If he didn't act, they'd come for him next.
But now he was wondering if bringing men without guns was a mistake. He'd been told not to. Told it'd backfire.
But looking at the pile of broken limbs and bloodied grunts on the pavement...
It already has.
And James?
He wasn't done yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James was sure now.
This wasn't a coincidence. Hydra had planned it. Probably last-minute, but still planned.
The timing made that clear. Mindy got into one fight—and barely a minute later, the girl's father showed up with dozens of men? That kind of reaction doesn't happen unless someone's watching. Closely.
Too closely.
S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't shown up. He expected that part.
But the speed, the precision, the silence?
That reeked of Hydra.
Were they testing his strength?
Or trying to eliminate him?
It didn't matter. He filed the thoughts away and kept moving. Only a few thugs remained. He didn't waste time. No more dodging. He walked straight toward Scarface as he disposed of his men.
The last of the gang hesitated. Some backed away. Others looked toward Mindy—realizing she was the weak link.
Three broke formation and sprinted toward the R8.
The crowd gasped. Some yelled. A few screamed.
But James didn't stop to look. He just kept walking.
Mindy saw them coming. She glanced at the car door, then down at the pistol James had left beside her.
Her hand moved on instinct.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three clean shots. Three men dropped. All clutching a leg.
James didn't even glance back.
[Your Beretta has been discharged. Thirteen rounds remaining. No civilian injuries.]
Scarface stiffened as James approached.
"Let's talk," James said calmly. "Someone called you. Told you to come here. Too fast for this to be about your daughter's feelings. So who was it?"
Scarface swallowed. "Look, I don't want trouble. Someone called—gave details about my operations. Things no one should know. Threatened me. I didn't even get a name."
James believed him. Hydra wouldn't leave a name. Scarface was just a pawn.
That didn't mean he got a free pass.
James decked him across the mouth. A row of teeth snapped out of place.
Scarface dropped to his knees, blood dribbling down his chin.
"Your daughter," James said, "can transfer schools."
"Y-yes! Yes, she will! I'll make sure of it!"
If not for the facial scar, he might've passed as a respectable businessman. The suit, the watch, the expensive cigar. But now he just looked pathetic—on the ground, bleeding, humiliated.
A siren wailed in the distance.
What perfect timing.
James turned and walked back to the car.
He holstered the pistols, slipped on his jacket, and slid his ID into the breast pocket.
Then pulled out his phone.
"Philip," he said when the call connected.
"Yes, boss."
"Is the legal team ready?"
"Fully assembled. The international branch is still expanding, but the U.S. side is complete."
"Good. Send someone to New York. I'm suing the NYPD."
"Yes, sir."
Philip didn't ask why. In the U.S., suing the police wasn't unusual. Especially when you had the money to follow through.
James made a second call as the police cruisers finally skidded into place. Officers started forming a perimeter around the scene.
"Phil."
Coulson answered on the first ring.
"I sent a distress signal today," James said, watching the cops fan out. "No response from the New York Division. I think it's time for an internal review. Let me know when you're ready. I'll help."
There was a brief silence on the line.
Then Coulson responded, calm but sharp. "Understood. We'll handle it. And I'll be in touch soon."
James hung up.
Hydra had made their move.
Now it was his turn.