by Captain Sammitch and Chewy Walrus
New Orleans, Louisiana:
The street rushed up to meet Phil Smith and his pair of passengers before the grapple line snapped taut, and the three of them began swinging forward at about eighty miles an hour. Latisha Piper was silent, still in shock.
"We're gonna die!" Nick DiVecchio cried.
Phil ignored him as he looked over his shoulder to see Detective Rick Patterson turn and follow him in the police chopper. "Hang on. I'm gonna try and lose him." He pulled out another grapple gun and fired it at a right angle, then pushed a button on the first gun, causing the grapple on the first target to pop free and retract into the gun. Phil grabbed onto the second line with both hands, and the three of them began swinging off down a perpendicular street like something out of Spider-Man.
But when Phil looked back a second time, Patterson was still there. And after repeating the process a few more times, the chopper was still following them, as well as several police cruisers on the ground. "Dammit, Patterson," Phil breathed. "What are you trying to prove?"
Latisha Piper clung to Phil for dear life, assisted by a very nervous Nick DiVecchio, as the trio sailed between high-rises, over balconies, and past fire escapes. But nothing Phil could do seemed to shake the police helicopter.
"We're almost on top of them," the pilot announced. "We'll try and snag them."
Patterson nodded. But somehow it didn't feel right, what he was doing. Phil Smith was definitely operating outside the law, but Patterson wasn't quite sure whether he should be trying to stop him or help him.
He had been so close to catching Smith in New York and had failed. Now, he had a second chance. If he would only take it. What to do? Patterson turned to the pilot. "I know this guy's next move."
"What do you wanna do?" the pilot asked.
"Take us up and go left," Patterson ordered.
"You sure, sir?" the pilot asked. "Looks to me like he's gonna go right." Phil was looking off down the street to his right, and aiming a grapple gun down that street.
Patterson shook his head. "I know this guy. He's going right."
The pilot shrugged. "Your call." He banked the chopper to the left.
Phil took off down the street to the right.
"Oops," Patterson murmured.
"We can catch him," the pilot said as he reversed course.
"No, we can't," Patterson said as he fired his service revolver into the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?!" the pilot shouted.
"Looks like we'd better get back to headquarters," Patterson said softly. "Too bad that last jolt tripped the safety on my gun."
The pilot rolled his eyes. "I'd better get a promotion outta this, or you're gonna hang." He turned and headed back to headquarters.
Phil was puzzled. The helicopter reversed its course as he continued off down the street, making a circle and heading back toward the diner.
He hoped Grissom was still on schedule.
The south side of New Orleans:
In and out job, Grissom Montag thought to himself as he crept down the hallway of the warehouse. Down the hall, an open door shed light out into the hallway as the sounds of five individuals playing poker could be heard inside. Grissom vanished his gun from his hand, moving slowly so as not to be heard. The last thing he wanted was for the men inside to realize that they had company.
Grissom had thought out a plan to move easily through the building and retrieve Kit's daughter Denyce before anyone in the building could even begin to realize that he'd been there, but such a snatch-and-grab wasn't really his style. Grissom had flair, and he wanted to make sure it was evident in all that he did -- this included.
So, as he crept down the hallway slowly toward the open door, he smiled to himself, preparing for the impending shootout with the Castronovo family.
"Hey, Val, pass the chips," a high-pitched voice resounded from the other side of the door.
"Forget you, Arnie," a rich, commanding baritone responded. "You'll get 'em when you win 'em..."
"I meant the tortilla chips, Val," the high voice of Arnie replied. "Quit hoggin' 'em all!"
"Yeah, Val," came a softer voice, "let me, Arnie, and Michael have some."
"Fine, whiners," Val's voice rang out. "Hey, Tony... your deal."
"Oh, right," came Tony's reply, which sounded as though he'd just been shaken out of a daydream. "Sorry 'bout that. Had one o' them out of body experiences, y'know?"
