2013.07.05 - To Catch a Merc

00:53.

The roads leading west outside of Gotham City are quiet at this hour, darkened from a lack of streetlights and further shaded from the moon by a dense overhanging of trees, steep hills, and a low cloud covering that masks out the night sky. On these back woods roads there's only three types of people that would be driving during this time. Those that are lost. Those that are running from something. And those that are running for something.

The thick foliage can only muffle the sound of a German-designed boxster six under full load so well, the short exhaust pounding out a melodious song born of precision engineering, high octane fuel, and one of technology's finest turbochargers on the civilian market. Pale blue halogen headlights spear through the thick shadows as a lone silver Porsche 911 screams down the wooded road, all four of its wheels fighting against the resistance of pavement to propel the coupe to an ever dizzying velocity. Even the bends prove incapable of doing much to slow down its progression, ducking and sliding through the curves as if it were riding upon a set of rails.

Inside there's nothing but the faint glow of interior lights and a ghostly white figure hunkered behind the wheel, ignoring the cluster of instruments as they casually tell her how badly she's breaking the state and federal traffic laws. She had only gotten the call twelve minutes ago, some jerk's trying to skip town. The woman holding the money does not wish to see this happen. Domino's had to play catch-up to a rabbit that already had a head start, though the odds of him getting away from her once she's on his tail?

1 in 97,855.

A half-gloved hand rams the shifter into a higher gear, one foot darting away from one petal while the other foot stomps down onto a different one. That her car happens to skip airborne along the current straightaway doesn't seem to bother her at all.

There's taillights up ahead.

"Showtime, Jackson."

Nothing like listening to an engine screaming like a dying rabbit as it downshifts over curves. Dirt and gravel from the day's commuting give the tires a hard time with keeping to the road, and the end of a decidedly NOT a performance car fishtails. While blue halogen lights doesn't mean much in the cosmic scheme of things, the driver is definitely trying to get the hell out of town, and get enough distance before the sun's rise.

Taillights light as the car comes to an intersection, though it's more a matter of habit than of necessity. There's no oncoming traffic, and the driver seems to realize that as well. After a second's hesitation, that is, just the sparest of hits to the brakes, the car is off once again, tires spinning.

Now, however, could there possibly be the feeling of 'Oh god, there's headlights behind me' in the actions of the driver?

That car in the mirror doesn't slow down for the intersection at all. Most cars would roll over the bump leading up to the crossroad without anything to show for it. With the momentum that the 911 has behind it the coupe clears that very intersection without ever brushing against the pavement.

Either someone else is more hell-bent on escaping the city than Jackson is or they're coming for him.

Domino's got something else on her mind to work out. Catching up to the target is child's play, it barely took her any time. Where things become difficult is in how she gets him to pull over. The instructions had been very clear, he is to live through this encounter. Shooting out his tires would instantly destroy his odds of walking away from this. She could try to cut him off or pull a pit maneuver but that would wreck up her own car, the job's not paying well enough to trash her own vehicle. Anything else is only likely to spook him all the more and raise the risk of him losing control and killing himself. She needs something..special.

Dom needs to play the odds.

Another gear shift, another drop of the proverbial hammer, the digital speedometer clocking over a hundred and sixty with little sign of letting off. In another three seconds she's closed the gap, the Porsche pitching forward as it loses speed, trying to keep pace with Jackson.

She lays on the horn once, the only warning that she's planning on giving the guy.

The unexpected blaring of noise proves to be too much for some of New York's wildlife.

Up ahead there's a momentary flash of headlights reflecting within a widened eye. A flash of white.

Jackson's suddenly got another choice to make. Stand on the brakes or slam into a deer.

A single eye looks in the rearview mirror as the cars speed down the dark road. There's no time for cursing, not with his attention split between the road ahead and the car behind. There's no contest, no real race.. and as the bright blues shine into his car, he lifts a hand to shift the mirror to 'night driving'. The eye flickers to the outside mirror, and there's a moment when he lets out a soft barked laugh. 'Objects are closer than they appear'. No shit.

