“RUMBLE!” roared Sergeant Major General, and barreled headfirst into the nearest thug. Kirk Bill, a noted pugilist, parried a knife thrust from the knife-fingering thug and felled him with three jabs to the face and an uppercut to the jaw, then pivoted, ducked and angled up to deliver a knock-out blow to an advancing chain-swinging ruffian. Who had ever seen a man so beauteous in action!
Meanwhile, Sergeant Major General smashed one thug’s nose into his brain cavity with a well-placed head-butt, blood and cerebrospinal fluid spattering across the field of battle, which would have looked awesome in slow motion had anyone thought to bring along a motion-picture camera. Then he body-slammed another miscreant into a wall and took his lead pipe to crack across the knees of another.
“This is the life, Bill!” he yelled in delight, as he snapped a gang-member’s arm.
“Quite so, my dear friend!” Kirk Bill called back, slipping and bobbing before a particularly large and hairy brute, eventually ducking so that the brute smashed his hairy fist into the wall. Kirk Bill dispatched him with a punch to the throat, which left him gasping. (The brute, not Kirk Bill, who had barely raised a sweat. Also his hair wasn’t even tousled).
“I could fight all day!” Sergeant Major General’s face was alive with the thrill of battle, as he jumped on the leg of a prone man trying to get up, then seizing the man’s nostrils with two fingers and ripping them open.
Soon the gang members were either fled or groaning broken on the ground, their leader the last to fall.
“Who – is – your – dentist?!” Sergeant Major General screamed, in between blows to the head. (The gang leader’s head, that is).
“Ease up, old friend,” Kirk Bill commanded. “He can’t tell us anything if he’s unconscious.”
The gang leader spat. (Spit, mainly, but also a tooth and some blood and a little bit of the spinach he’d had for dinner which had been stuck in his teeth). “I won’t tell you anything,” he snarled.
“Ooh ooh can I give him a Chinese burn, Bill? Can I?” Sergeant Major General hopped up and down in excitement.
“Oh alright,” said Kirk Bill, “but keep him alive.”
When the gang leader was screaming in pain Kirk Bill signaled to General to stop. “Who is your master?” he asked, pulling the gang leader’s head off the ground by his hair.
“And your dentist! Who is your dentist?”
“Later, General. Now, where can I find your master?”
“We receive our orders,” gasped the gang leader, “from a lawyer named Mybug, on Fleet Street. He communicates with the High Priestess. He told us to watch the opium den and to follow any persons who didn’t look like they were there to participate in iniquities”.
“Hmm. Interesting.” Kirk Bill looked thoughtful, as his giant brain considered the implications of this intelligence. “And this High Priestess – what is she priestess of, exactly?”
The gang leader looked at him as if he were mad. “Kill me if you must, but I won’t tell you that. My life wouldn’t be worth living! I’ve already said too much and will be punished horribly for my failures.”
“What about your dentist? Can you tell us that?” asked Sergeant Major General.
“Never!” whispered the gang leader.
“Bah!” grumbled Sergeant Major General, kicking him in the right kidney for good measure. “Let’s go ferret out this lawyer Mybug, Bill.”
As they turned to go, the gang leader started to laugh, wheezingly. “You’re dead meat, you know,” he said, “she’ll get you. You’re doomed!”
Kirk Bill turned back. “Who will get us?” he asked.
The gang leader clutched his ribs and smiled a malicious, not-quite-so-nice-anymore smile. “The EYE!” he shrieked, suddenly, laughing hysterically. “The EYE will come for us all! Ha ha ha ha!”
TO BE CONTINUED