LM 16: The Path & The Way

[Eyes]

Literary Mosaic 16

The Path & The Way

The man was running now. The alleys were dark; he could barely see. But the panic was too much for him. He had to keep moving, or whatever... whoever... was on his heels would catch up. He saw a very helpful trash can which he threw to the ground. He started off again but tripped over a stone that was lying in his path. He came down with a crash. It knocked all the wind out of him for a moment. That was a moment too much.

A dark shadowy figure walked right up to him. The man was all in a sweat as he gazed up at the being towering over him. "Please d-don't hurt me!" he whimpered.

The Man was silent for a moment... then he chuckled. "Hurt you?" he asked, tauntingly. "Why ever would I hurt you? I know you dislike pain... in yourself. In others... what the hell, right?"

The shaking body on the ground nearly choked on air whilst trying to gather the words. "I d-don't know what you're t-talking about!"

"Oh, don't you? I could've sworn you were the one who stabbed the old woman 16 times in the chest with a butcher knife..."

"It was self-defense! I swear it!"

"Hmm... that wasn't quite what I heard. If I recall correctly, there was something else to it.... £14,000, was it?"

"W-what do you want from me?" gasped the man on the ground. "I'll give you as much money as you want, just don't-!!"

"Why on earth do you think I want money?" asked The Man. "Tsk, tsk... no, I just want you to get what's rightfully coming your way."

At this moment the man on the ground gathered the strength to jump up... but The Man who was standing gave him a quick kick in the groin for his efforts. Taking out a revolver, he sealed the deal.

Taking out a cigarette, he lighted it, and started walking. In the morning, the police would find the body, but know not how it came there. The Man had eliminated all possibilities of capture. Really, it was just business as usual - cleaning up the streets of London, taking out all the criminals who had escaped justice because the law system, flawed to the core, couldn't touch them.

"For all my sins," thought The Man, "there are many more sinners yet to be exterminated...."

[frankthetriviaman]

And so, he set his eyes on his next target, yet another criminal of the London underworld.

......

Though the police didn't have any leads to the suspect, some things were certain.

"Killed with a gunshot but there's no casing on the ground. No doubt that a revolver was used" Detective Albert Winslow said as he looked over the scene.

"Is there anything of note?" A Constable asked.

"Yea... few signs of a struggle. No doubt we're dealing with that guy again... the one who's been covering his tracks" Winslow explained.

"We could call in outside help" the Constable proposed.

"Why would we call in help from a chef?" Winslow pointed out.

"Oh, right. Well, could this be the case of a serial killer?" The Constable asked.

"Could very well be" the detective mused. Then he saw the windows that looked down on the alley.

"What time was this man killed?"

"About 9 hours ago from what I can see" the examiner said.

"That puts it at about...10 pm. Constable, go into the buildings on either side of the alley, see if anyone saw or heard anything. A gunshot in an alley like this... it's going to attract attention" Winslow suggested.

"On it" and the Constable proceeded into the first building.

[Eyes]

Meanwhile, The Man had taken a stop at a local pub. As he walked in, all the vices of the London underworld were plan for all five senses. The smell of smoke and piss was rather pungent. The feel of the building's furniture was abhorrent - rotten, moldy, bugs everywhere. You could see nothing but rascals all around the room. Cursing and laughter was all you could hear. And the alcohol was cheap and worthless, but just the thing these kinds of people needed.

The Man ordered some ale. Utterly repulsive. Shouldn't have paid the fiver after all; utter shit. But there was no use grumbling. Sipping the foul stuff in intervals, The Man sat down in a corner of the room, as far away from the madding crowd as he could be.

He thought over some of the events that had transpired since being shot by Adolf Gunnarson. After stumbling out into the street, he knew he couldn't risk going to a hospital and giving up his identity. However, he did know an army surgeon who had been in the war and was now a poor man trying to keep his business running. The Man thus went to him, and paid him a handsome amount to keep mum about it all. The doctor was able to extract three bullets, but the fourth could not be removed.

One thing the doctor did think was extraordinary was the fact that The Man was still alive. The way the bullets had penetrated through, he should have been dead after an hour, even without the medical treatment.

They both seemed to put this down to The Man's sheer force of willpower.

To avenge himself with Hartley's life was still The Man's number one objective, but Gunnarson's revolver had seemed a sign. First he needed to regain all the strength he'd had before the shooting. That would be simple enough. But he also knew that he couldn't leap directly into action again like the last time. He would need to wait until the time was right before making his final move.

