The Marvel Knights Group presents: The Enforcers #1

The lab was one of a dozen in the neighborhood. It squatted like a malignant tumor in the belly of a rundown tenement on the corner, camouflaged by generations of graffiti and urban neglect. To find it all you really had to do was watch the wildlife. Meth did pretty much the same thing to cats and rats and roaches that it did to yuppies and trash.

Which is to say it killed them.

All you had to do was follow the bodies. Follow the chemical brick road until you found Oz.

Willard 'Hammer' Harrison knocked politely on the steel door and the ringing echo of metal on metal sent an alley-cat streaking out of a nearby garbage can and off into the night. A slot set eye-level in the door slid back and a voice said, "Password?"

"Snake."

"That ain't the password."

"It most certainly is." Sylvester 'Snake' Marston stepped away from the wall and thrust his long arm through the slot, easily rotating his shoulder and wrist to fit. Black gloved fingers wrapped around the back of the door-man's head and yanked him forward. The door shivered with the ensuing impact. As the body slumped, Marston pressed himself tight against the door and swiveled his arm, feeling for the lock and handle. A few seconds later the door swung open and Marston stepped out of the way quickly.

Raymond 'Ox' Bloch was coming through.

The man-mountain charged through the open door, huge fists raised, head down. The first man to get in the way was trampled underfoot. A crowd scattered. A table upended.

"Anyone started shooting yet?" Jackson 'Montana' Price asked, coiling and uncoiling his lariat. He sat gingerly atop a trashcan, hat cocked low, cigarette smoke drifting upwards from beneath the frayed brim. Dan 'Fancy Dan' Brito tossed him a sour look.

"I think we'd a heard it if someone pulled heat, Montana."

"Done more than that." Harrison said, bending low so Montana could give him a light. "Place is a damn meth lab. Somebody fires off a shot it'll go up like blazes."

"Meth? Shit. Can't you get addicted just by getting it on your skin or some shit?" Fancy Dan said. Harrison shrugged.

"Why we sent in Ox, wasn't it?"

"He gonna be all right in there?" Montana lifted the brim of his hat with a thumb. "Maybe we oughta back him up some. We promised his momma."

A body flew out the open door and skidded across the alleyway until it crashed against the opposite wall. The group collectively known amongst the New York underworld as the Enforcers watched as the unconscious body slid down the wall leaving a trail of red behind.

"I think he's gonna be okay."

Inside the drug lab Ox hefted a table, scattering its chemical contents everywhere and used it to batter half a dozen men from their feet. They were an unimpressive bunch. Clothes that had seen better days and pores clogged with methamphetamine waste they were jittery, red-eyed and frantic. Ox's attack had taken them by surprise and already a good many of the twenty men in the lab were down. Guns were pulled as desperation overcame common sense. Ox narrowed piggy eyes and bellowed. Men scattered, trying to surround the mountain. The click of a hammer caused Ox to whirl, fists raised.

A wire-laced lariat settled over the would-be gunman's head and jerked taut with a flick of Montana's wrist. The laconic cowboy shrugged and there was a pop! of neck bones. The gunman slumped and Montana tugged his lariat free, chewing on his snuffed cigarette. Open flames and methamphetamines did not mix. He looked over his shoulder.

"I told you he might need some help."

"Yeah, yeah. Might as well." Fancy Dan stalked past him, fingers shoved in his pockets, fedora shoved back on his head. He walked into the center of the lab and sniffed, looking around at the men Ox had been beating on. "Hello, boys. You recognize us?"

"No."

"Nope."

"You the Sinister Six?"

Fancy Dan's shoulders slumped. Of course not. They never remembered them. If you weren't a costume, you were nothing. Especially in this town. He sniffed, tossing a glance at the closest of the back-alley alchemists.

"No. Do you see metal tentacles or me shooting pumpkin bombs out of my ass? Of course we're not the fucking Sinister goddamn Six."

"Then you dead muthafu-"

Dan spun on his heel, the Italian loafers making nary a sound until one connected. There was a loud snap. The man fell back, silent, head twisted around . Dan stared at the others. "You sad shits are like worms fighting an eagle."

"What the hell do you want, man?" The bravest of those left asked. around him the others were pulling themselves to their feet or shifting weapons. No one had pulled a trigger yet but it was only a matter of time. Some of their eyes had that twitchy glow. Dan itched, thinking about the chemical detritus floating in the air. Air they were breathing. How long did it take you to become addicted via osmosis? He hated drugs. Drugs fucked you up worse than anything some clown in spandex could do. Behind him Harrison bumped his metal knuckles together and everyone froze, waiting to see if there were sparks. Harrison grinned.

"Your money or your life, dipshits. That's what we want."

"Eloquent." Dan muttered. Harrison snorted.

"You the only college boy in here, Brito."

