PUNISHER MAX: IN THE DARK WOODS PART V
This is the final chapter of my adaptation based on parts of the Garth Ennis stories "In the Beginning," "Up is Down, Black is White," and "Born." I hope you have all enjoyed the ride. It has been a great expreience finishing up my first FanFic here on CBM and Earth's Mightiest. Feel free to chime in and critique the effort.
The story so far:
PART I http://comicbookmovie.com/fan_fic/news/?a=16286
PART II http://comicbookmovie.com/fan_fic/news/?a=16791
PART III http://comicbookmovie.com/fan_fic/news/?a=17484
PART IV http://comicbookmovie.com/fan_fic/news/?a=18441
SCENE XVIII – Fiat justitia (et ruat caelum)
Soap comes to in the bathroom at the garage to the sound of gun fire and sirens. The shots are fairly close, and he panics at first before realizing he is cuffed to the plumbing by his left wrist.
(Paul Rudd as Det. Martin Soap)
Soap: Aw, sonofabitch! C’mon!
He struggles, tugging as best he can to free himself. His right arm is bound to his chest in its dressing and his feet have been duct taped.
Soap: What the [frick] is going on out there?
We return to Frank he is well hidden on the refinery roof looking towards the north. The view from the roof reveals fires erupting in several places around Red Hook’s wharfs.
PWJ: Not bad Nicky. Pull the attention away with the fires then when the shooting starts the cops will be tied up making a cordon around the firefighters protecting them from the possible threat. When the MG42 starts ripping off the cops are gonna say “[frick] that” and just form a perimeter until the shooting stops. Man is full of surprises.
Atop the southwest most tower of the Red Hook projects five blocks away Nicky Cavella watches along with Larry Barrucci as six cars return to the tract of Richards Street below them. Larry look nervously over the roof’s edge at the faces of his crew craning their necks out of the car windows at him waiting for the signal.
Cavella stands still as stone, binoculars at his eyes, looking to the rooftops in front of the sugar refinery’s distinctive storage hopper.
Larry: See him?
Cavella: No. No, but he’s there. Send the boys.
At that Barrucci leans over the edge and waives to the men below.
Six cars race down Richards Street for the main gate of the refinery.
Frank: Here we go.
Frank takes aim at the lead car’s windshield with his scoped rifle. Tracking the driver’s outline as it is back lit by the following headlights. He aims low, putting his crosshairs on the hood just in front of the windshield, allowing the cars forward movement to bridge the rest of the distance. He releases a breath and fires. Inside the car we see the driver wrench the wheel hard right as the .308 Winchester round tears through his chest and the seat behind him striking the rear passenger in the hip. The car, traveling nearly eighty miles an hour, slams into a parked car near the corner of Richards and Dikeman Streets. It spins across a residence’s side yard before slamming into the side of the building. The other five car loads of mobsters race through the debris of the crash as Frank places his rifle down and Frank hefts the MG42 into firing position.
Frank locks the iron sights on the lead vehicle, but holds his fire until the car breeches the front gates in the contained space of the refinery’s main drive. Once the gates fling aside Frank depresses the trigger and a sound more like a heavy canvass tearing than gun fire rips through the abandoned docks. A spatter of exposed primer and steel across the car’s hood and roof explodes as the machine gun goes to work peppering the Chevy and two of those inside with the heavy rounds. Frank allows the natural climb of the weapon to pull the barrel up and the line of fire into the pursuing vehicles.
The cars go skidding in all directions trying to avoid the hail of bullets. The occupants sprint to any cover they can find one of them is mowed down by Franks controlled bursts. Three rounds strike him in the upper back and eviscerate him as the tear out his gut. He falls in a spray of blood and pink mist. A second man runs head long for an alcove blindly pulling the tripwire on a claymore mine nestled at chest height. The antipersonnel mine explodes nearly disintegrating his chest and blowing off all the appendages from his upper torso.