At this moment he felt a throb of pain and grabbed his chest. The bullet still lodged inside his body was a constant reminder of who he was after.

Throwing off the pain, he downed his ale. Still as terrible as the first taste he'd had. Someone stumbled forward to him.

"'Ello, guv'nah! Wha's all this about, eh? Ya like a drink or five? Big 'orra this place is, terrible stuff Ol' Man Barkley serves, but ye know 'ow it is."

The Man just glared at the drunkard.

"A'right, a'right! Don't let it be a-botherin' ya, tha's a chap. Ya don't mind auld Nicko now, he won't be messin' with you na more."

The Man grunted and the drunkard limpidly sauntered away to get another drink.

"All this filth...."

[frankthetriviaman]

Back with the initial investigation, Winslow was just wrapping up the crime scene search, when a constable came up to him. "Most of the residents didn't see much of anything, but most did agree that they heard something akin to a gunshot around the time of death" he explained.

"Excellent; but did anyone see anything?" Winslow asked.

"Only two, and they are both incomplete pictures. One said he saw the actual murder take place; the victim was shot execution style more or less. But she turned away the moment after the gunshot went off, so other than some details of the suspect's clothes she wasn't able to make out much. The other saw the aftermath. As the murderer lit his cigarette she caught a glimpse of his face and... well... she said something about it reminded her of the Angel of Death, but I wonder if that is because she was tired" he explained.

"Well, I guess it's back to Scotland Yard then; let's go, gentlemen" Winslow ordered.

In the end, evidence was scarce. Other than the partial testimony the only meaningful evidence found was a shoeprint on a stack of newspapers, the deformed bullet which was removed from the ground where the victim had been shot, and some clothing fibers from the victim that clearly were not from his clothes.

"I can't help but think... whoever this was... he was definitely trying to cover his tracks. Same M.O. as the others. What is he trying to accomplish?" Winslow said as he headed to his car to return to Scotland yard.

[Eyes]

Back at the pub, The Man had decided that he had done enough thinking. No more ale, that stuff was rotten and wouldn't get him anywhere. Instead he opened his ears to conversations happening in the pub. One of them quickly drew his interest.

"Duncan Branworth's been at it again," said one of the regulars.

"Oh? What's happened this time?" asked the bartender.

"Torched another building. This time it downed about 27 people, including three firefighters."

"Utterly despicable," said another man. "And they can't even pin it to him! There are suspicions but no evidence in hard fact... and besides, he'd just hire another lawyer like he always does when they get close to nabbing him and that bastard will take Branworth's way out of prison like always."

"Well, that's Branworth for ya," said the bartender. "Just wouldn't want to end up on the wrong side of him one of these days."

This was all The Man needed to hear. Rising, he crossed the pub and leaned in to speak directly to the bartender himself.

"Got a phone book, my man?" he asked in a low voice.

"Why would you be a-wantin' a phone book?" asked the surprised and suspicious bartender.

The Man reached into his shirt; his hand came back up with a twenty-five pound note.

"Here's why," he said.

The bartender quickly scoured for his phone book and gave it to The Man. "Keep it," he said, pocketing the money.

The Man nodded his thanks and went outside. Under a street lamp, he read the names in the book.

"Brandon... Branford... Brant... ah, Branworth." There was the address, in plain sight. This guy was audacious.

"'Ellooo, gotta a match on ya?"

The Man turned. It was that Nicko fellow again. The Man tossed him one.

"Am much obliged to ya," said Nicko as he lit a cigarette.

The Man turned away. Never mind him, he had bigger fish to fry. He set off in the direction of Duncan Branworth.

[Tug]

.....

Next morning, Detective Michael Walton was called into Commissioner Gent's office.

"Is something the matter Commissioner?" asked Walton

"Ah, Detective Walton, I know you had taken a bit of leave after your success with bringing down the Irish Mob, but I think we'll be needing your skills to handle this one. We're not entirely sure, but some strange cases seem to be connected, here's what we believe to be the individual known as 'The Man's' latest work..." reported Gent as he dropped photos of a charred body tied to a stake, seemingly burned alive...

"Good god..." said Walton in shock

"The neighbors didn't know how to react either, so by the time we got there he was long since dead... It seems similar to Dirty Four's demises and a recent case by Detective Winslow, you might want to ask him if you can find any leads..." replied Gent

"Don't worry sir, I'll get this done for you..." responded Walton

"Again, sorry to pull you away from your leave, but I have faith in your skill Walton..." said Gent

"Don't worry Commissioner, I'm not former SAS for nothing..." smiled Walton as he left to find Detective Winslow

[Eyes]

Elsewhere on this bright Sunday morning, The Man was checking his overcoat for singes. Nothing, thank god. He'd had this coat since he started his 'mission' and was in no mood to part with it.