"Don't mean we gotta be crude about this shit here, Hammer."

"Really? Cause I think it means just that."

"Oh? You thinking now? News to me."

"Boys?" Montana coughed, running a hand up under his hat and through his graying hair. "You settle this pissing contest later, hunh? Cause we about to have us a fight right now."

The click and clatter of weapons being readied filled the thick air. Fancy Dan's eyes narrowed.

"Ox?"

"Unh?"

"Stomp 'em."

Ox bellowed and hurled himself towards the gunmen, a living shield wall for his companions. Montana stepped up behind him, sliding to the side, his lasso fluttering out, gentle as a breeze, to snare the gunhands of the three closest men. With an equally gentle tug he disarmed them even as Harrison bulled into them. Steel crashed against bone and a body flopped back, facing an unrecognizable red ruin. Harrison laughed harshly as he spun, armored fists crashing into a set of kidneys and rupturing them, foretelling a colostomy bag in one young man's future. A jack-knife popped to life as Harrison finished off the kidney-punch and the third lunged at him, knife low. The lariat snaked out and seconds later the arm the knife-holding hand was attached to was dislocated with economical precision.

On Ox's other side Snake Marston lived up to his name. He'd doffed his black trenchcoat and popped his black suspenders with his thumbs before dislocating his hips and shoulders with a full body shake and looping himself around a pop-eyed thug with residual acne and a three-day growth on his upper lip. Gloved fingers fastened themselves around a pudgy head and Marston twisted, rolling loose shoulders. Dan shuddered as he watched Snake do his anaconda act and nearly got beaned with a baseball bat. As his hat fluttered to the floor, he sank to one knee and kicked out with his other leg, snapping a shin bone. The jock fell to the concrete floor squealing and Dan straightened, falling into an eagle-claw stance, one arm behind his back, legs slightly bent, other arm extended, fingers curled like talons. He lashed out, sending a gun flying and hooked his fingers into a thug's windpipe. Dan squeezed and the thug went limp as his windpipe collapsed. The little man whipped his hand free and slid aside as a pipe-wrench hummed through the air where he'd been moments earlier. He thrust down as the pipe came back up, holding it in place.

Dan locked eyes with the sour-faced thug and winked. "You ever heard the legend of Pai-Mei?"

"Fuck you."

"Didn't think so." Dan jerked and released the pipe, letting it fly back up and smash its wielder in the face.

"You've been taking lessons." Marston looked down at the unconscious man as he popped his shoulder back in place. Dan shrugged.

"Name of the game. Just like them damn slippery joints of yours."

"All natural baby."

"I'll believe it when they autopsy you."

Ox lifted a man over his head by his ankles and slammed him down hard. He hoped his momma didn't ask him what he'd been doing today. She didn't like it when he hurt people. Said it was the Devil's own way.

Ox didn't like the Devil. He'd have hit him if he knew how to get down there. But he didn't so he settled for hitting the man in front of him. Again and again and agai-

"Ox?"

Ox dropped the bloody lump he'd been pummeling and turned as Montana put a hand on his shoulder. He smiled.

"Hi, Montana!"

"Hi, Ox. I think we're done." Montana looked queasily at the men Ox had 'stomped'. Or what was left of them.

"Did I do right this time?"

"Oh yeah. Right as the rain in Spain, buddy." Montana tried not to look at the blood coating Ox's fists to the elbow, or the blood spattered all over his shoes and the cuff of his pants. Yes-sir he'd really stomped them good. Just like they'd told him. Just like they always told him. Montana patted Ox's shoulder as the others joined them. Other than the Enforcers, no one stood. The ones who weren't dead were unconscious or dying. Harrison smiled as he looked around.

"God. Now this is what it's supposed to be like."

"What? You mean killing a bunch of crack-heads so we can steal their money? Oh yeah. This is very much the future I planned." Snake hissed. He rolled his neck, working out the kinks. The others winced at the popping sounds. "Still, it beats getting our asses handed to us by some spandex wearing clown."

"That I'll agree with." Dan squatted and picked up a handful of bills off of the floor. "We should have learned our lesson the first time Osborn put us up against Spider-Man."

"Persistence is a virtue." Montana said, sucking on his cigarette. He glanced wistfully at his lighter and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"Stupidity isn't." Hammer snorted. He blinked and looked up at Ox. "No offense."

"What?"

"Never mind big guy."

"Okay."

"Still, I think we could take him now."

"Who?"

"Spider-Man."

"Shit." Dan muttered. Montana shook his head. Marston snorted. Harrison looked at all three, a sneer rippling across his face.

"Oh come on. We could do it."

"Then what?" Montana took his cigarette out of his mouth and stuck it behind one ear. Harrison looked at him in confusion.

"Whaddya mean what?"

