xp_logs | With Extreme Prejudice, chapter 4

Spider-Man and Daredevil stake out a Friends of Humanity weapons deal to learn where these guns are coming from. It's not good news.

It had taken a little sleuthing, but Matt and Miles discovered where the Friends of Humanity were getting their guns from. Here at this Brooklyn harbor, it was like a scene out of a movie. Matt and Miles hid behind a stack of crates, spying on the group of skinheads discussing the purchase with the seller, a middle-aged overweight white guy in a trench coat, flanked by a pair bruisers.

"You think they're mafia, maybe?" Miles whispered, low enough for only Matt to hear.

"No," Matt shook his head slightly, "That's Tom Dixon," he spoke quietly, but made sure that Miles could hear him. "With the NYPD. And Mahoney's partner," which was not at all a good sign. Mahoney was a good cop. To have a corrupt partner and not know looked as bad as to have one and help hide it. It meant that Mahoney didn't notice things properly. Not good.

Miles quickly pulled his head back behind the crate and covered his masked mouth with his hands, lest their quarry hear his gasp. Not that a corrupt cop was such a surprise in light of everything, but that he tied into this investigation so tightly. "Ay, Díos mío," he lamented. "Police who's supposed to be uncovering why we're on riot watch is actually the reason for it. Why would he do that? If it's money, it's gotta be good. And someone else has gotta be paying him, you know what I mean?"

Nodding, Matt covered Miles' mouth for a moment, keeping him quiet as someone came close to them, then passed way. "And Mahoney's a good cop," and getting saddled with a bad cop for a partner was not going to work for anyone. Not just because of what was going on, either. "Ready to stop this?" he asked

The younger vigilante nodded. Murder investigations could never be simple, could they? All sorts of back-alley operations and whatnot to complicate things. Miles went into camo mode and stealthily climbed up the crates so he could attack from high while Matt stayed low. Matt would surely want the policeman, so Miles targeted the nearest FOHer, who was busy inspecting one of the illegal firearms.

Running towards the mob goons, Matt didn't wait any time, taking out the first guy he reached without any fanfare. He wasn't interested in playing games. The more he took out now, the fewer he would have to deal with later. And the fewer guns on the streets.

Swinging from a web, Miles slammed his feet into the back of the weapons buyer, sending him flying almost cartoonishly into the side of a nearby shipping crate. Miles winced. Even holding back, that was gonna hurt. He stood up when he landed, but then immediately fell down onto all fours under command of his spider-sense, which warned him of the incoming gunfire. Despite being taken by surprise, they retaliated quickly. Nothing like the thugs Miles and Matt had fought a couple days earlier.

More complications. Wonderful.

When they were better trained, did they move from thugs to goons? Was there a hierarchy of these things? The gunfire lit up his sonar like Christmas and he shifted and twisted, getting low as well, then shot his billy club at the nearby light to change everyone's vision. He knew Miles would be fine and he wasn't affected at all, but it would make the goons pause for a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. It wasn't pitch black, but it was at least something.

It provided sufficient distraction that Miles could disarm one of the gunmen with a web, and used it as a flail to KO another. How he wished Matt could actually see that display of badassery.

"You're all a bunch of punks," he taunted, blocking a punch and zapping his attacker with a venom blast that sent him to his knees. "What's the point of all this? Bring guns into the streets and scare people? Geez, are your dicks that small?"

The distraction proved helpful the crooked cop, too. Tom Dixon had turned and fled the instant the heroes appeared. Let these rednecks do what they will while he got his ass out of there. "Dial Hanrahan," he ordered his cell phone while he dug through his pocket for his keys. By the time the other side of the line picked up, he was in his car. "It's gone bad. Those fucking masks are here . . . No, they . . . Fucking listen to me, Hanrahan! They're onto me. This deal's off, I'm outta here, we'll . . . Fuck. No. Look, if you wanna take on Spider-Baby and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, then go right ahead. You're sure as fuck not paying me enough."

"Man," Daredevil growled, grabbing the cop from his car and hauling him out bodily, "Spider-Man," he clarified, slamming him against a nearby wall. "Dirty cop," he added. Hanrahan. "Who's Hanrahan?" he demanded, wanting more information. And Dixon was going to give it to him.

Trembling, Tom spluttered, "Dan Hanrahan," though he didn't give more information. Matt knew better than to press, hearing his heart beating as dangerously fast as it was.

"Waste of space," he muttered, tossing Dixon aside to go back to helping Miles.

A few of the thugs had scattered when they realized how hopelessly outmatched they were, even though they had numbers on their side. Those who remained were either unconscious, barely conscious, or currently earning hands-on experience with a synthetic webbing chemical. Miles elbowed a guy in the face, careful not to break his nose, and webbed him to the side of a crate.

"Well. That was something."

One way to describe it. "C'mon," Matt headed away and up the side of a building in the shadows assuming Miles would follow him. "This isn't over."

"Why'd you let that guy go?" Miles asked, quickly catching up to Matt. "Dirty cop, your friend's partner. Selling illegal guns to the Friends of Humanity. Why? This doesn't make sense."

"See if we can follow him, getting the bigger rats," Matt replied, "And we got a name. Dan Hanrahan. Ring any bells?" he didn't know it, but that didn't mean it wasn't important. Human on mutant violence was only escalating and it needed to be stopped above the goon level.

Something that wasn't his spider-sense pinged in the back of Miles' head, but he couldn't place it. "I really need to find a way to keep my cell phone on me in this costume," he lamented. "I swear to God I know that name, I just can't remember."

Millennials without their phones were hilarious. Then again, Matt was pretty phone dependent too. And probably technically a millennial himself. "We can Google it first thing," he promised since he wasn't letting Miles near his phone.