Stoplight's Bird 1

Paul Powell sat at a corner table like he usually did. He liked to watch the windows at the front of the restaurant. He also liked the fact that he could see most of the other tables from where he sat.

Carpet covered the floor. Small lights hung from the ceilings over the tables. Old movie posters covered the walls. Paul sat under a picture of Humphrey Bogart whenever he could. The kitchen area was separated from the front of the restaurant by a waist high counter.

Paul knew most of the staff by name, or sight. He was a regular. His office was two buildings over. This restaurant was the perfect place to get a sandwich and coffee while thinking about work.

Paul also knew most of the customers around him by sight. They worked in the office buildings around the restaurant just like he did. He frequently saw one of his clients working at a table next to the window while trying to get through lunch.

A man came into the door with a package. He looked around the room. He started across the room towards Paul.

Paul pushed his plate aside and picked up his cup. He had a revolver concealed by his jacket. He didn't want to pull it unless he had to do that. There was no telling where bullets would go if he opened fire.

The stranger needed to gain some weight. The package rode cradled in an arm like football during a run. He settled in a chair where he could look at Paul while trying to keep an eye on the street.

"Are you Paul Powell?" The stranger's face had a lot of lines from exposure to the sun. His beard was a gray bristle brush to match the thin hair on his head.

"Yes, sir." Powell retained his grip on the cup. He still might have to use it. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to guard something for me for a couple of days." The stranger seemed satisfied he had Paul's attention. He turned his gaze on the windows. "I'll be back to pick it up when I am done with my arrangements."

"What makes you think I'll do that?" Paul leaned back in his chair. He saw no need to give the man a chance to try and grab him over the table top.

"Your ad says you will guard property for the right price." The man pulled out part of a phone book page. "That's what I need you to do for me."

"What does this property look like?" Paul remembered the ad. He had put it in the book when he had started his detective business years ago.

"I'll show you." The stranger opened the package under his arm just enough to show what was inside it. An ellipse of gleaming metal embossed with a fierce eagle gleamed under the table light until he pulled the cloth cover closed again.

"I have contracts for you to sign." Paul wondered how the man had gotten hold of something like that. "Let's go back to my office and take care of that."

"I don't have time right now." The man held the package out. "I need you to take it now. I'll be in touch with your money and a little extra on top of that."

"I'll need your name." Paul took the package and placed it on the seat beside him.

"My name is Smith." The stranger got up. He tucked the clipping away in his coat before pulling out a wallet. He counted a small wad of bills out and handed them over. "I'll be back in a couple of days."

"I'll be looking for you." The detective put the money away. He didn't smile. He could smell trouble a mile away.

Smith started toward the door. He took the clipping out and balled it up for the public trashcan next to the front door. He didn't need it anymore.

Paul watched him step out on the sidewalk. What was going on? He doubted a phone book ad had pointed Smith to his door.

The chatter of an automatic weapon cut through his thoughts. It sounded like Paul wasn't going to collect the rest of his fee after all.

The crowd in the restaurant moved away from the windows. He stood and tucked the disc under his arm. He might as well hold onto it until he found out what was going on.

He pushed his way to the front of the restaurant. It was no use going out the back. If they shot Smith in the street, they might come in and shoot everyone in the place to get the disc. He didn't want that to happen.

It was better if he went out and drew them off. Then they would chase him and leave the potential witnesses alone.

Paul pulled his revolver and held it next to his leg as he stepped out. He broke to his left and started walking away.

Two guys stood on the sidewalk. They held assault rifles as they looked around. They had long coats on over casual suits. He expected that was to hide the rifles from view.

Paul let them see the disc as he headed down to an alley that separated the restaurant from the next building. He turned in the alley and immediately hunted cover. He wanted to give them a surprise.

Flashlight beams played over the alley walls as the two men arrived at the mouth of the alley. They proceeded slowly down the narrow passage. They knew an ambush when they saw one.

Paul had picked a spot where the trash cans formed a barrier around an alcove. He suspected this was for the employees to smoke outside without being seen. He had placed the covered eagle in the trash can closest to the wall. If he lived, he would pull it out before leaving.

Paul leveled his revolver. He wanted to make sure he didn't kill at least one so he had someone to question. He noted the bulk on their upper torsos. He had to decide if it meant muscular chests, or a vest.

He decided on vests.

He pulled the trigger. The bullet exited the barrel and hit before the sound of it cracking the sound barrier appeared. The man farthest from the detective crashed into the alley wall. His rifle flew in the air behind him.

The other man turned toward the flash from the revolver. He raised his rifle to shoot into the shadows caused by the alcove. He joined his comrade on the ground.

He was much too slow thanks to Paul's gift.

Paul stepped out of his hiding place. He had four shots left. He decided to make sure of the two he had before going back and checking if they had help. He pulled their coats down over the shoulders after turning them both face down on the alley floor. He didn't see any blood so the only thing he had to worry about is if he punctured an organ when the bullet hit the vests they were wearing.

He didn't really care other than he needed information from them.

Stoplight's Bird 2

"Let's start with who you work for." Paul made sure to keep his revolver on them as he put himself in a position to cover the mouth of the alley and the thugs at the same time. "That'll save me a whole lot of time later."

Silence met his opening gambit. He kind of expected that. He certainly couldn't kill them now without getting in trouble with the cops when they showed up. That event wouldn't be a long time away either.

What would Jack Bauer do?

Paul looked at the things he had taken from their pockets. He had some money, subway tokens, and a phone card. Unless he had something to read their fingerprints, and they were in the system, he had nothing to identify them.

"No one wants to give me an answer?" He decided the best thing he could do was hand them over to the police. If they got bailed out, maybe that would give him a lead on who had killed his client.

Sirens approached. Paul nodded at the sound.

"I guess that's your ride coming." Paul fished the eagle out of the trash. "I'll let you explain why the two of you shot an old man. It'll be rich."

He retreated down the alley away from where the cops would come down in their search of the culprits. He didn't want to turn the eagle over to the police. It could disappear from an evidence vault as soon as it was checked in.

And he was getting paid to guard it.

He paused at the end of the alley before putting his revolver away. Cops spotted the two men on the ground, weapons piled to one side. Handcuffs came out of their pouches.

Paul waited for the police to lead the men away. Maybe the regulars had identified him as leaving. Maybe they hadn't. He still needed a place to hide the eagle while he was looking into this. He certainly couldn't carry it around with him.

He couldn't leave it at his office. As soon as the killers knew who he was, that would be the first place they would look for the item. His apartment would be the next place.

Paul gave some thought about what to do with the disc as he doubled back to the front of the block. He wanted to make sure his two assailants were loaded up and taken away. Then he could start doing things about hiding the item and finding out who wanted the old man dead.

He doubted they would give up with the loss of two men unless that was all they had.

Paul waited on the sidewalk, using a building entrance as a cover. The witnesses positively identified the shooters for the police. That left him out of it. He watched the street for anything out of the ordinary.

A man behind the wheel of a van stuck out. He seemed to be watching everything from behind the driver's wheel. He also didn't look happy about what was going on.

This might be the getaway driver.

Paul decided to circle the block. He could get the license number and try to run it down. Maybe that would lead back to the big brain.

The detective circled around, hoping the man wouldn't see what he was doing. He didn't want the man to drive off before he got those numbers.

Paul wrote down the plate number on his hand to make it look like it was nothing important. Then he pulled out his cell phone to make some calls while he waited.

He had an idea this man was watching to see what happened to his comrades. He should have left as soon as they didn't come out of the alley. Maybe he was trying to figure out who had put them down for a talk later.

What would he do next? Would he try to free his friends from the police? Would he drive off? Paul admitted he would have driven off himself.

The man leveled a pistol at the two men. Paul ran up, banging on the back of the van. He couldn't let him shoot into the crowd.

