He felt his knees crumble as he fell before the doorstep of a chapel. He banged on the door, crying “Let me in, please!”
The old mahogany door creaked open and a stoic-faced fellow with the frame of a bruiser peered from the shadows. He rushed to help the weakened mess that was Darren up to his feet. “Good God,” the young man said in his distinct deep tone. “Who did this to you?”
“No time, sir…! Please, you’ve got to help me! They’ve got her!” he clung on to the man’s shirt, staining the cream-colored cloth with a sticky red as he fought off the lightheadedness thanks to the lynching those goons gave him.
“Get yourself together and tell me.”
But the man slipped from reality and barely said in a gurgle “The docks …”
His pulse was weak. He needed medical attention quick or else the man would die. Without a minute to spare Gavin called for an ambulance.
“The docks.” He said to himself, wondering. Whatever it was, surely there’d be danger. Why then would that fellow come to him if it wasn’t the case? He had to prepare. He knelt by the dying soul and whispered, “Alright. I promise you I’ll help.”
Gavin stripped to his underwear and tore the cabinet doors open as he snatched and hastily wore the bulletproof vest. He topped it off with a fresh undershirt and hurried down the flight of stairs as he heard the crunch of gravel outside. The ambulance he ordered had arrived.
“Leave all medical bills under my tab.” Gavin said as he helped them carry the man off. “And please do update me when he comes to.”
The paramedic nodded. Gavin watched as they sped off into the darkness.
The Raven could already smell the scent of blood in the air. Tonight was going to be bloody. Very bloody. Sliding the last shell into the chamber, his cannon seemed to take on a life of its own. He grabbed his coat off the rack and slammed the door behind him.
The docks. Christ, he hated that place. It was crawling with hoodlums, the cheapest hookers, and crack fiends. It was a God-forsaken cesspool. Not even their group’s influence could touch it. They once tried to move in and do a clean-up drive, but for every lowlife they picked off, ten more would come to take its place. The docks also housed dregs from all corners of every territory in the city, making it twice more difficult and four times more dangerous to rough up a thug for unruly behavior, due to the possibility that the random fool they choose to slap around might end up being a member of a rival mob, and would thus incur their wrath. Corvidae immediately withdrew their plan and decided it would be in everyone’s best interest to just leave the matter be.
It wasn’t hard tracking his targets. There was a lot of noise coming from one of the warehouses, which was odd. Definitely not a good sign. Gavin whispered a prayer as he went over to investigate. He cocked his weapon, tucked it away in his coat, and kicked the doors down. It was gut-wrenching. In the middle of the room was a young lady. Naked, battered, and sprawled all over. A group of twenty or so men, armed with low-class guns, pipes, and knives. Some were armed, cheering wildly, waving their crude weapons in the air. Others were snapping photos with their cell phone cameras, while some dousing her with beer, forming lakes of excreta, alcohol, and blood, and flicking still-live cigarette butts on her bare skin. She was unconscious, and barely breathing.
“Who’s this cracker?” one of the thugs regarded Gavin. “Hey, asshole, we don’t like crashers! Fuck off, will ya?”
Moore studied them for a moment. They dressed strangely. Those tattered denim vests, red shirts, and spiky accessories were not Rose Lake fashion. They had to be drifters. Gavin smiled at this.
“Hey, fucker, we’re talking to ya! Is something funny, huh? Whatcha want, huh?”
“You guys plan on leaving?” Gavin asked.
A ruffian answered, “Fuck no! Over our dead bodies, motherfucker!”
“Then good. Makes my job easier.”
The punk’s eyes went wide in confusion over Gavin’s statement and at the same time because he found his torso ripped apart by iron pellets. The impact literally blew the hellion away. His friends rose to gang up on the intruder, but Gavin made quick work of them. The sawn-off shotgun was a weapon capable of roaring death at an incredible rate. Its raw power and light weight only set back by a low clip capacity of a mere two shells at a time. But Gavin knew his stuff. His sleight of hand was unquestionable. He reloaded as quickly as he expended his shots. And those foolish enough to stand in his way were mangled in a pull of the trigger. Some of the toughs did manage to return fire but, because of inexperience and panic, missed Gavin by a mile. One punk managed to get close enough to swing his bat at Gavin, who quickly countered with a swift elbow and boot before blowing his head off clean. Moore howled like a madman, laughing at their incompetence as he proceeded to mow them down.
The room was reminiscent of the St. Valentines Massacre with all the corpses lying around. Because they weren’t from the city, none of the other territories would be bothered by the incident. Hell, they’d probably even be thankful for ridding the city of such despicable animals. “Oh, shit.” He remembered the girl. Gavin checked for a pulse. She was still kicking. He gave her his coat to keep her warm as he took her to the hospital.