The remaining 19 men begin to return fire. Frank hunkers down behind the lip of the roof and changes out the MG’s barrel and belt. Once done he grabs the M79 and AK and dashes for the far corner. Once there he aims the grenade launcher at car behind which two shooters have taken cover. He fires a round between the two, shredding them and blowing the driver’s door to pieces. He then reloads and fires at a muzzle flash from the adjoining structure, the thug survives the explosion as the grenade detonates in a dumpster near him shunting the heavy steel container into him snapping his leg beneath it.
One of the thugs tries to lob a grenade toward the roof, but his throw comes up short and it falls back into the lane, exploding and setting another car’s gas tank aflame. At this the car’s trunk opens and Pittsy kicks several now shrapnel peppered flak jackets off him. He rolls out of the trunk hidden from Frank’s sight by the rising smoke. Pittsy waves for several men near him to follow him; six men follow him into the refinery through a hole he batters into the aluminum wall.
Pittsy: Watch what you [frick]in’ do in here.
He points to the doors and windows, each was mined. The men look at eachother as if to question what they were getting themselves into.
Atop the towers Cavella sees the open trunk lid on the third car through the smoke. He lowers his binoculars and smiles.
Cavella: Pittsy’s in. This’ll be over in no time.
Inside the dark confines of the refinery Pittsy and his men wind through the labyrinthine structure. Pittsy points out the occasional booby-trap as they continue upwards. As they reach the second floor Pittsy looks out a window facing the section of Richards Street encased by the refinery grounds, he sees that there are still several men firing at the roof and he can hear the report of the MG as Frank ramps it up again. He sees one of the thugs head explode as he is hit with a burst from the machine gun. As Pittsy looks out the window one of his men wanders slightly farther in than the others. The man steps on a tension release peg causing a rope to whip away from his foot. He watches the end of the rope zip past a pulley on the wall then straight up to see a slab of concrete weighing several hundred pounds drop directly on his head. The block slams to the floor with a massive thud the gangster twisted sickeningly beneath it.
On the roof Frank hears the noise even over the report of his rifle. He feels the vibration through the structure.
PWJ: Sounds like I have company. Time to greet my guests.
Frank lays down the machine gun and scoops up his assault rifle and makes his way to the roof entrance. He slinks down the stairs to the third floor shedding his coat as he goes. He slips quietly down a conveyer belt to a darkened corner on the second floor. He can hear Pittsy chiding the mobsters. He slips behind the belt using it for cover as he approaches closer to the group. Just as Frank nears a proper firing position he is spotted by Pitssy. Who raises his shotgun and begins firing.
Pittsy: Cocksucker! Kill ‘em!
The room erupts in gunfire. One of Pittsy’s bursts hits the belt in front of Frank kicking up sugar dust into his eyes. He winces and goes for cover under the belt.
Pittsy uses the lull to send his men around on both sides of the room. The men pick their way through the smoky darkness searching for any sign of the Punisher. Frank eases along the back wall of the warehouse allowing his eyes to adjust. Pittsy is on the opposite side; his shotgun at the ready, unmoving, waiting.
Down on the street the surviving mobsters begin to poke their heads up realizing that they are no longer under fire. They begin to move cautiously towards the warehouse. Three men approach a partially open window they peek inside seeing no immediate threat one man moves to push the window open. The raising pane tugs loose the pin on claymore hidden behind a piece of wood facing the opening. It explodes taking the men to pieces. The shattered window and debris cascade about the buildings walls setting off several more of Frank’s tripwires. One of the cars explodes due to its proximity to the blasts the fireball of the exploding gas tank rolls upward its orange glow lighting the second floor.
