#3 - Half-Cocked

#3 - Half-Cocked

So now I knew Franco Bertinelli was the man behind it. Diggle did some digging, heh, and found out that Franco came from a long and storied mob family. But a family that was always on the low end of the totem pole. Seemed Franco wanted to change that.

Diggle and I decided to tail Franco while we waited for info on his dealings and likely places the metas might be hiding. If there's one part of the job I've always hated, even back in the day, it's stake outs...



"I spy with my little eye, something starting with...B."

Diggle didn't respond to Roy's game. He hadn't responded to much of Roy's prodding at this point. It was only making things worse.

The two sat in a black Ford Taurus across the street from the Fresh Air restaurant. The most expensive restaurant in Blüdhaven, it takes months to get a reservation even for the rich. Franco Bertinelli and his entourage strolled right in.

"C'mon Dig," Roy whined as he slouched in the passenger seat, his leg up on the dashboard. "I'm going to die of boredom here. I'm going to die and you're going to have to fill out all that paperwork about how your partner passed in the field due to boredom. That's gotta be, what, ten pages? Double sided."

The very slightest of curls formed on one side of Diggle's mouth. The barest hint, but Roy caught it and laughed. "I knew it!" Roy sat up straight and pointed at Diggle. "I knew your straight laced armor had some chinks!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Diggle coughed. He turned away to stare at the entrance to the Fresh Air.

"Nah uh!" Roy held on like a drowning man. "No, admit it! You think I'm funny!"

"I think you're intolerable."

"Nope. Nope. You started to smile. You think I'm funny."

"I do not!" Diggle turned to look at Roy. "You're rude, overbearing, reckless, inconsiderate, unprofessional..."

"And you think I'm funny!" Roy interrupted, slapping Diggle on the shoulder. "That's really nice of you, Dig. Thanks."

Sighing loudly, Diggle lowered his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. He could already feel the headache coming on. His head snapped up suddenly when he heard the passenger door open.

"Harper!" Diggle shouted as he rolled down his window. Roy was already halfway across the street. "Harper, what are you doing?"

"Being reckless and unproffesional," he called back as he buttoned up his jacket and straightened his tie. Enough was enough. If they wanted answers, Roy would get them now.



The Fresh Air restaurant was warmly lit and quiet. Housed in the top floor of the Hamilton Building, it's large windows looked out over the twinkling city below it. In the corner, an elegantly dressed woman played slow, beautiful piano music, giving the restaurant a cultured ambiance.

“Franco!"

The entire room looked up from their meals to see Roy walk into the room, his hand waving.

"Well I’ll be damned, Franco Bertinelli! So nice to see you!”

Roy took a chair from another table and plopped it down next to Franco. He did it so fast that Franco's two bodyguards, each seated at opposite tables next to him, barely had time to get to their feet.

“Exactly who are you and why should I not have my men remove you from my sight?” Franco asked, obviously not amused.

Franco looked like a man out of a period mobster movie. His gray suit was expensive and perfectly tailored. His olive skin was hard with slightly more wrinkles than one might expect for a man of his age, but his jet black hair and thin mustache showed no signs of gray. He wasn't a muscular man, but his shorter than average frame was beefy enough to be intimidating. Especially the cold brown eyes that pierced out from under his bushy eyebrows. Roy could see how many people would be cowed with one look from those eyes.

“Franky, baby, I’m hurt. I come to join you in this fine restaurant, to spread joy to you and your lovely..." Roy finally noticed the woman sitting across from him, and took a moment to wonder how he could ever have missed such a woman, "date?"

"Daughter," the woman said in a sultry voice. She was everything her father was not. Tall, toned, elegant, and extremely beautiful. Her long black hair flowed down one side of her head. She wore a tight black dress that was somehow both modest and revealing at the same time.

"Roy Harper," Roy said as he offered his hand across the table. She took it. Her skin was soft and warm.

"Helena."

Roy smiled, fought to recover his focus, and turned back to Franco. "Come to spread joy to you and your lovely daughter, and you threaten me?” Roy reached into Franco's plate and took a piece of his steak, shoving it into his mouth. “Shoo kmow, ah phot ah man awf shoor shtature would be morf accomnfadating.”

Franco's face was beat red. His daughter put one hand to her face, trying to cover her smile. Roy took Franco’s wineglass and drank as he waited for a reaction.

“That’s a good year, Franky. Expensive no doubt.”

