The End of the First Night

The night had gone well in the beginning. He had stopped two small time robberies and scared the living daylights out of a crack dealer. With his deep voice he would bellow something awe-inspiring, then he would leap out with his sword and whack their weapons right out of their hands. He would then proceed to work them over with his sword and his fists, and he would top it off by handcuffing them to a nearby object. There they would stay until the police came, if they were lucky. He knew he had struck a fear of the night into at least four criminals, and they would not be returning to crime anytime soon. Except, of course, for that last one.

In his wandering he had come upon what seemed like a classic crime: a man was holding a gun to another man's head in a dark alley. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but he didn't care - they were obviously criminals. Jefferson leaped from the shadows and yelled, "Criminals never prosper, motherf---er!" in his most menacing voice. He sliced the sword down on the first man's hand, sending his gun flying, and possibly breaking his wrist. Jefferson then clocked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The second man fled. Jefferson chased after him, assuming he was also involved in the crime. It was his first mistake.

Jefferson caught up to the second man and grabbed him by his collar, but he fainted in terror. Then Jefferson heard the cocking of a gun that saved his life. He turned just in time to see the first man, his nose bleeding profusely, aiming the gun directly at his chest. Jefferson dived headlong into a nearby window just as the first man fired. He could've sworn he felt the bullet narrowly miss his hand. He climbed out of the window with a few cuts and bruises but unscathed overall. That leather jacket was a lifesaver. The man with the gun was nowhere to be seen. Jefferson dragged the fainted man's body over to a nearby lamppost and handcuffed his hand to it. An elderly woman walked by, who Jefferson recognized as Mrs. Pearl, one of the tenants of his building. "Someone should call the police" Jefferson said, and fled into the night. He hoped she would not recognize him under his mask.

Jefferson ran through the back alleys of his neighborhood, shaken. That man was obviously a part of some sort of organized crime. Small-time druggies and messed-up kids could be scared straight, but crime bosses and their followers were something else. He stopped in the vacant lot next to Washington Heights. If he kept this up, he could be dead within a week. Then he remembered why he had started this crusade in the first place. This was one of the most crime-ridden parts of the city; it was also the neighborhood he grew up in. This was where he had first decided to become a police officer. He had done it with the hope that he could clean up the city. That plan had failed, so he moved on to another plan - the sword.

Jefferson stood up. Within a week he could be dead, but, he asked himself, how would that be different from any other week? He would have to change his tactics. He would deal with crime from the top down., instead of just scaring the bottomfeeders straight. This neighbor was where his first crusade had began, so this neighborhood was where his second crusade would begin, as well. Jefferson looked across the street. He could see the owner of Oscar's Meat setting up shop, and also discreetly taking down a sign that read "New York Strip." Something illegal was going on over there, but he would have to wait to investigate. The sun was just beginning to rise over the skyline, and Jefferson was still in costume. Also, he was tired. Jefferson climbed the fire escape, but he paused and looked out over the city. He would focus his efforts here, until Washington Heights was a beacon of hope for the rest of the city. Or he would die trying.