The brief illumination allows Frank to lock in on Pittsy’s group. Frank does not hesitate he goes on the offensive engaging the man nearest him with a burst from his AK, the man’s chest explodes as he takes six rounds center mass. The others begin to fire blindly in the direction of Frank’s gunshots. He roles beneath a pallet drawing his K-Bar and slicing the Achilles tendon of a one wiseguy the man screams out drawing the fire of his jumpy companions who riddle him with more than a dozen rounds. Frank uses the distraction to lock in on two more of his foes lashing out with his .45, double tapping both men in the head. Frank hears the distinct clink of a pin and safety lever release from a grenade he wheels in time to see the last mobster fling the frag at him.
Frank releases two rounds from the Colt striking the man once through the neck. He moves left toward the conveyer trying to dive for cover. The grenade lands beside a small mound of turpentine. The explosion causes a cascade of fire as the burning turpentine ignites and splashes about the room. Frank is doused in burning liquid, he struggles to out himself, he strips off his burning gear just before the rounds cook off in the spare magazines in his shoulder holster. He manages to unclasp one side of his vest when the sprinklers come on dousing the area in a heavy spray of cold river water.
Frank leans forward on the conveyer catching his breath he has received burns to his face arms and neck. Suddenly he returns to his senses realizing he is not alone. He turns in time to see the barrel of Pittsy’s shotgun only inches from his head. He grabs the barrel with his left hand wrenching it down as Pittsy fires. The blast meets the unclasped area of Frank’s vest impacting the exposed area of his side in a glancing blow that rips a massive gash in his side.
PWJ: That’s one rib gone. Not broken. Gone.
Frank locks his hand on the pump action preventing Pittsy from chambering a new shell. The two struggle violently in a round robin. Frank finally is able to slide his hand over Pittsy’s wrenching it off the pump action and breaks all four fingers on the little man’s left hand. Pittsy takes his free hand and attempts to get inside the wound on Frank’s side. We see Grazerra is now finger deep in the wound pulling on the lacerated edges.
Pittsy: Gonna rip ya [frick]in’ heart out! Cock suckin’…
Castle lunges forward head butting Grazzarra with everything he’s got, stripping off the small man’s bandages revealing the repulsive damage he caused on their last encounter. Pittsy has no eye in his left orbit and his face is horribly mangled and swollen, his nose is now broken. The blow staggers Pittsy, Frank twirls the shotgun around to deliver a shot at close range to the incapacitated man when he is struck in the chest by two rounds fired from a newly arrived mobster from below. The rounds do not penetrate the steel plate he has placed in front of his chest under the vest. He aims for the new threat and engages advancing on the man who nearly stumbles back down the stairwell. The man fires wildly but cannot find his aim in his panic. Frank closes to within ten feet and then fires shattering the mobster’s skull all over the small landing. Two more men open fire from below. Frank fires a few rounds to drive them back as he bounds up to the third floor, dropping the empty shotgun and grabbing an H&K 91 he had hidden on the next landing up. He takes a defensive position and tries to staunch the bleeding.
Back on the tenement roof Cavella looks through his binoculars calmly looking towards the basin. Larry is a wreck fidgeting to his boss’ side.
Larry: See anything?
Cavella: No, smokes starting to block the view too much. I wanna get closer.
Larry: The [frick] do you mean closer? What if he ain’t dead?
Cavella: If he ain’t yet he will be. Never piss off Pittsy Grazzerra.
Larry: Yeah, well Pittsy can’t survive a bullet.
Cavella: You’d be surprised what Pittsy can do; vicious little [frick]er that one. Go get the car.
Larry: Bu…
Cavella: Get the mother[frick]in’ car!
In the garage Soap has now maneuvered himself so that he can kick at the pipes under the sink with his bound feet.
Soap: Goddamn, stupid bastard. I’ll kick your freakin’ ass! You’ll kill me, but I’ll kick your ass!
Finally the pipe breaks loose, and he maneuvers the handcuff off the broken end.
Soap: HA! There we go. Now I’m…
Soap gets to his feet and tries to walk forgetting about the tape on his ankles. He takes a tentative hop and then falls face down on the floor.
Soap: Shit.
SCENE XIX – Homo homini lupus
Frank is fighting to stay conscious.
