Post by liquidsword34 on Aug 26, 2012 23:09:44 GMT -5
All-Star Punisher Noir #2
First Week In Hell Part 1
First Week In Hell Part 1
10:00PM, January 28th, 1946
Manhattan, New York
It'd been a week since Frank Castle came home to find his wife and son gunned down in his living room by a Gnucci crime family hitman, causing Frank to declare war on the Gnnuci family. Despite this Frank had yet to strike and instead chose to sit back and wait, letting him plan his attack. After taking a leave of absence from the NYPD Frank enlisted Micro to help him, which Micro was more than willing to do, having seen the Gnnuci family's rise to power over the course of the previous years. From there it was simply a few files destroyed, a few orders misplaced, and within the week Frank had a riverside warehouse with enough fire power to arm a small militia.
"Are you sure you want to do it this way, Frank?" Micro asked as the two surveyed their haul of weapons and ammo. It was easy enough for Micro to acquire the equipment: Items would get seized by the NYPD and put in lock up. Micro simply had to walk in, destroy or falsify the ticket and take whatever he wanted back to Frank. Same for the warehouse and automobiles. The warehouse was down by the docks and just big enough for what Frank needed. Hundreds of different weapons were laid out on white sheets placed down on the floor and a sedan was parked by the garage door.
"I've already gone outside the law, Micro. Any case we can pull together will get thrown out anyway since every judge in this damn country is on Ma Gunnici's Christmas card list. This is the only way. Plus it's not like they can run to the police and say I'm after them, all the money in the world can't get the NYPD to hand in one of their own."
"So where are you starting?" Micro asked while examining a sniper rifle he had brought in hours before.
"The bottom. The whole Gnucci family is scum, from that runt Bobby to Ma herself. I have leave for another week and I'll be working every night. That should give me enough time to get them all". Frank looked over to Micro, who was still knelt on the unwashed floor surveying the guns with a mix of fear and pride. "You know you don't have to be a part of this, Micro? It's my war, not anybody else's".
Micro shook his head angrily, dropping the rifle. "I'm a cop, Frank. Stopping people like the Gnnuci's IS my war. It should've been the whole departments war, and if you're the only one willing to fight it god help me I'll give you all the assistance I can".
Frank smiled for what must have been the first time all week. "Thanks Micro". Frank wore a light brown detectives style long coat over a shirt and tie with suspenders, along with simple black pants and his police issue boots. To hide his identity Frank also wore a black ski mask with a menacing white skull sown on it. As he walked toward his car, Frank grabbed the weapons he'd use for that nights work: A large combat knife and a Browning Auto-5 shotgun. Frank loved the Browning because unlike other shotguns it was semi-automatic, allowing for easy room clearance in close quarters. Frank enjoyed life's small pleasures.
---
11:45PM, January 28th, 1946
Mid-Town Manhattan, New York
Bobby Gnucci barely managed to stumble down the side walk without tripping over and slamming face first into one of the many puddles on the side walk. The heavens had opened and launched a torrent of rain down just as Bobby was getting ready to make his way back to the Gnucci mansion. He was practically dragging a girl of no more than fifteen by her dress, ignoring that she was having even more difficulty walking than him. With Bobby were four of his "friends", or more accurately, hired muscle Ma Gnucci had paid to hang around with and protect her detestable son. Most people were already off the streets due to the rain with only a few bums or wanderers witnessing Bobby Gnucci in the flesh. Dirt collected in the small rivers of rain water which ran down the streets and those same puddles reflected the bright lights from the many billboards high above the group.
"Just...just another block doll face...then my driver'll..take us to...to the mansion" gasped Bobby. The short walk from the nightclub through mid-town had been more than enough to tire out the chubby mobster, not even mentioning the rain water soaking into his oversized tweed jacket.
Eventually the group arrived at the street corner where Bobby's driver would pick him and his "date" up to find the car wasn't waiting for them as expected Reluctantly the group huddled together under a street light, waiting patiently for Bobby's car. Of course it would never arrive, Bobby's driver had been knocked out, tied up and stashed in the trunk of the car by Frank half an hour earlier. By the time he got free, The Punisher would have been and gone.
