War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
October 16th. 2025. Wind howls off the bay and through North Shore. A '64 Lincoln Continental parked outside a rundown apartment building. An expensive car in a shitty neighborhood. Two men climbed out of the front. Both wore long, wool coats over dark suits. The driver tried to look casual as he posted up on the sidewalk, head on a swivel. His buddy opened the back passenger door.
Their boss climbed out. Mark Scotti, a capo in the Costa crime family. He wore a white suit over a slightly different shade of white shirt. A mop of curly red hair covered his pin-shaped head. His long, thin face was covered in freckles- and fresh bruises. His head jumped around. Down the street, up the rooftops, back to the street.
"Lets go, Mr. Scotti." The guard motioned, and the capo followed. They made their way to the front door of the building. The bottom floor was occupied by a grimy looking storefront. 'Winning Deli - Market & Variety was painted across the window in big, blocky levels.
A bell on the door rung as they made their way inside. The driver stayed by the car.
I stepped back from the surveillance gear I mounted on a tripod on the rooftop parapet. I'd been watching this damned street for forty two hours. Only one person came and went in all that time, and that was the fat old man that owned the place. Never had a single customer.
Before Scotti rolled up I was starting to doubt my intel. Now, though, I felt sure: this was a Costa family safe house.
I made my way back to my rack. Dropped my weight into a lawn chair and pulled a beer from the cooler. The ice cubes inside had all but turned to slush. Wouldn't need to run out and replace it, though. The meet was happening. Tonight, surely. No more shut eye in a sleeping bag on some god forsaken roof. I'd finally managed to scare those assholes into showing themselves.
Reaching into my shirt collar, I tapped a button hidden under a piece of skin-color tap and turned on the hidden microphone. "Micro, I got positive I.D on target approximately two minutes ago. Copy?"
"Finally!" David 'Microchip' Lieberman whooped on the other end of the line. "And here I thought I'd die choking on Cheetos before we found this guy. How's he looking?"
"Like I left him." I chuckled. "Bloody nose and all."
I beat him black and blue three days ago. Caught him and his soldiers overseeing a hand off with a associated crew: Scotti's boys supplied drugs to a dozen associates, and his associates passed the cash they'd made off last month's product. Made the deal at a warehouse on the waterfront at eight PM sharp. Same place as always. Was easy to post up in a shipping container with a rifle. Took out about half the crew, scrambled down and caught Scotti before he could escape. Made sure to rough him up good before he 'escaped.'
Not even an hour later, five more cars rolled up to park on the same street corner. A limousine came in last. Six mafiosos climbed out. They wore their iron naked- luparas and .38s visible to the world. They swept the street in pairs. Looked in windows, knocked on doors, and made sure nobody was home. Whole street was owned by half a dozen different companies and all of them were fronts.
"We're good!" Someone yelled from the street below.
"How're we on all that computer shit, Micro?"
I got a ping on my phone. Got a notification from that app Microchip had me install. Had to tap the stupid screen three times before it read my fingerprint and unlocked. It brought up a list of cameras as long as my arm. I tapped the topmost one and was greeted with a view of the street.
"Matthew Skinner tried to buy penis enlargement pills a few months ago and he neglected to change his email password." Micro snickered in my ear. Skinner was Scotti's bloody right hand. A hitman with seven unconfirmed hits under his belt. "He got me access to their whole network. Every time he logs into the WiFi on his phone, I see everything he sees. And more."
An exterior camera mounted on the corner of the Deli showed me the limo's backdoor as it opened and the underboss stepped out. A big guy, broad shouldered and muscular. Clearly spent his off time at the gym. Lots of scars, too. Big, calloused hands, even an old scar on his neck from the bullet that almost killed him. His head was freshly shaved and spit polished to a shine.
"Bruno Costa." I grunted. "Younger brother to the big man himself."
Micro opened another window on my phone. Bruno's rap sheet scrolled by. Was in and out of Rikers Island throughout the eighties and nineties. An army of mob lawyers slipping money to the right people made sure he never stayed in for long.