Obviously these people believed in discarding anyone who outlived their usefulness.

The driver looked into the mirror. He spotted Paul coming up the side of the van. He started to turn in his seat to wave him off.

Paul stuck his revolver in the man's face before he could react. The driver looked into the barrel and froze.

"Give me the pistol." Paul clicked the hammer back. "I don't want to shoot you."

The man handed the automatic out the window. Paul took it and placed it on top of the van. Then he wondered what he was going to do next.

"What's this all about?" Paul decided to try and get some answers. That seemed better than letting the guy drive off scott free.

The man looked straight ahead. He kept his hands on the wheel. The detective wondered if he was American at all.

"I guess you can do your talking to the police." He gestured for the man to get out of the van. "Maybe they can pry something from you."

The man opened the door. Paul stepped back to give him plenty of room. He saw the submachine gun a second before the man fired.

The scene froze in red as bullets filled the air like hovering bees.

Paul walked back to the rear of the van. He made sure no one was in the flight path of the bullets as he took cover. He didn't want anyone accidentally shot.

The landscape flashed green and the bullets cut up the street and the car parked behind the van. The driver started to turn to shoot at his comrades again. Police and civilians took cover from the surprise thunder.

Paul leaned out and fired one round from his revolver. He didn't aim for the body. He went for a leg. The other two had on vests. This one might too.

The driver went down. Blood gushed from the wound in his shin. He looked down at it. He glared at Paul. He raised his weapon to spray the area where the detective stood.

The patrolmen ran up, and shot the man before he could fire. They turned their pistols on Paul. He placed his weapon on the ground and raised his hands.

He didn't want to get shot for saving the day.

Stoplight's Bird 3

Paul sat in the blank interrogation room. The usual mirror was there. He wondered why they even bothered when everyone knew why the glass was there. He knew some of the newer police stations had cameras.

He sipped at the bottle of water they had given him. He knew they were going to run his prints and DNA when they took the bottle back. He didn't care. So far he had never left either thing at a crime scene he had caused.

He thought about the case so far. He didn't like the way things were shaping up. Three professionals were hired to kill one old guy. They want what he had in his possession. Now he had it. Thankfully the police had let him lock it up at his building before he went in to give his statement.

He hoped his office wasn't getting torn apart by people looking for it.

His only courses of action were try to trace his client, or try to trace the professionals' client. Neither appealed to him for different reasons.

His client had given a false name. He didn't have a way to run down fingerprints now that the man was dead. The police would be trying to do that to figure out why he had been killed.

He doubted he could help with that.

The other course meant finding out who the hitters were, their past history, their circle of friends. The police were already trying to do that. He couldn't think of anything that he could use to add to their efforts.

He was only one man. Next to a police force, he was a water gun compared to a firehose.

The last thing that crossed his mind was using himself and the bird as bait. And that definitely was not something he wanted to even think about trying. That could get him killed.

The door opened and Sergeant Cole came in the room. He had the file from the shooting in his hands. He settled into the opposite chair with a heavy grunt.

"How's it going, Mr. Powell?" Cole opened the file with a thumb. "That was pretty good shooting earlier."

"I've spent time at the range." Paul decided to try to be friendly but noncommittal. One wrong word could see him spending the night. And that would make it easy for the professionals to get a man in the jail to do him in.

"I imagine." Cole pulled out three pictures he had got from Booking from the file. "Do you know these guys?"

"These two followed me into the alley from the deli." Paul didn't have any problem admitting that. "This is the guy your patrols shot."

"Do you know this guy?" The detective pulled out a picture of Paul's client. It had been shot in the morgue from the looks of things.

"He said his name was Smith. He hired me to watch some of his property for him while he took care of some personal business." There was no use denying that. The man had probably been noticed by someone in the deli. That person might have seen him and Powell at Powell's table. If that witness showed up, a denial would look like guilt to anyone investigating what was going on.

He couldn't be the prime suspect if he wanted to get back under official radar.

"Have you dealt with him before?" Cole made a note of name, the reason why they had been talking, and put it down for the motive.

It didn't say whose motive he thought it was.

"He had an ad from the telephone book." Paul shrugged. "I assumed he had seen the ad and the prices and picked the cheapest detective he thought he could find."

"Did he say what he planned to do next?" The sergeant marked down ad. Paul wondered what he planned to do. Surely he wasn't going to check every phone book he could get his hands on for a missing page.

"He said he had some personal business in town for a couple of days and he wanted me to hold on to his property until he could reclaim it." The private detective shrugged. "I assume that he had seen the two goons on the outside of the deli and planned to hide the thing temporarily until the heat had died down."

"Except they killed him instead." Cole put the pictures away.

"I can't testify to that." Paul rubbed his face. "All I can say is they came after me after the gunshots outside the deli. They openly displayed assault rifles, but didn't try to identify themselves."

"So you shot them in self defense?" The policeman leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"I was frightened for my life." Paul leaned back in his chair. "Naturally I heard the gunshots earlier and felt the persons who had fired those shots and the ones following me were one in the same."

"We're testing your gun." Cole nodded at the standard defense. He had used it himself once. "We should be able to return it tomorrow."

"I'll come by and pick it up." Paul smiled. "I need to get some sleep, and start trying to find Smith's heirs so they can get their package back."

"We don't have a positive identification on him." The sergeant stood. He gestured toward the door. "If you find out anything, let us know."

"I'm surprised you're not warning me to stay away from the case." Paul gathered up his jacket and headed for the exit.

"I'm kind of curious how many of these guys are going to try and kill you for whatever it is you got." The policeman tucked the file under his arm. "Do you want a security detail to help you feel safer?"

"No." Paul pulled on his jacket. "I'll keep a low profile."

"Good luck on that." Cole closed the door on the interrogation room as his subject walked across the bullpen.

Another detective cut across the room as Paul headed for the stairs.

"Joe and Frank are waiting for your guy downstairs." The detective glanced at the open door.

"That guy knows what he's doing." Cole walked over to his desk and dropped the file in the cabinet. "He'll probably see them coming from a long way off. Make sure to warn them about more of those goons. The three we got probably had friends."

"They know." The detective went to his own desk. "We working the guns and bodies?"

"That's all we got unless the guys in the cell decide to open up and tell us why they shot a John Doe and tried to shoot the last man he talked to in front of a restaurant of witnesses." Cole shook his head. "Those numbskulls were probably going to unload on the deli to cut down on positive identification."

"Kill a bunch of guys to cover killing one guy?" The detective shook his head. "What did they want from the duffer?"

"That's the whole key to this." Cole looked at his desk. "I'm going over to the lab. See if they got anything back from the FBI, or the other government guys, on the prints. Maybe there's something there we can use."

"I'll call over." The detective thought about it. "Maybe we can pass the word around overseas. We don't know where this guy was from. He might have spent time in Europe."

"Go ahead." Cole pulled his jacket on. "It can't hurt."

He headed for the door.

Stoplight's Bird 4

Paul Powell walked out of the police station, bird under one arm. He missed having his revolver. He needed the firepower if he wanted to go up against a bunch of faceless mooks and an evil mastermind.

He wasn't going to try and get close enough to punch them. They were packing way too many weapons of their own for that to work.

His list of priorities boiled down to hiding the bird where no one could find it without him, getting a back up pistol, and finding out who killed the old man.

He paused at a bagel stand. He noticed the different groups of people behind him. He needed to get rid of his followers before he did anything. He got a bagel with plenty of cream cheese before walking on.

He decided he needed to vanish to throw everyone off.

He paused at the corner. He couldn't freeze the whole street. He needed to speed himself up so that it looked like he had vanished in the crowd. That should throw a spanner in the works.

