AudioBoxer
Aug 5th, 2002, 12:20 PM
The other nine thousand dollars came in for that hit, as promised - five days later. His purchase of a starlight scope didn't come quite as soon as he'd anticipated. It seemed even The Mob had red tape covering its payroll policy; oh well, he could get used to that.
His next job came three days afterward. This time, he only received a phone call and a countersign ("green eggs in Winter," as per Foxbow's suggestion). He was to eliminate a man who'd organized the elimination of one of the members of The Family three years back and fled; he was Back In Town. No problem, this one would be an easy eight thousand bucks.
It was an easy eight thousand bucks. In fact, it was an easy twelve thousand bucks; the guy had come into Town loaded with cash. Eliminating his tuxedoed six-man security force was just more target practice.
That was twenty-two K he'd gleaned from his Mob hits. He could already afford that lifetime subscription to Communist Mutant Trolls From Omaha, his very own Gerbalman decoder ring, Bat Panda all the way back to the second issue, and a bowstring tough enough to withstand 800 pounds of drawing weight. And every issue of The Chartreuse Arrow ever printed, of course. He had it made.
His third hit was supposedly a little more difficult. A very powerful man known only as "The Berserker" was giving The Mob a very hard time. This was a thirteen thousand dollar caper; he arrived at his address less than half an hour after he heard that sum.
"Yeah," came the voice through the peephole, "Whadaya want?"
"My name is Foxbow, and I'm here to kill you."
He was ready for bullets to come flying through the door. He wasn't ready for the door to come flying off its hinges and knock him down. The door landed on top of him; he glared through the peephole at his adversary's menacing face.
"DESTROY!" the Berserker yelled. The tremendous madman raised both fists and swung them down toward the door; Foxbow almost didn't roll out from under the door before it was smashed to flinders. "DESTROY!"
"Eat arrows, you - OOF!" That punch hurt.
"DESTROY!!" He watched Foxbow fly back onto the sidewalk.
'I think I'd better work on dodging a bit more,' Foxbow thought as he propped himself up. 'Either that, or stop being so damned overconfident.'
"DESTROY!" The Berserker ran at Foxbow with both fists above his head.
Foxbow was getting pretty peeved at this dude. His last two - er, three victims at least had the dignity to be scared of him. He got up to his feet, pulled out an arrow, notched it up, raised his bow, pulled the bowstring back, took dead aim, and got knocked to the other side of the street by a huge fist.
"DESTROY!"
"All right," Foxbow cursed, "THAT'S it!!" He got up, reached back into his quiver, pulled out every arrow he had, loaded all thirty shafts into his bow, and fired all his ammunition at the Berserker at once.
"DE -"
Fifteen of the arrows missed. The other fifteen didn't.
Foxbow straddled the blobbish form. With all that fat, the signal hadn't yet reached his brain that he'd cashed in his chips. Fifteen shafts, capped with fifteen sets of tail feathers, all protruded from bloody holes in his torso. Foxbow leaned down toward the Berserker's head, extended his hand, and said:
"Can I have my arrows back now?"
The next hit rolled in, this one just another snap. And a fifth. He was rolling in dough by now - enough so that he could afford his own arrow research to build crazy gimmick arrows like the Chartreuse Arrow used. He used The Mob's own archery course to avoid outside eyes prying in on his new toys.
"Hey, pastapatrevich, what-a you got there?" asked a Mobster.
"This, my friend," Foxbow commented, pulling back the bow and aiming, "Is my new, patented, stainless-tungsten, teflon-coated armor-piercing arrow." He let it fly. Half a second later, it tore all the way through a solid steel target two hundred meters away. "With enough speed, it can go through just about anything."
The Mobster was impressed. "I'm impressed," he noted. "Do you have any other special arrows?"