“ENOUGH!" Franco yelled. His men stepped in and gripped Roy's shoulders. “Throw Mr. Harper here back into whatever gutter he crawled out of!”

“Now you just wait a darn moment there!” Roy scolded as he was lifted to his feet. “That’s Special Agent Harper, of the Department of Extranormal Operations.”

Franco looked at the badge Roy pulled from his jacket and shoved in his face. Sighing, he nodded to men to release Roy. Franco's face was still red, but he took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

“Is the D.E.O. in a habit of employing annoying young buffoons for its Agents?” Franco asked as a waiter rushed up to pour him a new glass of wine.

“No, just me,” Roy quipped with a lopsided smile.

“So what does the D.E.O. want with me? I’m no metahuman.”

“Well you see Franky, word on the street is that the metas who have been murdering all the lowlife scum in Blüdhaven are working for you. Now if you want to play gang boss of Blüdhaven that’s not my concern. The regular authorities can deal with you. I just want the metas.”

“I can assure you Agent Harp...”

"Special Agent," Roy interrupted.

Franco continued through gritted teeth, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Of course you don’t Franky, of course you don’t.” Roy took another quick sip of wine before standing up to leave. He leaned over to Helena, took her hand, and kissed it.

"You certainly don't seem the type," Roy said.

"And what type is that, Mr. Harper?" Every word that came from her ruby lips was perfectly formed. It was incredibly sexy.

"The type to be involved in organized crime."

"Who says I'm involved in anything?"

"You weren't the least surprised by the accusations I made. 'When good men do nothing,' as it were."

“Oh please…” Franco muttered.

Roy started to walk away. “Watch yourself Franky, you’ll find me a lot more troublesome than the B.P.D. or the F.B.I.”

As Roy left, Franco started back in on his dinner. Helena, on the other hand, had lost her appetite.



Diggle was as furious as Roy had expected when he came out of the restaurant. Diggle tried reading him the riot act, but Roy simply asked to go back to the hotel. Diggle had known Roy long enough to understand when the young man became serious, something was going on. They ended the stake out and headed back.

Diggle followed Roy into his hotel room and watched as Roy laid a number of suitcases on his bed. He was preparing for battle.

"Harper, what's going on?" Diggle finally asked. He almost preferred to class clown to the stern, quiet Agent.

"I know where the metas are," Roy answered, ridding himself of the black suit and putting on a red and brown armored uniform Dr. Quincy had made for him. After putting on the new sunglasses and activating them, he began choosing the weapons he would need.

"Did Bertinelli give them up?" Diggle asked, confused.

"No, but I know where they are. I'm going to get them."

Diggle ran a hand over his head in frustration. "Hold on, let's call this in to base. Deputy Director Stewart has a team on standby. If you have a location we can go in together and contain the situation."

“Come on Dig, you know me. Do you really think I’m going to listen to you?”

“This time I do! You know how dangerous they are! We need to do this by the book!"

“I was brought into this because I'm not 'by the book,'" Roy said as he strapped a pistol onto his side. “We go in as a strike force and we have bodies on the ground. I go in alone and I can take them out.”

“What are you trying to prove?" Diggle asked, poking a finger into Roy's chest. Roy looked down at Diggle's hand but didn't respond. "That you're some kind of big hero? You're not a vigilante anymore. You're an Agent. You're part of something bigger and there are rules!"

"You want to call in the team, go ahead. But we may not have another chance and I'm going now. So you can either come with me or stay here."

Roy grabbed a trench coat to hide his armor and weaponry under, tucked his bow and quiver into a duffel bag, and headed out the door.

Diggle grabbed his cell and called into HQ. As it rang, he swore softly and headed out the door.



A dark black limousine pulled into a warehouse at the Blüdhaven Docks. It was just reaching midnight and the air was cold and wet. The warehouse, labeled as boating storage, was anything but.

“Cyclone! Voltage!” Brawn called out from the luxurious living room area. The man was muscles upon muscles, to the point it looked like he instead might have some kind of disease. He was so large that he had to have his simple t-shirt and jeans tailored for him. His bald head was tiny compared to the rest of his body. Rising from the leather couch, he turned off the television and went to meet the guests. “Boss here!”

Franco and his two bodyguards exited the vehicle. Voltage ran over to meet them and Cyclone flew down from the rafters as well.

“It’s so good to see you again Franco,” Cyclone said in a sultry voice. “I’ve been looking forward to your next visit.”