How many were cops, and how many were Smith's enemies? He didn't want to sort that out in the middle of a crowded block. Too many people would get killed.

And he didn't want to be one of those.

Powell turned left, speeding himself up to cut through the pedestrians. It made it look like he was still standing at the corner when he was actually heading through a little consignment shop as fast as he could go. He stepped in an empty stall and locked the door.

He covered the mirror with his coat as he thought about what he needed to do. He had to get rid of the bird, then he needed his back up. No one had seen him come into this shop. He could hide the disk there and escape unseen.

Maybe someone would reason that he had stashed it in one of the buildings in the neighborhood, but they would still want to find him first.

It might buy him some time if they didn't want to tear every place he could have gone into apart.

That was a big if considering what they had already tried to do.

Powell looked around for anything in his little refuge he could use to his advantage. If he couldn't hide the disk in the stall, he would have to do something else with it.

The top of the stall had a ceiling composed of drop tiles. He reached up and pushed one out of the way. He took the disk and wrote a note that he stuck to the top of the wrapper with gum. He placed the package in the crawlspace and slid the tile back in place.

That was the best he could do at the moment.

Now he had to take care of the next thing on his list and get a gun. He couldn't wander the streets unarmed like Johnny Shield. A weapon was the best thing for what the situation was turning into as he tried to get out of it.

He pulled on his coat. He had to get out of the consignment shop without being seen. He hoped the crawlspace was as unused as it looked. He didn't want the clerks to get killed because they found the thing and the word got out.

If they killed an old man in the street, there was no telling what they would do to register workers who didn't know what was going on.

And he couldn't expect to live after what he had done.

Paul stopped time enough to get out the back of the shop. He headed along a small lot for employee parking to reach the other side of the block. He had to get away clean so they wouldn't think to search the shops.

After he was sure he had done that, he could hold the location hostage until he needed it.

The detective decided to head to the nearest subway. He heard the stories but put them down to overactive imaginations. Not every claim of weird murder could be true. That would defy logic.

He spotted a stairwell going into the ground. He took the moment to freeze his immediate surroundings. He looked around. He didn't see any familiar faces yet.

He walked down the subway stairs. He should be okay as soon as the train arrived on the track. Then he could ride back to his office.

He knew his office was probably under surveillance. He knew he would have to track down the killers. He was hoping for something besides using himself as a practice dummy.

He just didn't see any other course at the moment. He doubted they would show up out of the blue with their real identification. No one did that.

He needed a way to find out who they were without them seeing him coming. He racked his brain as he went to the far end of the platform and took cover next to a trashcan and the wall of the station.

He kept an eye on the entrance. He didn't want one of them seeing him waiting for the train and blowing his escape plan. He couldn't stop them with his bare hands.

The train rumbled into the station after minutes of waiting. The people boarding the transport didn't seem to have any problem with him. He supposed that was a plus for his side.

He made his way to the back of the last car and settled in a spot where he could look out the window without being seen himself. He watched the station for people who might be looking for him. He seemed safely on his way when the wheels started to turn on the rails.

He had a storage site across town. He had picked the facility with an eye of being away from his office. He didn't want a random search to connect it to his office, or home.

The most important thing the place kept in storage was his second gun. He was going to use that to fix his problems.

Paul waited until the train reached the closest station to his storage locker. He waited for the others to get off first before he got off himself. Some remained on the train. He made sure to avoid their hands as he passed.

He didn't want to be poisoned by a hidden needle and have the murderer use the rails to ride off without being suspected by the police.

He headed up to the street, dialing up his speed a little. A crowd was the best place to kill someone if you had the right tool.

He turned and headed down the street. His place was in a converted warehouse. Hopefully, no one had tumbled to the fact that he kept some of his gear there. They would rip the door off just to get at him.

He used a code to get through the gate around the facility. He went inside and walked along the rows of doors until he found his locked down to the floor. He took the lock off and raised the door. He stepped inside and clicked on the lamp hanging from overhead.

He closed the door before going over to the peg board he had set up. He took one of the heavy revolvers down and checked it. Then he sat down on the floor next to the small refrigerator and tried to think what he was going to do next.

Stoplight's Bird 5

Paul Powell decided the best way to do things was to try and lure the rest of Smith's killers into a trap. That was the only way he could think of to get out of the spot he was in. He certainly couldn't pass the disc on to any next of kin as long as he didn't know who Smith really was, and his killers still lurked on the streets somewhere.

The quickest way to pick them up was to go back to his office. They would be watching it in the hopes he would do something stupid like that.

He just had to find their spotters before they saw him coming. Where would he set up to look for someone?

Paul made sure he had both of his revolvers, plenty of ammo, and his vest before he shut down the storage unit. No matter how fast he could make things, sometimes a lucky shot couldn't be avoided. Hopefully the vest would make sure that wasn't fatally bad luck for him.

He slipped out of the storage facility and headed across town to his office. He had to take a look around to see who was watching the building.

Then he had to find a way to take advantage of the situation.

Paul decided to walk a circle around the blocks near his building. Maybe he could spot the obvious surveillance before anyone saw him.

The two detectives that had been following him earlier were camped out in front of his building. They seemed to be watching the street for him. He could get around them.

Where were the bad guys? They didn't seem to have anybody on the streets. Where would they put their watchmen?

He decided that if they weren't on the streets, they had to be in one of the buildings around his building. That way they could watch everything without being seen. They might even have a sniper set up.

A sniper would make sense if they didn't want to know where the disc was any more. One shot through his window and he was out of the game. Then they could wait until someone came forward with information if they were connected enough to the local scene.

A grab was more likely. Why shoot the golden goose when you can put him somewhere and torture him at your leisure? It was the fastest way to get what you want.

They must be ready to roll on him as soon as he showed his face around his stomping grounds.

Paul took a sighting on his office window. The only place with a clear view of his place was the building across the street. If he was keeping his office under surveillance, that was where he would set up. You could see his place, and the front door.

He would set up a backup on the rear exits in case the front guys missed him going into his building.

That seemed right to him. He might have one more team roaming around at ground level. Maybe he would have another inside his building. It depended on how much manpower the enemy had at their disposal.

They had used a three man team on Smith. If they followed that pattern, what he saw were twelve men waiting on him to come home. That was more than enough to deal with him and the two cops sitting on his front door.

His theory was easy to prove. He just had to get in the building opposite his and look for the guys. He doubted they would look like your typical office workers.

He just had to look for guys with submachine guns and itchy trigger fingers. How hard could that be?

Paul smiled. That was asking for trouble.

He walked into his target building. He looked at the offices listed on the chart in the lobby for the three floors with a clear view of his office. He took the stairs up to the lowest floor to begin his search. He didn't want to get trapped in an elevator.

He walked along the hall and listened at the doors. He didn't hear anything but office noise at each one. He shook his head and headed up to the next floor.

He doubted normal office noise would come from an office with assassins in it. That would be asking too much of career killers in his opinion.

You watched for the target and answered the phone. He didn't see it.

Paul walked the hall, listening to the doors. He frowned at one door that had a closed sign on it. He was sure that wasn't right. He toured the rest of the hall before coming back. He thought the closed office was right across the street from his office.

He listened at the door again. Someone was talking, but it didn't sound like potential renters. Did he want to have a shoot out here in this crowded area? There was too much risk to the civilians around him.

He needed to wait them out. How long would they stay in that room before they decided he wasn't coming back?

He would give them to quitting time. That would let the potential bullet stoppers clear the floor. Then he could do what he needed to do without anyone knowing.

He definitely wasn't going to let them run loose if he could help it.

Paul retreated to the head of the stairs. He took a seat on the landing between his floor and the upper floor of his three choices. He could wait here for the next two hours for quitting time. After that, he would go in and see if he could find anything to lead him back to the brains of the outfit.