"Well," Foxbow bragged, hauling out a trash-can-sized quiver, "I do happen to have a few other little gems. This one for instance." He presented an arrow with a bright red boxing glove over its arrowhead. "This is my knockout arrow. I use it when I don't want to kill somebody." He cued it up and fired it at the same distant steel target. It hit with a bell-like clang. "Of course, the horseshoe I put inside the glove helps."
"Uh, yeah." The Mobster scratched the back of his head distractedly.
"There's also my net arrow -" he loaded and fired again, enshrouding the steel target in a rather heavy fishing net. "- which captures people instead of killing them . . ."
"You like to read The Chartreuse Arrow, don't you?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"I noticed the arrow in your quiver with the propeller blades. That's a flight arrow."
"Um, yeah, but there's one other arrow I use that The Chartreuse Arrow doesn't." He pulled out an ordinary arrow and took a cylindrical capsule from his pocket, which he started screwing on over the arrow's head. "The Chartreuse Arrow didn't believe in violence, you see." He tightened the new arrowhead, notched up the shaft, and raised his assembly to eye-level. "I got this idea from Rambo."
Thwunk, he let the arrow fly. It hit the netted steel target and went off in a loud, yellow-orange fireball, causing all the Mob people in the area to involuntarily duck.
"Explosive arrows," the Mobster commented. "Now that we can use. Oh, by the way, The Boss has another assignment for you."
"The Boss?" he slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder. "I usually get my capers from Don Giov-"
"The vice president of the Exxmen Corporation got in touch with The Boss. They were working on a little flesh-to-concrete experiment with the Salt Shaker."
"Is that why the A.E.C. shut the Salt Shaker down." Foxbow still read the Daily Planetary Bugle, though he couldn't figure out why.
"No, the A.E.C. doesn't know anything about the project. Ya see, somebody accidentally got in there ahead of schedule and found out the hard way that the Salt Shaker can turn people into living bricks. They brainwashed him and plan to recapture him if he remembers things, but in case something goes wrong on the way into the Salt Shaker complex, they'll need some protection. The Boss saw your track record and assigned ya to the job, along with another one of his elitists. You'll be workin' with the vice president of Exxmen Corp., startin' three hours from now. . . ."
His next job came three days afterward. This time, he only received a phone call and a countersign ("green eggs in Winter," as per Foxbow's suggestion). He was to eliminate a man who'd organized the elimination of one of the members of The Family three years back and fled; he was Back In Town. No problem, this one would be an easy eight thousand bucks.
It was an easy eight thousand bucks. In fact, it was an easy twelve thousand bucks; the guy had come into Town loaded with cash. Eliminating his tuxedoed six-man security force was just more target practice.
That was twenty-two K he'd gleaned from his Mob hits. He could already afford that lifetime subscription to Communist Mutant Trolls From Omaha, his very own Gerbalman decoder ring, Bat Panda all the way back to the second issue, and a bowstring tough enough to withstand 800 pounds of drawing weight. And every issue of The Chartreuse Arrow ever printed, of course. He had it made.
His third hit was supposedly a little more difficult. A very powerful man known only as "The Berserker" was giving The Mob a very hard time. This was a thirteen thousand dollar caper; he arrived at his address less than half an hour after he heard that sum.
"Yeah," came the voice through the peephole, "Whadaya want?"
"My name is Foxbow, and I'm here to kill you."
He was ready for bullets to come flying through the door. He wasn't ready for the door to come flying off its hinges and knock him down. The door landed on top of him; he glared through the peephole at his adversary's menacing face.
"DESTROY!" the Berserker yelled. The tremendous madman raised both fists and swung them down toward the door; Foxbow almost didn't roll out from under the door before it was smashed to flinders. "DESTROY!"
"Eat arrows, you - OOF!" That punch hurt.
"DESTROY!!" He watched Foxbow fly back onto the sidewalk.
'I think I'd better work on dodging a bit more,' Foxbow thought as he propped himself up. 'Either that, or stop being so damned overconfident.'