"Save it, Tony," Val said again. "Just deal. And make sure Sammy only gets five cards this time, 'kay?"
"Sure thing, Val," Tony said again.
Grissom had approached the door. He peeked in and saw a twenty-something bleach blonde man tossing cards to four other people. Griss eyed the other four and tried to place voices with names and faces. From what he could tell, the youngest member -- a slight black-haired kid in a short-sleeved white dress shirt eating tortilla chips -- must be Arnie. The dealer, Tony, had a goatee and wore a white wife-beater T-shirt with suspenders. Two tall twins, probably Sammy and Michael, sat beside one another. The thinner of the two wore a powder blue suit, while the other had his longer hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore a lime green shirt with a black vest. That left the large, heavy-set blonde man of about thirty with his hair greased back and wearing a full suit... that one had to be Val. No doubt in Grissom's mind.
Griss smiled as the door slid open a bit further. He leaned on the doorframe and waited for the Castronvos to take notice.
He wasn't waiting long.
Arnie looked up, his eyes widened, and, spitting the chips from his mouth, he shrieked like a little girl. As Michael reached over to hit Arnie, Val's eyes followed his little brother's gaze, and he stood, drawing his gun as he rose to his feet. Tony followed suit, pulling his weapon from the back of his pants, while Sammy pushed over the table, grabbing his gun from the tabletop as he did so.
Grissom Montag smiled. "How you doin', mates?" he quipped, winking at Val, who stood his ground firmly.
"Who are you?" Val said commandingly as Arnie and Michael each pulled their weapons.
"Name's Grissom Montag," the Brit said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I'm something of a mercenary. Way I see it, we're in a similar line of work."
Val sneered. "I doubt it," he said, narrowing his vision. "Way I see it, we got a li'l somethin' called loyalty, whereas you go around whorin' yerself out to the top bidder."
Griss smiled again.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Val said, a smirk rising at the corners of his mouth.
"First of all," Grissom said, eyeing the set-up before him and casually calculating his next move, "I don't see much loyalty here. Seems t'me like you got more sibling rivalry goin' on in this room than the Brady Bunch at their Memorial Day Weekend family reunion.
"And second," Grissom continued, "I am quite loyal. To my good friend back in the Caribbean. Maybe you've 'eard of 'im? Mr. Kit Piper...?"
Arnie's eyes widened again. "Val! That's the guy whose kid we took! The one Gambini's takin' down!"
Grissom smiled as Val glared at Arnie. "Y've got a lot to learn yet, kid," Griss said.
"It's called deniability, Arnie," Val said, looking down at his brother. "Don't say another word, or I'll kill you myself..."
"See what I told you about loyalty, Val?" Grissom said. "You shoot your own brother for nothin' short o' givin' up some information? That's pretty pathetic...
"Now, I want some information from you gentlemen -- and I use the term loosely at best," Griss quipped. "I wanna know where the girl is. Then, I want her released into my custody. And I want it all done now. Or else, I'll have to kill your happy little family... one by one."
Val stifled a laugh. "How're you plannin' on doin' that?" Val asked, smiling from ear-to-ear. "You ain't even got a gun..."
Grissom smiled as his hands came out of his pockets, each one holding a .9mm handgun. "You were saying?"
Val composed himself quickly from his shock. He pulled the trigger on his gun, only to find that he no longer had one.
"Looking for something?" Grissom said, motioning to the silver weapon that lay at his feet. Tony was the next to make a move. He also tried to fire a shot, but, looking at Griss' feet and noting his gun joining Val's, he broke out toward Grissom in a dead-on lunge. Grissom leaped into the air, landing atop his attacker, sending Tony sprawling onto the floor.
A shot rang out. Grissom looked up and saw a bullet whizzing for his head. Without much time to think, he teleported the bullet into Tony's spine. Michael, who'd shot the bullet, grew progressively more angry and fired off a series of shots. Grissom was ready this time and teleported the bullets, still in motion, immediately behind the hot-headed Castronovo. Blood crept out of Michael's mouth as he hit the floor, dead.