Mike Hammer would just shoot the guys acting as lookouts, and then look for their partners. Then he would leave a message on their bodies for the bad guys to come look for him.

Paul liked to keep things a little more low key.

Killing everything that moved didn't seem like a good idea no matter how much of it was in self-defense.

Paul checked his watch. He found himself going over everything in his mind again and again. He hoped he was making the right move in not charging in. If he couldn't follow this team, he was at a loss.

On the other hand, letting them run around loose meant taking the chance they would kill someone else before he could deal with them. He didn't want that to happen either.

And he had the cops sitting down in the street to worry about.

He watched the exits on the stairwell as he thought. If he had to move a ton of guns, he wouldn't ride the elevator. He would use the stairs and carry everything out through the back.

Maybe he had a chance to turn this to his advantage after all.

He got to his feet and stretched some. He didn't want his limbs falling asleep when he needed them the most. He checked both revolvers. He made sure he could pull them both from their shoulder holsters if he needed to do that in a hurry.

He wondered if he should get a mask of some kind. He didn't want to be tied down by the police while he was doing things. He realized that was why Cole had turned him loose in the first place.

He wanted live bait to draw out the rest of the killers. He just hadn't counted on Paul slipping his leash and taking off.

Paul hoped he was chewing the walls right then. You keep a tight rein on the moving target.

He checked his watch again. He had an hour left before the offices started emptying. How long would the watch team wait after that? How long did he have to wait before they made their move?

Stoplight's Bird 6

Paul listened to the floor. Everything seemed quiet. Now he had to take the snipers so he could follow their backup. The object was to scare them so bad they retreated so he could find their boss.

Then he could put an end to this.

He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.

He pulled on a pair of sunglasses as he headed down the hall. It wasn't much of a disguise. He needed a mask of some kind.

Maybe he could get something like Johnny Shield. It covered his whole face except for eyes and hair. He decided that was what he was going to get if he had to do vigilante stuff more often.

Paul went to the office he wanted. He decided the best thing to do was knock on the door. Maybe that would throw them offguard enough that he could do what he had to do with no problem.

He knocked with his pistol drawn. He doubted they would come along peacefully after the display that he had already seen. He hoped he didn't have to kill any of them.

The door cracked. The guy looking out at Paul knew who he was. The expression on his face said it all. He looked like he was trying to bring a gun up to cover his visitor.

Paul shot him in the leg first. He winced but he had to do what he had to do. He pushed the door into the guy as the armed man went down. Everything was in slow motion as the detective kicked his victim in the face as he rushed the room.

The other guy had his pistol in his hand. He pulled the trigger at the blur coming into the room. A puff of smoke slowly expanded behind the bullet.

The detective stopped time long enough to step out of the way of the speeding bullet. He fired his revolver as he moved. He had all the time in the world to line up his shot and fire as he moved. Then he let time start marching forward again.

The man went down with a bullet in his leg. His single shot went into the wall. He raised his weapon to try and get off another shot. Another bullet knocked his pistol out of his hand with a snapping of metal.

"Let's have a talk before you bleed to death." Paul threw him a rag. "Fold it up and hold it against your leg."

The man growled something in a foreign language.

"If you don't speak English, I might as well get rid of you and wake up your friend." Paul shut the door. "I don't have a problem with that."

"We want the disc back." The gun man folded the rag around both holes in his leg.

"Use this to hold it in place." Paul threw him a roll of tape to wrap around the rag.

The detective checked the other man. The blood ran out from the leg. He didn't bother trying to stop it.

"Your friend will probably bleed to death." He stepped back. "Might want to do something about that."

"The disc." The gun man limped over to his companion. He gently pulled another cloth from a box and taped it around the still bleeding wounds.

"Don't have it any more." Paul looked at the weapons on the floor. "This is a lot of firepower to take me on. Who are you guys?"

"You don't have the need to know." The wounded man tried to turn with a knife in his hand. He moved a little faster than paint drying to the detective's enhanced perceptions.

He lined up the shot and fired one more round from the revolver. The bullet slammed against the knife blade and sent it across the room.

"I don't have time for this." Paul looked out the window. "Looks like the police are here."

"What are you going to do about us?" The sniper rubbed his wounded hand with the other.

"I'm going to let you live." The detective smiled. "Tell your boss that I'm looking for him. When I find him, I'm going to hurt him."

Paul stripped the ammo from the weapons and holders before he walked to the door. He smiled before he sped up to get down the hall before the police arrived. He dropped the clips next to the elevator doors. He walked to the stairs and headed down.

Let the police scoop up his catch. He had to make sure his enemies in his building didn't escape without him being on the trail.

He hoped the wounded men didn't do anything stupid like resist arrest. The more clues Cole had, the more he could do to unravel things.

Paul hit the lobby and walked toward the front door. He glanced at the elevator indicator. It was already on the proper floor.

He spotted the men on the other side of the street. They were clustered around a van pulled into a handicap space. He should have expected that.

Evidently the brains behind everything didn't believe in leaving anyone behind.

He stepped to one side and reloaded his fired pistol as he walked forward. He couldn't let them kill the police. He had to take them if he could.

He took a deep breath. He also had to make sure no one got hurt in the crossfire. That meant going first, and keeping them down behind cover as he went.

He needed to find a way to make semiautomatics work with his powers.

Paul stopped time as he stepped outside the building. He looked around. The only help he could expect was the two cops on stakeout duty. One of them was on the radio. People filled the sidewalk, some of them fleeing from the van. Nine guys clustered around the van.

He started forward with both pistols in his hands. He only had twelve shots. He had to make them count.

The men swung rifles on target. They didn't seem to care that killing him would remove any link to the bird. He fired first, letting the twelve bullets fly faster than anything created by man. The van jumped as the slugs struck and kept going.

The detective reloaded as he walked forward. His volley had turned the door of the van into Swiss cheese. He wondered if he hit any of them. He couldn't tell from his point of view.

He hoped he had taken one of them down to even the odds.

Everything was moving in slow motion. He had to let time do that to hide his super power from the people who were watching everything. He didn't want to be on a watch list.

Paul waited for targets to present themselves as he kept walking. His sped up reflexes should give him an edge. He decided to go around the front of the van to keep the engine between him and the guys with guns.

Bullets drifted toward him as he stepped out of the way. People were still on the sidewalk and still running from the scene in slow motion. He had to stop the return fire before someone got killed.

Paul stepped around the van. He took his time and unloaded his bullets at normal speed. He didn't want to punch through the bad guys to hit people behind them.

The twelve rounds threw a cloud of smoke in the air as he released his grip on time. He didn't have time to reload before they tried to shoot back now that he was in focus by everyone around him.

Paul shrugged as he kept moving forward. He had to use his pistols for something other than shooting. He had hoped things wouldn't go that way at all.

He reversed his grips on the hand guns so the butts were upper most. He hit the first man in the head with his improvised hammer. The man went down, face banging the side of the van on the way down.

The next man had a hole in his leg. He tried to pull a pistol and get to his feet at the same time. He grimaced as the detective seemed to be moving faster than a normal man could.

Paul holstered one of his empty pistols as the man brought his up, trying to steady himself on the van. The detective brought the other empty pistol around while taking his enemy's pistol. The man went down with a round impression in his forehead. His loaded pistol reversed to point at his comrades.

The detective swept bullets across the line of struggling men in front of him. He aimed low, wary of the bulletproof vests they might be wearing. In any case, he didn't want to kill any of them.

One man at the end of the line fled into an alley away from the carnage. Paul counted the men down as he threw the empty automatic away. He had six trying to get themselves together to do something. Two were down with busted melons.

He needed to get going if he wanted to follow the stray before he got clear. The police would have to take care of the rest of this mess.

He hoped they had enough sense not to charge in and get themselves killed by the firepower dropped on the sidewalk around the scene.

