smartest cop on the beat, but what he did have was an
insight into human behavior. His knowledge on this matter had slipped past every cop in the precinct and most of those
who knew him. Tonight however he felt nothing, they'd been giving the slip, and could now feel it.
 

As he stood at the large triple pane window, his eyes fixed and gazed, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. The
city's lights were almost flickering in the distance, more so then the stars just above them. To the right, a small black
helicopter, raced passed. The
search lights had caught the side window, he ducked just in time.
To the pilot, he would have seen the steamed imprint of an image left by a man breathing hard with fear behind the
window. He sat now his heart racing and was now shaking
a little. His police radio monitoring the city, had produced nothing but bad news.
 

Three blocks from the docks, stood Andrew Drutter. Born into a life of crime, he was one of many who honestly enjoyed his
job. He'd spent most of his younger years in and out of trouble, now he was being paid to make it. His orders were clear, to
hang back from the proposed "Hot Spot" his job was to air out, the ones responsible for killing four of his friends. Tonight,
he was feeling good, maybe too good. The crisp night air had managed to stir up a nerve of excitement in him, he wasn't
jumpy, only anxious. Fear had never found him. He was now standing along side a small crack house. What few window it
had were broken. Inside, it's users burned fire to keep warm. An elderly looking woman humped over, was dressed in old
clothing. She walked past then stopped turning and extending
her hand. The woman was asking for some spare change. Andrew turned to look around before smacking her hand away.
Had he paid more attention, he would have noticed the youthful fingers. "Get the fuck away from me you old bitch!" he
shouted and began laughing in her face. It was then that he could just make out that she wasn't old at all, and was just
about to say so when a sharp sting of steel, slit through what was once his throat.
He dropped to the cold hard ground, cursing not only her, but himself. She backed into the shadows.
 

As they walked towards the door numbered 237, they readied their weapons. Getting passed security was nothing now,
New York's finest had taken care of that. It was almost
a joy sense of feeling when dirt worked with dirt, there's simply no room for the often wired red tape garbage that came
with going by the book, doing the right thing. These along with many other thoughts crossed Dirk Witter's mind as he
motioned to the other, to knock. Troy Collins had spent four years in the state pen serving time for B&E he and his
girlfriend then had did for kicks. With his never end need for cash and her never ending itch for crazy sex, the two shared
some crazy times. She'd come up with this idea one day to break into a house, steal what money they could and fuck in the
bed or the owner.
The very next day, they tried it. It turned her on something fierce and set the wheels in motion to continue. All was well until
they tried it on the house of a friend very close to the mayor,, seems time was always unkind to those things we love the
most. It took them less then three months to send him up the river and she to the streets. He thought about her now as he
knocked again, thought about how they'd got in those doors prying loose the knobs with his pocket knife. He wondered
where she'd gone. She was so crazy back then he thought.
The fourth knock produced nothing and as he turned to Dirk, he decided to kick it in.
As the door slammed open, the two stood staring into a hallow room. The curtains and a small upon a night stand was all
that remained, the lamp now glowing orange.
Dirk walked over to the night stand where there was a note visibly attached. Picking it up, he leaned towards the light to
read:
BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, YOU'LL ALREADY BE DEAD!
He blinked twice not believing what he read and turned to Troy, it was the last image he'd ever see. The three shots came
quickly behind each other, breaking the glass window, then his skull. Blood sprayed the face of Troy Collins quicker then
he could yell out. His instinct was to turn and run for the door, he tried but not before seeing most of his own insides
sprayed upon it. As he stood in his final seconds in front of the now red door, the sounds of a busy city night, now played
his ending theme music.

The chirping sound of his cellphone broke the silence he now found himself surrounded in.
Checking the door which was still bolted shut, he reached for the phone. While still holding tightly to the weapon he now
called his best friend, he spoke "Hello".
The voice on the other end brought more bad news to an already bad situation.
"Sir we fucked up, she's on to us." All four hits went shitty and we're down another six."
"I've tried to check in on Dirk hoping he'd got something, but found them wheeling him and Troy out of her building. This
shit is gone fucked now sir. I'm contacting Mrs. Silverman to inform her of this. She's not going to be happy"
The voice waited for a response, waited for some sign that his boss heard and understood,
he waited for acceptance of his message, he got none. The phone clicked dead.