And there.. if Fury was a betting man, he'd bet--

DEER!

Crapcrapcrap!

The car swerves so as not to hit the deer- head on, anyway. Rule is, don't swerve to avoid small woodland creatures, but the big ones? They'll screw up your front end like nothing else!

Braking doesn't do a whole lot for the car's progress, though going 'forward' isn't quite the best way to describe it. There's a wide turn, then.. something that looks very much like a .. basic, not very professional 'bootlegger'.. and after the back end swings, the car stalls out.

There, in the middle of the road, headlights on, is a silent car.

Bullseye!

As one car starts to slide and stall the other rapidly sheds speed under much more controlled circumstances, the compact six cylinder thrumming once more as if in victory before broad tires can bring the 911 to a halt with a polite chirp of rubber upon pavement.

Domino's already free of the seat, throwing the door open, sweeping an arm over the roof to bring the faintly glowing Tritium elements within its sights upon the other vehicle.

BLAM!

Ping!

Where Jackson's car used to have an antenna only a short metal stump remains, the slender metal rod lost somewhere within the woods. Hopefully that'll get his attention, Dom shifting her hold to a two-handed stance as she approaches the stalled vehicle. This time the sights are on the other driver, windshield be damned.

"Get out of the car!"

The driver can't be seen.. he's set the airbags off, and it appears as if it's filled the entirety of the front seat.

There's a soft click that sounds in response to the command, but no dome light fires on. In the next breath, a little red light blinks on from behind the vehicle, and a soft series of *pop*s rises from the direction of the stricken car.

Add a second striken car. That'll cost some money to fix as the tires begin to lose their air.

Click. Red lights. Tires getting popped.

An ambush? Out here?! The odds of that are--

(We don't have time for that, Domino.)

In a flash the albino woman dives behind the side of her car for cover, another pistol filling her other hand. Arms are swept out to either side, not knowing where this mysterious third party is other than knowing that there's multiple shooters involved. They're sharpshooters, suppressors and subsonic ammunition. Marks of professional killers.

But why here? How could they have known this would be the exact spot where these two would show up?

And which one of them were they even after?

"Takes a lot of fucking nerve, guys! This one's mine, get lost!"

Now, now is the time.

It's perhaps not the most familiar of voices that rings out in the evening air, but it's one that has undoubtedly been heard before. It sounds a voice of a man who is used to being obeyed. Certain. Assured. No nonsense.

"Put it down." Just in case there's any question as to whom he is speaking? "Domino. Put it down. Where I can see it."

Now, Colonel Nick Fury shows himself from behind the car, behind cover. His gun is put away; the mark of a man who is sure of himself, and he strides a couple of steps out into the open.

"We need to have a little chat, you and I."

Some voices can never be forgotten. It had been many long months since Dom's heard that voice but it still has the same effect on her now that it did once before.

The last time she had been about ready to call his bluff on being surrounded by snipers, too.

This time the proof is a little more obvious. This time she's also more certain of where she is, what she's doing, and how the cards are shuffled. This isn't a safehouse. There's plenty of room for cover, if she can only get to it. The snipers are also giving away their positions with their laser sights, something which could always change without any warning.

"Go screw yourself, Fury. If you want to talk then pick up the phone sometime, I'm sure you can find my number. Stepping on my toes while I'm on the job is total bullshit."

She's not putting her guns down. Now she knows where Fury is, too. Not that she would ever have the nerve to kill the guy. Shoot him, maybe. If that's what it takes to prove her point, so be it.

There's a moment of silence before the Director of SHIELD starts to laugh, shaking his head slowly as he does. "I was your job." He gestures towards the car with the blown airbags. "Who do you think was driving?"

She was set up.

"Now," and Fury's tones take something of a darker sound. He's done playing. "Put them down like a good girl, and you'll walk out of this with both your legs usable. You'll need them to get home."

Turning about perhaps to make the point that she's -not- going to shoot him, he calls out again, "You're not ready to blow me away and we both know it. So stop using your guns like a bullhorn and get your ass over here so we can talk."

