There he stood. In the alleyway. Alone except for one man standing a ways off. The man was facing away, lighting a cigarette. The night was far from quiet. The 4th of July, a frankly useless holiday. But the constant cracking of fireworks was good cover. He was supposed to wait until a specific string of louder fireworks that were gonna be set off by some other guys. His .45 was ready, the one thing that had always stuck by his side. Nothing else had really stayed around.

They were s'posed to be lighting them right about now. Maybe something had gone wrong, or, more likely, they were too dumb to figure out the matches. A sound caught his attention, but it wasn't any firework. He whipped around to see a figure pointing a gun to the sky. A warning shot? That made no sense, there was hardly anyone to see. And they weren't making a move, just standing there with their metal smoking. It almost seemed like... a distraction. Damn. This was an ambush.

It clicked in his head just as another gun clicked behind him. The man with the cigarette. This wasn't the guy he was taking out, how'd they have the time to switch 'em? He took the hat off and tossed it away. Damn! Rev Brandy in the flesh. So they finally came after him. About time.

"Good ol' Blackjack. Been a while."

"Rev. I don't got time for this, I've taken you solo before."

"See, there's where you're wrong, Jack. I ain't rollin' solo no more. And even you can't take five at once."

"You watch me."

"Nah, we gotta bring you in alive. Try not to get shot."

"You've got something else comin', Rev. I ain't goin' nowhere."

The man with the warning shot came at him, but he was slow. Jack dodged his swing and looked around for any others.

2 behind Brandy, 3 on the other side. Light work.

He fired a few rounds at Warning Shot, and one hit him in the leg. He dropped his gun, and Jack snatched it. Dual wielding was cake. The two behind Rev seemed to be staying back, but the others were rushing at him. Jack hit one in the arm and the other in the gut, but they kept advancing, albeit a lot slower. Jack managed to dodge their shots, and took cover behind a trash can. It sure wasn't much. Jack was still mostly exposed, and they were coming quick. Only Rev was staying on the sidelines now, and despite his boasting, Jack was having a bit of a struggle with multiple guys. As they got closer, he kicked the trash can into one of them, and he went down. The others were stunned for a second, and he used the opportunity to shoot one in the shoulder and bash another in the head with the trash can lid. The last guy was a terrible aim, and Jack managed to sweep his leg and give him a good kick in the head. It seemed like he had won, and he momentarily relaxed.

DAMN IT!

His arm was on fire. Forgot about Rev. The blood was coming through his jacket already, that wasn't a good sign. He turned and started running towards Rev, but another guy he hadn't even seen clotheslined him. He whipped to the ground, and both his guns were wrenched from his hands. Two beefy guys hauled him up and managed to hold him as Rev walked up to them. Jack was struggling like hell, but these guys were good.

"Alright Blackjack, playtime's over. You did good, I'll give you that much. Givin' me a whole lot of trouble though." Quick as lightning, Rev slugged him right in the stomach.

Shit, that hurt! Since when did he get brass knuckles? Hardly fair.

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to build back up my reputation after our last run-in? Made me look like an amateur. Maybe I should return the favor." He punctuated his sentence with another hit.

"Gee, Jack, I didn't take you for a wimp. Ain't you gonna fight back?" Face this time. His nose was broken, he could feel it. Wasn't the first time, but still not pleasant. And his sleeve was still wet, probably getting more soaked sitting here.

"We oughta do this more often, I'm enjoying myself." He was gonna break a rib at this rate.

"But alas, we gotta bring you in soon. So glad we could ah, catch up. See you around."

Jack didn't have time to register the bat flying at his head until everything went black.

Brandy stared Jack down as he lay curled on his side like a dying caterpillar. The pain in his face and head was reaching a pressure now, accompanied by a ruptured nose and blood from places he could not yet tell. His .45 lay inches away from his, skittered under a dumpster just far enough that Brandy had put his body between himself and the gun. Jack's hand twitched as he tried to make a grab for it. Brandy's boot came down hard.

"Uh-uh," he taunted. "You fucked me up good, man."

Jack laughed to himself, wincing at the pain the bloomed through his ribs in response. He had cuffed the man years ago, near on half a decade, when Brandy was stupider and Jack was younger, a rookie, out on his own. Jack had been rocketed to district fame, and Brandy to criminal disrepute, his gang abandoned him. He had gone dark the last few years, but the precinct had been faintly aware if his operations, covert drug smuggling, minimal violence, no big gestures.

Clearly now, something had changed.

Brandy crouched down, resting his forearms on his knee, studying Jack's ruined face like he deciding whether a busted piece of furniture was worth repair or to be left on the curb.

"You know what really gets me, Jack? You let me out, you know there's no comin' back from that. I spent three years crawlin' back from that, rebuildin' contacts one at a time, smilin' at people I wanted to gut." He spat to the side. "And here you are. Same cocky look on your face. Guess some things don't change."

"You're monologuing," Jack rasped through a mouthful of copper. "Didn't peg you as the type."

Brandy's boot pressed harder against his hand, just shy of breaking anything. "I've earned a little monologuing."

Somewhere down the block, the fireworks kept going, a smear of red and gold flickering off the wet brick above them. Hands closed around Jack's arms, hauling him up before he could get anything under him. His vision swam, the alley tilting sideways, and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through his gut where the brass knuckles had done their work. He tried to plant his feet, tried to drag, but his legs weren't cooperating and Marco, the smaller of the two beefed up guys, just adjusted his grip like his deadweight meant nothing.

"There we go," Brandy said, almost soothing, falling into step just behind him like a concerned friend. "See how natural that looks? Anybody drives by, all they see is some poor sap who had one too many, gettin' walked home by his pals. Real sweet, honestly."

Jack's mouth was full of blood and he couldn't seem to make his tongue work right. His head lolled, the hat someone had jammed back on now sitting crooked over his swelling eye, and through the haze he caught one last glimpse of the alley mouth opening onto the street. A couple across the way watched the fireworks, not one of them so much as glancing at the little procession shuffling past in the shadows.

"Happy Fourth, Jack," Brandy murmured against his ear as they turned the corner and the lights of the street began to swallow him whole. "Try to enjoy the ride."