A long and never ending day (closed)

Buddy growled as he stepped out of his van at the end of the street. Brown leather shoes and a pin-striped suit made him look just about as suspicious as a fox in a birdhouse, at least in this part of town. He was feeling pretty sore after the boss had kicked his ass next way to India. 'Where the fuck does the guy get it from,' he thought to himself as he staggered up to full height, 6,2. Buddy was hell bent on getting this job right. If he screwed up again, he could be looking forward to a very long nap with the fishes, and he never were one for seafood. Opening the back doors of the black Honda, he found the envelope with the mission briefing. Lighting himself a cigarette, he looked over the files one last time.

Apparently the private eye had been a nuisance in the past, and the boss wanted to send a message. There was no name available, only his alias "Trickster", whatever the hell that meant. All in all, the info was very limited, not even showing a home address. He had been seen several times on this particular street, however, so it was a good place to start. At least the file had a picture from a security camera. Piss poor quality, of course.

Shutting the doors again, he spun around on his heel, and lo-- Was that the guy? No more than a few block away, a man was standing and tapping away at a phone. He matched the description alright. Buddy couldn't believe his luck. Just lure the guy away, whack him upside the head with a brick, and that'd be it. Piece of cake.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he begun walking towards the presumed detective, thinking if it'd be necessary to use the concealed handgun in his inner pocket. Probably not. Placing himself about a meter from the guy against the wall, giving him a good look (had to be him), he cleared his throat; "Hey. You're the, uh, Trickster?"

The air tensed a little between them. Buddy realized he wasn't the sharpest knife around, but he never did enjoy people pointing it out to him. Still, couldn't let his temper get the better of him. Not right now at least. He straightened up and tried his best to sound as professional as possible, with reasonable success at that.

"Yeh, i come with a job offer. My client needs someone with an eye for detail to help snoop out some loose ends. He'd prefer to remain anonymous however." Tugging at his jacket slightly, revealing the bundle of dollar bills in his pocket. "Interested? Somewhere we can talk?"

Just follow the steps. No worries. Guy's obviously down on his luck. Won't be able to resist a job offer. You take him somewhere nice and quiet and BANG. Payday.

Buddy stood up straight from the wall, flattening out his suit. Eyeing Tonio up and down, he gestured for him to follow. "Come along then. Know a good place not far from here." Rolling his shoulders back he started walking slowly towards an alley on the other side of the street. The wind started to pick up, the sky clouding over further.

The alley wasn't very impressive to look at. Blind. A few dumpsters sitting idly in the corner, graffiti tagging half the walls with pink and green. Smelled like trash and piss, but just distant enough for nobody to notice anything. Perfect all in all. 

Buddy didn't feel too good about this. Sure, boss gave some very clear instructions on permanently silencing the guy, but Buddy preferred to just rough 'em up a bit. After all, the guy was just trying to make a living. Couldn't blame him. Oh well.

He stopped abruptly at the end of the street, unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves without looking back over his shoulder, sighing slightly. "Sorry pal. Order's orders."

Puzzling, this job. Buddy had done in quite a few times in his life. Most fought back, screaming and yelling their lunges out. Others tried with false bravado, still snapping like twigs at the end of the brawl. Others just cried and begged. One even fainted. But this had got to be the first time he was asked to swing the first blow. World's strange like that. Unbuttoning his jacket, he bellowed; "You're a weird kid, Trick."

Buddy wasn't prone to letting a good opportunity pass him by. He clenched his teeth, tensed his muscles. Shifting his weight over, rolling his left shoulder back while turning around, the goon swung his fist around with the rough impact strength of a miniature airplane, aiming straight for the place he'd guess his head was located. It was a wild swing, though. 

The blow flew straight through the thin air in a perfect arch, hitting absolutely nothing. Buddy, being about a graceful as a drunk elephant, almost fell over his legs as the morning news blocked out his vision. Something about a lady drowning her cat. Tearing the paper from his eyes, he quickly realized that his target had somehow evaded around him. This brilliant deduction came from the street ahead of him being empty. The cane hit him hard between the shoulder blades, forcing him a few steps forward. His big size finally came into handy though, and he remained standing. Wasting no more time, he pulled out the handgun from it's hiding place, pivoted about and shot 2-3 random shots in Tonio's direction. The echo bounced off the walls several times, and screams could be heard from the street. If he had to clean up a few witnesses after, so be it. This guy turned out to be a heck of a lot more difficult than first expected. He had to work fast, though, as the cops could turn out here any minute. 

Buddy would have enjoyed cursing out loudly for missing the shots, but as the situation was now, his face was terribly occupied with getting better acquainted with the Tricksters boots. The blow forced him falling backwards, sound of a nose and a few teeth breaking, sending him flat on his back. His vision returned a few seconds later, seeing the private eye landing on his feet after an impressive display of acrobatics. Recovering quickly, in a cocktail rage of shame and wrath, he swung a hand towards his opponents legs, trying to grab on and pull him off his feet. The guy was fast, but if Buddy could get a secure grip on him, it didn't matter how fast he was.

As pointed out earlier, the goon was hellbent on not flopping this one. Failing an assignment was never pleasant. But when you work for Oswald Cobblepot, you're either an asset or a liability, and Mr. Cobblepot wasn't very keen on liabilities. It's impressive what a little motivation can help you fight through.

First success today, Buddy thought to himself, as he got a firm grip around Tonio's right ankle. The other eluded his grasp, grazed his already bleeding face, and impacted full throttle in his stomach, knocking the breath straight out of his body. He coughed violently, sending bits of blood and saliva flying in a cone before him. Making a foul grimace, he twisted himself up unto his feet, spinning on the spot and, if able to keep the firm grip, throw Trickster flying through the air into the side of a dumpster. However the outcome, he'd quickly fall down on his knees again, gasping for air, realizing too late that he'd dropped his firearm. 

"Y.. You're dead, fuc.. Fucko." Spoken like a true poet.