Stoplight's Bird 7

Paul reloaded as he walked after the running minion. He sped himself up to keep pace without wearing himself out. The cops were running to deal with the wounded men he had left in his wake. He hoped they didn't get shot trying to do their jobs.

The goons seemed ready to kill to keep their secrets. He hoped one of them didn't get the bright idea to pull the pin on a grenade to kill himself.

That was the last thing he wanted when information was needed. Dead men tell no tales had been reduced by science, but not totally discarded.

There were plenty of dead people around that offered no clue why they had been killed, and who had done it.

Paul paused at the end of the alley. He looked both ways. His quarry had paused to start walking like a civilian headed for a meeting somewhere.

The detective approved. The man had ditched his utility harness somewhere so he looked like someone who had raided an Army Surplus like a clean bum, or a poor college student.

What would he do now that he was on his own?

Paul used his power to move from cover to cover. He didn't know how long he could follow the guy before he got wise. After that, anything could happen.

The last thing he wanted to do was lose his only lead. He needed to find the brains of the operation and have a talk with them. He certainly didn't want a mystery organization following him around until he showed up with the eagle in his clutches.

He could expect a bullet in the back of the head after that.

Paul spotted his man using a cell phone. There was only one reason for that. He wondered what happened if you were the only survivor of a failed ambush.

He expected something out of James Bond.

He needed a car in case his quarry decided to get some wheels from somewhere. He couldn't follow him around on foot all day.

How did Johnny Shield handle this hero stuff?

He probably flew around.

Paul waited in the shadow of a lamp post. His minion had decided to park himself in front of a restaurant. He kept looking in the window. He was probably looking for someone like the detective.

He was probably also waiting for someone to pick him up and get him to safety. How many people belonged to this conspiracy? They had already fielded a small platoon of men and had no problem killing them to keep them quiet if they were captured.

Paul needed to get a list of their members so he could round them up as fast as the police possibly could.

If this kept up, he might have to face all of them sooner, or later. That thought didn't make him happy.

A car rolled up slow in the tide of night traffic. Paul wrote down the license plate. He knew some people he could call to try and track the number back. It looked like a rental to him. The four door stopped in front of the waiting mercenary. The man got in the back fast, looking both ways on the street.

The detective put his pad away as he considered his next move. He started down the street, boosting his speed to keep the car in sight. He hated the fact he was way too visible. He needed a mask if he was going to keep up this vigilante stuff.

He couldn't have people showing up at his office wanting him to use his powers for good.

He didn't even want to think what the police would do to him for all the illegal crap he had already done.

Gunning and running had to be illegal despite the fact he had saved some people's lives.

And if they found about his powers, he might have some problems with the government.

Paul looked around for something he could commandeer to follow his mystery men back to base.

He needed some invisible wheels to carry him along.

His eyes fell on a taxi wandering the street. He ran over to the driver's window. He glanced inside, and found it empty of passengers. It was exactly what he wanted.

"I need to hire your cab." Paul shouted through the window. The driver looked back less than impressed.

"Move over." The detective pointed one of his revolvers at the driver as he yanked the door open.

"I don't want any trouble." The driver hastily got in the passenger side of the cab. He reached for the other door.

"Hit the meter." Paul climbed in behind the wheel. "I need to follow some people for a bit."

The driver pressed the button on the dashboard device. He slid back to the far side of the car.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He put the pistol away. "I'm following a dangerous individual, and I don't want to be seen."

"Imagine that." The driver looked up at the roof of the car.

"As soon as I know where he's going, we're calling the police and letting them do the rest." The detective handed the taxi driver a twenty. "I just need you to be calm and keep an eye out in case he sees us."

"What should I look for?" The driver buckled up. He looked in his mirror while pocketing the money.

"Vans with a bunch of guys with machine guns." Paul kept his eye on the four door ahead. He used his powers to keep behind about three cars without losing them. "They'll be driving by like they plan to do a drive by."

"Guys hanging out the windows of a slow van." The driver nodded.

"If they do the same things they have been doing." The detective frowned as he checked his own mirrors. He didn't see anything suspicious behind him.

"Bad guys, huh?" The cabbie frowned. "And why are we chasing them in my car?"

"Because one of them got away from the police and I want to find out where he goes so I can get all of them off my back." Paul pulled out one of his cards and handed it over. "If you ever need some divorce work done, let me know."

"You'll be the first one I think of." The driver put the card away.

"Where are these guys going?" The detective looked at the street signs.

"They're probably headed down to the waterfront." The driver checked his surroundings. "The police grabbed some kidnapers that had a place down there."

"These dips wouldn't use the same place." Paul shook his head. "That would be too cute."

"They probably all use the same place." The taxi driver kept his eye on the mirror.

Stoplight's Bird 8

Paul pulled the cab to a stop outside a dockyard full of ships. That fit in with Smith's appearance of being a sailor. Had he come from one of those ships out there?

Was that where his enemies had concealed their base of operations? How could he find out without being killed?

He had to get rid of the taxi driver in case of trouble. He didn't want to get a civilian killed.

"Here's what I owe, and a tip." He got out of the car. "Have a good day."

"What are you going to do?" The driver put the money in a lock box under his seat.

"I'm going to try and find these guys and call the police on them." Paul smiled. "Then I can get back to divorce work."

"Is that much safer than this?" The driver smiled.

"Not really." Paul walked behind the taxi and started looking for the getaway car. Once he had that, he had an idea where his enemies were.

Paul worked his way up and down the streets close to the warehouses, then started working the docks. It took him some hours, but he found the car in a lot that serviced ships coming into the city.

He looked at the docks projecting out in the water. Which ship did the car belong to, and how could he find out?

Paul thought the best thing to do was look at the ships closest to the car, and work his way along. All he needed to see was the man who escaped the shootout. If he saw the man on deck, that would end his search right there.

He doubted things could be that easy.

The night was coming on. He doubted that he could spot anyone in the dark. He couldn't hang around all night. He couldn't call the police with the flimsy evidence he had.

He didn't want to search the ships on his own, especially not at night. That could lead to misunderstandings and someone getting hurt. He didn't want to explain what he was doing if he didn't have to do that.

He didn't want to shoot someone by mistake.

Paul sat down beside the car, using it for cover as he considered what he had to do. He didn't know anything but the fact that he had followed the car to this area of the docks and found it after searching for it. It could just be abandoned.

What should he do?

He decided that an anonymous tip would be the way to go. Maybe someone would turn up in the police canvas. It was the best he could do at the moment.

He should have chanced it and stayed closer. He hadn't dared when the traffic had thinned out. A taxi wandering around in the dock area would have been hard to explain. He also wasn't willing to expose the driver to more danger than he had already.

The gunmen would have shot at the cab as soon as they had realized it was following them. He couldn't guarantee the driver wouldn't have been killed. So it was better to hang back and lose sight of the car than expose himself and his unwilling passenger to danger.

Paul looked around for a payphone. He didn't want to use his cell. He wanted freedom to move. His cell would bring the police down looking for him instead of the real bad guys.

He saw a shell on the other side of the lot. He could make the call there, and find a place to watch what happened. Where could he set up where the police couldn't find him?

He had to get on a building and watch from a roof. The police wouldn't check there. They would be more interested if anyone had seen the driver of the car.

He hoped they would be more interested in anyone seeing the driver of the car.

Paul checked the lot for anyone watching before he headed for the phone. He called the detective division and left his message. Now he had to get on a roof and wait.

He used his stop motion powers to climb a wall and get to the roof of a diving supply place. He waited away from the edge. He didn't want to give away his position to anyone who might be looking for him.

He hoped they didn't bring a helicopter to help them search. That would put a crimp in his plan.

