Redemption

Chapter Two-2

“How the hell…!” Carissa gasped upon switching on the light. “I thought you were dead!”

“Yeah, falling off the Empire State Building can start rumors,” the Nightcrawler walked over and sat on the edge of the love seat by the far wall.

“You…you were there when Max was killed,” Carissa managed. Every time she thought of him she was on the verge of tears these days.

“Yeah,” the Nightcrawler's head drooped. “Those cowards never gave him a chance. I like to think he took Apollyon with him. Those other creeps are doing big time in Attica.”

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“I don't know if you read on the Internet where the Mafiya was in cahoots with Boko Haram. Even though Max helped me sink the Russian Mob, Boko Haram's still out there.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I need help taking them down. I've taken some pretty bad bumps the last few times out. I've lost some vision in my left eye. I sure could use a driver.”

“Yeah?” Carissa managed a chuckle. “Why not ask Deadwoman?”

“I was gonna ask you to take her place.”

“What, me Deadwoman?”

“Why not?

“That's crazy. What do you possibly think I can do?”

“Just drive if I can't.”

“Oh my gosh. I'll have to think about it.”

“I'm only gonna ask you this one time.”

“All right. I'll do it. For Max.”

“I still have your cell number.”

“Why didn't you call me?” Carissa flushed.

“I didn't think I'd get a good response.”

Once the Nightcrawler left, Carissa collapsed in a heap onto her plush armchair. She remembered her meeting with the vigilante shortly after her cousin Margaret was being coerced by the Lipki g**g. The Nightcrawler had been watching Max as he moved around Brighton. When their circle of friends was compromised, the NYPD relocated them as potential witnesses to New Jersey. The Nightcrawler learned of Margaret's dilemma and soon contacted Carissa. Carissa agreed to allow the Nightcrawler to set a trap for the Russians at the hotel in which they were secluded. As a result, the Yakov brothers were caught by the vigilante and arrested by the Harrison Police.

She had been friends with Max, Lori, Ron and Chuck since high school. They began dealing drugs together as a means to comfortably afford the cost of living in Brooklyn. Max was considered a low-level dealer by the Lipki g**g. His boyhood friend Tamerlan Chekhov began moving up in the g**g, and Max soon found himself being included in the loop. Only Tammy's brother was murdered, and the Nightcrawler enlisted him as a snitch in order to take down the Lipkis. It started a vicious cycle which ended in Tammy, then Max, being killed.

The loss of her closest friends left a vacuum in her life. The biggest one was caused by Max's death at the Empire State Building. She dreamed that someday they would all be reunited…everyone but Max. His spirit, joie de vivre, infectious smile, and wry humor were all gone forever. It made her sad and angry, and at once she realized that this was a way to find closure. Besides, the Nightcrawler had saved her from the Yakovs. She owed it to Max…and she owed it to the vigilante.

She had no idea what her job description as Deadwoman would entail. All she could do was gird herself up to giving it a try.

* * *

“Use of lethal force against the American people has become epidemic across our country,” Al Jazeera commentator and political analyst Lamont Estes decried the situation on his weekly show, which was becoming an Internet sensation around the globe. “Police departments in hundreds of cities throughout America have made themselves the judge, jury and executioner of minority groups on our city streets. Illegal stops, searches, seizures, beatings, maiming and murders have become rampant, and only a handful of these crimes are ever reported. It is time for our elected officials and our communities to take a stand and to end these atrocities. The United Nations Human Rights Council has condemned these actions, presenting our case before the whole world. We must refuse to allow the oppressors the option to suppress our voices, our freedom of assembly to protest of their actions. We will exercise our rights and rally in support of the persecuted citizens in our midst. Come out and take part in demonstrations in your area, for by your silence you are passively condoning the deprivation of the rights of your neighbors.”

“One of the most shameful examples of law enforcement's disregard of the laws of the land is in New York City. The Nightcrawler, the most infamous vigilante in the State's history, has conducted campaigns in East Harlem, Little Odessa and other ethnic areas targeting minorities during recent times of crisis. Using these emergencies as a subterfuge, the Nightcrawler has maimed and crippled dozens of suspects and has even left dead victims in his wake. Both Homeland Security and the NYPD claim they have been unable to capture this man and even question the fact that he is still at large. To many observers, this appears to be one of the most scandalous cover-ups in recent memory.”

“We call upon the citizens of our country to contact your local representatives, donate whenever possible and support local groups in protesting police brutality. When those appointed to protect and serve us are targeting our children and persecuting our minorities, we must wake up and realize there is no law and order. Don't let the Nightcrawler become a role model for militants and extremists across our nation. End the violence before it destroys us all.”