He chuckled as he thought back to the night prior. With absolutely no self-restraint, he walked right into Branworth's office and confronted the fraudster. After being laughed at and told to "get the hell out", he did so... but he took Branworth with him. It took a couple of shots to get him to stop flailing, but he quickly took command.

He'd picked up some rope on his way down and merely intended to tie him up before setting him on fire... but for one reason or another (he suspected gardening) there was a stake lying around which was too good an opportunity to miss. Snatching it up, he beat it into the ground and tied the criminal to it. Then he went back into Branworth's house and come out with petrol. This he poured over the screeching figure below him and as the former arsonist begged for mercy, he became arson himself as The Man lit a match and threw it onto the petrified human.

So that was that. Another criminal who had escaped the judicial system finally gotten their just desserts. So it goes.

[Toz76]

Gent and Walton were horrified as they read the report about the man being burned alive. They'd only just gotten rid of the men who went about leaving disembodied arms lying about, and now some vigilante killer was on the loose.

"Well, the victim was accused of arson several years ago, but got off easy. So it's clearly someone's idea of ironic justice. But it's still illegal, and messed up." Gent said.

"Maybe we need fresh eyes. Your daughter is pretty clever, maybe-"

"No. Marlena is still a cadet. And anyway, the best way to catch a vigilante is a second vigilante."

"If you're suggesting bringing in that damned Swede, I swear I will quit on the spot."

"Just hear me out..."

But as they bickered, the Man was striking again.

[Eyes]

Sebastian Jordan wasn't the kinda guy you wanted to piss off. One of his neighbors, Rodrick Smalls, liked to play music every night, and always turned the volume up. This always kept Jordan up, and one night, finally having had enough of it, he barged into Smalls's house and beat the living shit out of the man with a chair.

That's what everyone said at least. Thanks to some connections, he got off scot-free. This grumpy, unhappy individual soured the community and struck fear into all he met. If he should strike again....

......

"Okay, okay, you've proven your point, Walton, I got it," said Gent. "But I swear, if you don't anywhere with this case I WILL alert Gunnarson ask him personally to take it on."

"Fine, whatever," said Walton. "At least you're giving the proper authorities a shot first."

And so it was decided. Walton started trying to find some evidence to pin The Man down. But the very next morning....

"Sorry, WHAT?" he shouted into the telephone.

"I'm serious, sir, there's a guy strung up in the St. Peter's Church bell tower out here in the Fen," said the officer on the line.

"That's insane.... who's the victim?"

"Sebastian Jordan, sir. He's that guy everyone thought killed his neighbor over some music but got off clean."

"No kidding. Strung up in a bell tower, you say?"

"Yes, sir. And the funny thing is that there isn't a single mark on this body. He didn't die by any unnatural causes as far as I can make out."

"Was there any sort of... celebration last night?" Walton asked.

"In the church? Yes, there was an annual celebration of the church's founding, and they rang the bells for over an hour repeatedly," the officer replied.

"I thought so," said Walton. "The noise and the vibrations caused by the bells can affect the human body, and you say he was tied up there for over an hour? That would kill just about anyone but the toughest individuals, and if I remember right, Jordan wasn't the strongest guy out there. But anyways, I'll be down within the hour. If we're right, this could be the work of 'The Man' again."

As he hung up the phone, Walton considered. Jordan had killed his neighbor for playing music too loud, and now he had died at the hands of an unknown adversary.... forced to listen to loud musicality, which killed him. Another ironic death.

"But out on the Fen? That's a ways away from London," he said to himself. "This case just keeps getting weirder and weirder...."

He grabbed the case files, grabbed his hat and coat, and went to go see the site of the death.

[frankthetriviaman]

Walton was frustrated at the fact that there wasn't much to go on. Barring the usual shoeprints and some small things here and there, the only meaningful evidence found so far was of the rope itself... and some hairs that were not consistent with Jordan's hair.

"This guy may be doing "favors" to some people; but it's still criminal for him to destroy evidence" Walton thought. After looking over the scene, which did not yield much anyway, he talked to a pair of constables.