Adams Felt folded the phone and thought about placing it back in his suit jacket. He thought for a moment then dropped it
on the floor, he knew he would no longer need it.
 

She placed her weapon neatly inside it's leather case. She emptied the boxes of ammo and attached the unused shell to
her belt and strap. Her heart was racing now, beating quickly but not out of control. The dark alleyway provided plenty of
darken shadows in which to hide.
 

There was a click followed by a buzzing sound and then the starting sound of an electronic
printer. The printer's owner had just come from the shower and was now drying off, when she read the news:

Ax6encoded
From: Felt Corp
To: Mrs. S

I'M SORRY TO INFORM YOU OF THE MESSAGE, IT SEEMS OUR PROBLEM IS STILL VERY MUCH WITH US.
BLADEWALKER HAS MANAGED TO CAUSE SO MUCH ATTENTION HERE, THAT THE LOCALS HAVE JOINED IN. I
CAN'T GIVE YOU A BODY COUNT, CURRENTLY WE'RE FINDING THEM ALL OVER. SHE'S
WAGED HER OWN PRIVATE WAR NOW AND IS ATTACKING US AT RANDOM. I'VE TRIED CONTACTING MR.FELT
WHO UPON HEARING OF THE NEW, HUNG UP. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE IS, BUT WOULD ASSUME
SOMEWHERE IN THE BUILDING. I CAN ONLY HOPE FOR HIS SAFETY AND NOW YOURS.
I'D ADVISE YOU TO REMAIN THERE IN EUROPE UNTIL THIS MATTER IS RESOLVED............End Transmission.

She finished drying herself and began quickly thinking of her options, before a voice from behind her, motioned her back to
the bedroom. Tonight it would take more then the pleasures of a man to ease her soul. There was a flight leaving for New
York soon, she decided it would be best to be on it.

flashing red lights followed behind one and other as they made their way out of the village and uptown. Manhattan Medical
was having a real Friday night special. Between the thugs and the police officers, the victims of common crimes, didn't
have a chance for treatment. The mayor had privately ordered the center to assist village victims first. The only real
problem with this order however was that there were no survivors. Every cop and thug from the surrounding village area,
were DOA. Most were found so badly damaged, their bodies were almost unrecognizable.
The center's morgue was long since filled  and medic's were now forced to leave the bodies downstairs in the basement.
Families of the victims were now piling in, they're anger and grief running closely together. down the hall, a small boy
waited with his mother
for news of a father he never really knew.

The docks were crawling with thugs, running everywhere.
Many had left the street and voice comments about leaving the business as well, others took what they believed to be a
golden opportunity, to settle a few scores with one and other. When the smoke cleared, they could always say she did it.
Rick Thomas had decided just that. He had a thing for Wayne Wright from a year ago and decided tonight he would settle
it. Wayne had fucked around with a girlfriend of his, then jokingly threw it back in his face. Tonight would be payback time.
With all the distractions going on over this fictional villain, all he needed was a little time alone. Wayne Wright known as
"Temper" had been assigned to keep look out on the West side of the docks. Although the latest string of events had
everyone on edge, the bosses who's skipped town still wanted the shit they ordered, picked up. as far as they were
concerned it would be business as usual, despite this Bladewalking bitch.
Rick had spotted Temper and followed him down the stairs leading to a room hidden just under one of the warehouse
sheds. From there anyone could spot anyone or anything leaving the warehouse. It also gave a great view of the West and
parts of the Eastside docks. The real problem was there was only one way out.
On this the craziest night of the year, Rick trailed behind. Rage made it's way to the surface as he attached the silencer
and checked one last time over his shoulder. Temper
had found himself a little stool and had propped it against the window. He'd sat back and was now thumbing his way
through a Playboy Magazine left behind. So involved in it was he, that he failed to hear let alone see rick who'd removed
his shoes and walked quietly behind him. Wayne Wright, who'd found himself nicknamed "Temper" because he had on,
had no time to conjure it, the muffled sound came quicker then he had time to think.
"Temper?" Rick said in a low voice, not anymore. He smiled to himself, pleased with his actions and turned to leave. A
shadow of a woman standing all of 5 foot 6 inches was the
first and last glimpse he'd ever see of a figure he once called fiction.