Yeah... About that whole 'having a point to make' bit?

"Is that so?" Domino calls back, her tone suddenly less threatening and much more matter of fact.

BLAM!

One more shot, this one aimed square at Fury's center body mass. He'll be wearing armor, she's certain of it. If she wanted to kill him she would have gone for something more vital, like his head.

"I'm not one of your fucking lapdogs, Fury! You want a good girl you came to the wrong part of the woods!"

She'll only put up with so much pushing. If he wanted to kill her then he would have had it done by a lackey, he wouldn't have come down here just to say hello first. So, here it is. Dom's calling him out. His little trick may have worked on her once before.

Not again.

He actually didn't plan on killing her. What is that, too useful to kill?

It's as if Fury has eyes in the back of his head to make up for the fact that he's lost one in front. He is wearing body armor, but it'll still hurt when he's shot! Leaping to the side, tucking and rolling, the Director comes up, his .45 is pulled out (so comfortable and familiar in his hand), and he's set on the knee, braced, before a single, loud report exits the gun in retaliation. It'll land short, at least that's his intent. He can easily raise the sight, but his point is- it'll be a painful walk home.

"I only look for bad girls in the woods, Domino. Good girls are home where they should be by this time of night."

Get shot at enough times and you can learn to stop flinching.

Spak!

A fresh divot is drilled into the pavement, mere inches from where Domino's got her legs bunched together. Still she remains glaring down the open sights of her one sidearm, having tracked Fury right up until the shot of retaliation says its piece.

Now she's smirking, though there's no humor nor good cheer connected to the expression. "That's one thing you've done right."

With a slight shift of her hands the grips of her sidearms roll free of her palms, catching either weapon by the top of the slides as her thumbs 'ride' the hammers into position. It's a delicate balancing act between spring tension and finger pressure, though (reluctantly) it ends up with her guns being placed upon the road to either side of her.

With a weary sigh.

Dom stands next, though she's not about to hold her arms in the air. Nick didn't deserve that much of a surrender. "What the hell do you want from me this time?"

Now, Fury remains where he is for a long, lingering moment more before he rises slowly to his feet, and sets his gun back into his shoulder holster. "Not kill you? That remains to be seen."

Striding forward now, Fury studies her with every step. He's not stupid. She could easily reach down, grab the guns, and he'd get the moral equivalent of a double barrel in the chest and head. If she was so inclined.

But he's a betting man.

Stopping about a foot away, the ex-Ranger nods at the guns, "It's a sin to keep them in the dirt," before, "I thought I had a lot on you before, but now?" Fury whistles softly before he reaches into his pocket to bring out an (as of yet) unlit cigar. "You have been literally blowing up my fucking computer.. and not in a good way. We have to talk about some of those little escapades, and what we're going to do about them."

Yeah, sure. Like Nick didn't already have a reason to not gun Domino down where she stood. Besides, he wouldn't have to kill her to get his way. With the financial and technological backing on his side there's more than a hundred better, cleaner, more efficient ways of dealing with her than by shooting her then finding a new home for the body.

Similarly, she wouldn't need to go for those two guns to arm herself. If Fury only believes that she was carrying the two he could be in for a nasty surprise.

"Would you rather I didn't do what you told me to?" she challenges about the 'sin' she had just committed. "I'll keep that in mind."

This time, when she smirks it's legit. It's difficult to not feel at least a passing sense of pride with that kind of acknowledgement being said. It's short-lived, however. "Been a slow week at the office? There is no we, here. I'm not threatening national security, I'm not harboring alien fugitives, I'm not rounding up WMD's. I should be way under SHIELD's radar, and there's better uses of your time than coming out here to the ass end of nowhere just to get on my nerves."

Because, really. Why should they give half a crap about what she's been doing?

Fury crosses his arms across his chest and looks down at the ground for a moment before he raises his gaze once again, resting it upon the albino. "Madripoor." He shakes his head slowly again, and exhales in that all-encompassing sigh. "I tried, I did.. you needed a little boost.. and I simply asked one thing in return."