We see Pittsy heading to the third floor via the conveyer emerging amongst the refinery’s processing machinery. He creeps toward the far end of the floor homing in on Frank following the sound of his grunts as he attempts to staunch the bleeding from his shotgun wound. Pittsy is unarmed in the dim light he finds a pipe about three feet long. The pipe causes the pipes imbedded in the walls to rattle a bit as he pulls it free.
Frank hears the noise and turns his attention to the factory floor.
Outside Cavella and Larry pull up to the scene of devastation between the refinery and the shipping office. There are three men waiting by the door waiting for Pittsy or Castle to emerge.
Cavella calls to them.
Cavella: Pitsy in there?
Mobster: Yeah.
Cavella: Good. Cheer up Larry. Any minute now that little [frick]’s gonna come out here with Castles severed dick in his hand.
Inside Pittsy continues to stalk Frank, weaving in and out of the machinery. Suddenly Frank stands up less than three feet from him bringing his rifle to bear on the smaller man. Pittsy reacts with surprising speed smashing the pipe against Frank’s hand on the neck of the gun he recoils firing a burst directly over Pittsy’s head. Grazerra swings wildly connecting with Frank’s already injured left arm and then his back as he pivots to avoid further blows. This blow barely affects him as the pipe makes a distinct clang on the steel plate in the vest. Castle wheels around extending the rifle one handed only to have Pittsy swing the pipe down catching Frank’s thumb on the rifles pistol grip breaking it with a sharp crack causing him to drop the rifle. The little man swings again only to have frank catch the pipe’s end with his left hand and jerk it out of Pittsy’s grasp.
Frank then kicks straight out as if breaching a door planting his foot in the older man’s chest and knocking him back. He closes on Pittsy moving to stomp his face. Pittsy rolls away and rebounds on the larger man getting behind him and striking him again and again in his wounded left side. Frank staggers to one knee from the sudden shock and pain. He is quickly punched repeatedly across the face. Frank seizes a lull in Pittsy’s offensive to punch him in the balls. The smaller man staggers backward. For a brief moment the two fighters now distanced by ten feet collect themselves, hands on their knees.
Pittsy: [frick]in cocksuckin’ [frick]. I’ll…
Frank: Shut the [frick] up.
He charges Pittsy hoisting the little man up and smashing him into a large window. The steel frame holds as the panels break, Frank slams him again. Pittsy grabs hold of a foot long shard of glass and slashes Frank’s left jaw, just missing his throat. Frank lets him go to add distance. Pittsy lashes out violently with the shard slashing Frank’s right forearm wide open. Frank dodges another slash at his throat. He gets in a solid punch to Pittsy’s jaw and a knee to his face only to have Pittsy Stab him in the inner right thigh for his effort. Frank goes down as his weight comes down on the injured leg. Pittsy rushes to stab at Frank’s face with a downward stab.
Frank: [frick] this!
He reaches up with his open right hand and allows the glass to plunge through it. In a jerking motion he snaps the blade off just above Pitty’s grip. In one explosive motion Frank rushes upward slamming Pittsy onto his left shoulder and hoisting him up forcing himself into a full run towards the opposite wall of the building.
Pittsy begins screaming.
Pittsy: Put me down ya [frick]! I’ll eat ya [frick]in’ lungs!
The little man begins stabbing violently at the wound on Frank’s side with the shortened shard. Frank never breaks stride he rushes full speed for the opposite window this time succeeding in dislodging the frame and hefting Pittsy out with all his remaining strength.
Below Cavella and the remaining crew look up to see the window shatter and Pittsy fall the three stores onto a small cast iron fence beside the building impaling himself on three of the pickets diagonally across his chest. He slumps backwards as the metal bends under the weight of the impact. He stares directly at Cavella as he grabs the post protruding from the center of his chest.
Pittsy: FFFFFUUUUUCCCKKKHHHHH.