Franco walked over to her and ran a finger through her platinum hair and down her pale cheek. “I’m sorry toots, but this is business not pleasure. We got trouble and its name is D.E.O.”

“What can those losers do?” Voltage asked as he played with the electricity running up his fingers. The man was thin and wiry, a completely average and unremarkable man if not for his abilities. “We dealt with those other agents before they even got close to us. The D.E.O. is just a government ploy to make the public think they are actually doing something about us.”

“You think so? Tell that to the agent who interrupted my dinner this evening!” The group turned quiet in an instant. They all waited nervously for Franco to explain. “An Agent Harper knows that I hired you three. I don’t know how, but I can only assume you messed up!”

“We kill Harper.” Brawn said confidently as he flexed his muscles. “No problem.”

“Oh it very much IS a problem!” Franco yelled up from three feet below Brawn's face. “Don’t you think that Harper has told his superiors what he knows? The whole D.E.O. will be down my throat! And contrary to your expert opinions, they are most certainly more than a government ploy. The last thing I need is them investigating me!”

“Oh it’s gone far beyond that Franky!”

The group all turned toward the voice. Standing on a crosswalk overlooking the meeting was Roy, with an arrow notched and pointed at them.

“Harper!” Franco screamed. "How?"

“I tracked you, dumbass.”

“That’s impossible!” one of Franco's bodyguards yelled in confusion. “I checked him for bugs myself!"

“Well he doesn’t have any tracers ON him, but you didn’t bother to check IN him. You really should watch what you eat, Franky.”

“Enough of this!" Voltage yelled, electricity crackled around him. "Let's just kill Robin Hood."

“'Cause that’s the first time I ever heard that,” Roy muttered. “There's a strike team on the way. I suggest you all get on the floor, face down, now.”

“Or else what?” Franco called up to Roy. “You came in alone? You really think you can take us down all by yourself boy?”

“Yes," Roy said, without any hint of arrogance or bluster. "Now we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?"

The air around Cyclone began the swirl. Franco’s bodyguards pulled pistols out of their coats.

“Why is it no matter how many times I ask that, no one EVER chooses the easy way?”

A small smile crept onto Franco’s face. In a low voice, dripping with pleasure, he said to his men, “Kill him.”

Once Roy heard the order he went into action. Loosing the arrow from his bow, it impacted on the floor in the middle of his foes. Suddenly it gave off a bright, white flash.

"God dammit!"

"Aah!"

While they were disoriented, Roy went on the move. Voltage, though blinded, shot bolts of electricity in the direction Roy had been in. The balcony burst into flames as Roy dodged the blasts, leaping down off the balcony.

“Shoot him! Shoot him!” Franco yelled at his men as their vision slowly came back. Roy, dodging bullets and electricity, ducked into the metas’ kitchen.

“Cyclone, Brawn, head around to the other entrance,” Voltage barked. They followed his orders, though Cyclone mumbled her annoyance.

The kitchen was large and dark. Voltage hit the light switch but it did not respond. With a casual thought, electricity crackled along his body, offering some light.

“Come out, sweet thing," Cyclone cooed as she and Brawn reached the opposite entrance.

Cyclone and Voltage began tentatively searching, moving slowly around the island in the center of the room and checking under the table. Brawn had to wait outside, his massive frame unable to fit through the doorway. When they could not find Roy, they looked at each other, confused.

“Did you get him!” Franco called out from the other room. “Is he dead?”

“Did you see him get passed you?” Voltage asked his comrades. They each shook their heads in response. “Where the hell is he?”

“Heads up!”

They looked up at the ceiling to see Roy holding himself up between the wall and some cabinets. Before they could react, Roy dropped a strange canister onto Voltage. When it hit, it exploded in a spray of foam that covered his whole body.

“What the hell?!” Cyclone yelled as she went to help her leader. Brawn tried to reach in and swing his fist at the ceiling, but Roy leapt out of the way and kicked the giant in the side of the head. It didn’t faze him, and Roy went for the opposite door.

“Fast drying insulation foam,” Roy called back as he ran. “D.E.O. tested, Harper approved!”

By exiting the kitchen Roy invited another hail of bullets from Franco’s goons. He bobbed and weaved his way through support beams, furniture, and workout equipment that littered the warehouse, all the while trying to stay ahead of Brawn’s rampage. Roy notched two arrows at once onto his bow and fired while diving between the sofa and TV. The large, blunt arrowheads slammed into the faces of the two goons and knocked them to the floor.