A single eye narrows, and he reaches down to pull a little USB dongle from his pocket.

Staring balefully at it for a moment as he holds it between two fingers, Fury offers, "Pretend there's at least a ream of paper, all in neat folders with the words 'Eyes only' stamped on the front. Oh.. and 'Top Secret'." Not even just 'Secret'? "There are times when technology just isn't that damned impressive."

"What you wanted was a means to keep an eye on me without having to put a little effort into it," Dom swiftly challenges back. Though, seeing as how he brought up Madripoor she's guessing that he went ahead and put some effort into it, after all.

She's hoping that it wound up costing him a lot of resources.

The USB drive is enough to have her eyes narrowing as well. (Why is it that the most complicated jobs I've ever taken always end up involving those fucking things?) Either it's got a list of things related to her on it or it's got a lot of data on the lawless country, itself. Either way, he's right. It's not very impressive.

"Really. You're going to intimidate me with a keychain this time? I see the holiday bonuses are starting to pay for themselves."

"So instead, you gave me a salute and decided you could do better for yourself." Oh, it'd be a single-fingered salute that he's referring to, of course.

Growling, Fury puts the USB back into his pocket, and the unhappy expression gains a smile that has very little amusement behind it. "A taste of what I have is on your table. At home. Or.. one of them." He took his pick. "Not all of it, but something that will get you through your morning cup of coffee. And a bagel." Now, he gives a hoarse chuckle, "The secretary pool had to do a little overtime because I insisted upon paper. Damned xerox kept running out of ink, though."

Nick begins a slow circle around the merc now, studying her. "You know, even though you don't think so, you do show up here and there. And you know, what with the talk about the NSA about spying in on average Americans? You.. Mrs. Thurman, are not an 'Average American'."

And I've been getting along fine, thanks for asking," Domino replies with a disinterested tone. "Maybe others end up beside themselves with glee after getting a job recommendation from you. I never asked for it."

(Shit. There's another compromised safehouse.) "And yet you still insist on sticking your nose into my business. I'm starting to think that you're feeling a smidge threatened by me," she teases in a less than jovial tone. "Every time you go about showing your face things start to go downhill for me, so congratulations on messing up my evening and my ride back to town. Quit watching me, stay the hell out of my way, and stop baiting me with bogus leads. I'm not doing this dance with you, SHIELD's got plenty of redshirts that would be more than happy to be your partner for the evening."

"And don't call me by that name."

The old man is fast, not that he has to move too far, but he's in Domino's personal space. It's not a threat; he doesn't do those. It's more of a warning of that which is to come. His expression is serious, as serious as death.

"One word to your 'boss', and you won't find work because you won't be able to lift your head high enough to be sure it won't get blown off." A thumb is lifted in the direction in which the cars careened, and he keeps his tones low in the night's air. "When you get back, get your reading glasses on. You've got a lot of reading, then a lot work to do in order to be sure you're going to continue drawing breath tomorrow. The day after- and the day after that."

Fury drops his hands into his pockets, and looks up, arching his back, and drawing a deep breath, exhaling it audibly. "I'll send for a tow truck in the morning for it. It'll be safe for morning. This isn't the city."

With the invasion of her space Domino's arms come out to her sides in a clear 'you want a go at this?' gesture, staring back at the director of all things SHIELD without a sliver of fear in her eyes.

Poker-face.

She can call a bluff more often than not. She's good at these things. The promise that she's being given, out here in the wooded nowhere, is no bluff. Nick's finally decided to play a hand of his own in Dom's high stakes lifestyle. If that isn't bad enough, her very career seems to be in the pot.

"You son of a bitch," she quietly seethes.

What did he stand to gain out of all of this? Why go through the trouble of 'educating' her over what he knows about her? He wants something that she's got in her hand and isn't playing, there's no other logical explanation. With Madripoor having been brought up she's starting to put the pieces together.

All arrows point to Roy Harper.

He's in the same situation she is, slogging through the same mess, and unlike her, he has a superior officer to report back to. She probably has him to thank for this breach of privacy.