"DESTROY!" The Berserker ran at Foxbow with both fists above his head.
Foxbow was getting pretty peeved at this dude. His last two - er, three victims at least had the dignity to be scared of him. He got up to his feet, pulled out an arrow, notched it up, raised his bow, pulled the bowstring back, took dead aim, and got knocked to the other side of the street by a huge fist.
"DESTROY!"
"All right," Foxbow cursed, "THAT'S it!!" He got up, reached back into his quiver, pulled out every arrow he had, loaded all thirty shafts into his bow, and fired all his ammunition at the Berserker at once.
"DE -"
Fifteen of the arrows missed. The other fifteen didn't.
Foxbow straddled the blobbish form. With all that fat, the signal hadn't yet reached his brain that he'd cashed in his chips. Fifteen shafts, capped with fifteen sets of tail feathers, all protruded from bloody holes in his torso. Foxbow leaned down toward the Berserker's head, extended his hand, and said:
"Can I have my arrows back now?"
The next hit rolled in, this one just another snap. And a fifth. He was rolling in dough by now - enough so that he could afford his own arrow research to build crazy gimmick arrows like the Chartreuse Arrow used. He used The Mob's own archery course to avoid outside eyes prying in on his new toys.
"Hey, pastapatrevich, what-a you got there?" asked a Mobster.
"This, my friend," Foxbow commented, pulling back the bow and aiming, "Is my new, patented, stainless-tungsten, teflon-coated armor-piercing arrow." He let it fly. Half a second later, it tore all the way through a solid steel target two hundred meters away. "With enough speed, it can go through just about anything."
The Mobster was impressed. "I'm impressed," he noted. "Do you have any other special arrows?"
"Well," Foxbow bragged, hauling out a trash-can-sized quiver, "I do happen to have a few other little gems. This one for instance." He presented an arrow with a bright red boxing glove over its arrowhead. "This is my knockout arrow. I use it when I don't want to kill somebody." He cued it up and fired it at the same distant steel target. It hit with a bell-like clang. "Of course, the horseshoe I put inside the glove helps."
"Uh, yeah." The Mobster scratched the back of his head distractedly.
"There's also my net arrow -" he loaded and fired again, enshrouding the steel target in a rather heavy fishing net. "- which captures people instead of killing them . . ."
"You like to read The Chartreuse Arrow, don't you?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"I noticed the arrow in your quiver with the propeller blades. That's a flight arrow."
"Um, yeah, but there's one other arrow I use that The Chartreuse Arrow doesn't." He pulled out an ordinary arrow and took a cylindrical capsule from his pocket, which he started screwing on over the arrow's head. "The Chartreuse Arrow didn't believe in violence, you see." He tightened the new arrowhead, notched up the shaft, and raised his assembly to eye-level. "I got this idea from Rambo."
Thwunk, he let the arrow fly. It hit the netted steel target and went off in a loud, yellow-orange fireball, causing all the Mob people in the area to involuntarily duck.
"Explosive arrows," the Mobster commented. "Now that we can use. Oh, by the way, The Boss has another assignment for you."
"The Boss?" he slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder. "I usually get my capers from Don Giov-"
"The vice president of the Exxmen Corporation got in touch with The Boss. They were working on a little flesh-to-concrete experiment with the Salt Shaker."
"Is that why the A.E.C. shut the Salt Shaker down." Foxbow still read the Daily Planetary Bugle, though he couldn't figure out why.
"No, the A.E.C. doesn't know anything about the project. Ya see, somebody accidentally got in there ahead of schedule and found out the hard way that the Salt Shaker can turn people into living bricks. They brainwashed him and plan to recapture him if he remembers things, but in case something goes wrong on the way into the Salt Shaker complex, they'll need some protection. The Boss saw your track record and assigned ya to the job, along with another one of his elitists. You'll be workin' with the vice president of Exxmen Corp., startin' three hours from now. . . ."