Paul needed to make a mask for his face if he kept this up. If he had to escape from the police, he didn't want them getting a look at him and recognizing him from his stay at the police station.

Maybe a hood, or a scarf, and a reversible coat would do the trick. He needed to think about it. He wasn't going to make a full-blown costume to wear. That would be going overboard.

A lone police car rolled into the parking lot. It parked next to the mercenary car. The policeman got out of his automobile and shined his light inside the other car. He spoke in the radio.

Paul waited. Was the guy just going to leave? Where was the search party? Where was the Crime Scene techs taking fingerprints?

The policeman got back in his patrol car and drove off. Paul suppressed kicking the rampart running around the roof he was on.

Paul shook his head. What could he do now?

He had blown his only idea for a lead. He was back at square one. He should have talked to Cole in person.

What could he do next?

He was stuck for ideas.

Maybe he should go back to his bolt hole and rethink his plan of attack. Maybe digging into the boats on the docks would give him something.

A gangplank descended from one of the ships. A man came down and walked over to the car. He got in and drove it away from the docks.

Paul concentrated on the ship. He made a note of the name in case he had to look into its records. He wanted to get aboard and look around. Maybe he could find the reason Smith had been killed for his bird plaque.

Maybe he could find some real evidence to turn over to Cole so the police could get in on the act and extricate him from the mess he was in before he had to shoot someone else.

Paul considered the ship the man had disembarked from. He had to get on board and look around. That seemed to be his only real course of action. He couldn't wait for the mystery organization to try and kill him again.

They might succeed.

He waited for a while. The man walked into view. What had he done with the car?

Paul waited until the man was back on the ship before climbing down from his perch. He walked to the rear of the boat. That was how he was going to get on board.

Stoplight's Bird 9

Paul covered his face with his collar. He wanted to cover his face completely, but didn't have anything he could use as a mask. He put that on his to do list if he lived.

He stood at the stern of the ship. He took a few steps back. Then he charged and jumped. As soon as he hit the metal of the keel, he stopped motion on his body. He climbed the boat in a careful jog until he got to the rail. He climbed over it and settled on the deck.

Where could he go from here? He needed to find the boss of the outfit. That guy had the answers to his problem.

He doubted he could give the bird to the man, or woman. He had seen it. And they didn't seem that big on letting witnesses live.

He didn't want to get involved in a firefight either. He needed something to put these guys away so when he called the police, there would be no mistake about what was going on.

Paul decided to check the cargo area before he tried crew quarters, or the bridge. He didn't know who was in charge. If they had stored weapons, he could do something about that. It might be enough for the police to do something about the ship.

It might be enough to get them off his back.

He used his power to slip by men wandering the corridors of the ship as he worked his way down. Stopping their motion long enough for him to get by was child's play. He stepped inside the cargo bay. He made sure the hatch was dogged tight before he started looking around.

He didn't want anyone asking him for his invitation while he was snooping around.

Paul looked around until he found a wrecking bar. He started at the first crate near the door. It was marked as a holder for shovels. He pried the top off. He shook his head. He had never seen shovels that needed magazines of bullets to use like the ones in that crate.

He worked his way down the row. There were a ton of firearms packed away for later use.

Why did they have all this firepower? What did it have to do with Smith, or his disc?

Paul tried to decide what to do. He didn't want to leave this stuff laying around. They had killed enough people.

He pulled out his phone. He checked it. He didn't have a signal.

He needed to head back to the top deck and make his phone call in the open. He needed backup to take the ship.

He didn't want to shoot every man onboard just to save his own skin.

If he had to do that, then so be it. He wasn't giving them a free shot at him either.

He wanted to live to go back to doing divorce work.

Paul made his way up to the top deck the same way he had entered the ship. He picked a place to hide while he made his phone call. He needed someone to know where his enemies were before he did something stupid, or was discovered and had to do something stupid.

He didn't have enough ammo to deal with all the people he saw walking around.

If he had to fight his way back to their cargo, he could hold them off with what was stored down there.

That would be ironic in his opinion.

He dialed Cole's number. His last call hadn't worked out the way he wanted. He needed to go with someone he knew.

"Yeah?" Cole sounded preoccupied. Maybe he had found out something about the case with the digging into the wounded men.

"This is Paul Powell." The detective kept an eye on the crew in case he needed to make fast exit. "I need to talk to you."

"I am at your building." Cole had snapped to alertness. "Where are you?"

"I am on a ship down on the docks." Paul gave him the name. "I followed one of the guys from the shooting."

"You saved my guys." Cole said something to someone nearby. "They reported that you shot up an ambush team like Wyatt Earp."

"I didn't want to, but I caught some of their guys watching my office." Powell checked his surroundings again. It was time to move to another hiding spot. "They have a cargo of weapons on this boat. If you come in, come heavy."

"I'm setting the wheels in motion." Cole gave some more directions to one side. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the boat." Paul spotted a man coming his way. "I have to go."

He closed his phone and put it up. He didn't want to be talking when he should be blasting.

The detective stopped motion and moved out of potential lines of sight. He let the man go by. He decided the safest place for him was with the cargo. No one was down there.

It could be the perfect place to hide while he waited for Cole to do something. And if things got bad, it gave him plenty to use if he was discovered by the crew.

He planned to hunker down and wait. Cole and the police could take the boat if they were careful. They didn't need him to save their bacon.

On the other hand, he needed to get some insurance in case the police department couldn't get on the boat in a timely manner.

He walked down the row of crates until he found one loaded with grenades. He placed that next to a stack of missile launchers. He pulled the pin on one of the grenades and carefully placed it with the spoon in place back in its holder.

It wasn't much of a trap, but if it went off, it could sink the ship. If things came to that, he knew he had been killed and the police assault had failed.

He checked his revolvers and the spare ammunition for them. He had enough to stop some of the men he had seen. He needed backup weapons if he wanted to make sure he didn't run out of bullets.

He grabbed a selection of pistols from their crates. He grabbed several magazines. He loaded the magazines with bullets, and then loaded each of the pistols. He unloaded the guns and checked to see if they would fire if he used them.

He didn't want to shoot at someone and find out the firing pins were not in place. That would be embarrassing and lethal in the middle of a gunfight.

Paul reassembled the weapons and settled in to wait for the police to arrive. As soon as that happened, he could go back to the simple cases he preferred. Being a vigilante didn't suit him.

He checked his watch. Where were Cole and the rest of the police department?

Paul counseled himself to have patience. It might take a while for Cole to move on the boat. There might be other agencies involved. He might not be able to get a warrant.

He might have to take on the whole boat alone. That was something he didn't want to do.

He checked his surroundings again. He was alone in the cargo hold. Everything looked like he had never touched it. The hatch was moving.

He walked down to the other end of the hold from the door. He climbed up on a stack of crates to get a better view. Men flooded into the compartment.

This couldn't be good.

Stoplight's Bird 10

Paul waited on the top of the crate. The men pulled the tops off the crates of weapons. The noise of ammo being loaded in magazines and the magazines being loaded into submachine guns filled the air.

The police must be on the scene.

How long did he have before they reached the crate he had boobytrapped. He had to get out of the hold if they opened that crate and disturbed the grenade inside of it.

He kept himself motionless. He didn't want to be trapped in the ship with armed men all around where he was. His power gave him an advantage, but not certain victory.

A bullet in the back of the head would drop him just like anyone else.

That's why he planned to keep his enemies in front of him.

The men ran from the hold when they had weapons ready to go. He waited for the footsteps to fade before he climbed down from his perch. He went to the door. He listened for late arrivals before he risked a peek out in the hall.

It looked clear. He listened. No one walked the corridor.

He headed for the stairs toward the rear of the boat. That would take him to the raised tower. He kept an eye out for anyone seeing him before he saw them.