Fury's right about one thing. It's time for a change of tactics. She's only mad that she didn't catch it first.

As for the cab? "I don't work on your schedule." She's got a cell. She has connections. She can get a tow out here in an hour or less.

"My mother was a good woman," Nick says quietly. "So it wouldn't be polite to call me a bastard, either. I've probably heard everything I could possibly be called, in almost every language, from German to Croatian." Nothing new under the sun?

What does he have to gain? A solo contractor. She's always claimed she works alone, and now? He's going to nail her on it. "I'm going to be calling on you, from time to time." He cants the tenor of his voice to make it sound conversational, but there is that undertone that runs through. This isn't a request, no.

"I have one right now, actually, that could use your expertise." Fury lets it linger in the air before he explodes in a single word, "But-"

"If you screw me again, thinking that you have a half a hope in hell of operating on your own, you're going to be begging me for help."

"Tell someone that gives a shit," Dom growls back. Sure he's been called worse. She could call him much worse right here and now, but what would that accomplish? What she really wants to do is punch him so hard that he can upgrade that eyepatch to a full-on set of fancy black shades, but that she definitely couldn't get away with.

Maybe she should have been more careful with her wording before, because now it sounds like she may well end up getting a literal call. SHIELD prides itself on being able to find trouble areas across the globe, including trouble individuals. She couldn't stay under their radar and continue to work. One or the other, never both. And, with the jobs that are starting to line up in her near future? Subtlety no longer exists.

This may well mean that her career as a merc could be coming to an end, too. If he's willing to put forth that level of effort, just to keep her controlled? She's almost unsure whether to be flattered along with being enraged.

"Give me a little warning before you show up next time so I can have the lube ready. Least you could do. Just saying."

"Little bit of pain shows you're still alive," comes as a deadpan. "You want 'feel good', well.. you're in the wrong business." Fury turns away again, and looks up, the single eye searching the sky. Nothing there, and there's no sound. Even the deer in the woods are smart to avoid rustling the leaves. Sheer spite could get them killed!

"You're mad.. you should be mad at yourself for bad decisions. Now, here I am, helping to lead you from your self-destructive ways." 'Self' destructive? "Why, you may ask? Because it suits me. It's not altruistic; I'm not doing this because I've had a change of heart." He levels his one-eyed gaze down again, and that eye narrows. "Your kind is a dime a dozen, Domino. The things I have set up, I can easily hand off to someone that has some sense of loyalty. But in these cases, I don't care about loyalty. I care about things getting done, and quickly. And, in return?" The Director isn't known for dramatic pauses, but he seems to be considering his words before he continues. "You may not only live to see tomorrow, but your horizons may clear from the dark, angry rain clouds that are gathered there."

"You're a true saint," Domino positively reviles. "I'll go tell the Pope he's out of a job."

(I didn't want help, I didn't need help, and I sure as hell didn't need Fury.)

"Don't talk to me like you know what I'm thinking. My anger is directed exactly where it needs to go. You've run short on expendable operatives so you've decided to track down the next unlucky bunch and start throwing your weight around until you get what you're after."

(Finally, there's the sales pitch.) "Has anyone else ever fallen for that carrot? Your boys have already hired me to help out on a few occasions, or did you forget about that? If this is how you're gonna play it then you'd better be giving me something that I want in return. I don't care if it's the end of the fucking world, Fury. If I so much as lift a pen for SHIELD's benefit I had better be getting something out of it."

Even if that means she gets to live to see the next sunrise.

"Pen is mightier than the sword, but you deal in guns, Domino. I don't want you for your literary ability." Fury now takes a step back, putting a little distance between himself and Domino. Now, there's a sound in the sky; the *thwap*thwap* of rotor blades in the distance.

"You'll see something out of it. Tomorrow." There's a smile that rises again, wolfish. It's the look of a man that always gets his way, one way or the other, and delights in the misery of those that end up suffering for it. He doesn't deal in innocents, however. So that allows him to sleep at night; for the most part.

"In this business, Domino. It's what you don't see that proves you're gaining from it."