Three other capos lined up to offer Bruno a warm handshake. Rico 'The Beard' Colicos stepped up first. He was a well manicured show horse of a man, and a professional palm greaser. He handled all the money laundering for Costa family. Had connections in every big bank in New York and several international financial institutions.
Enzo 'Big Bumpy' Gazzera stepped up next. He pushed aside the offered handshake and pulled Bruno into a hug. Gazzera was an old school gangster. Carried himself with pride. Treated other men with the respect their station deserved. Guy had salt and pepper hair, a generous belly and a lotta jewelry. Good manners didn't make the man, though. Big Bumpy gunned down his first cop before I was even a twinkle in my mother's eye.
Luis 'Lulu' Allegre stepped up last. He was a short, rat-looking bastard with a pencil thin mustache and slick backed hair. There was a perpetual layer of sweat on his oversized forehead. Luis ran guns for the family, trading firepower to small time gangs for their allegiance. I'd been shot with his guns more than once. You could say it felt a little personal after the fifth time I had to get stitches.
"We got audio, Micro?"
"Oh yeah. Ohh yeah we do. I'm in all their phones. Have GPS tracking, microphones, their goddamn nuddies. Everything."
"You can keep the last one."
My phone beeped as it connected to my earbud. It buzzed for several seconds before distorted voices started coming through, like the whispers of specters long dead.
"...Woke me up in the middle of the damn night. Better be good." Bruno growled.
His voice reminded me of a dog I used to have. I called him Mutt. The shelter said they rescued Mutt from a fighting ring. Said he had 'behavioral problems' and were planning on putting him down. Thought I was tough enough to fix him. Could handle a dog that snarled, even nipped. But Mutt and Bruno made the same, terrible sound. They were both feral. No kennel and no prison would change their ways.
"Let's find out, boss, eh?" Big Bumpy Gazzera patted Bruno's shoulder. He led the four of them into the deli. A gaggle of armed guards followed them inside, though about half of them stayed to watch the street. Eight men in total patrolled the sidewalks, leaned on their cars or shared cigarettes near the door.
"They've got cameras all over that place. Even a few in the apartment hallways upstairs. Guess they're pretty paranoid about people sneaking into their safe house."
I pulled up the interior cameras to watch them enter and get a lay of the land. There were a handful of shelves covered in stale food and ancient cans. A single old man in a green apron sat on a stool behind the counter. He was utterly engrossed in a copy of today's Daily Bugle, and its front page story on Luthorcorp. He didn't so much as look up as the mobsters waltzed through his store.
The actual store front area was large and had plenty of shelves and furniture to offer concealment. I didn't see anything heavy enough to offer proper cover from gunfire. Five guards stayed back to browse the grocery store while the Costas made their way to the kitchen through a door behind the front counter. Switching cameras, I watched them walk through the kitchen to a back room. One last door exited the kitchen into a back alley.
I flicked to the outdoor camera watching the alley. There was a car parked next to a pair of empty dumpsters, but no guards.
Flipping back to the kitchen cam, I caught sight of Mark Scotti and Matt Skinner sitting in there at a large, round table with two glasses of whiskey and a pack of Cubans. None of the capos or Bruno greeted either of them. They just stared at each other in the doorway before they split up for their chairs. Three soldiers went into the room with them while the last two closed the door and posted up on either side of it.
Looking through the list of cameras, I couldn't find any in the back room. Meant I was audio only.
"They're in position. I'm movin' in."
"Good luck, Frank. I'll start filtering 911 calls in the area. Anybody mentioning gunfire gets to talk to me first."
This was it. Time to clock in and go to work. I unzipped my duffel to retrieve my tools. Whole block being mob owned meant no civilians. No possible police response meant no risk of crossfire. Meant I could go in fast. Heavy. I settled on old reliable: my Mk 18. A more compact version of the M4 carbine I lugged around jungles and deserts for half my adult life. The barrel was four inches shorter, which meant screwing a suppressor on the gun didn't add any length compared to the original model.
As I climbed down the fire escape, I used half my attention to scan my surroundings for threats. The other half listened to the Costa family dress down Mark Scotti.
