The patrons of the club had no idea of the business that went on beyond the velvet red curtains. But so long as the booze kept flowing, the women kept dancing and the bouncers turned a blind eye to the cocaine on the tables, most of them would not care. At the bar sat a man in a dark fitted suit, his hands nursing a glass of cheap scotch. The half-naked women gyrating on the podiums were of no interest to Marc Spector, nor were the suits and scum crammed into booths and sat around tables enjoying the show of flesh. In the guise of Jake Lockley, cab driver and general thug, he had visited the establishment a number of times over the past couple of weeks and had managed to gather enough intel to be sure that whatever was behind that door, the answers to his questions would also be held there.
He casually watched the movements of the staff, particularly ones around the door that sat in a far corner and seemed to have a constant presence around it. The bar was owned and run by a man named William Taurens. In the past he had been known as the Man-Bull, a super-powered villain that had turned from less gaudy daylight bank robberies to a more discreet line of shady business away from cameras, the front pages and the glare of the worlds emerging heroes.
Lockley downed his drink and stood up, making his way across the bar, barely glancing at the rest of the room. Three heavies stood at the main entrance, idly chatting amongst themselves. There was one by the stage, likely there to keep drunken hands away from the talent. And finally, the biggest of them stood by the door that Lockley knew he had to get through.
Across to the left sat a booth bigger than the rest, in it sat a slender man with slicked back hair and a neatly shaven goatee. He had a girl on each side of him and a table filled with champagne and cash in front. Two other men sat with him, one shaven headed and stocky, the other looking like a ton of beef wrapped in imitation Armani and an early 90s pony-tail. The gentleman was a regular and Spectors investigations had identified him as George Romani, the nephew of notorious Mafioso, Giovanni Romani. The boy was living off of a family reputation built up by more dedicated members of the Romani family. Spector also realised that on every night Romani had been in he had chosen one particular girl, a young dark haired Russian girl by the name of Destiny.
Lockley pulled a thick wad of cash out of his pocket, moved across to the booth and stood a couple of feet back, waiting for Romani to look over at him.
Seeing the man, Romani gestured him over with two fingers, whispering something into the ear of a half-naked blonde to his right.
Spector put on his best customer service voice and cleared his throat.
Excuse me Sir, but another group of gentlemen have requested the services of Destiny. Im afraid I will have to replace her with another girl.
Romani scowled and sipped from a champagne flute, eyeballing the man in front of his table.
***** off ya mook he said finally, sneering at Lockley before turning his attentions back to the blonde.
Lockley simply smiled and shook his head.
Im sorry Sir, but they have paid a lot of money for her services. All of our girls provide excellent company, Im sure what we can arrange something.
The two men sat with Romani stood up in a show of aggression but Lockley remained unfazed.
Who are these men thatve demanded my girl? he asked.
Lockley turned and pointed at a group at the middle of the club, also sat with a group of girls. One of them saw Romani looking over and raised a glass with a smile, none-the-wiser to the conversation taking place.
They asked me to pass a message on in anticipation of your refusal Lockley began.
What message? Romani had leaned forward, clearly riled by the exchange.
Forgive me Sir but they said to tell you that your uncles money may buy you ****es and coke, but it will never buy you any class. That youre a runt sucking on the tit of your wealthy uncle and the only way you can be near a girl like Destiny is by putting your hands into his pockets.
Romani stood up and slammed his fists on the table.
Those *****s said that?! he cried, Who the ***** do they think they are? Do they know who theyre messing with?!
Lockley dropped his head apologetically and stepped back.
I apologise Sir he said.
Romani had forgotten him already though and was eyeballing the table opposite.
Jacob, Mickey, Cmon, lets go and have a *****in word with our new friends.
Lockley had spent a lot of time wondering how he was going to get through the door. The straight forward approach was a sentence he didnt like the look of. There were too many well-built thugs and an unpredictable crowd to worry about that. So the only other way was to create a diversion. Looking at the raised voices and soon after, the first fists and bottles thrown, he decided it was a worthy plan. The four heavies in the bar moved in but were soon overwhelmed by the eight or so men in the fracas in the middle of the room. Finally, the bouncer stood at the door moved in to help the escalating brawl and Lockley melted into the back of the bar and towards the door, slipping inside without anyone noticing.