The large ship carrying a cargo of imported clothing and a half ton of cocaine, sounded it's final approach whistle before
heading to port. Only the captain and four other, were aware of the extra load on board. Paid well for their chances, they
carefully docked the ship.
As the captain gave the final word across the speaker system, few would have guessed the
cause of the sudden break in his announcement, as it quickly ended. The microphone would only click once as he dropped
to the floor dead, the ship now set on fire. As the crew rushed to cover the quickly building blaze, popping sound of a
strange weapon welcomed them to the village. Three on three shots continued, coming from a small room hidden just
below a warehouse shed, they never had a chance. She watched as they threw
themselves to the waters below, even if they made it to the surface, she'd be waiting.
No one came.

The sirens echoed through the streets as the nearby car from four different districts, closed in at the docks. The
screeching sound of rubber tires and the opening of  car doors and
barking K9s signaled the arrival of NYPD. They're orders simple, shoot on command.
They'd find themselves waiting for the one called Bladewalker, only problem is, she'd left only moment s ago. The ship
ignited once more bursting into an arc of flames. The police was hopeless and forced to listen to the remaining crew
member's screams.
 

On 67th and Vine, a white BMW sat parked. It's driver now positioned, readied her weapons once more and started the
engine. She paused to inhale, before throwing the vehicle in first and hitting the pedal. This would be her last drive in this
car.
She sat at the light and watched as cop cars raced past, their sirens screaming as they blocked off traffic. The drivers
were wide eyed and whisking out of control. Making a turn on 73rd Street she headed out of town and towards the bridge.
the city's bright lights were now dancing on the hood of the car as she made he way into New Jersey. A steady rage inside
continue to build.
the stretch of road leading towards the large building, was brightly lit. There were few cars parked just outside the
employee parking lot, she was going to find company here.
She parked the car and sat still for a moment thinking. Inside she counted the cars and the possible amount they could
hold. High above, an office light flickered.

The engine raced once more as she slammed the gearbox into first, the rear wheels now spinning. white smoke now
poured from behind as she headed down the roadway leading towards the building's entrance. White round lights formed
streams atop the hood of the car as she switched from second to third gear. She readied herself.
From high above, he watched in horror as he knew what was next. the car slammed into large plated door leading into the
lobby. Glass splattered in all directions as she leaped
from the car seconds before it exploded. Several guards raced towards the now flaming automobile, they're weapons
drawn. The sounds of an HMG echoed through the flames as she picked them off one by one, stopping only to reload. a
shot came from just above her as she ducked in time, to see someone above. He'd missed her because of the flames, and
was now aiming once more.
two more shots came  as she dove behind the lobby counter. Reaching behind, she removed a small grenade launcher
and popped one shot just over her shoulder before making a quick dash for the elevator. One final word came from the
assailant. the explosion sent a thundering sound throughout the lower building shattering windows and one or two wooden
doors. She didn't have much time, the police were already coming.

He couldn't see anything, but he knew. He could feel her, she was real and was now coming. The cellphone rang one final
time, it would be warning him of something he already knew. He reached over checking the weapon and trying to decide
what to do next.
He was thinking of maybe hiding in the closet and was about to do just that when the solid
wooden door to his office exploded. The blast blew him against the wall by the window, his weapon flew from his hand. He
tried to gather his thoughts and quickly focus, tried reaching for the weapon but not before seeing her now entering the
room, her shadowed frame moving quickly. He turned and winced in pain, still reaching reaching for the gun.
His fingers were only inches away before they felt the weight of her black leather boots. she kicked the gun away, before
kicking him in the face. She turned him over allowing him to see her. She stood staring down on him, looking at his
overweight form she spoke:
"Do you know who I am?" his breathing deepen and his forehead was now coated in sweat and shavings of wood. He
nodded uncontrollably, begging for mercy at the same time.
"Then you know why I'm here" she said. his eyes widen as he cried out the words
"I'm sorry!!" she looked down on him in distaste before replying "I'm not"
She removed the HMG from over her shoulder, locking on the safety, she raised it and brought the back of the weapon
down upon his skull, several times crushing it. She removed three shells from the casing and lodged them in his mouth.
The flashing lights below told her it was time to go.
 