"The Punisher. The motherfucking Punisher took a shot at you." Lulu Allgre laughed. "And you got away? You expect us to believe that?"
"Barely! Bastard would've killed me if my man Skinner hadn't been there to drag him off me. I called a meet as soon as I knew it was safe."
"So he didn't follow you?" Big Bumpy Gazzera asked.
"Course he didn't follow us." Skinner cut in. "I drove to the other side of the city, swapped cars and we slept in two different motels. Used cash and fake I.Ds. We're good, captain, you have my word."
Somebody scoffed. Turned out to be Rico: "Forgive us if we doubt your ability to outsmart the most dangerous man in New York City, Mr. Skinner."
Silent as a shadow, I slipped across the street. Made sure to wait until the mafiosos guarding the front sidewalk were all faced the other direction before I made my mad dash. Nobody so much as turned to glance my way. After disappearing behind a neighboring laundry mat, I rounded the corner. Made my way into the back alley behind the deli.
The beater car sat empty. Looked like it hadn't moved in a long time. I slipped past it. Put my hand on the doorknob. Gently as I could, I tested it. Locked. Great.
"Look, Scotti. You gotta understand our trepidation here," Guzzera started, diplomatic as ever, "Punisher isn't known for leaving survivors. Every family and gang in New York can attest to his effectiveness. All the big families have had their operations squeezed."
"Gave us room to expand our operations, though." Lulu chuckled. "Maybe we should be thanking him."
"Enough." Bruno barked. "He killed Costa people too. Cousins. Brothers. Now he's targeting our operations. He's got to pay for this."
"Yes, boss."
"Course, sir."
"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Scotti whooped. "Hell yeah, let's get us some good old fashioned-"
I kicked the back door open. Both Maggia foot soldiers went for their weapons but they didn't make it far. Put three rounds into the guy on the left, and just one into the guy in the right. No need to double tap when his skull is painting the back wall.
Almost instantly people started screaming.
"Who the hell-"
"Get down, boss!"
"Guns- do we have guns in here?-"
"Where the fuck are our guys-"
"-Punisher?!-"
Advancing toward the back room where my targets were trapped and seemingly unarmed, I kept my scope on the door to the grocery section. First man to open it ate a lovely dinner of 55.6 to the teeth. Next two were smarter. They posted up on either side of the door and only peaked long enough to fire shots. A revolver round pinged off the sink behind me. Shotgun pellets slammed into my vest. Hurt like shit but I could tell nothing was broken. Been shot in the vest enough to know what a broken rib feels like.
"The door! Bar the door-"
Didn't slow down. I adjusted my aim just to the left of the doorway and put two through the wall. Heard a man scream and then hit the floor. Tried to do the same to the man on the right but he had the brain to run the hell away before he got shot.
"-help me move this damn table-"
Didn't have long, only a few seconds before the rest of the pasta crew fell on me like bats outta hell. Put a hand up to open the door to the back room. Locked. Took three steps back and rushed it, planting my boot into it as hard as I could. Heard the lock break and the door budged an inch, but that was it.
"You think a door n' some chairs is gonna stop me?!" I roared, all piss and vinegar. Scum like this always got my blood up.
"Oh, God, don't kill me!" Mark Scotti pleaded. "Come on man, just- I'll do whatever you-"
"Shut the hell up before I kill you myself!" Bruno roared. I followed the sound of his voice. Down and to the right. I put eight rounds through the wall at waist height.
"Fffghhh...aaghhh.." Somebody gurgled. Think it may have been Lulu but all these rats sound the same when they're clinging on to life. They beg, plead and squirm- like they have any right to keep on living. I've seen the things these men do. What their ilk do to normal folk. I pulled more bodies out of rivers and dumpsters than I cared to remember.
"Believe it or not I'm not here to kill you." I had to scream to be heard over the barking of my M4.
An army of dumbasses wearing cheap suits and cheaper cologne came at me. They filled the air with lead. Lead and noise, noise like the hundred drums beating all at once. Rounds pinged off stainless steel counters, the fridge and the floor. Broken chunks of tile exploded at my feet as I ran. Ran to the rear of the kitchen. I grabbed the door of a walk in cooler and swung it wide. Its heavy steel frame would stop everything these guys were packing.