Inside he found himself in a grim corridor with a couple of doors on either side and a set of stairs on either side. One of the doors was locked, the other a bathroom and the third a storage cupboard. Moving quickly to the stairs, he ascended them and found himself walking past two other locked doors and finally one big door at the end. This one, made of a finer wood and looking more expensive than anything else he had seen in the whole of the club. Lockley marched to it and pushed through it with purpose.
Behind a thick oak desk littered with paperwork, a bottle of wine and cigar ash sat a well-muscled man with a mane of dark hair a beige suit, a white silk scarf, and a long sharp horn jutting out of each side of his head. Spector instantly understood why he was called the Man-Bull. Though he couldnt help but think that the creature was equal parts ridiculous to equal parts intimidating.
William Taurens? Spector asked, flitting between the mercenary that wanted revenge and the cab driver looking for answers.
Taurens gazed up and took a long puff of his cigar.
Howd you get up here little man? he asked.
Lockley stepped forward and clenched his fists.
Ive got questions Taurens, and Ive got it on good authority that you have the answers.
Is that so? Taurens scowled.
Raoul Bushman Lockley snarled, stepping a foot or so away from the desk. The rest of the office was sparsely furnished. A leather couch, a large wall-mounted TV and a few filing shelves made up the bulk of the décor.
I know you work for him. I want him. Where do I find him?
Taurens snorted a laugh and scratched at the stubble lining his face.
Youre really going to try and shake me down little man?
Where is he, Taurens? Lockley snarled
I want Blood.
Walk away little man Taurens warned, losing the smile that was momentarily splashed across his face.
Walk away before you get hurt.
I wont ask again Lockley said, reaching the desk.
I want Bushman.
With a mighty roar the oak desk lifted from the floor, catapulted into Lockley like a missile. The air was knocked from his lungs and his body exploded in pain upon impact, knocking him from his feet. From where he was sat, Taurens rose and marched across the room, grabbing Lockley by the throat.
I told you little man. But you mess with a bull, youre going to get the horns!
Lockley gasped for breath as Taurens squeezed, feeling the life fleeing from him. Taurens merely sneered and with a grunt threw Lockley across the room, his body crashing into the TV in a hail of broken plastic and glass.
Feed me your tribute
Groaning and tasting his own blood, Lockley tried to gather himself as Taurens closed in. His hand wrapped around a shard of glass and as Taurens reached over Jake plunged it deep into the soft tissue just above Taurens right collarbone. The Man-Bull screamed in pain and staggered back. Lockley rose and charged forward, leaping into the air and grabbing one of Tourens horns, pulling him backwards.
Satisfy my thirst
Leaping on top of the villain, Lockley drove a fist into his face.
Tell me where Bushman is! he spat.
Taurens snarled and grabbed Lockleys fist, stopping another punch before slamming a firm head-butt into Lockleys nose and shattering it. Lockley fell back and Taurens rose, delivering a kick to the ribs that sent Jake skittering across the destroyed office. Defiantly, Lockley rose to his feet, though his legs threatened to give out. His nose was shattered and he was seeing stars. He was still aware enough to see Taurens charge though, head down, horns levelled at Lockleys chest. At the last second, Lockley let his legs give in, dropping and rolling to one side as Man-Bull tore past him and slammed his horn deep into the wall, lodging himself there. Lockley jumped on his back and grabbed at the scarf, pulling it tight and twisting it with all of his strength. Taurens choked and gagged, unable to free himself.
Tell me Lockley snarled.
Give me Bushman and you get to live.
***** you
PAIN. DEATH. VENGEANCE.
We dont do business no more
H-hes off the map. Got plans. Big plans.
What plans? Where the hell do I find him William? WHERE?!
The Shipyards
BLOOD
Lockley winced. The overwhelming urge to finish the job struck him like a rock. Instead he let go and allowed Taurens to drop to the floor, staggering from the office and leaving the villain in a heap.
*****
Theres a darkness that lives inside most men. Usually its buried under deep layers. Whether its morals, ethics, beliefs, religion, or any others that supress that darkness into the deepest pit of the soul. But sometimes that darkness is allowed to rise to the surface, to burn out any sense of right and decency. Sometimes it is so strong that it consumes wholly and as such, the greatest evil that has ever afflicted humankind has been that which humankind has wrought upon itself.
But sometimes, as that darkness rises, an opposing force will rise to meet it and fend off its corrosive touch. And on this night, in this blackest of cities, amongst the filth and scum that run it, a force is born to fight the darkness.
He is the Avatar of Vengeance.
They call him the Moon Knight.
