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Carol was exhausted. Fighting crime had become a full-time occupation. She’d chosen to terminate her consulting position with the Air Force and established a private investigation firm to better support her new career. A corner office in the Centre Quatre Saisons fit her needs perfectly and she already had three staff supporting her efforts. It had taken awhile to settle on becoming a P.I. but she’d found that relying on pure luck wasn’t the most effective method of vigilantism. “Is that what I am?” she pondered, “A vigilante?” Drug smuggling rings and dealers, a counterfeiting operation, human traffickers, kidnappers and a pedophile had all absorbed a dose of Ms. Marvel’s wrath. Each instance had ended similarly, the criminals had been incapacitated and left sitting on a mountain of evidence that the authorities could then deal with appropriately. The stories from the criminals were the same every time, “She called herself Ms. Marvel...” Once in a while there would be grainy security camera footage showing Ms. Marvel in the act. Occasionally Carol herself would arrest the perpetrators after the fact in order to maintain her guise as a P.I. Her latest bust had borne some interesting fruit when one of the punks had tried to bargain his way out by offering up a name. “Hammerhead!” “Who is he?” Ms. Marvel demanded, getting right up into the thug’s face. His face blanched as she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him effortlessly off his feet. “He’s running the gang! He’s the one in charge! He just calls himself Hammerhead.” The punk was desperate, spilling his guts now, “We’re the Maggia, it’s a whole organization! Like a… a family!” he stuttered, “We do our part and they take care of us!” “Where do I find him?” “No, please! They’ll kill me!” he begged. “Take a look around you, guy. You’re in no position to say no.” Ms. Marvel had been gradually floating up, ever higher while keeping him focused on her. As he finally looked away and realized how high they had flown, he began to blubber, “Oh God, please don’t let me go! Don’t drop me!” “Then tell me where to find him before my arms get tired,” and as if on cue, she let him slip slightly. He clutched at her, frantic now, “Noooo!” he wailed, “The… the Hunters Warehouse! It’s a front! That’s where they are! Please, put me down, it’s true, I swear!” Satisfied, Ms. Marvel returned the thug to where she’d busted the operation. “You’re letting me go, right?” the punk pleaded. Ms. Marvel pulled out a set of handcuffs and secured him alongside the other members of his incapacitated gang. “Now what makes you think I’d do that?” she asked, pulling out a burner phone. She dialed the police emergency line to report that there’d been a “disturbance” and help was urgently needed. Without a further thought to the offenders, she ended the call and flew off, the punk’s frantic pleas falling on deaf ears. “You crazy &$#@, you can’t leave me here! I’m dead! They’re gonna kill me!” he screamed until she was out of sight. Sirens answered in the distance and the punk was quiet for a moment. Then he began to laugh. To be continued... @123deoliveira4 Anytime is pizza time! @raynev1 Thanks! Glad you enjoyed.
