Fan Fiction: Crossovers
Shadow of the Warrior
Chapter 8
Two days later
Itchy, Flattop, Faceless Redrum (so named because of his ability to pose as anyone he wished so no one was really sure what he looked liked), Steve the Tramp and JoJo Nidle, a pair of thugs, sat around Big Boy's desk dressed in suits in the back office of his night club. The jazz music from the band on the club floor could only faintly be heard through the thick office walls. The only light in the room was a table lamp on the desk, it cast a bright circle of light onto the surface of the desk enveloping the blueprints for the museum. Bringing the cigar to his mouth Big Boy inhaled and let out a puff of smoke that clouded the heads of his lackeys. He then placed his drink on the top corner of the museum blueprints, the condensation from the glass left a circle of moisture imprinted on the sketch.
Big Boy looked up from the designs on his desk sighed and spoke, "OK we're gonna have to do this the hard way to make this delivery. Here's the plan." Big Boy held up the list of the museum's payroll records in front of him. "Faceless, go to this Bob Friedman's house, getta good look at him and take him out! He is the night watchman in the museum, so afta ya off him, work ya magic and take his shift at the museum. At 11:00 tomorrow night, let us in through freight delivery entrance in the back. We'll have a truck pulled up to the entrance with a forklift in back. The other boys will come outta the truck." Big Boy paused for a moment, reached up and removed the cigar from his mouth, holding it between his middle and index finger. Hot ash fell onto the museum blueprints, scorching it. Big Boy's voice deepened as he glared at the rest of his crew. "Ya guys take out those cops on guard quickly and quietly, we don't need no more shootouts like happened wit da train!" Big Boy took another drag from his cigar as he calmed down. "Ok we got $20 mil ridin' on this so no more screw ups, Nazi's, cops or ghosts!" Itchy muttered under his breath "What the heck is we supposed to do about a damn ghost?" Big Boy shot up glared at Itchy and then back handed him across the face. Itchy's head shot to the side as Big Boy grabbed his hand and slammed it onto the table screaming, "IF YA GONNA HAVE THE GUTS TO QUESTION ME SPEAK UP AND TALK TO MY FACE" As he shouted, Big Boy thrust the smoldering tip of his cigar onto the back of Itchy's hand. The smell of burning flesh permeated the room as Itchy threw his head back and screamed.
In the night club, people could hear a muffled cry over the sound of the jazz band coming from the back room. Some of the patrons questioned the bartenders about the sound their only reply was a free drink on the house.
Back in the office Big Boy continued to turn his cigar from side to side on Itchy's hand. Itchy continued to scream in pain and pound the floor with his free hand. Coldly, Big Boy questioned him, "Does that hurt? Do ya want me to stop?" Itchy, screaming with his eyes closed, shook his head yes! Big Boy's other men simply stood and watched. Not one of them dared tried to stop their boss from torturing their friend. Big Boy dug the cigar even further into Itchy's hand shouting, " DIDN'T YA LEARN YET LOOK ME IN THE EYE WHEN YOU ADRESS ME!" Through teary eyes, Itchy looked into the cold black orbs his boss had for pupils, whimpering, "Please stooooooop!" Big Boy replied by kicking Itchy in the ribs as he let go. Itchy fell to the floor and coddled his burned hand. After a few seconds he dared to look at it, the heat had kept much blood from getting out but the entire hand was black and starting blister. In the center, it had nearly burned to the bone.
Big Boy looked at all his men. "All right now, tomorrow we end this job, make a fortune, and get back to what we do in town. I can't keep doin' this free lance crap," Big Boy said as he turned away. As the rest left the room Itchy got a towel full of ice from one of the bartenders. The bartender poured Itchy a drink and asked, "Have another accident during a meeting with the boss?" Itchy snarled, "Yeah the last one I'll ever have." Itchy took his drink in one huge gulp and walked out of the nightclub. He walked onto the city streets stopped for a minute, glared at the night club, and spit on the first step. He then returned to the curb and hailed a cab. The bright yellow cab pulled over, and Itchy entered the back. As he got in the cabdriver winced and said, "You burn something Mack?" Itchy replied, "Yeah something." The cabby asked, "Well were to?" Itchy looked the cab driver in the eye as he answered, "Police Headquarters"
Flattop and the others sauntered over to their favorite hangout, Joe Pop's bar. As they entered the dimly lit foul smelling establishment they took in all of the people at the bar. Flattop knew he had to find some men to replace Gruesome and Mumbles. He surveyed the bar taking in all of the usual thieves and thugs that frequented the place. Most of them Flattop knew he could not trust. He walked through the bar wading through the dregs of humanity till at a table in the corner he saw a man who he knew had the rep to only handle a big job but also the mindset and the need for the cash. Flattop approached Cliff Marsland and asked, "Hey Cliff how do ya like museums?" He then began to fill Cliff in on the details of the heist.
Cliff listened intently, doing his best to remember as much detail as he could. After finishing explaining the job to Cliff, Flattop bought him a beer, and the two toasted to their new partnership. Cliff hoped that one of The Shadow's agents would contact him before tomorrow.
Dark eyes watched under a wide brimmed black hat from a roof top across the street from Joe Pop's bar. The Shadow stood up from his crouched position, and his hollow laugh echoed through the streets below. Tonight, Kent Allard would pay a visit to Mr. Marsland.
A streak of sunlight pierced through the window and settled on the faces of the half dozen Nazi soldiers who stood shoulder to shoulder motionless on the dusty concrete floor of the airstrip hangar. The Brow, dressed in uniform, stood at attention to right of them, looking directly at Pruneface as he stood before his assembled troops. Pruneface's words echoed through the high arched ceiling of the hangar as he addressed his men. "Tomorrow night we strike the museum, our plan is a direct assault. The coffin is currently guarded by some of the local police they should prove no trouble for you men. A truck will be waiting by the front door, remove the body and weapons from the coffin and carry it outside then deliver it here to be flown to the Fatherland. There is no need for us to use stealth tactics anymore once we have the body it will not matter whether the Americans know we are here or not. It will provide us with the power to crush our enemies and ensure that the rule of the Third Reich will endure for a thousand years!" Pruneface pumped his hand in the air and looked skyward as he spoke, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride for his accomplishment. He regained his composure and spoke softly and to the point, "I have been informed that our commanding officer will be arriving early tomorrow to accompany the body back to Germany himself. I need not remind you that failure is not an option, for HE is far less forgiving then the Fuhrer. We will wish for death if we fail in our mission." Pruneface straightened his body and stepped closer to the men, "You men have served your country well, when you succeed in this mission you will ensure victory and the ascension of the master race to its proper place as ruler of the world. I am proud to be your commander! Heil Hitler!" As one, the soldiers shouted "Heil Hitler" and thrust their arms into the air as if to symbolically reach for the future they knew was theirs.
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