Sammy rose from his place on the floor, his handgun thrown to the side and a semi-automatic having taken its place. Grissom leapt from Tony's back and delivered a solid flying kick straight to the thin man's abdomen. Sammy was sent flying back into a cabinet, falling inside it, unconscious.
Arnie, who'd been crouched next to Michael, checked his brother's pulse while Grissom fought Sammy. He was dead. Suddenly filled with fear, Arnie was left with no other option than to run. Hard. He leapt over the card table Sammy had thrown to the ground and headed for the door. Grissom, on his way to the ground after kicking Sammy, took aim and fired his gun, hitting Arnie square in the shoulder. Arnie was knocked slightly off-balance, causing him to slip on a playing card. He fell to the floor, his head smacking the linoleum with astounding force. Grissom hit the ground just before Arnie, whose head split open on impact, sending blood out across the floor.
Rolling onto his back, Grissom aimed both of his guns in Val's direction. The large man stood amazingly still. Michael was dead. Arnie wasn't far off. Sammy was out cold, and Tony would probably never walk again. This man was dangerous, Val knew. Better to cooperate than cause any further damage to himself or his family.
"What do you want?"
"The Piper girl," Grissom answered, never taking his eyes off of Val. "Where is she?"
"Upstairs," Castronovo answered, swallowing hard. "In the bathroom."
"Take me there," Grissom said. "And move slowly."
Val slowly began walking out of the room as Grissom flipped himself onto his feet. Exiting the room behind Val, he heard the click of a gun from behind him. Stopping suddenly, Grissom closed his eyes... and turned slowly. Opening his eyes, he saw Sammy Castronovo with a handgun aimed at his head.
"You don't wanna do that," Grissom said, shaking his head.
"I do," Sammy said softly, fire and rage in his quiet eyes.
"Then, I gotta give you this," Grissom said as he teleported a smoke bomb into Sammy's mouth.
The thin man's eyes widened. His gun fell to the ground. As smoke filled his lungs, he collapsed to the floor, grasping desperately at Grissom, who turned and followed Val. Sammy Castronovo died on the floor next to his brothers, having suffocated to death from smoke inhalation.
Upon taking Grissom upstairs, Val opened the bathroom door and motioned for Grissom to enter. The Brit pointed his gun at the man again. "You first," he said, deadpan. "I insist."
Val shrugged, entering the bathroom and pulling open the shower curtain to reveal little Denyce Piper. She was blindfolded and had duct tape placed over her mouth. Her hands and feet were bound with cord, and the bathtub she was laying in was filled with cold water. Her body was shivering violently, and Grissom knew he had to act fast.
"You're a sick bastard, Castronovo," he said, shooting the man in the left kneecap. "Let that be a lesson to you."
Quickly teleporting away his guns, he pulled the girl out of the water, pulling the tape from her mouth. Her teeth chattered as a small whimper escaped from her mouth. Val yelled in pain behind him. A swift kick delivered from Grissom both knocked the man out and broke his jaw.
Running from the bathroom and running into what was likely formerly a foreman's bedroom at the warehouse, Grissom placed the little girl on the bed and teleported a knife into his hands, which he used to cut the girl's blindfold and bindings. Then, covering her with any amount of blankets he could find, he wrapped her up and tucked her under his arm, making his way back downstairs and out the front door.
"Wh-who are y-y-you?" Denyce chattered as Grissom placed her in the seat beside him in the SBC van.
"I'm Griss," he said, starting the engine and pulling away. "I work for your daddy..."
"W-where's M-m-mommy and L-l-l...?"
"Shh," Grissom said, putting a finger to the girl's slightly blue lips. "You'll see them soon. I'm gonna get you to a hospital first, though. I'll have my friend bring your mommy and sissy to the hospital. Okay?"
She nodded weakly and closed her eyes. Grissom swore to himself. He had to get her to a hospital... and fast!