[FFML] [TEASER][GUN SMITH CATS/PUNISHER] Crime and Punishment

Hi! Knight Writer here with a crazy idea. I recently purchased seven volumes of the Gun Smith Cats manga, and this fic occured to me. I'm new to GSC, and haven't followed Punisher in a while, so I may not have the characters right. This teaser is pretty quick and rough, and ideas for this fic are sketchy. All comments are welcome as are ideas for plot development.

Thanks!

Knight Writer

Gunsmith Cats copyright Kenichi Sonoda

The Punisher copyright Marvel Comics

Both used without permission.

Gunsmith Cats

The Punisher

Crime and Punishment

"Man, will you stop pacin' like that?" Rico asked irritably. "You're makin' me nervous. An' take your finger off that damn trigger!"

"Sorry," Mark replied as he came to a halt, his finger releasing the trigger of his H&K MP-10. "Just anxious, that's all. I want this over with."

"I hear you," Rico said, his Puerto Rican accent becoming more pronounced. "Just chill out. Three hours, we'll get our cash, and drop off the kids." He jerked his head toward the door behind which three children; a girl of fourteen and twin boys of nine years - were held captive.

"Yeah. yeah, sure. Man, I could go for some boo right about now."

"You light up, and I'll cap you myself," Rico snarled, tracing the bulge beneath his jacket where the Colt pistol was holstered. "I don't need you stoned if the shit hits the fan, you hear?"

"I hear ya," Mark said. "I was just sayin', that's all. Kidnapping for ransom, it's a wonder the Feds ain't got us yet."

"We told the parents what would happen if they called any cops," Rico replied. He didn't add that he truly hoped it wouldn't come to that. Shooting kids wasn't a prospect that he particularly relished. "Five million bucks, man. Five million and the rest of our lives in Tahiti!"

Tahiti, huh? Well, punk, you're going somewhere warm alright, but it's not tropical and a lot hotter than the islands.

They chose like stereotypical thugs. An old warehouse on the waterfront. At least these pukes could have tried to be more original. That's what you get for being amateurs.

I'm amazed that anyone is still stupid enough to try a kidnapping for ransom. The FBI had all but made that particular crime extinct - it's the primary reason they were formed, after all - by becoming too good at tracking them and then coming down on their heads like the Wrath of God. It makes me sick to think that kids these days are kidnapped by members of their own families or for sex and then killed soon after.

The guy they'd placed outside had been easy enough, his neck snapped like a stick and getting in was even easier.

"Frank."

"Yeah, Micro?" I reply in a whisper.

"I pinpointed those three kids. They're about a hundred meters ahead and to your left. This Cypher-T we got from that arms dealer in Peru is like magic."

"Thanks."

"One more thing, Frank. The second guy's headed your way."

"I see him. Out."

He's confident, I see from his stride and from the casual way he's holding his semi-auto. H&K MP-10, capable of single round and three round bursts. He thinks that nobody knows what he and his cronies have done, doesn't know I'm here.

I slide from behind my cover of dust-coated crates just as he turns to head to the bathroom, the Ka Bar at the ready. It's low-key, which is just how I want it. The acoustics in this place would carry even a suppressed gunshot, and I don't want these assholes to know I'm here. Yet.

My arm is around his neck like a python, crushing his windpipe before he can cry out while my other plunges the Ka Bar between the spaces in his ribcage. I feel the handle vibrate as his heart beats around the surgical steel, cutting itself in half.

He's dead in under a minute and I lower the cadaver gently to the floor after boosting his gun. Can't have too many in my line of work. Two swipes across the puke's white shirt gets most of the blood off. I won't have it staining my blade, it would be an insult to the weapon.

Two down, two to go. The Ka Bar is re-sheathed and the CZ-75 is drawn. I won't bother to silence it.

"Micro, where are they?"

"Dead ahead, Frank, forty meters. They're close together."

"What can go wrong?" Mark asked, even though he dimly recalled someone saying that such was a question you simply didn't ask.

"Nothin', man," Rico replied, lighting his fifth Newport of the night. "I'm tellin' ya, this is comin' off without a hitch. Rich bastard like Max Jameson can spare five mil' like pocket change, man. You ain't heard about how much CEO's are paid?"

"Livin' in goddamn palaces. Spendin' hundreds of millions on those places an' rippin' off investors. He deserves it."

"Got that right, brother."

What can go wrong? I ask silently as I sight in the pistol on the white puke's cerebellum. This guy's about to find out. The Puerto Rican - Rico, the intel brief Micro had given me earlier had said - was sitting in a flimsy plastic chair in the only well lit section of the warehouse. A quick glance shows me the door behind which Max Jameson's children are held. Good. As long as they're tied up in that closet space, they're out of my way.

"Tahiti, here we come!" Rico says.

That's when I fire.

Rico couldn't believe it. The sound was unmistakably a gunshot, and Mark's head turned into a red mist not even a half second later. Some semblance of weapons training from his time in the Marines kicked in as he unslung the Colt as he rolled from the chair.