"I'm just going to take a leak boss" one of the goons growled while walking down into an alleyway just across the street from Bobby and the other goons, whistling as he went. The hired muscle hugged the wall to hide from the rain until he reached the end of the alley, at which point he unzipped his pants after some drunk fumbling with the zipper. The stench of filth stung the man's nostrils as rats circled his feet. Through the rain and his whistling, the goon couldn't hear the footsteps behind him. The Punisher grabbed the thug around the throat and jammed his combat knife into the man's gut repeatedly and viciously, making sure to twist the knife every time it went in. Frank pressed a gloved hand against the thugs mouth to prevent him calling for help and kept stabbing until his victims movement stopped...
---
"Ah, poor technique Frank" Fantomex joked while examining the dead body. "You've got sloppy". Frank didn't reply to the Frenchman and instead put his knife back into his belt. Fantomex wore a long white coat which flowed gracefully down to the ground. A white mask hid the assassins face, with small snake like slits for his eyes. In each hand Fantomex held a pistol powerful enough to dent a tank, custom made before the war. Under the clear nights sky Fantomex was difficult to see, like his coat was camouflaged to mix in with the night despite its colour. "Not to worry however. We have many more men to kill!" Fantomex called while striding out of the alleyway...
---
Frank struggled to keep his footing. Was he imagining things? Having flashbacks? He put the thoughts out his mind while crouching down and edging to the end of the alley behind a pair of trash cans. Frank's Auto-5 was propped against the wall in a golf club bag to keep it dry while Frank surveyed the scene. The three remaining thugs were leant against a closed store front using the overhang to shield themselves from the rain while Bobby attempted to shift the barely standing girl into shelter. Frank took his time unzipping his bag and pulling out his shotgun, using the parked cars and trash cans to keep hidden...
---
"Remember, no survivors" Frank growled. A trio of German soldiers were stood smoking, unaware of Frank and Fantomex's position just across the street. Their short red faced sergeant was holding his pistol to the face of an American soldier.
"We know you Americans have troops deployed nearby. Tell us their position, and we can end this quickly" the sergeant sneered through pursed lips, like every word was poison on the tounge. The American soldiers uniform was ripped and torn and he had clear signs of torture, both physical and mental. One of his ears was missing and his eyes seemed distant and vacant, but Frank could tell he still had some fight in him...
---
Frank almost dropped his shotgun as he snapped back to reality. He hadn't slept in days, but that'd never made him hallucinate before. Frank climbed to his feet and took a deep breath. "It's 1946, I'm in Manhattan, New York about to avenge my family's death" Frank whispered to reassure himself. "I am The Punisher".
"Did you guys hear something?" one of the goons asked the other two while lighting up a cigar.
"Other than the boss trying to..."
The mobster was cut off by a shotgun blast hitting him in the chest, removing his guts from his belly and splashing them across the store front like a horrifying piece of graffiti art. Before the dead man's two companions could even try reaching for their guns Frank had fired off fpur more shots in rapid succession, making sure they stayed down. Frank turned to Bobby Gnucci, his face as hard to read and blank as ever. Frank had planned and prepared to chase Bobby down, which wouldn't be difficult given that Bobby had only passed high school gym after a handwritten death threat from his mother. What Frank hadn't prepared for was Bobby roughly grabbing a drugged out teenager and holding her up as a shield, a razorblade to her chin.
"Drop the shotgun skull face!" Bobby called over.
---
"The man is serving his country and he knows the risks" Fantomex told Frank while aiming his pistols up at the German sergeant.
"Fantomex, I will not shoot at an American soldier, do you understand me?" Frank replied. Frank and the sergeant stared each other down, neither showing a trace of fear. "DO NOT SHOOT!"
"We're not a run of the mill squad, Castle. I don't think there's much stopping me from simply blowing away our German friend here".
---
Frank knew he had no shots left in his shotgun. What he wasn't sure of was whether Bobby knew that. If Bobby realized that Frank's gun was empty he'd be able to use the girl as a bargaining chip or tool in some way. Silently Frank cursed himself for not bringing a side arm. Real or not Fantomex was right; he had got sloppy.