"Only one who saw much of anything was the groundskeeper; apparently before the festival he saw one guy drag another into the bell tower; figured they were going to admire the bells and thought nothing of it. He did think it was weird that one came out and the other didn't, but chalked it up to the other guy being more interested in them" he finished.

"Dang it. Does this guy even have any idea what he's doing is wrong?" Walton asked.

"From what we can determine there does seem to be a common thread among his victims; they all did something despicable in the past"

"And I get that; but that's why we have a justice system; if everyone took the law into their own hands we'd be living in the wild west. Come on, let's go back" Walton ordered as they wrapped up the investigation.

......

At Scotland Yard, a meeting of detectives were putting the pieces together.

"Whoever this guy is... he's got a real knack for killing people. Each victim lead independent lives of each other, but a key detail is common; they all committed despicable acts against others" one detective began.

"Agreed. Jordan brings the total up to... 37" Winslow said as he organized some files.

"As much as I hate Gunnarson, I must admit that his trifecta does hold some degree of validity. This guy always finds the perfect means and opportunity to kill his victims. But motive... what is motive?" Walton said.

"It's not about money; all victims who had wallets had no cash stolen" one detective pointed out.

"And I doubt that this many people interfered in his love life. If he even has one" said another.

"Then that leaves revenge. Revenge against what though. Society?" Walton mused. Murderers didn't strike without reason. There had to be something that made him tick... but what?

[Eyes]

"You know," one of the detectives said, "you may be onto something there."

"What? Revenge against society?"

"Or revenge against the judicial system. Think about it - all those who died were suspected of committing one crime or another, but were never sentenced either thanks to loopholes or lack of evidence."

"So is he just trying to clean up the streets where we, er, 'failed'?" Walton asked.

"Could be," replied the officer.

"But what kind of person would do that?"

"I'm not sure... he could be mentally unbalanced, or maybe he thinks of himself as a hero to society."

"Some hero," another detective muttered.

"Perhaps," continued the first detective, "some event in his past life set him on his course. If someone did something to him, and then that person escaped justice, it may have given him a hatred for the judicial system as a whole."

"Hmm," Walton pondered. "You may be onto something, Hardstuckle. You may have been inspired by Gunnarson, but I think you're shaping out to be a finer detective than he'll ever be. Glad you were able to transfer to the heart of the force."

"Thank you, sir," said Hardstuckle.

...............

Beer or tea?

Well, thought The Man, beer would be much easier, simpler, and faster to drink, whereas tea would require some wait for it to brew. On the other hand, something hot wouldn't be too bad right around now.

After pondering this for a moment, he threw in the towel and decided to have both. Taking out the teapot and filling it with water, he set it on the stove and waited for it to boil. Then he got out a bottle of beer and opened it. He had just taken a sip when there was a knock at the door.

He opened it to admit a handsome young woman, smartly dressed. They smiled. "Greetings, weary traveler, what brings you to my humble residency?"

"Business, if I remember correctly," she replied. "How high is the kill count at this point?"

"I've lost count," The Man chuckled. "Would you rather have tea or beer?"

"Neither, I've just come from a social and had too much to drink there already."

"I see. In that case, don't mind me any," and as he poured his tea and beer together, he indicated the couch and she took a seat.

"Nice new sittings you have here," she said as she looked around the room.

"Well," said The Man, "just temporary as you no doubt know already. In our line of work, it does no one any favors to stick around in one place too long, though I will admit that this is a better apartment than some of the hellholes I've had to put up in before."

"True. Remember Old Joe's?"

"My god, it was hideous!" he laughed. "How's the old man?"

"He," said the young woman, "is doing fine, and I've some money to pass along to you from him."

"Thank god I needn't resort to robbery to keep a living; 'twould defeat my whole purpose."

"You really lucked out with us," she laughed.

"That I did, Filly; that I did."

"Now then," said Filly, "what are your next plans?"

"I dunno. I was thinking maybe the two of us could double up to take down someone of your choice in future... just like old times... say, did you ever get that old grocer who ran over a little kid on purpose?"

"Yeah. I ran over him and then stuffed him with carrots. Not sure if he got put down to you or not. Likely so."

"Makes sense. 'The Man' has been terrifying London's inhabitants of late... at least the ones who have reason to be afraid of justice."

"Justice is what this city desperately needs, and we're the only ones who seem to be able to harness it," said Filly.

"We," The Man smiled as he held her in his arms, "are exceptional."

............

Walton, however, was not feeling exceptional.