Cavella glances from Pittsy to the window, Frank is not there. Then he looks to Larry. Panic is beginning to set in; he pulls his revolver and screams.
Cavella: Get in the goddamn car!
Larry: What?
Cavella: Get in the [frick]in’ car. We gotta go!
Larry grabs for the handle.
Barrucci: Shit. SHIT!
Cavella: What?!
Barrucci: I locked the [frick]in’ keys in the car!
Cavella: Gittha[frick]outtahere!
The two men by the door waiver their attention to the scene unfolding with their bosses as Frank emerges having picked up his Auto-5 twelve gauge from the stairwell on the third floor. He casually shoots one man in the back of the head obliterating it and then the other in the face as he reacts to the sudden violence. The third man has just enough time to raise his gun as frank shoots him square in the chest.
Frank: CAVELLA!
Cavella leaps behind the car with Barrucci as Frank closes the gap, shotgun at the ready.
Barrucci: Oh, god! I told you! I told you, he’s the Punisher he kills everybody.
Cavella stares coldly at the whimpering man. He puts his .357 to Larry’s head.
Barrucci: Wha?
Cavella: Larry a child o’ four could have told you that was not the [frick]in’ thing to say at this [frick]in’ moment. Run at him.
Barrucci: I dropped my gun I…
Cavella: You may get lucky his gun could jam. (He cocks the revolver’s hammer) Mine won’t. Run at him.
Barrucci: Ah!
Cavella snarls and shoves the gun hard into Larry’s temple. Larry jumps up quickly. His hands up and out.
Frank stares the man down as he approachs.
At last Larry Breaks, his sniveling is gone, he stands straight facing death with an odd defience and near anger as he walks forward robotically.
Barrucci: Nicky you [frick]. You son of a bitch, cocksucker.
Frank brings the shotgun up.
Larry screams a curse.
Barrucci: Goddamn you Nicky Cavella!
At that Nicky dashes around to the driver’s side of the Olds and smashes the window.
Frank fires at a distance of only six feet. The tight spread tears Larry’s chest wide open and he drops limp as a rag doll flat on his back.
Frank shifts his aim to Cavella as he struggles to start the car. He slams it into reverse and guns it, he slams into the dumpster pinning the last surviving mobster beneath it. The man screams as the dumpster is forced over his midsection crushing his internal organs and mangling his legs as a torrent of blood erupts from his mouth.
PWJ: Almost out of shotgun range.
Pittsy: Fuuuckeerr!
Frank turns to see that Pittsy is blindly limping towards Frank one of the steel fence posts still lodged through his chest another held in his hand. He curses through an esophagus full of blood.
Pittsy: Cockshushkin’ faggot. Kill uuuuch.
PWJ: You’ve got to be [frick]ing kidding me.
Frank shoots Pittsy in the face, graphically ripping it away exposing his open sinuses and mouth. The eyeless wreck of a face gurgles as its gnarled tongue lolls around in its ruined mouth amongst random teeth in the shattered jaw.
PWJ: The next step is just reflex. So is the next one. Gotta be.
At that Pittsy’s body finally falls in a heap facedown, a river of blood quickly forming on the dingy asphalt.
Frank looks up to see Cavella rounding the corner onto Beard Street. He hobbles to an idling bullet riddled car. Frank gets in the car and guns it onto the street; catching up Cavella just before he reaches the next block over at Dwight Street. He rams the vehicle as Cavella skids around the corner. The two men stare at each other for a brief second. Cavella finally takes off up the street leaving Frank to reverse and pursue the wrong way up the one way street.
Frank is reloading his remaining .45 as best he can as he steers with his knee. Finally he slams the magazine home and racks the action. He focuses in on Cavella and rams the car repeatedly.