"Who are yah? You Castle?" growled Bobby while gently sliding the blade across the girls chin.
"Let the girl go Bobby, and I'll make it easy for you. This is your first and last warning".
"That didn't answer my question you rat bastard!" Bobby snarled back mockingly. Frank stood silently, still aiming at Bobby. "Oh, the silent type? Well if I can't loosen your tongue, how about this little bitches?" Bobby put his knife up to the girls mouth and slid it across her top lip, drawing blood. Either Bobby knew Frank was all out, or he was stupid enough to try and anger a killer with a shotgun. Most likely the latter, Frank decided.
"I warned you" Frank roared while tossing his shotgun towards Bobby. As expected it distracted the runt, at least long enough for Frank to dive in towards him, knife out. With his right hand Frank grabbed Bobby's blade and pulled it from the girls face. With his left hand Frank plunged his own knife into Bobby's shoulder, forcing him to release the girl and fall backwards. From there it was as simple as any fight Frank had been in. Bobby panicked and tried climbing to his feet too fast, giving Frank time to boot him square in the jaw and knock a few teeth loose. "You going to come quietly?" Frank asked Bobby while grabbing him by the shirt.
"Y...yes" Bobby trembled. Despite his family name and insistence otherwise, Bobby had never been cut out for the family business. Fighting somebody the same size or bigger than him was strange and hard to grasp for him.
"Good". Frank gave Bobby a head butt to the face before turning to the girl who was sat silently on the side walk. He couldn't exactly stop to take her home, but he wasn't sure how much she knew. Had she taken in that Bobby called him "Castle" or not? After a few seconds Frank's decision was made for him as he heard a police siren in the distance. With both hands Frank lugged Bobby's body to the trunk of his car, leaving the girl for the cops to find. His night was just beginning.
---
Frank sat next to the dead soldier, holding his dog tags. A volley of rounds had ripped through the poor man's chest on route to the German behind him, courtesy of Fantomex. His ribs had been clean ripped in half by the shots and a steady steam of blood was still dripping from the wounds. Frank didn't know the soldier, but it didn't matter. They were both good men fighting for a good cause. A few seconds of mourning was all Frank got before Fantomex tapped him on the shoulder, telling him to move out. Frank put the dog tags back on the soldier and covered up the body with a drape he'd found in a nearby ruined home. Frank would've preferred to bury the body but he just didn't have time. He never had time to bury the good men.
---
1:10AM, January 29th, 1946
The Punisher's Warehouse, Manhattan, New York
"It's nothing, Micro" Frank said as he washed the blood from his knife using the small sink in the corner of the warehouse.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing" Frank repeated with more conviction than he really possessed. "I just need some sleep. Another few days and all this will be over, anyway. I'm not going to stop while my family's killers are still breathing".
Micro nodding in understanding. "By the way, Keller and Jackson picked up that girl who was with Bobby. The bad news is she heard Bobby call you Castle. The good news is she's so messed up nobody believes a word she says, so you should be in the clear".
Frank picked up a camera from the ground and handed it to Micro on his way back from the basin. "Come on, the Gnucci runt should just about be waking up". Frank grabbed a toolbox and walked across the warehouse to the disused foremans office style area. Frank had hung blackout curtains over the windows and barricaded the door from the outside to create a make-shift jail cell for Bobby. With Micro's help Frank pulled open the door and made his way inside.
"L...let me go!" Bobby yelled. Bobby had been handcuffed to an old radiator and left in the dark with his shoulder still bleeding heavily.
"Not until you tell me a few things" Frank replied while smashing Bobby across the head with the toolbox. "The sooner you talk, the sooner it'll all be over".
---
9:20AM, January 29th, 1946
The Gnucci mansion, Manhattan
Ma Gnucci was asleep in bed face down, her glass still in her hand with the wine spilt all over the sheets. The bedroom itself was as luxurious as the rest of the fifteen room mansion. A red velvet carpet covered the floor, an enormousness dresser flanked one wall, a walk in closet sat in the corner and the bed itself was more expensive than most peoples cars.
"Ma! Ma!"