[frankthetriviaman]

He was not one to be overly prideful, even though he was one to point out his SAS service. It wasn't so much a boast as it was an assurance of confidence though; as in, "you can count on me; if I can serve in my country's elite forces, then you know you can depend on me" he meant whenever he pointed it out. So for him to not feel exceptional was quite normal.

......

As the assembled detectives continued to work on putting the pieces of the puzzle together, Walton was looking over some facts when something occurred to him, "Say, remember that one case from some years ago... a crazed lunatic broke into Gunnarson's apartment and tried to kill his friend... Hartley, was it? Yes, the author. Wasn't that the same guy?" Walton asked.

Could be; he did go to a sketch artist afterwards; let me see what we can find" Winslow said as he went to go make some phone calls. It was about 20 minutes before he came walking back with some papers.

"So, this is the person who Hartley saw" he said, showing the sketch, "and, comparing this to the partial identifications of the witnesses... plus the two cases where witnesses saw the face..." he said, holding the pictures together. That was when Walton saw it... although there were extremely minor differences in the details, all put together... it was the same person.

"So that's it then, huh? We have a face... perhaps that can lead to an identification. Were any fingerprints recovered at crime scenes?" Walton asked.

"We found some partials here and there... but this guy is good. He's taking care to minimize what he leaves behind" Winslow replied.

"Well, remember what Edmund Locard said... "every contact leaves its trace" so no matter how good he is... we're always going to find something" Walton assured.

"I know Gent called a press conference concerning the string of killings the other day... what happened?" Burton asked as he looked over some files.

"Press ran wild with it; look at this" Walton said as he held up a recent copy of the London Times, "They're calling him the J.J.E. killer... short for Judge, Jury and Executioner" Walton stated as he quoted the article.

"Jeez; it wouldn't surprise me if he was an escaped mental patient. How often does he kill anyway?" Winslow asked.

"Well, putting all the deaths in a timeline... about 3-5 weeks separates each death. Except for more recently, when there was as little as 2 days between killings. Which means that his kills aren't random" Hardstuckle explained.

"He's got a twisted sort of something that resembles intelligence... he does his homework. He's not just going up to them and shooting them... he observes them, finds routines and patterns. Finds the opportune time to strike..."

"And kills them in a matter he judges appropriate" Walton finished.

.......

All over London, common folk were reading their newspapers:

"WHO IS J.J.E. ? IS HE LONDON'S NEXT JACK THE RIPPER?" The headline read. One man in particular read it and observed, "hmmm... Jack the Ripper, eh? Why not... this city could use less... contributors to the "world's oldest profession" dirtying up these already soiled streets" he thought.

[Eyes]

Filly had made him some coffee and they were drinking in silence whilst reading the news. "Well, J.," she said at last, amused, "I like the name, don't you?"

"Wonderful stuff. Couldn't have made a better one myself."

"What's the agenda today?"

"Today I think we're going to take down another bastard wasting up space in our society; what say we do this one in together?"

"Fine by me. Always ready for some action."

"Good," said The Man. "I'll tell the landlord I'm leaving while you get ready."

[Toz76]

At 3:00, Gent summoned Walton for a meeting.

"These three men are part of our new pilot program, "Criminals For Good" as I like to call it. They've all committed great crimes against the police, but in exchange for working here, their records have been expunged."

Walton nodded at McLean, a former Blade and Irish Mob associate and the only man here he knew.

"This is Harris. He worked under the "One-Eyed Man" for ten years."

The One-Eyed Man was one of London's oldest, wiliest crime lords. He'd been active since the late 1920s, but has always been described as a weak, white-haired man in his sixties with an eyepatch, a cane, and a coat full of spiders in test tubes hidden in its many pockets. The man was an enigma."

"This guy could be working for the One-Eyed Man, but it's not his style. The One-Eyed Man doesn't work for "justice"."

"This here is Waxford, formerly a member of the Ripper Underground, and before that the Black Scorpion."

Waxford, a large, balding man, stood. "This isn't something Bury would do either. Or Drugg, for that matter."

"And you already know McLean."

"Well, there's nothing in this about Irish independence I can see. As for Blade, it could be him, but Blade would be more obvious about being the criminal if it were him. This is a natural evolution to his career though, and we don't know much about that "Byrne". He could be telling him to be more careful. So if it's anyone, it's him."

"Does Blade look anything like this "Man"?" Walton asked Gent.

"No, but we know nothing about that Man and Blade is known for ostentatious attacks and a warped sense of justice. We should at least consider it."

"Very well. I'll pencil him in as a suspect."