Cavella is driving with his eyes more focused on his rearview instead of the road ahead; as they cross Lorriane Street Frank makes a final run at the car. The back end of Cavella’s car looses traction and begins to fishtail, Cavella focuses on the road again only to realize that he is now heading to directly into a wooded island in the middle of the intersection. Frank has also lost control of his vehicle and is struggling to regain control, but failing. Cavella slams head long into a tree. Frank skids across the street and into a parked car. Cavella is dazed bleeding and slumped over the steering wheel, he awakes to the sound of people milling around the outside of the car, the inhabitants of the Red Hook Projects have flocked to the scene of the commotion. Cavella comes to quickly, shoving the door open and staggering out.
Local: Hey man, you alright. Sit down an… HEY!
Cavella brings his gun up, waving it around. The crowd backs up. Cavella blearily see a young boy standing nearest to him and puts his hand on the boys shoulder to steady himself.
The crowd across the street around Frank’s car lets out a few yells as he emerges from the crowd. The image he conveys is similar to the way we had seen him at Valley Forge; he is battered terribly, clothes torn, bloodied, scorched, and stony eyed. He has his .45 aimed at Cavella.
Cavella reacts instinctively dropping to one knee and swinging the child in front of him as a shield putting the gun to the child’s temple. The boy begins to scream in fear.
Cavella: Shut the [frick] up you little shit. SHUT IT! Is this what you want? I’ll blow this kids brains all over you!
Frank: No you won’t.
Cavella: The [frick] I won’t! Put your gun down or I’ll kill him.
Frank: You do and you die bad.
Cavella: Do you know who I am?! I’m Nicky [frick]in’ Cavella! Do you know the shit I’ve done?!
Frank: A psycho rep means shit. You won’t kill that kid. You know what’ll happen if you do. You know what I’ll do to you. There’s no one left Nicky. No one left to do the dying for you, no one left to do the killing for you. No, you’ll let him go. You’ll let him go because there is a part of you that thinks you can still make it out of this.
Cavella’s eyes fade. He knows there is no way out. Behind him is an angry crowd. In front of him is certain death with a .45. He tightens his grip on the boy gritting his teeth; tears are welling in his eyes from the fear and frustration sweeping through him. Frank continues to slowly limp forward slowly closing on Cavella. Finally he stops a mere five feet from Cavella.
Finally Cavella pushes the boy at Frank who shunts the child behind him and then with surprising speed lunges forward as Cavella comes to his feet clubbing him with the barrel of the .45 before he can raise his .357 to fire. We see the .45 swing at the camera and hear a sharp crack, then blackness.
SCENE XX - post proelia praemia
The darkness continues, through it comes the voice of The Punisher. It is quieter now, almost tired.
PWJ: The first snows are almost here. Everything is so quiet. I remember my son in the winter of ’75, the last he would ever see. It was the first time Maria let him really play in the snow. We built a snowman as she filmed and my daughter, Lisa, had a snow ball fight with the kids on our block. Everything was as it should be in the time before all the guns and death. Those are memories I try to kill.
The darkness is total, slowly the sounds come. The sound of a car driving on gravel the thud of uneven ground and bumps, the sound of breathing. The bumping and thumping of one in an enclosed space too small for their comfort. The breathing quickens as panic arrives. The squeak of breaks as the motion and gravel’s monotone slows and stops. A car door opens, feet on gravel. The sound of feet on gravel. The breathing quickens, the sound of a muffled heartbeat gets louder. The footsteps come closer. They stop. Keys rattle and then slide into the truck lock. The lid creeks as it opens. The darkness continues.
Cavella: No, please. Please.
Frank: Shut up.
Hands clasp roughly. The shuffling of a people struggling. The suspension moans as the weight of a body leaves it. Feet touchdown on gravel. The breathing and heartbeat are at a fever pitch.
Cavella: Please, please, please, please.
Suddenly we are bathed in light. Slowly the white washed images of trees and a gravel road winding around a bend slowly come into focus. The sky is gray. It almost seems as if we are in an old black and white film, the brown leaves, gray bark and solemn trees, the sky overcast with white areas of light.
