Unusual Punishment (© Robert Denham)
Page 1 The bitter
smell of cordite hung thick in the air. With a single, smooth motion, Frank
Castle ejected the empty shell from his 12-gauge and scowled grimly, drawing a
deep breath. Sweat soaked his jet-black, greasy hair. He blinked twice,
exhaled and relaxed a bit, letting the barrel of the shotgun droop, and calmly
scratching his stubbly chin; he then ran the hand back over his head to slick
back a few straying locks. His evening had been fruitful and well spent,
despite the few minor gunshot wounds he'd recieved. His black Kevlar vest,
emblazoned with his infamous stylized Death's Head, had protected him from the
worst, anyway. He squinted, as the air was filled with gunsmoke, and cast
his gaze around the small room. He surveyed with cold satisfaction the end
result of the last six months of work. Months of tailing, stakeouts and
wiretaps on these punks, and relentless patience on Castle's part, had finally
paid off. Bodies of mobsters, and their hangers-on, were strewn around this
sparsely-furnished office and building. Their blood was spattered on the
walls and pooled on the bare floor. Every one of these animals he killed
earned him back a very small piece of himself, he felt. There was a lot of him
still out there to be reclaimed, though....waiting.
Two of his throwing knives were missing; one was buried in the chest of a mook named Tommy 'Voice'
Selazzo. Castle had thrown the knife with such force that it had actually sunk
far enough into Selazzo's body to pin him to the wall. The other blade was
jammed into the throat of a high-ranking soldier called 'Little Johnny'
Guzzetta, protruding just above the large, ragged hole blown into his chest. Little Johnny was a cold, brutal thug, a button man who had started out
years ago as a leg-breaker for a pissant neighborhood bookie and loan shark
named Jackie Gatto. Gatto had tried to hustle a ranking member of the local mob
family and had wound up dead for it. Guzzetta, who had in fact ratted out his
boss, had then been given a job. Pieces of what was left of Gatto were found
several years later, when they drained a strip-mining pit in Central Ohio. Guzzetta was 6'8' and weighed about 380 pounds, but a lot of it had gone to
fat in the last few years; he wasn't as fast as he used to be. His bad luck. Other bodies lay here and there around the building, thirteen in all, and
Castle, called The Punisher, considered this to be a good day's work.
One of the dead, the body that lay sprawled across the cheap, battered
sheet metal desk, was a small-time hood with big dreams named Edward 'Pony'
Tonaccio. Tonaccio had been on The Punisher's list for quite some time, ever
since the deaths of an unfortunately overworked manager and a night watchman in
an electronics supply warehouse, brutally murdered when they came upon The Pony
and his pals ripping off a truck full of stereos and other electronics
equipment. The guard had been a widower with three kids. Tonaccio and his
buddies had gone free, the result of a few pulled strings and a little
jury-applied pressure. Now, he was dead. One loose end tied up. Castle,
however, had actually come to find Tonaccio's boss, a capo by the name of Gianni
Colozzi, a local figurehead who answered to a minor Don named "Fat" Albert
Polombo. Colozzi would be able to provide some answers to questions Castle had
about the present whereabouts of Polombo and his associates. Colozzi had,
for his part, decided to exercise the better part of valor and had quickly
vacated the premises as soon as he'd heard the words 'The Punisher.' This was
the only catch in what had otherwise been a reasonably productive evening. No matter; Castle could track him down later. True, it would have been more
convenient to have had the information Colozzi could have provided, as he could
then have taken care of Polombo tonight, as well. But, things didn't always work
out as desired. At least he could scratch The Pony. Little Johnny, too. The
others here were soldiers, low-ranking gun hands; small fish, but big enough not
to throw back. Some of them might probably have had bright futures within the
Family.....not anymore.
As The Punisher slung the shotgun
across his back and bent to retrieve his empty and discarded AR-15 and Uzi, he
stopped and cocked his head, listening. A soft scratching sound came from
behind him. He swung around as he straightened, bringing the swiftly unslung
shotgun around with him. He stopped short as he took in what he was seeing.
Selazzo, still nailed to the wall, was twitching limply, trying vainly to pull
himself free. His arms came up stiffly, reaching out for Castle; his mouth
opened soundlessly, blood oozing from the open maw, and his lifeless, hollow
eyes focused (if that could be the word) on his prey. Castle's scowl deepened,
his brow creased, as he eyed the upright form, and knew without a doubt that the
punk had to be dead. [ Continue to page 2 ] |