This couldn't be happening! He had thought the plan through! It was so close!

As such, Rico began emptying shots into the darkness while panic gripped his heart. Five million was about to go down the drain, and he was gonna kill this motherfucker!

He's wasting ammo, firing at shadows like that. Rico doesn't have a clue that I'm behind him, now, and sneaking up. I count his shots, knowing he's empty just before his Colt dry-fires. Typical wanna-be, thinking that a big and powerful gun makes him invincible. He even pulls the trigger a few times before thinking to get another clip.

The warm touch of my CZ-75 to the base of his skull freezes him cold.

"Drop it, asswipe," I say.

"You a cop? Fed?"

"Jehovah's Witness. We're everywhere." I can't resist the joke.

"You capped Mark, man, so what!" Rico exclaims. "I got."

"Leo and Clem?" I see Rico go rigid. Yeah, you little bitch, now you're getting the picture.

"How do you know.?"

"Mark's dead just beside you," I explain, like a teacher to a slow child, "Leo has a broken neck out front, and Clem's heart is in two halves by the pisser. You're alone, Rico."

"Yeah? Well, how about."

"Save it, shithead. You're out of friends, and out of luck."

"Look, man." He's begging now. I really hate that. "Who are you? What do you want? Money? Drugs? Pussy? I can get it for you, man."

"I want you dead."

"C'mon, can't we make a deal?"

"I can show you who I am. Turn around."

Rico does so, and his eyes widen in total horror.

"Y. You!"

"Your existence is no longer necessary. When you get to hell, tell Satan who sent you," I say just before I squeeze the trigger. The back of Rico's head explodes in a shower of blood, bone fragment, and brain matter as his spasming body falls to the floor.

"Micro." I say into the headset.

"Yeah, Frank. I saw it all. Call the cops now?"

"Yeah. They won't have too much work to do tonight."

"Gotcha. And the kids?"

"I'm taking care of them right now."

Annabelle Jameson struggled against the ropes, unmindful of the pain of the rough weave biting into her skin. She mumbled her torments into the tape over her mouth as she fought to free herself.

James and John were in chairs just beside hers in the dark and claustrophobic space, tied just as harshly as she. She could hear them crying through the gags. Annabelle had to be strong for them, for she knew what lay in wait for them. She had heard the kidnappers talk about it once, and the thought chilled her to the bone. She had to get her baby brothers out of harm's way, no matter what happened to her.

She heard the door open just before the bare bulb overhead blinded her.

I analyze the scene in front of me, comparing it to the information Micro had managed to get before I came to this salt water hellhole. Three kids, older sister and twin brothers, check. They're tied cruelly to hard chairs, elbows together behind them. I see tears flowing freely from their fear-filled eyes, and my heart clenches. I just can't stand to see kids hurt.

They're not blindfolded. Either Rico or his gangs of idiots were more stupid than I thought, or they had no intention of giving these kids back. Probably the latter.

I kneel in front of the oldest and pull the tape from her lips.

"Listen," she pleads, openly crying. "Take me. I'm the oldest, and I'm a girl." I get the hint of what she's trying to do, and I can't help but admire it. She's trying to sacrifice herself for her twin brothers. "I don't care what you do to me, but just let them go home!"

"I won't hurt you," I say as I begin to untie Annabelle.

"Please, Mister."

"There's only one place you three are going," I say as I cut the ropes from around the girl's budding breasts, "and that's home."

"Uh." She wasn't expecting this. She likely thought she and her brothers weren't going home. It doesn't surprise me.

"You heard me," I say as the rope around her torso falls to the floor. I work on the ones around her knees and ankles next. If nothing else, those pukes knew how to tie knots, but no rope can stand up to razor-sharp military steel. "I'm not here to hurt you, Annabelle Jameson. I'm here to rescue you."

"You are?" she asks, genuine hope in her voice as I free her hands and remove the rope around her legs.

"Yep." Annabelle is free, and I am already starting on John and James.

"But who are you?"

"A friend." Even if she doesn't know my name, she saw the sign on my body armor. That would tell the ones who ran from me. I didn't plan it that way, but it can't be helped. "Annabelle, listen to me. There's something I need you to do."

"I'm ready," she replies, a dead look in her eyes.

"Not that," I say as I cut John free and begin on James. Had their kidnappers.? No, I don't think so. Even if they did, they're already headed towards Hell's lowest level on an express one-way ticket.

"Okay," she replies uncertainly.

"The police will be here in a few minutes. Stay in this closet until they arrive. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," Annabelle replies as her other brother is set free.

"I mean it, Anabelle," I say. "The men who kidnapped you aren't going to hurt you any more, but I don't want you two to go wandering off for home from here, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she replies as I step back to the door. She still doesn't trust me, but what do I care? I won't mess with these kids, and telling them to stay in here is for their own good.

"It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Frank!" I hear in my ear, "Cops are closing in!" I charge out the door, reminding the Jameson children to stay put before closing it.

"Micro, I'm coming out. Main entrance."