Frank: Move.
He shoves Cavella whose hands are bound in the direction of the tree line.
Cavella: What?
He glances to the trees. There is a deer trail entering the forest. Cavella turns to look at Frank, his fear is palpable.
Cavella: No, no I can’t. Not like this!
Frank slaps Cavella, backhanded, across the face. He grabs his jaw and pulls his face uncomfortably close. Frank states into Cavella’s eyes. Frank's expression is beyond anger, beyond hate, it is reminiscent of the look he had on that hilltop in Vietnam long ago. The emotionlessness is more disturbing than the rage. He shoves Cavella.
The pair walks into the trees. We see them walking along the trail.
PWJ: I bought this land outside Owls Head, a couple of years ago. I wanted a place that I could take scum that I wanted to take my time with. There are more than twenty scumbags buried here on these two hundred and thirty acres beneath the trees.
Cavella begins cry and wailing.
Cavella: Please God, I didn’t mean it. All the shit I done! I’m so sorry. Not like this! Walked out inna’ [frick]in’ woods like my father. Please God. My ma and sister didn’t deserve it, I know. Dad, you sonovabitch, this is your fault! You had to piss her off. Auntie Mo you [frick]in’ fat bitch. You made me like this, sick, crazy , child molesting bitch. I fixed your ass, smothered you with my dick in you, ya [frick]in’ [foo foo]! [frick] Auntie Mo, [frick] Auntie Mo. All the shit I done, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary it wasn’t my fault. That chink bastard, he coulda’ made a deal! It didn’t have to be like that! All those assholes owed Mo cash coulda’ paid. Please [frick]in’ Christ! Please. All the whores and those Westies in Boston. Please God, forgive me.
Frank: Stop.
Cavella comes back to his senses and looks around they are in a small clearing deep in the woods. The sun is shining now, the sky is clear.
Cavella turns to face Frank, hands slightly raised as if to ward off a blow.
Cavella: What are you going to do to me?
Frank levels his gun at elbow height.
Cavella: You’re just going to [frick]in’ shoot me?
Frank: Low, below the stomach. Let your guts fill up with shit. It’ll take you a day or two to die from blood poisoning. Not cold enough for you to freeze to death yet, but cold enough to extend your stay here.
Cavella: You’re just going to leave me here?
With a blinding motion Frank grabs Cavella by the shirt and jerks him close. Cavella’s head lands over Frank’s shoulder. Frank rams the Colt into Nicky’s gut well below the navel and just to the inside of his left hip. There are two muffled shots, the rounds burst through the mobster’s back leaving a fist sized hole just above his belt. Cavella’s face shows a blank expression, mouth agape.
Frank whispers.
Frank: In the end it doesn’t matter how you die, all the shit you did. You made it personal. All it did was buy you a little more pain than most. You can’t touch them, you never could. They are beyond anything you could ever do to them.
Cavella: Please.
Frank lets him slip from his grasp and fall limply to the ground. In Frank's gloved hand is his wife's locket, pulled free from Cavella's neck he stares at it and there is a slight tremmor within the man. For a moment Cavella stares at him stunned before looking down at his hands covering his wounds. He removes his hands and stares at the blood and clumps of yellowish undigested fecal matter wriggling from his abdomen. He rolls over nearly planting his face in the mud and releasing a guttural scream more animal than man. Frank stands over him staring blankly at the thing writhing in agony before him.
Frank turns his attention back to the locket on his hand the gold stands in stark relief against his black leather glove.
PWJ: In the end, the shooting stopped and the gun smoke cleared, and I could see again. Maria and Lisa and Frank Junior are gone where nobody can ever hurt them. Nothing shit like this can do will change that. In a year or two, when the cops and feds give up watching I’ll take the F Train out to Green-Wood and stand in front of the stone. In the sunshine like on the morning I lost them.
He holsters his weapon and slides the locket into the inside breat pocket of his pea coat.