"Push up! Push up!"
"He's got Bruno trapped. We need to kill this fool."
"You wanna walk into automatic fire you be my fucking guest."
'Come and get it, assholes.'Two mafiosos breached the kitchen simultaneously. When I tried to peak out to fire a barrage of bullets slammed into my makeshift cover. Could barely hear anything. Didn't know how close they were, if they were going to cross close or far. Had to make an educated guess and pray I was right.
Not that any God I'd pray to would wanna listen. I know where my soul's bound when I die, and I plan to fill hell's halls with a hundred other bastards before I got there.
I waited until I saw the barrel of a shotgun and the front of a shoe. Then I rushed him. Grabbed the barrel with my off hand to shove it aside while I jumped, shoving my knee into his groin. His buddy was three feet back, gun raised. I kept my human shield between me and him, and I used his shoulder to steady my rifle so I could fire it one handed.
Lit him up like a Christmas tree. Turned the kitchen behind him into a bloody mess. Felt bad for his suit. Looked more expensive than the rest.
"Fucking hell, Georgey! Georgey! Oh god-" My shield sobbed. Ignoring his cries, I pulled him around to face the door. Pushed him forward so I could make my way out of the kitchen and into the larger chamber beyond. Mafiosos sprinted in every direction to get away from us. Took the slowest few out before they made it to safety. No good cover in here. Just concealment.
Guess the guy I had hostage wasn't too popular, given how quickly his boys decided to shoot him to pieces to get at me. I threw his corpse down, ducking out of sight. Took the time to reload, and to talk.
Could still hear the capos and their underboss whispering to each other.
"Not killin' all'a you, you know. One of you lucky gentlemen gets to walk away from this. I want a name. The supplier. Drops your drugs off with a damned helicopter."
"Bite me!" Rico yelled back at me. Trying to muster some measure of courage in his final hour, I guess.
"You ready to meet the Devil, Colicos? I got your express ticket right here. What about the rest of you, huh? You know who I want. You've all met him. I know!"
My attention swung back to the front when I felt a sharp pain shoot through my thigh. I almost buckled, had to fall down to my knee. Damn. Got hit. Only once, though, and I couldn't find an exit wound. Must've been a .38. Felt like somebody lit a match and shoved it up the bullet wound so it might've fragmented.
Made me angry. Made me stupid. Focused all my attention on trying to shoot the guy that hit me that I didn't hear the door open behind me until it was too late.
That big bruiser named Bruno came at me. Grabbed me by the back of my vest, picked me up like a misbehaving toddler, and slammed me spine first into the edge of a counter top.
It hurt too much to scream. instinct took over. The rifle fell out of my hands and I had my glock them it instead. I shoved the barrel against Bruno's chest, and I pulled the trigger. I kept pulling it until the gun clicked. Bruno should've died. He should've keeled over and let me see the light leave his eyes. He didn't.
He punched me. A lot, I think. Kind of hard to remember once my head got to swimming and my eyes filled with blood.
"Boss? Boss, are you okay?" Guzzera cried out. He ran up and grabbed Bruno's shoulders, dragging him off me. "We gotta go. The cops are going to be here any second, sir."
Colicos came up behind him. "There's no sirens. We might be in the clear."
"You wanna risk that? How'd the don going to feel when you get his brother arrested?"
I couldn't see, but I was still conscious. I knew where my knife was by memory alone. Felt the comfort of cold steel in my hand. Didn't know where Bruno went so I just started swinging, stabbing and screaming.
"Shit! He's still going! Let's go!"
Bruno swung at me one last time. "I'm gonna enjoy pissing on your corpse, Frank. See you soon." He taunted, then he left. I don't know how he knew my name. Nobody knew my name.
I dug deep so I could stand up. As I struggled to my feet, I could hear a car start through the ringing. People were yelling, running. Then another four cars started in quick succession.
"Micro-" I coughed. "Track them. Keep the cops off. I'm...I'm gonna follow. In the van."
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