They were on a war alert. He could expect fireworks if he was spotted sneaking around.

Paul climbed the stairs, wondering what the signs meant. He didn't recognize the language. He admitted that wasn't hard. He knew some pigeon Spanish, but that was all.

Maybe he should check out Rosetta Stone to improve his skills.

He found an outside door. He peeked through the window. The lights of police vehicles flashed their blue across the ship. The men rushed to the rails with their weapons.

Did they plan to take on the whole police department? What were they thinking?

He noticed chains were being retracted by winches at the front of the ship. Some of the men were cutting ropes. They were going to run for it.

He couldn't let them do that. Once he was discovered, he would have to fight them all. He didn't want to be forced into killing a bunch of guys just to get off a boat.

He should talk to the captain about this.

Paul worked his way up to the bridge. The whole crew seemed to be on the deck with guns on the police. If he could stop the ship from moving, maybe he could help the police round up the crew.

If he kept the ship in place, it could lead to a massacre.

He walked in the bridge area. Three men were watching the scene below. Another man had a hand on the big wheel on a post, and the other on a stick next to the wheel.

"Is this the way to Cutter Bay?" Paul made sure to have a revolver ready before he said anything. His experience with this group of men showed him they were more than willing to pull a gun and shoot first before asking questions.

The men turned with hands on weapons. The captain ducked beside the wheel. Apparently he knew he could get shot from both sides and didn't have a weapon to add to the firefight. The lever was still on FULL STOP.

Paul slowed down the motion so he could take his time. It would be easier to kill these men, but he didn't want to do that. He had to worry about charges for an assault on foreign soil. That could quickly escalate to murder charges if he wasn't careful.

Three bullets exploded out of his revolver, covered in green light shining through the yellow he saw. The rounds punched holes in their gun hands like a television cowboy trick shooting for a crowd. The weapons fell to the floor.

"I think we need to talk." Paul waved the men away from the window. "I think you need to get up and join your friends, Captain."

"There are four of us." One of the men sneered at the detective. "You only have three shots left. Which will you kill when we rush you?"

"I have another six shots right here." Powell drew his other revolver. "Now let's have a friendly chat without the histrionics."

"Speak." The spokesman clutched his wounded hand with the uninjured hand.

Paul noted that the other men had the same stoniness to injuries. Perhaps they had been shot before.

"I have the bird you killed Smith to get." The detective moved away from the wide windows, taking refuge in a corner where he could see both doors, but still have some cover. "I'm going to hold on to it. I want you to surrender to the police, and plead guilty to whatever charges come up."

"What if I say no?" The spokesman took a step to the left.

"Then I'll have to shoot you, and ask the next man in line." Paul shook his head. "Killing me won't get you the bird since only I know where it is."

"I don't believe you." The spokesman took another step to the left. His companions spread to the right.

Paul shot the two men to the right in the legs. He shook his head.

"No one had to get hurt." The detective didn't get close to patch the wounded. "Since you don't want to listen to reason, I'll have to hurt all of your men to call them off. I hope you're happy."

"I have a job to do also." The spokesmen glared at Powell. "No one is going to stop me from doing it."

"You're stopped." Paul shook his head again. "The only question is how many you want to take with you on the way to jail."

Paul shot him in the leg too. He didn't have time to take prisoners. If he hurried, the police would be able to rush them to the hospital.

"Do you have a loudspeaker?" Paul pointed the full revolver at the captain.

"It's right there." The captain pointed to a microphone hanging by the control panel.

"Testing." Paul glanced out the windows. The men on deck looked up at the bridge. "Your leaders have been shot. Stand down and prepare to be boarded by the police department. Throw down your weapons and prepare to be boarded."

The men opened fire on the bridge. Paul stepped back in his corner as bullets blasted the glass out of the way. They were really good shots.

"We will never give up." The spokesman worked on his leg while he sat on the floor.

"Maybe you should." Paul walked over and picked up the weapons the men had dropped. "It will keep you alive a lot longer."

The detective looked over the dashboard of the ship. He didn't know anything about it. None of the labels made sense to him.

"How do I turn off the engines?" He pointed one of the captured pistols at the captain.

"You push down the three switches on the left, then turn the dial next to them down to zero." The captain indicated the right switches with a shaking hand.

Paul followed the directions as glass fell inside the bridge area. Some of the men had decided to come up and deal with him. He shot the instrument panel to make sure no one could turn the engines back on from the bridge.

Three bullets remained in his revolver.

He was glad that he had picked up the spares from the cargo hold now. He didn't have time to reload now that everything was in the fire.

"If I were you, Captain, I would take cover and wait until the shooting is over to come out." Paul opened the door to the bridge.

"You won't stop us from achieving our goals." The spokesmen tried to stand, but his leg collapsed.

"You have already been stopped." The detective headed down the stairs. "All that's left is stopping the rest of your gang."

Paul reloaded both revolvers as he descended to the top deck. He dropped the empties on the stairs. He could jump ship and no one could stop him. He decided that he might as well handle this last piece of business for the police.

It still left him with one really big loose end since he didn't know why the crew wanted the bird. He would have to try to figure that out later after he stopped the shooting.

Stoplight's Bird 11

Paul decided to clear the railing first. All of the targets were lined up like clay pigeons. He might as well make the most of surprise while he could.

He started shooting for legs as he walked along the deck. He hoped none of the police shot at him as he worked his way along. It would be a nasty surprise for him if someone on his side decided to stop him.

The mercenaries went down from the wounds. He tried to restrict himself from lethal wounds. He knew that if he hit a major vein the target could still die. He didn't like it, but he wasn't going to gamble on letting them keep shooting at the deck.

He had called the policemen. He wasn't about to let them get killed for listening to him.

He should have known the bad guys wouldn't just give up. That would have been too easy.

A bullet entered his slow motion field. It passed in front of his face as he put his last two bullets into a gunman turning to face him. It hit the rail and bounced back to normal speed.

Paul ran for cover, holstering his revolvers. Someone had got to high ground and decided to try and stop him. He pulled one of the automatics. He hated to use it, but didn't have a chance if he didn't.

He should have grabbed a rifle while he was in the hold.

Another bullet went by his head. Luckily, his slow motion was giving him a bead on direction. He saw movement up in the control room of a crane. Someone could shoot down on the deck from up there while remaining untouched.

Paul charged the pistol to speed up the bullets. He fired one at a time. He concentrated on pulling the trigger slowly.

He didn't want to forget and have the slide break on him. That might shoot the thing into his face.

The bullets from the pistol struck the control room door. They dug in, but he couldn't tell if they went all the way through. The added velocity should allow them to scratch armor plate, but the angle certainly didn't help.

He needed to get closer.

Paul ran to the ladder at the base of the crane. He fired into the control room through the floor. He dropped the empty, and pulled another of the stolen pistols. He would have to climb up there and check inside.

He didn't look forward to that.

Paul started up the ladder. He checked his surroundings for gunmen trying to catch him by surprise. He didn't know if the whole crew had responded to battle stations.

He reached the door without incident. A police helicopter was on the scene. A sniper sat in the door, covering the deck. He expected another with a search party to be dropped on deck.

He needed to call Cole and let him know about the trap in the hold. He didn't want to blow up policemen trying to secure the crime scene.

Paul kept his eyes on the door of the control room. He didn't want the sniper to shoot him when he opened the door. He hoped the man was dead.

He grabbed the handle from the bottom and jerked the door open while keeping his body below the frame. A slow motion bullet passed over his head. Then thunder rolled twice as fast as the slug had been after it entered his slow motion field.

The sniper on the helicopter fired his own rifle into the control room. He couldn't have had a shot from the fast moving machine. He was simply firing to suppress the enemy.

The detective stuck the automatic over the threshold and fired. He swept the control room at ground level. The gun refused to fire after a second. He dropped it to the deck.