"Hey, this ain't so tough," Roy mumbled to himself just before being thrown hard into the wall by a gust of wind. Before he could slide to the floor he was thrown again, this time into Franco's limousine. Brawn finally caught up to Roy and grabbed him from behind in a bear hug.

“Don’t kill him yet Brawn,” Franco ordered. He walked over to Cyclone and gave her a quick kiss. “Good work, toots.”

“You know it hun.”

“So Agent Harper,” Franco said as he walked over to Roy.

"Special...Agent..." Roy groaned as he struggled against Brawn’s strong grasp. The man's arms were like two giant, moist sausages crushing him.

“It seems this was not the walk in the park you had expected. Any last words?”

“Just…one,” Roy muttered. “Zap.”

His armor activated at the sound of the voice command. A large electric blast surged through Brawn’s body. The giant screamed in pain and released his hold on Roy. Franco jumped back to avoid the current and Cyclone walked up to protect him. Upon reaching the floor, Roy fought the numbness in his arms and quickly notched an arrow, sending it flying at Cyclone.

“You think your pathetic arrows can hurt me?” she asked while blowing the projectile off course. Another gust of wind sent Roy spiraling toward the far wall. He managed to right himself and impact feet first.

“Of course not,” Roy yelled over the howling wind. “It was just meant to distract you from that.”

Cyclone’s gaze followed Roy’s finger to see a small device attached to the door of the limousine. Before she could move away, it exploded in a concussive blast that sent both her and Franco flying into the living room area. Franco fell atop the coffee table and Cyclone hit the TV. Neither got up.

“Just like I said,” Roy spoke to himself, wiping his brow of sweat. “A walk in the pa…”

A large fist cut him off as it slammed into his back. Roy fell to the ground and lost hold of his bow. Brawn’s large hands picked him off the floor and threw him into a support beam. A glancing punch broke Roy’s sunglasses and bloodied his nose.

“Bad Robin Hood!" Brawn screamed as he choked Roy. “Bad man!”

Brawn’s screams were silenced by a gun barrel shoved in his mouth. A single gunshot rang out. Blood splattered across Roy as Brawn’s corpse fell back onto the floor.

"Not as tough on the inside," Diggle said as he offered Roy his hand. "You all right?"

"I'll live," Roy coughed.

"Sure doesn't look it," Diggle said as he checked the bruises around Roy's neck.

"I...had it...under control," Roy wheezed. He patted the pistol on his side and said, "I was about to do that."

"Mmm hmm," Diggle smirked. "The team will be here any minute. Let's..."

Ear splitting thunder roared from the kitchen. The duo ran for cover in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding the electric blasts from Voltage.

Diggle quickly returned fire with his pistol, causing Voltage to take cover behind a support beam. Roy ducked behind a love seat and ran his fingers through his sweat soaked red hair, then pulled out two automatic pistols.

“You’re gonna fry little man!” Voltage screamed. “Make your peace with whatever Gods you worship!”

“Sorry, but I don’t think Beyonce's listening!”

The two men came out running, firing as they went. Roy took a glancing hit to his ribs, his insulated body armor absorbed the energy. The force, however, was enough to throw off his aim.

Electricity continued to arc toward Roy, but Diggle stepped out from behind cover and opened fire. Voltage ducked behind a weight rack to avoid the hail of fire.

Roy started to duck behind a support beam, but a small hole in the weight rack caught his eye. It was a small space between rows, no larger than a baseball, and he was ten meters away. In less than a second, Roy froze, aimed, and shot.

Everything seemed to stop, except the sound of flames burning. Roy kept his guns aimed at the weight rack and walked slowly around, keeping at least a meter away. Diggle circled around from the opposite side. When Voltage came into sight, they found him slumped to the ground and covered in blood. The bullet went right through his chest.

Letting out an audible breath, Roy holstered his guns and went to retrieve his bow. The team would be here momentarily. They would clean up the mess.

Diggle and Roy surveyed the area, taking note of the bodies. They both realized what was missing, and said in unison, “Franco!”



Franco's breathing was labored as he ran down the alley between warehouses. His left arm was broken, he held it tightly to his chest with his right hand. He needed to get out of here, to a road, a car, something.

Spotting a man walking in the parking lot with a phone to his ear, Franco ran for him as fast as he could. He snatched the phone out of the man's hand and kicked him to the ground. As he began to dial, he felt a sharp pain in his right leg.