Sabrina had descended into a deep funk by the time she switched off the TV that night. The citizens of New York City were pushing back against the police crackdowns resulting from the terror attack by Tryzub just months ago. Analysts speculated that most of the police actions had taken place in lower-class neighborhoods. Stop-and-frisk incidents reached a record high, and blacks and Hispanics had been targeted despite the fact that Tryzub's connections were almost exclusively Chechen and Russian. There was no denying that there was a good measure of injustice having been meted out. Only she felt that people were forgetting that New York's Finest had saved the city from the plague of the century.

She had no illusions about her alter ego. She never saw it as more than a necessary evil. Only she felt somewhat slighted after all the a***e she had suffered in doing her share. Apollyon's metal-clad fists had taken a toll, as attested to by her recent doctor's visit. Plus her vision blurred at times and her hearing faded in and out. Declaring her a menace to society added insult to injury.

It wasn't as painful as knowing that Hoyt was having her watched. She spotted the surveillance team outside her house the day before yesterday. She made her countermove by renting a car and parking it a couple of blocks away, then slipping out in her Nightcrawler gear under cover of shadows. It was easy enough to visit Philemon, then Carissa, before sneaking back in. It was just that Hoyt, in his strong position at Police Plaza, could not have possibly been unaware of the coverage. If he was not behind it, then he at least knew what was going down.

She did not rule out the possibility that even Jon Aeppli was in on it. Jon had already made it clear that if Sabrina returned to her Nightcrawling activity, he would resign as President of BCC. He had suffered far too much emotional duress and sacrificed too much personal time and effort. He was in his early sixties, financially secure and had accomplished far more than he had ever imagined in his career. He was willing to stand by Sabrina in bringing BCC to the next level. Only he was not going to act as a footstool in doing so.

Taking down Boko Haram would be the final phase of her last campaign. She had ended Tryzub's terror operation and crippled the Russian Mob. Boko Haram was the last of the coalition, and they were the ones who injured her most grievously. She had been brought to Bellevue Hospital in a near-coma after aborting their attack on Wall Street. She used the situation to her advantage in taking down the Mafiya, but Boko Haram was still at large. This would be her curtain call.

She knew that Philemon's street connections would be able to pinpoint Boko Haram. She would be able to anticipate their next move and take them down once and for all. Their only income came from narcotics, and East Harlem wasn't big enough for them to move serious weight without being noticed. Once she figured out their strategy, it would be a question of picking a time and place for their last encounter. She would find a way in, and if necessary, Deadwoman would bring her out.

From a low-level Mafiya d**g dealer to Deadwoman. Poor Carissa.

One never knew where life would take them next.

Juan Espino was the orphaned son of a recycling merchant. Juli Lawson was the daughter of a couple killed in an auto accident. They were preschoolers when Aleister Piedmont decided he would change their lives. Unmarried and childless, he abided by Pietro Rossini's axiom that family was the most important of a man's assets. Piedmont owned his own strip club and had his pick of every gorgeous woman who worked there. Yet he never met the perfect woman who could stand behind his throne, bear his children and remain loyal unto death. He decided instead to adopt two children who would have a man's strength and a woman's instinct in ruling his empire once he was gone.

Although he was far from the ideal parent candidate, Al had the connections and the money necessary to make the adoption happen. On paper, he was a self-made multi-millionaire owning shares in restaurants, recycling companies, investment firms, energy corporations and overseas shipping conglomerates. He had a clean police record, having never been arrested or formally accused of a crime. Only when the children arrived at his mansion on Sheepshead Bay, it was not long before they realized what their new adopted father was all about.

Years later, they had become model children, carefully molded into the kind of people that Al expected them to be in life. Though their scholastic aptitude left much to be desired, their ability as career criminals was beyond question. They were both highly skilled in martial arts, qualified shooters, had a working knowledge of underworld tradecraft as well as Al's legitimate operations. The only thing that distinguished them from other teenagers was their lifeless stare that reminded people of shark's eyes. They also had a remarkable sense of calm that remained unbroken regardless of crisis or duress.

Al brought Juan and Juli with him to meet with Lamont Estes at Le Bernardin, one of the most exclusive restaurants in NYC. Al was dressed in a $5,000 midnight blue suit with matching tie and a white silk shirt, while Juan favored a $1,000 black suit and shirt. Juli was dressed in a black leather suit with a white ruffled shirt. Lamont was greatly impressed by their surroundings, particularly by the smoked sea trout Al recommended for him. Flavored by a pickled red onion and citrus sauce, it was a $150 entrée he would not soon forget.

“This is one of my favorite restaurants,” Juli smiled as she savored a bite of scallop dipped in a brown butter broth. Her sky-blue eyes, alabaster skin and golden tresses made her one of the most beautiful women in the restaurant. “I'm so glad that Dad brought us along.”

“You got that right,” Juan enjoyed his grilled cod served escabeche style. “I love this place.” He was as pale as Juli, his black hair and eyes giving a hauntingly handsome appearance.