No need to carry an empty around.

Paul pulled the next full automatic, then he took a peek. The enemy laid in a pool of his own blood. The detective shook his head. He wished he hadn't had to do that.

He climbed into the control room, avoiding the blood. He pulled out his phone. He still needed to call Cole.

Paul thumbed his phone and pressed the redial button. He waited for the signal as he stared at the dead man. How many more men would die for the eagle disc. What made it so important?

"Cole." The policeman sounded out of breath.

"This is Powell." The investigator winced at the sound of gunfire. He should have known he hadn't taken the fight out of the mercenaries. "I put a trap in the hold. Don't let anybody but the bomb squad go in there."

"Hold on." He spoke into a radio. Paul could hear an echo from somewhere. "Where are you?"

"I'm up in the crane." The detective didn't stand up to wave. "I have a dead guy here."

"We saw you on the deck." Cole paused for a moment. "Fancy shooting, Tex."

"There's three down in the bridge, and the captain." Powell listened. He didn't hear any more shooting.

"We got the deck secure." The policeman sounded happy. "Stay up there until we get done with the rest of the ship."

"It will be my pleasure." Paul let the pistol drop to the floor of the control room. "Be careful about the hold. If one of their guys gets in there before you do, they could sink the ship."

"SWAT is on the way down there now." Cole said something to someone below. "We're starting below decks. Thanks for the phone call."

Paul cut the connection. His part was done for the moment. There would be statements to file. There would be evidence that needed to be collected. There would be a trial somewhere down the line. He would have to testify to what he had seen.

He imagined the defense would want to see the eagle at one point. He would have to think about that before it happened. There was no way he could give it up.

There had already been too many people killed over that thing. There was no way he was going to let it get back into circulation after all this.

If he knew why they wanted it, maybe he could turn it to his advantage somehow.

He closed his eyes as he thought about the future. He saw a long line of complications in his life unless he could lose the eagle somehow where everyone knew he had lost it.

He considered his options as he waited for the all clear. He didn't want to shoot anyone else that day. He would still have to sit still for an inquest in his shooting of the man in the crane. There would be a trial about that also.

He would have to get a good defense lawyer to cover his butt when all this did go to trial. He had no doubt about that.

First he had to get back on the deck without getting shot, then out of custody long enough to get the Eagle and put it in a place no one would ever find it. Then he would have to get a fake made for them to steal back.

He knew a guy. He could hire him to make a fake eagle for them to steal. Would they buy it?

Maybe, maybe not.

His phone vibrated him back to the real world. He took the call.

"The ship's ours." Cole sounded really happy. "We got them all but the captain. We can't find him."

"Why are you happy?" Powell wondered how the old man had gotten off the ship in the middle of a firefight. Had he jumped over the side?

"We got their records." The detective's smile could be heard. "We know who they are."

That made sense. Now the Feds could be called to try and reach wherever the rest of the organization was outside of Church Hill.

"Let me come down then."

Stoplight's Bird epilogue

Paul Powell sat behind his desk. He had been grilled all day about his actions regarding the raid on the boat. He had repeated his description of what had happened several times. Witnesses had been called to show that he had did the minimum amount of damage that he could.

The police sniper had been called to show the jury that Paul had charged into danger when he had climbed up to shoot the sniper in the crane control room.

The jury had handed down a verdict of not guilty.

The judge had instructed him to avoid gunfights in the future.

Maybe he should set himself up as a masked vigilante for cases like this one. That way he could vanish without the police being able to question him.

The trial process had eaten a great deal of his savings.

The door of his outer office opened. He reached for his revolver and kept it in hand as he went to the door. He had learned a lot of caution in the last few months.

A group of men filled the outer office. They wore expensive suits and grim expressions. He recognized one of the men as the captain from the raid. They started toward the office.

Paul blocked them with his revolver.

"I think we're done." Paul leveled the revolver on the captain. "You can't have the eagle. It's gone."

"What do you mean, Mister Powell?" The captain raised his hand to make sure none of his flunkies did something he would regret. He had already seen Paul's marksmanship in action once.

He didn't want a hole in his leg for a friendly visit.

"We deciphered the papers." Paul kept his eyes on the group. He doubted they were as calm as their leader. "I sent the eagle back home."

"What if I don't believe you?" The captain smiled at the detective.

"In a few days, the owner will be announcing the find." Powell smiled back. "I already have the check in the bank."

"Why would you do that?" The treasure hunter glared at the detective. "That statue was worth millions to the right collector."

"It was worth more to me to spite anyone looking for it." Paul smiled. "You shouldn't have killed Smith, whatever his name really was, on the street. You really shouldn't have shot up where I like to eat, and my acquaintances. I might have just turned the bird over to you for nothing."

"That was a miscalculation." The captain looked around the small office. "My men were instructed to be careful and not to be caught. I should have known they would think in terms of brute force and not stealth."

"That's why the police are still looking for you." Powell pulled out his phone. "They want to talk to you about that."

"I will have to give my excuses." The captain nodded. His men started reaching for hardware.

Paul retreated into his office, slamming the door for cover. He skirted the window to get behind his desk. He had become used to the fact that snipers could pick him off from across the street.

He waited silently for men to try and explode through the office door so he could shoot them. He listened. Why hadn't they come in after him?

He waited patiently. Maybe they were waiting for the sniper to get a clear shot from across the street. He doubted they would wait forever.

He heard the outer door open and close. It had that characteristic squeak that he refused to fix.

He waited some more. He wasn't going to run into an ambush. His power was good, but he didn't want to find out how good.

He went to the door, and listened. His outer office seemed clear to him. He pulled open the door. He shook his head at the empty room.

He headed for the outer office door. How far had they gone? Did he want to follow them?

The least he could do was call Cole and let him know. None of the men they had put in prison had talked about whom they worked for, or why they had wanted the bird. All their information had come from the papers the police had found.

He pulled out his phone as he headed down the hall to the stairs. That was faster for him than the elevator.

He could run down the walls in the stairwell to get to the bottom floor in a few seconds.

He made it to the lobby and frowned. Where were the armed and dangerous men he expected? They must have moved fast to get down to the lobby before he had. Maybe they were still in the elevator.

How long had he waited in his office after they had left?

Had they really moved that fast?

He dialed Cole's number. He had to let the police know their nemesis was in the city again.

"Cole." The detective sounded distracted.

"This is Paul Powell." Paul went to the front door and looked outside. He didn't see anything that looked like surveillance. "The captain from that boat was here at my office. He wanted the bird."

"No surprise there." Cole's voice sharpened as he turned his full attention to the phone. "Did you shoot him?"

"I didn't get the chance." Powell put his back to the wall and looked around the lobby again. "He had a goon squad with him."

"The Serbs won't like that." Cole paused to think. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the lobby of my building." Paul heard a helicopter passing overhead, but didn't see anything like what he would expect from the captain's organization. "He got away."

"Good thing. The district attorney frowns on big shootouts."

"You got a commendation out of it." Paul decided to head back up to his office. Maybe he would think of something he could use to track the man down.

"I also got infernal affairs breathing down my neck for two weeks." Cole called out something to one of his other detectives. "That was not good."

"I told him I sent the eagle home." He headed into the stairwell. "He's someone else's problem now."

"Not unless he gets clear of the country before I catch up to him." Cole cut the connection.

"Good luck with that." Paul put the phone away. He wondered when the captain would be back to talk to him about the eagle again. He hoped it wasn't soon. How long did it take to steal a fake from a government museum.

He went into his office and closed the door. He had people to call about the jobs he had taken since the raid. He had to tell them bad news. He looked forward to that a lot more than having to deal with the nameless captain again.

He usually didn't have to shoot someone about to get a divorce from their loved one.

Usually.