Ma Gnucci snapped awake as she heard the yelling and banging from outside her room. After muttering a curse under her breath Ma threw on a gown and opened the door. Her oldest son, Carlo, was stood outside the door dressed in his striped blue suit and matching trilby hat. Carlo Gnucci managed a number of gambling dens and brothels around New York, as well as being a loan shark himself. He normally slept during the day and worked at night, so it was unusual for him to be waking up somebody else at that time.
"Carlo? Why the fuck are you waking me up at this time?" Ma roared while reaching out to slap her son. Unlike Bobby, Carlo was quick and experienced enough to dodge his mothers strikes.
"The cops just called. They fished what looks like Bobby out of a garbage can down by the docks, and these got delivered to the mansion". Carlo pulled out a trio of black and white photographs and showed them to his mother. The first showed Bobby chained to a radiator, crying his eyes out with blood dripping down his face. In the second photo Bobby's face had been mutilated with a knife. A series of incisions had been made, his bottom lip had been cut open and his nose had been carved clean off. In the final photograph Frank Castle was posing next to Bobby, who's throat had been sliced open. Ma let out an angry scream as she threw the photos down onto the ground.
"Ma I've alre..."
Ma slapped Carlo hard across the face with the back of her hand, catching him by surprise. "YOU'VE WHAT? YOU'VE KILLED CASTLE?"
"No Ma bu..."
"THEN GET OUT THERE AND FUCKING DO IT CARLO! THIS MAN THINKS HE CAN GET AWAY WITH COMING AFTER MY FLESH AND BLOOD?!" Ma's face went a deep red while her hands tightened up into balls. "Gather up whichever fucks are still here from last night and we'll head to the factory".
"Who's going to get the prick, Ma?"
"You're my number one son, Carlo. Live up to it for once" Ma spat. "Close your whore houses and card dens if you have to, I don't care. Until that fucker is dead and in the ground, he's our only priority".
Ma slammed her door closed and started getting dressed as Carlo walked back to his room. Carlo's room was a mess with clothes all over the floor, various log books and financial sheets scattered across the various desks and draws and the curtains still drawn. Carlo's wife Martha was laid asleep in bed, which was Carlo's preference. Their marriage was one out of convenience; Martha's father ran guns from New Jersey to New York and Ma Gnucci decided the best way to get in on the business was for Carlo to marry the dons daughter. As soon as the old man died Carlo would be free to re-marry or keep Martha as a "trophy wife". Carlo pulled an address book from his top draw and grabbed the nearby phone.
---
Harlem, New York
Barracuda snapped awake as his phone begin to ring. He lazily pulled himself up from the couch and let the sheet drop to the floor. Barracuda's "home" was a small barely furnished apartment with only a living room, kitchen, a small closet and a bathroom down the hall to speak of. Barracuda himself stood at at least seven feet tall with a shaven head and oversized sharp yellow teeth. His body could best be described as terrifying with bulging muscles and a large collection of battle scars, most noticeably a scar going all the right from his right eye over his bald head to his left ear. 'Cuda stumbled across his apartment and grabbed the phone while still only wearing his underwear.
"'Cuda, who's this?" he mumbled, still half asleep. "Yeah? Nah I can get over and whack whoever, just give me whatever I need, 'aight?" Barracuda's voice had a slight Southern twang and enough bass to intimidate anybody. He listened carefully to Carlo for a few seconds before replying. "Double the normal rate if the boy's killed one of yours....'cus Carlo, I know you want him gone, and I need the fucking money...yeah I am a prick, it's known". Barracuda chuckled loudly at his own "joke". "Say hi to your Ma for me as well, your old momma knows how to have a good time" Barracuda said and put the phone down before Carlo could respond. Barracuda pulled open the closet and grabbed a white jacket and pants combo as well as a long bag containing his weapon of choice; a .50 caliber M2 machine gun. A metal monstrosity capable of cutting down dozens at men at once with a hail of lead in the hands of a man like Barracuda could only ever be a bad thing. Most would find the gun too big to use without a stand of some sort but due to his large frame and firearms skill, Barracuda could easily fire the gun while sprinting at full speed. Barracuda dressed and slung the bag over his shoulder while walking out the door, headed to Manhattan with a spring in his step, a tune in his whistle and blood lust on is mind.