Frank squats down into a catcher’s stance and watches Cavella thrash about on the mossy floor of the clearing. In the evening, the sky awash in stars we see Frank sitting by a fire his breath streaming away in the cool night breeze. On the edge of the campfire light we see Cavella in a fetal position crawling toward the fire, one hand holding his intestines the other roughly pulling his body along. In the morning we see Frank still watching the now barely moving Nicky he holds out a canteen. Nicky makes no motion for it. The next night we see Frank again by a fire and Cavell limply crawling away from him. The next morning dawns Cavella has dragged himself only ten yards in a nights time. He is sallow and sickly, flies buzz about him and we see dark birds circling ominously against the colorful dawn. Frank is standing in front of Cavella looking down on him. Nicky reaches weakly for Frank’s pant leg. He holds on for a moment and then his hand falls limp onto Frank’s boot. He looks down blankly and then lightly kicks it away. We see the view of Cavella’s drawn dead face in the foreground as Frank lumbers off into the woods alone.
PWJ: Out here the air is clear. The world makes sense. The silence keeps the secrets of the horrors of the places beyond the trees. I don't belong here. Its time that I went back to my world.
SCENE XXI – sic vita est
A Montage of sorts begins, with Franks War Journal narrating the events we see unfold.
We see a heavily bandaged Soap being given a medal by the Mayor.
PWJ: IN the end Soap was found by knocked out with a broken nose and wrist, and sever concussion by some neighborhood junkies who broke into the garage two days after the fire fight at the refinery. They rolled him of course, but at least called an ambulance after they stole his badge and cash. The papers loved it; head of the Punisher Task Force abducted by the vigilante himself, tortured and nearly murdered. Of course Soap never said he did most of the damage to himself. In the end he got a medal and a promotion and six weeks in the Bahamas to recover from his trauma.
Cops mill about the exterior of a brownstone, looking angry and dismissive.
PWJ: Sellers was fired after the pizzeria debacle. A few weeks later his neighbor heard a gunshot and called the cops. An hour later when one finally showed they found him dead in his office. The note said he blamed himself for the death of so many men from ESU. He should have.
Cavella’s body was found that May by some hikers. From what they could tell a bear had its way with the corpse. Over the years he has served as a cautionary tale verging on urban legend becoming more graphic with each telling; a warning to other criminals about what happens to those who would [frick] with my family’s rest.
As for me I got out of town for a couple of months to recuperate. When I came back a made sure that whoever took over the Cesares didn’t last long, it became a pet project of mine to this day. I got my hands on Frankie Marino at his girlfriend’s place a few weeks after I got back in town. Plastering a mob boss all over the sidewalk after a thirty story drop from an overpriced condo was a good way to get back to business.
Punisher War Journal: Saturday July 6, 1985. I visited my family today.
As a final shot we see Frank standing by the over the grave as the camera pulls back higher and higher through the trees and up higher until we see all of Brooklyn and then the five boroughs. There is a scream and a loud gunshot.
PWJ: The war never ends.
"Of all the evil I deem you capable. Therefore I want the good from you. Verily I have often laughed at weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Roll Credits….
So there you have it. For those of you that have read and posted on my ham-fisted attempts to convey this tale I cannot thank you enough. I have enjoyed trying to adapt the works of Gath Ennis with the little skill I have and only hope I did him some small modicum of justice. As for Mr. Ennis himself, I just want to say thank you sir. You have brought me hours of enjoyment with your incredible writing and immeasurable talent. Much love, sir.
Next up for me and my FanFic hobby is a step from the antihero genre to superhero supreme, yep I’m going after the Big Blue Boy Scout himself. Look for Superman: Sons of Krypton coming soon to a website near you. Superman, Brainiac, Lex, Mercy, Lois, and the most logical reason I could come up with to bring Darkseid to Earth for a JLA movie. Brace yourselves, because if you thought I [frick]ed up Punisher, you’re going to skin me alive for this one.