[frankthetriviaman]

"But... something doesn't add up" Walton said, looking at Waxford. "The Black Scorpion was utterly anihillated in a joint raid by the Blade Syndicate and Irish mob when they were imprisoned, and the only lieutenant that wasn't arrested died at the raid on the Ripper compound so... what is his story anyway?" Walton asked; wondering how a man like Waxford survived the prison raid Scotland Yard remembered as the "Scorpion Crush"

"Walton! This is not the time for that; we have more important business to attend to" Gent declared with much force.

"Of course sir; my apologies. Anyway, where would you like me to start, sir?" Walton asked.

[Eyes]

While Walton received his orders, Filly was finding out who the next person on the list was.

"Stanley Davidson," said The Man, "is a serial vandal known for randomly attacking cars and stores."

"So how are we gonna take him down?"

"Well, he's known for breaking things... I thought we'd break him."

"I like it," said Filly, and the two got together their stuff to go out and find Davidson.

Back to Walton and Gent....

[frankthetriviaman]

"Do you understand?" Gent said

"Yes sir" Walton replied; but he decided he'd look into Waford later anyway; how the heck did he survive the Scorpion Crush?

......

Davidson was walking down a typical business street; a crowbar in one hand and a cricket bat in the other, and a lead pipe slung on his back. He passed by shop after shop on this quiet afternoon; he loved how there was no one else there... an "artist" like himself preferred to work without interference, he mused.

"Butcher shop... no... laundromat... been there, done that... ah, perfect!" He declared, stopping outside his selected target. He looked inside... furniture, cases, glassware, fine china and the like. He went over to the door... of course, it was locked. Then he saw the sign: "vacation; shall return in... three weeks? Perfect..." he said with a grin. Picking up his crowbar, he forced the door open... lights off, and no one home. He grinned with delight. "Time to get to work" he said as he first swung the cricket bat at some glassware; but he wasn't satisfied. So he put it on his back and took the crowbar out again. Now the glass was breaking and making the sounds he wanted to hear.

"Perfect... too perfect" and with a combination of his cricket bat, crowbar and pipe, spent more than an hour destroying everything in the store.

[Eyes]

He was really into it now. Leaving this store, he moved directly into the next one. Smashing right into the window and then destroying the items standing there, he heard a panicked voice. Someone was inside.

This only fueled him on. As he smashed right through the door, he saw an older man with fearful eyes trying to find some place to hide. Davidson smashed up more items and then came at the man, who was currently backed into the wall.

"Please stop!" he cried, but the man wouldn't listen.

But just as he came up close to the shop owner, something went awry. Namely, someone he hadn't bet on joined the frazzle as he stepped foot into the shop.

"Funny, all I wanted was a snow globe for my niece," said The Man.

"I'll give you snow globes," said Davidson, turning his back on the shop owner.

"And I'll give you a shot through the head," said Filly as she appeared behind him.

Davidson snarled, as he tried to debate his next move.

[frankthetriviaman]

"Now look here, you two- I've got no business with you, nor do I intend to create any. Just let me go about my art in peace" Davidson declared, swinging his crowbar and breaking more glass.

"I don't see the art you speak of" Filly observed.

"Everything in this world is so... cookie cutter" Davidson mused as he kept going about his rampage. "Everything is made exactly the same, with no uniqueness. But break it... and now it's truly unique. No two things break the same way, they finally become unique... their own little works of art" Davidson said, breaking more objects.

"Should I shoot him in the head now?" Filly asked.

"Hey- if you're going to kill anyone... go a few blocks down and kill Simon Colver at 30 Long Street; a small time guy like me isn't worth the effort" Davidson said as he continued to break things.

"And why should I let a vandal like you live?" The Man inquired.

"Why let a pedophile like Colver live?" Davidson shot back

[Eyes]

“Do you know how many hopes and dreams you’ve needlessly squandered with your destruction, Davidson?” asked The Man. “So many innocent people have had to rebuild their lives from scratch thanks to you. Look not for the sins of others without first seeing your own.”

Davidson laughed. “Well what are you gonna do?”

Bad question, he found out, as he felt himself lifted off the ground by The Man and smashed through everything not yet broken in the store. By the time he was through with the vandal, the latter was unconscious and bleeding profusely. The Man dropped him on the ground and came over to the store owner. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a wad of money and pressed it into the man’s hand.

“My apologies,” he said, and then he turned to Filly. “Now where’s the fucking pervert?” he asked. Time to set their sights on Colver.