#22: Underhand Underling.

Unable to detect his opponent, Drake swung out in all directions, keeping the Marauder at bay. Jake tried shouting out advice, but he was drowned out by the catcalls and howls of the bloodthirsty spectators. Drake felt a sudden impact as Johnny charged him from behind, knocking him off-balance.  He flung up his arms to protect his face from the barrage of blows that was certain to follow, but there was nothing.

He blinked furiously, trying to dislodge the grit from his eyes as his sight returned. Johnny was a few metres away, retrieving his switchblade. Determined to finish the fight, Drake got to his feet and rushed Johnny, ready to knock him down.

He had, however, left his torso exposed, allowing his opponent to plunge the knife into his side. The arena fell silent at the fight’s abrupt conclusion.

 But instead of collapsing in pain, Drake merely smiled. He grabbed Johnny’s knife-hand, twisted and brought his other elbow down hard. There was a loud crunch, and Johnny yelled in pain. Drake followed with three successive blows to his mid-section and an uppercut, downing the greaser.

 He pulled the switchblade out from the body armour it had become lodged in. He threw the weapon down in front of the leader, who like the other Marauders was watching in stunned silence.

After a few tense seconds, the leader recovered and ordered the snipers to open fire…

#23: Convenient Cavalry.

Drake stood, un-waveringly before the riflemen, preferring to face demise head on , if this were indeed to be his end.

 Before a single shot could be fired, there was a tremendous bang as an explosion erupted from the far side of the scrapyard.

Roughly twenty men with S.W.A.T. emblazoned across their chests and another thirty police officers swarmed into the yard. The marauders were thrown into chaos: running around screaming, scrabbling up the junk piles, some even tried fighting back with little success.

Drake looked around for the leader and saw him leaping towards a young officer, bringing the pry-bar crashing down on his helmet. The officer went down and the leader legged it, climbing over the cars. Everyone else was busy either covering the snipers or brawling with the gang.

“Jake!” he called to his brother, who seeing the escaping leader, elbowed the throat of the bewildered Marauder next to him with the confiscated weapons and tossed the auto-revolver to Drake.

Catching his gun with one hand, Drake whirled, crouched and took aim at the fleeing figure.  A rubber bullet to the back of each knee stopped the leader in his tracks. 

#24: Captain Cole.

As the Marauders were piled into vans and taken away, the leader of the S.W.A.T team came up and introduced himself.

“Captain Calvin Cole,” he said, extending a hand.

“Drake Mandible, Mister,” quipped Drake, shaking the hand. “We received an anonymous tipoff that the Marauders were congregating here tonight, so we thought we’d drop on by, just in time by the looks of things.”
Drake could guess who the tipster was.

“So, what division are you two with?” asked Cole. “National Guard, Feds, CIA?”

“Actually, I’m a freelancer.”

“You gotta be kidding. There’s no way you could have access to this kind of weaponry if you were a civvy.”

“Well, I do have a rather substantial inheritance,” said Drake. “Giving me access to considerable resources.”

A sudden look of contempt flashed briefly over the captain’s face, barely perceptible to the average onlooker, but Drake saw it as clear as day.

“You’re a civilian? You really shouldn’t get involved in these sorts of things,” Cole said. “You could get yourself killed, or worse, one of my men.”

 “It was a family matter,” Drake replied, coolly. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

 “Yeah, well next time, leave it to the professionals. Have a good night.”

 “Nice to meet you,” Drake called to the captain’s back, resisting the urge to beanbag him.