Chapter 5

The fifty creds Kat got for her first strong-arm job was enough to keep her fed for a month, but it didn't take long before word-of-mouth had netted her more work. Within two weeks, she had accepted two more, similar, jobs. It seemed that there were a lot of scumbags who needed to be taught a lesson.

Kat, when she was being honest with herself, didn't really like the work, but she consoled herself by only taking jobs that she agreed with, whose targets were, for one reason or another, deserving. She frightened a few and even hamstrung a man whose specialty was doing snatch & grabs on the older proles.

Her first hit didn't start off that way. She had accepted a contract for her 'friends' to scare off a local, small-time gang that had started a protection racket in the neighborhood around Danny's store. The shop keepers had tried going the official route, reporting the thugs to the Peace Keepers, but since the Peace Keepers stayed the hell out of that area unless forced to come in, and always in platoon strength, the shopkeepers group felt they had to take matters into their own hands.

Kat and Danny had become friends, of a sort. A couple times a week, Kat would stop by and Danny would close up his shop. Sometimes they sat and drank Kafe in his office, once or twice, they would eat lunch at a local diner. Danny was an older man, widowed and with no children of his own, who helped support his sister and her children. He seemed to see in Kat a daughter that he never had and Kat came to see him as almost an Uncle. He always seemed glad to see her and never asked questions about her life, where she went when she wasn't in his shop or what she did to get by.

He broached the subject of the gang, more in passing than as a request for her help. Up to now, Kat had arranged for things to happen to individuals, never gangs or the roving groups of thugs from the city center that seem to materialize in low town, looking to have some consequence-free fun.

"They been coming in, breaking up stores, beating up people and demanding protection money. The law won't help and people are scared." Danny told her one afternoon.

"Are they organized? I mean, is there a leader and under bosses and stuff? Or are they just punks, ganging up together?" Kat was sure she could work this into a job for her, if she could find an angle.

"Well, one of them, this big guy with a tattoo on his face is the leader. He comes in sometimes, but stands back and gives orders." Danny said, then went to his terminal and called up the video security feed from the front of his shop.

"This was a couple of days ago. He came in, told them to break some stuff. Nothing really expensive, but it was just like he liked seeing my store trashed. I already had my weekly payment ready for him, he didn't have to do that."

Kat watched as the crew entered the store, led by a big man. The leader was muscular and was wearing a sleeveless shirt to show off his biceps. His arms were heavily covered in tattoos. One of the tattoos was a reptile of some sort that crept from under his collar, around his neck and ended on his left cheek, the jaws wide and dripping in blood. He swaggered in and stood in the doorway, arms folded and a belligerent look on his face.

He was accompanied by a pair of smaller men, just as mean looking, who he directed towards a shelf of glassware with a gesture. They rushed forward, tipping an shelving unit forward until there was a raid of glass bottles, bowls and plates shattering on the floor. They capered and danced around, hooting and laughing at the destruction they had caused. A sharp whistle from the leader put a stop to the dancing, and a gesture sent them to the counter where Danny was waiting with an envelope in his hand.

Snatching the envelope, one of the minions dashed back to the leader and presented it with a flourish, as if he were a courtier presenting a missive to the king. The big man smiled, briefly, before snatching the envelope and rifling through the contents. With another whistle, he gathered his thugs and left the store, not a single word had been uttered from start to finish.

Kat, who had long considered herself inured to the casual violence so common in the city, felt herself growing angry. Danny was a good man, someone who had always treated her with respect. To see these thugs, these worthless sacks of garbage, treat him so poorly made her head ache.

"Let me see what I can do, Danny. I might know someone who can help." Kat said through clenched teeth.

Locating the Leader wasn't a problem. Almost everyone in the area knew who he was and what areas to avoid in order to stay beneath his notice. Learning his routines was child's play and Kat easily mapped out the areas that he was claiming as his own. She even got to see him in action, defending his turf against an encroaching gang from another area.

She crouched on a rooftop, near the gang's hideout. It was a dilapidated ruin not far from Kat's original bolt hole. The outside of the building was covered in graffiti, most of it a mélange of fantastical shapes and script that had been painted over so many times it had become unreadable. The front of the building had been painted in white, though done so sloppily, and the graffiti there was dedicated to a single theme.

The gang was calling itself the 'Punishers' and Kat couldn't help but laugh. Originality was not at a premium among the low town gangs, it seemed. The leader's name, she had learned, was Dragon, though she had to go to the library to find out what a Dragon was, and it obviously referred to the highly stylized tattoo that was on his neck and face. She just thought of him as Leader.

Leader, his gang of half-a-dozen lowlifes in tow, left the gang's headquarters in a rush. They were all toting weapons of one kind or another, clubs and chains being the most prevalent, though Leader had a heavy blade in his hand that looked like a machete. They headed a few blocks down and were met by a similarly sized group of thugs in the center of the street. The new group seemed better organized, dressed alike, their jackets all showing the same logo of a crossed axe and club.

Leader, stopping a dozen paces away, began to scream insults at the rival gang, goading them, daring them to step into his territory. The rival gang leader responded by yelling a battle cry and rushing forward, a hatchet held above his head.

The battle was short, brutal and bloody. Leader met his rival in the center of the street, his machete flashing as it parried the first blow of the hatchet. The machete was much lighter and leader wielded it with some obvious skill. It slid down the handle of the small axe, cutting off the first couple fingers of the rival's hand, then whipped back across his body to open his throat with a single slash. Blood poured forth in a sheet, soaking the front of the rival's jacket before he even had time to crumple.