“AAAARGH!!” He fell the ground, another scream escaping his lips when his arm hit the pavement. He rolled to his back and looked down to see an arrowhead sticking out of his thigh.

“Need to make a call, Franky?” Roy asked as he knelt down beside Franco. “Just dial 1-800-I-A-M-F-U-C-K-E-D.”

“T-That’s too…many letters...you…fucking moron!”

“Well they can’t all be winners," Roy said, his voice sounding slightly better. "It's been a long day."

After checking on the unfortunate pedestrian to make sure he was okay, Diggle walked over the Franco and moved him into a sitting position. He grabbed his arms and cuffed him.

"Trust me, there's hardly any winners," Diggle said dryly. "And that includes you, Bertinelli. You're under arrest."



The team arrived minutes later. Then the police. A brief period of the usual badge measuring ended with the B.P.D. handling crowd control as the D.E.O. clean up crew took care of the rest.

It didn't take long for a black SUV to drive through the police lines. Roy was just finishing being checked over by an EMT when Deputy Director John Stewart came walking up like an oncoming storm.

"All right, so who's first?" Stewart asked, looking back and forth between Roy and Diggle.

"Who's first for what?" Roy asked, shooing away the EMT. "Our medals?"

Diggle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Stewart looked about ready to explode.

"Who's first to offer their lazy ass excuse so I can get on with demoting you two to guard duty in the Slab!"

Roy smiled and held his hands up," Look Stew..." It was as far as he got before the look in Stewart's eyes stopped him cold. Roy'd never seen his boss so serious before.

"We tracked Bertinelli and the metas to the warehouse but had reason to believe they were spooked," Diggle stepped in. "We heard shouting, thought there might be a hostage, we went in. It was a tough call but like Harper said in the moment, we couldn't let there be another body on our watch."

Stewart and Roy both looked at Diggle in silence. Roy had to fight to keep his mouth from dropping open.

"That how it happened?" Stewart asked Roy without looking over.

"Yeah," Roy answered with the confidence of a practiced liar. "We wanted to wait for the team but...we saw what happened to the victims. It sticks with you."

The three men remained silent for the longest time. Roy waited in suspense, trying not to show how suddenly concerned he was about the consequences. He never had been before.

"All right," Stewart finally said. "You don't have to go to Antarctica. This time. The casualties are minimal and all on their side, though I would have preferred them taken alive. You two may be idiots but you're some damn tough idiots.

"But you pull a stunt like this again and I will ship you to the Slab for so long you're great grandkids will be complaining about the cold, you got me?"

"Yes sir," the partners said in unison.

"So what about Bertinelli?" Diggle asked.

Stewarts sighed and rubbed his forehead. "He's lawyered up already, of course. He's claiming the metas kidnapped his son and he was their to pay them off."

"Can you get the Cyko chick to fold on him?" Roy asked optimistically.

"Doubtful. I've seen her type before. She'll spend the rest of her life in prison for him."

"So what now?" Roy spat. "He just walks?"

"We'll squeeze him for all he's worth first. And if he walks, we'll be watching him with a magnifying glass. He'll keep it quiet for a while, at least."

Stewart checked his watch and looked back up at his men. "Look, it's late. We'll finish this up in the morning. Let's go, I got a chopper standing by."

"You two go on ahead," Roy said as he grabbed his trench coat out of the back of the ambulance. "I'll catch the next one."

Diggle and Stewart both had looks of equal parts confusion and frustration on their face. Roy's trademark smirk didn't help matters.

"Look I got some place to be before I leave Blüdhaven," Roy said as he slapped Diggle on the shoulder. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Diggle turned to watch his partner go. "You bet your ass we will."



“And you know the rest. I expect they'll hit me up with even more paperwork when I get back to base tomorrow, but I think it's worth it."

“You know it is,” Grace said as she kissed Roy hard on the lips. The two lay in bed at Grace’s apartment, drinking red wine and listening to some jazz.

“You know I'm starting to see the appeal of this city," Roy said as he ran his hand along her bare back.

"Uh huh," she laughed. "You gonna make a summer home here?"

"Well I was thinking more of a layover," Roy smiled and took a sip of wine. "A frequent layover perhaps?"

“Really? Whatever for?” Grace left a trail of kisses as she headed down Roy’s chest and under the covers.

“Grace…babe, it’s three in the morning. I have to…have to leave in a few hours. I need to get some sleep.” Roy dropped his glass of wine onto the floor next to the bed. “Or…not.”

-The End-