Mutt and Jeff
Jackson Roykirk believed it was better to be lucky than smart. Perhaps that was because he knew he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, while anyone could get lucky. And they were going to need some luck.
Benny didn't get it. As soon as he got back with the coffee, Jackson knew they'd resume their argument. All Benny could see was dollar signs. Just knock off a superfreak and they'd be in the big leagues. Which, yeah, it sounded good.
But how do you bell the cat? How do you lure one of those freaks out into the open so you can shoot them? They had an annoying tendency to be the ones doing the ambushing, in Jackson's experience. Especially the Devil, damn his eyes.
Not that some of them kept a particularly low profile. Jessica Jones lived right here in Hell's Kitchen...somewhere. Or Luke Cage, if he wanted to brave Harlem looking for him. A line from an old Bond film drifted up from Jackson's memory: "Brilliant disguise, Bond--a white face in Harlem!" No. And the Spider-Man hung out in Queens, for god's sake. Jackson hadn't been to Queens in...years.
Benny wanted to go trolling for heroes. Starting trouble here and there, hoping to lure a hero out so he or Jackson could shoot the bugger for his trouble. Moron. He was more likely to get pinched by the cops than to draw out a superfreak. And if he did draw one out, odds were they'd get their asses handed to them instead.
"Cap a superfreak, get a big payday" sounded like a great offer. But the more Jackson thought about it, the less he liked it.
Jackson saw Benny start across the street with their coffees. About damned time. And that's when Jackson's credo proved its worth.
A woman in a leather jacket and jeans was walking up the street right toward them. As Jackson watched, her hand glowed red hot and burst into brief flame before guttering out again.
Holy shit! She was a superfreak! Right here in front of him. He had no idea who she was. Did he know of anyone with a power like that? He shook his head--it didn't matter. What mattered was this the golden ticket, right here!
Benny kicked at the driver's door. Jackson leaned over, unlatched it and pushed it open. "Get in, get in!" he whispered hoarsely.
"Hold your horses--" Benny growled.
"Shut up and get the fuck in the car! This is it!"
Jackson's seriousness got through to Benny. He dropped into the driver's seat and swung his legs in. He handed one coffee to Jackson to free his hand to pull the door closed. "Awright, I'm in. What's the big deal?"
It didn't take long to bring Benny up to speed. The woman walked into the bodega while they talked. "I thought Iron Fist was a dude," Benny said. "I said her hand glowed like Iron Fist--you know what, it doesn't matter! Just get ready."
By the time the woman walked back out of the bodega with her own cup of coffee, both of their phones were recording video. Benny and Jackson were crouched on the far side of the sedan with the rifles in hand, ready to fire. Jackson and Benny locked gazes.
Jackson mouthed the countdown. "Three...two...one...go!"
They popped up to rest the rifles on the hood and trunk of the sedan and opened fire.