"Already there. The door's open and the engine's hot. Waiting on you, man."

"Microchip, you rule."

"I know. Now hurry it up!"

"Police ETA?"

"Two minutes."

"Plenty of time," I say as I shove the door outward and race to the heavily armored battle van. The headlights wash over the polluted water as I run, leaping in through the passenger door and scrambling into the driver's seat. This time, I wish the van was as fast at that courier's car. what was his name?... but beggar's can't be choosers. Besides, the armor on this van could stop an artillery shell.

"Holy hell," the patrolman said at the sight of the two bodies. He stalked over, service pistol at the ready even though the two men on the floor weren't likely to get up and start shooting with their heads destroyed.

"Any idea who they are?" Detective Roy asked as he came up beside the officer.

"Nope. My men are looking for others."

"One dead outside, and two inside."

"Got another!" a voice shouted from behind some crates.

"Make that three inside," Roy amended.

"Detective!"

Roy turned and almost shit himself. Another patrol officer was leading three children out of a closet. These thugs had been kidnappers? As they drew closer, Roy instantly recognized them.

"Jesus Christ!" one of the officers gasped. He knew of them as well. "They're Max Jameson's kids!"

Max Jameson, Roy thought as he walked to the oldest. Senior partner in Jameson and Whittaker, and a smooth defense attorney to boot. When had his kids been taken? He certainly hadn't heard about it.

"Are you okay?" Roy asked. The oldest, Annabelle, looked up at him hopefully. "I'm a detective, honey," he assured her.

"We're fine," she replied. She took a look at the two dead kidnappers, cringing.

"I found cut ropes and duct tape in the closet," the officer - a sergeant - said.

"We were tied up," added one of the twin boys. "He cut us loose."

"He?" Roy asked.

"He was big," Annabelle said. "He wore a long black coat."

"Did he give you a name?"

"No, but he had a big mean looking skull on his chest."

Rally Vincent sipped her coffee, an empty plate in front of her as she sat in the kitchen of her home as she glanced at the morning paper. The headline was more than surprising.

"I didn't know Max Jameson's kids had been kidnapped!" she exclaimed as May sat down across the table.

"Say what?" the diminutive blonde asked.

"Says here they were rescued last night. Police got an anonymous tip about a shootout at Warehouse 85. They got there and found four dead men and the Jameson kids," Rally explained. "Wow."

"They must have told the parents to keep it quiet," May mused. "Had to be for ransom."

"Stupid of them. Says here that the police are looking into leads on who the rescuer was, and nothing else."

"Is Roy working the case?"

"Yep," Rally replied as she finished the article. "I wonder who it was?"

"Are you gonna ask him?"

"Why not? It could be another job." A bail-jumper turned vigilante murderer. That was something new.

"Don't get all excited," May said with a giggle. "We already have a job this morning, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Simon. Jumped bail last week."

"Ready to go?"

"Sure. Misty'll open the store in a few minutes, anyway." While the former cat burglar couldn't do any of the special orders, she made sure that the proper guns went to the proper customers.

Rally rose then, checking her ordinance and finding her favorite gun safely in its holster before following her friend out the door. It was just another ordinary sunny morning in Chicago, if you counted hunting bail jumpers, shootouts, and drug deals ordinary which Rally did.

"Let's get a move on," Rally said as she brought the GT 500 Cobra to life and reveled in the subtle roar of the supercharged engine. "We've got a bounty to collect."

"So, it's true?" Giovanni D'Angelo said to the man across the desk. The morning sun beamed through the reinforced glass of the office's main window to bathe the thick carpet and mahogany walls, along which two stone-faced bodyguards stood with feigned indifference.

"Si," Maurizio replied in their native tongue. "It appears that 'He' has indeed come to Chicago."

"The Punisher," Giovanni breathed. "What is he doing here?" He felt a slight chill run through him despite being the Don of this branch of the Costa Nostra. Frank Castle's reputation would do that to nearly anyone.

"I checked out his last confirmed operation," Maurizio said. He was a lean six-foot-three. The cut of his gray suit highlighted his swimmer's physique without hinting at the SIG he had holstered beneath the jacket. His face was ordinary, with black hair neatly cut over his dark eyes. "None of the parties involved were on our payroll, or on Graziano's."

"How bad was it?" Giovanni asked.

"Twelve men dead, ten million worth of heroin up in flames, and the payoff missing."

"Twelve armed men?" Jesus!

"It appears that The Punisher is every bit as effective as we'd heard," Maurizio said.

"So, there's nothing to tie that last incident to me?"

"No, sir. I don't believe that he is after you at all."

"I want to know who."

"Yes, sir," Maurizio said with a polite dip of his shoulders before taking his leave.

Giovanni D'Angelo considered pouring a shot of whiskey. No, not while he was "on the clock" as it were. The Punisher. what did he want? He had to be in town for a reason.

=================================

And that's about it. Sorry it's so short, but I'm still trying to think this through. Any help would be appreciated.

Thanks again!

Knight Writer