The Emerald Avenger flew overhead in the Avenging Eagle near Marco’s house, a drab green, old world home with a french window that opened to a balcony over the four-columned porch. He hadn’t decided which corrupted cop to go after next, so he’d terrorize Marco a bit.
Something pinged off the Avenging Eagle’s titanium underbelly, followed by a whole volley of pings. Bullets.
He looked down. Marco stopped shooting, jumped in his midnight Mercedes, and drove away. The Avenging Eagle took up pursuit. He caught up over the highway and scraped the roof of Marco’s car. Marco took a sharp right turn down an old mining road. The Emerald Avenger stayed on his tail.
Marco stopped his car, jumped out, and ran to a cave entrance about three feet wide and barely six feet high. He ran through the caverns until distant footsteps splashed.
He turned and cocked the rifle he’d hidden in the cave. “Avenger, one way or another, this ends tonight.”
The Emerald Avenger entered his scope. He fired.
Continued Next Tuesday
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