Late morning stretched to midday, and further east from the scene of the crime, they roved. Deeper into the East Side, the old buildings were taller, yet somehow thinner. Less brick than before and a lot more of that hollow steel that snaked from streetside to rooftop.
There were a dozen of them when they started near Ange's safehouse. The further out they went, their numbers grew. First there was a dozen, then twice that number in short order as they stopped off place by place. Now the close alleys held no letters, only their Capricorn standard spread openly wall to tall. A declaration to the world, this was all their turf.
The man with the shaded eyes and the Tophat was joined shortly by increasingly colourful standouts among the ragtags they ran with, each gaudier than the last, until the company reached a deeply framed building with large double-doors and smashed signposts. Here he was met by a tall one with long waxy hair spilling over his ill-fitting white trenchcoat. He took one look at the bloodied up hostage they dragged behind them. Reaching out a gloved hand he ran his hand over the swollen jawline. He struck him hard with an open palm, and red pooled beneath him.
"Not yet. Make an example out of this one."
Around the corner, a stall-market bazaar took over a long stretch of unused road - after all, what use is a street anyway if nobody has an automobile? White and blue tarps spread a roof over many kinds of wares, frayed and worn from use . What the merchants could spare, they put up for sale.
To Kinu it was a little strange. With dedicated resources coming from specific districts, the supply that was given to the outer ring would always be limited to scraps from what came above. Where did they get their provisions? And just how big was their cut?
Peanuts for today, limp on 'til tomorrow. On and on it goes. What a pity! Perhaps all of it was fodder for enterprising 11ers that wanted to secure their position between the walls. With no other way to go but down, I'd probably take what I could get from the Admins too.
The bustle from the market silenced to the pitter-patter of footfalls almost immediately, and the crowds thinned as soon as the Capricorn gang wandered in. A school of minnows parting before bigger fish.
It was collection time. They made sure they all knew it by waving around the limp body of that kid around.
The vendor who had been swatting away fast-fingered urchins all morning lowered his head and lost his tongue when the thugs dipped their hands into the stall wares. The artisan hocked the fruits of his trade, barking at the crowd with claims of quality, and on the sly he handed them a gilded pot, filled with that funny-coloured paper they put far too much stock in. Hard sellers and cutthroat bargain-busters surrendered to these vultures whatever their two hands could carry; she even saw one of them wheel away with two fistfuls of raw meat.
The trenchcoat with the waxy hair nodded as he took a mental tally of the amount pilfered, Top Hat fingering the blue and green bills into a collected share.
"Everyone else paid up. You see how easy it is?" His white arm grasped the lumped-over face of the young man, Could he actually see him this close? "Mom and dad gonna cooperate. I can't guarantee their protection much longer. It's either us or the Witches, and our help is far more...accessible, wouldn't you agree?"
The kid made a low moan, more of a gurgling, and a sharp, hissing exhale spattered blood all over the white coat.
"Drop him."
One by one, people began to stream back into the market, the sounds of barter rising and the shuffle of exchanged goods resumed. An old woman parted with an heirloom in exchange for a triage of down jackets. A couple of working men pinched their coins, arguing over the value of the tripes and offal the wet-market butcher was reluctant to part with.
Running his hands through his hair, the trenchcoat extortionist stood among his underlings in a circle surrounding them. All eyes open to their own business, entirely blind to the young man as he futilely crawled over the pooling blood that spilled into the gutters. Where it smeared on the trenchcoat, it stained it pink.
"Freshen up the tags. I want them all to remember who owns this town."
Half of the assembly followed their leaders down the road into a building. The only one with columns and stone facing at the far side of the marketplace, headless statues adorning the overhang and the corners. The rest took their marching orders, and wound around the eastside alleys.
_____
The clattering of a marble sounded down one alley as one of the Capricorn gang, spraycan in hand, wandered to the side of a building to find their last marking. The alleyway was dark, for the rooftops of these tall narrow buildings left a yard-wide slit between them where they hazy grey fell. A destitute old man, shrouded under his patchwork of old newspapers, groaned, causing the gangster to start.
"What are you trying to pull, huh?!" He kicked the homeless man violently and he crumpled, then leaned in to strike him a second time, when a metallic clatter sounded from overhead. A flock of birds hanging in the rafters took off through the narrow space, and the gangster could only hear the sound of his own breathing.
A whispering hiss rattled ahead in the shaded vista, and he took a few slow steps forward.
...hhhkkkrrkhhh...
"Someone else down here?" He called out, clicking out a switchblade. "Jay? Two-P? Don't mess with me, man!"
Closer now. Nothing but the faint hiss as he got closer. And the throaty, choking continued.
...hhhkkkrrkhhh...
The hiss continued sharply, then the fallen clatter of something steely. It rolled toward him out of the shadow, and then he saw them.
Two of his comrades. One leaned up against the wall, eyes conscious, yet staring from miles away as he sat unable to move. the other lay splayed on his back, foaming at the mouth. Through his shirt he could see where the ribs jut out as if his spine had been kinked like a wire.
Overhead the image of Capricorn placed here was superimposed with the image of a mask, bleeding white in trails that hit the ground in fresh pools upon the concrete.
That was the last thing he saw before two hands dragged him into the darkness.