Claude is my right hand man, the only one that's allowed to come and kill with me. He's tall, he's loud, he's American. And I hate him. But he's never let me down. And he doesn't ask too many questions.

"I need the car."

"For what?"

"A job."

"Need help?"

"No."

"And I suppose you don't want Rico to drive you."

"I got it, Claude."

"Alright, good luck."

And that was about the gist of it. I threw my jacket in first, then got in, and pulled on my gloves. The leather stuck to my skin and groaned when I flexed my fingers - a sound that I'd missed. Normally, the saying goes "When the gloves come off.." For me? It's the exact opposite.

I wrenched the car into gear, and slammed my foot down into the accelerator. The tires squealed, and the top was nearly sheared off as I shot out of the garage, not even waiting for the door to finish lifting. Through the rear view mirror, I saw Claude and Rico huddle together and converse, and I snorted. They were either trying to figure out what I was up to, or trying to convince one another to not say anything about it.

Ten minutes later, I parked the car and walked the rest of the five hundred or so yards to their location. It might have been a stupid thing to do had our vehicle not been equipped with a fail safe. In the event of a break-in, a powerful anesthesia would be pumped through the AC rendering the idiot or idiots unconscious in a manner of seconds.

They were right where Alek said they would be: a wide alley between six separate brownstone buildings and one cement stucco. There was spray paint on all the walls, even way up high. Some of the vandals must have used ladders to try and leave their mark. It was pathetic. But.. if that's how they wanted to waste their time, I was no one to judge. I heard voices, the rattle of chains; laughter. The unmistakable suction of lips leaving a beer bottle. They were all soaked with the stench of it. That, and rancid take-out food. I had a hard time believing that any of these punks were capable of taking Alek out.

But should I believe it or not, they did. And I was here to fix that.

My hair was loose, and sweat rolled down the back of my neck. I was thankful I left my jacket in the car. Stepping from the shadows of one of the brownstones, I pulled Luvvie from her holster and cocked the hammer. The click was loud in the muffled summer air, and everyone froze. Hands grabbed weapons, feet swerved on the ground. Puzzled murmurs floated between them. I nearly laughed when I saw their faces. I raised my arm, and Luvvie gleamed even in the dim light.

"Which one of you is the leader?" I flicked my eyes to each in turn, and studied their cocky expressions one by one. It was like I could read their thoughts. 'Heh, she's only one girl,' 'Tch, what does she think she's gonna do?' 'We're gonna have some fun with her...' The tallest of their group held coils of metal chains in their hands, and they pulled them taught. A girl to his left snickered. And then another with a baseball bat across his shoulder and a cap on his head gave me an upnod.

"Who's askin'?" The man was about half a foot taller than I was, bald, and chunky; but in a muscular way. The sunglasses on his face glittered just like his hairless head.

"Are you him?"

"And I asked you a question."

I squeezed Luvvie's trigger, and my wrist jerked back with her familiar kick. I saw a spray of dark blood hit the air as his kneecap was practically blown out the back of his leg. He went down with a shriek I hadn't heard come out of anything other than a girl. I cocked her hammer once more, and it clicked loudly, not drowned out in the slightest by the noise everyone was now making.

"I'm not going to ask again."