 

as the morning came, the police and firefighter continued mopping up the mess caused by Bladewalker. With still so little
know outside of a name, police had gotten no further in finding out who she was, or how one woman could have killed so
many thugs and officers
of the Urban Village. The investigation continued.

By early afternoon, Mrs. Silverman had arrived in New York's JFK and after checking in from her flight, had her driver take
her to her other apartment on 68th Street. Even as she walked into the lobby of the building, the news was everywhere.
Adams Felt wealthy billionaire found beaten to death in his office building. the news castor tried to describe the gruesome
finding, after police arrived on the scene, triggered by an accident caused by a vehicle hitting the walkway entrance to the
building. Sources say they're not sure if the accident and the apparent homicide are related.
walking from the elevator to her room, she noticed her hands shaking a bit as she reached
for her keys. She opened the door to her apartment to find a woman standing near the window, behind her couch, the
woman was now facing her. She never seen the woman before, but knew somehow who she was. She dropped her keys
and pocketbook while slowly closing the door behind her.
The two stood in silence before the woman motioned her to sit. She thought of yelling out,
screaming as loud as she could in hopes of attracting someone before it was too late.
She wanted to, wanted to do just that, but found she couldn't. All she could do was attempt
some quiet form of reasoning. "I assume your the one, the police are looking for?"
she said. Her voice now hallow and empty, strained of every emotion but fear.
The woman near the widow nodded her head slowly, never taking her eyes off her.
"So I guess your here to kill me as well then aren't you?"
 The figure by the window motioned her again to sit and was now moving towards her.
She reached around trying to feel for the chair, not wanting to look away and sat down.
Her shaking had now spread to her arms and legs as well. As the woman walked towards
her, she could see the black blood stained boots, see tried to look away knowing it must have been Felt's. "That fat
bastard, bled like a pig I bet" she said to herself, trying to regain some control of her thoughts. She tried to muster up some
small amount of courage, but found very little to spare. She decided to reason instead.
"Look, I'm sorry for your friends, but I had nothing to do with any of it." She could see the rage heighten in the woman's
eyes and would have given her life to be able to retract those words, to be allowed to pull them back into her mouth and
keep them there. "BITCH!" the woman now shouted, "YOU HAD EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT!!"
She tried tried to lean back into the chair, she wanted it to fold in on her, to take her away
from here, back to Europe if possible. she found she couldn't move, couldn't even think.
It was as if her mind and body had decided to stage a protest despite the now possible endangerment.
The woman reached up clutching her face and now held a straight razor to it, Mrs. Silverman who owned several homes
world wide, three Bentleys and a net worth of 800 million dollars, tried everything she could to keep from urinating on
herself.
She could now feel the icy cold blade of steel against her face.
The woman looked her straight in the eye before pulling back from her. She sat there thinking that there was some form of
hope, that she'd changed her mind. She had readied
the words "Thank you" before she felt the warm trickle of blood now pouring down the side of her face. She looked at it
and stared to scream before the clamping of a leather glove covered her mouth. The woman continued slashing away at
her face and throat, blood racing from the gapping wounds, inside her screaming thoughts she continued
to beg for mercy, four minutes later she got it.
 
 

As the one called Bladewalker headed from the building dressed in clean clothing,
her mind wondered from a past of hatred and hurt, her thoughts of the past began to quickly
fade. She thought not of the crimes or the faces, but the warm smiles of her sister and the life they once had. As the rain
now began to fall from the darken clouds above, as did the tears from her eyes..........
 

                                              T   H   E        E   N   D
 

Secret files/ Urban Village
By Kenneth Burch and Kevin Meehan

For those who have forgotten the story, please feel to stop past my friend Kevin's
Webpage. There you'll find the complete story leading up to this the end of the series.
Thank you so much for hanging in there with me..........KB