"I mean what do we do after we whup Spider-Man, Hammer?" Montana laughed. "We go after the Hulk next?"

"I-"

"Jackson is right." Marston cut in, gesturing sharply. "Think about it. What happens to 'super-villains,' Will?"

"I-"

"They go to jail. Constantly. I for one have been out of the joint for a good six months and I intend to stay that way thank you very much." Dan said. He tossed a wad of cash to Harrison. "Now stop squawking and get to fetching. I got to pay rent."

"You don't got an apartment." Montana raised an eyebrow.

"But Sheila does." Dan shot back.

"Sheila? Kitty Kat Sheila?" Marston's eyes bugged out.

"Yeah."

"Stripper Sheila?" Harrison smirked.

"No, she's a nun. Yes the stripper!"

"Why are you paying her rent?"

"Cause we're engaged."

"What?"

"We're engaged goddamnit!"

"Why?" Montana stared at Dan as if he'd grown a second head. Dan shrugged.

"I like her."

"Dan..."

"Fine. I'm tired." Dan slumped, staring at the cash in his hands.

"No shame in that. It's been a long night..." Marston said as stuffed a roll of bills into his coat pocket.

"Not that kinda tired. I'm tired of this." Dan waved his hand at the carnage around them. "We've been doing this for three goddamn weeks and I'm tired. I'm turning forty in a few weeks."

"I'm forty." Montana said. Dan glared at him.

"Well we ain't talking about you, are we, Mister Robert fucking Redford?"

"I always thought I looked more like Eastwood."

"No. No, definitely Redford." Marston looked Montana up and down. "I can see it."

"Oh yeah. Got that smile and everything." Harrison said. He looked up at Ox. "Don't he Ox?"

"He looks like Daddy."

The four men stopped what they were doing and stared up at Bloch, who smiled and nodded.

"Momma says so."

"Well who are we to disagree with Momma Bloch? Can we get back to me now?" Dan threw up his hands and glared at his friends. "I'm tired of doing this. I want a home I don't have to leave every few months. I want a damn job and maybe even a fucking rugrat. Is that so goddamn bad?"

"A job. Like a legit thing? What the hell could you possibly do?" Harrison laughed harshly. "You been a thug all your life, Brito."

"I can teach martial arts asshole. If the fucking Sons of the Tiger can do it so can I!" Dan snarled. "I'm as good as any sonuvva bitch out there. Put me up against goddamn Iron-fucking-Fist and I'll make him eat his own hand. White Tiger fucks with me, I'll have me a new tiger-skin rug. Hell, I'll take on Shang-Chi and his fucking old man Fu Manchu to boot!" The others froze for a moment. Even Dan stopped talking, his features paling slightly as he realized what he'd just said. There were some names you couldn't just drop into conversation and not expect some shit to happen. Fu Manchu was at the head of that list. Dan swallowed and snorted.

"You know what I meant."

"Yeah, Dan. But still..." Montana clutched his hat to his chest. "Jesus in a canoe man. Don't say shit like that."

"Fucker's probably dead but still..." Harrison muttered. Even Ox looked frightened.

"Dead don't mean he ain't got ears, Dan." Marston hissed, every muscle tense. "Christ."

"Hardly that gentlemen."

The voice was smooth, cultured. Everything their own voices weren't. The five men whirled like puppets on jerked strings and saw a ghost standing before them, in the open doorway.

They'd been told to call him Mister Big.

He'd been their boss once. Before the Kingpin. Before Osborn. The suit was Armani, tailored to fit. The mask was metal, shaped to his face. An idealized face, but one they nonetheless recognized. It had once belonged to a man named Foswell. But he was dead.

"Big?" Ox rumbled, fists clenching unconsciously. Montana put a hand on his arm to steady him. Dan stepped in front of them, arms crossed, face flat.

"Who the fuck are you and why aren't you dead?"

"I'm the answer to your prayers, Daniel Brito. You and your four friends. Mister Big has a job for you."

TO BE CONTINUED

Next Issue: The return of Mister Big! Hammerhead's war! All that plus the Bar With No Name! Be here in thirty for 'UP JUMPED THE DEVIL'!

EARLY PAROLE

It's all Meriades Rai's fault. Him and that Super-Villain War of his.

But seriously folks, why the Enforcers is what you're asking yourselves and all I can say is 'why not?'. The Thunderbolts they ain't. They got no powers, no notable success and no hope in hell of surviving a protracted fight with anyone short of Speedball. Maybe not even then.

Or do they?

In a world full of costumed mercenaries and alien assassins, what happens to the guys like the Enforcers? Why do they continue to do what they do? Why not just give up and accept being replaced by the Beetles, Boomerangs, Rhinos and Venoms of the world?

Stick with me and find out.

-Josh Reynolds
argus33@hotmail.com