The chill night air did little to dampen his excitement. Though he moved not one tiny muscle, inside he was nearly vibrating with nerves. It was like this nearly every time. The sense of rightness when he put on the costume, the sense of power as he chose those tools necessary for the job—each and every time it was like this. It made him feel alive in a way nothing else had. Not even two hours of virtually motionless, patient waiting could dampen his spirit.

The briefest flicker of light from across the street caught his attention. The jewelry store was closed, but he had learned through his sources on the street that there was a meeting this night. Couriers were often employed to ferry precious gems from one location to another. It didn't pay to advertise, after all. Some couriers, however, were more circumspect than others, and preferred to keep their business personal. And some merchants weren't always particular about the origins of their merchandise. This merchant was one of those. He wouldn't fence stolen goods, but items that had been neglected or appropriated outside the normal means might find their way into his possession. It saved money on taxes, and the result was almost pure profit. Not a traditional crime, one might think, but circumventing federal regulations was still illegal.

Especially when the money made on such illicit deals was then invested in guns and ammunition to supply an international terrorist. Shady merchant dealings weren’t normally his bailiwick, but no one who killed women and children was going to do business in his town, no matter how many steps removed.

Another movement caught his attention just as he was about to move. Two figures, three, four, raced along the sidewalk and around the side of the jewelry store. The figure in the alley paused only briefly before quickly crossing the dim street, careful to avoid being in a direct line from the newcomers' path. They would post a guard.

A heist, in the midst of an illegal deal designed to finance one of the world's most hated men. The irony was almost too compelling to end, but he was who he was. Curiosity played a part, as well. Someone had targeted jewelry stores recently, and they were very good. It was something that would need looking into. Like maybe tonight. Like now.

He considered calling the police but decided against it for a variety of reasons, his personal and professional relationship with them being first and foremost. Then again, he didn't need to worry about the cops with as many enemies as he would make tonight. His hand brushed beneath his coat and came up holding a short three-foot pole. A button telescoped the specially designed weapon to a six-foot staff. It was a souvenir from an earlier scrap against would-be high-tech ninjas. It was his favorite weapon.

At the corner of the jewelry store he climbed quickly to the roof, finding handholds amongst the brick and gutters where none seemed to exist. Booted feet moved silently along the tar-and-gravel roof to the edge overlooking the alley. Yes, there was one man, standing just inside the recess of the back door. The other three would be inside.

It was short work to access the roof hatch, then lower himself down into the attic of the shop. Dust and the musty scent of mildew drifted up from the aging insulation as he crawled steadily forward, the plans of the store in his mind leading him directly over the office where he knew the deal would be held. Excited shouts below told him that the robbery was in progress. He smiled grimly beneath the mask.

Time to go to work.

Gently lifting himself to stand upright, the figure balanced himself on the support beams. Tucking the staff lengthwise next to his body he took a deep breath and jumped, bringing his feet together in one fluid movement. His body weight and momentum combined to drive him through the ceiling, dropping him into the office below amidst a shower of plaster and paint. Half a dozen surprised faces greeted him, three of them masked. And armed.

His staff flicked out once, twice, and one man was down before any could even react. The remaining two masked men turned to bring their weapons to bear, but they appeared to move in slow motion compared to the intruder. With practiced ease his left foot swung up and back, catching one of the men just under the chin. The last man managed to get a shot off before he, too, joined his friends, a thin trickle of blood escaping the eyehole of the ski mask. The vigilante repressed a sigh: he hadn't meant to hit the burglar that hard.

The three men remaining hadn't moved the entire time, their eyes flicking between the masked man who had so neatly saved them to the three masked figures on the ground, two lying perfectly still, the third moaning and stirring only slightly.

"Don't move," he rasped, then turned to exit the office. Sure enough, a shot rang out just as he entered the short hallway that led from the back of the store to the front. The fourth man, the guard. He fired again, and the vigilante tensed himself for action. The third shot never came, and he again peeked around the corner. Gone.

The three men were still where he had left them, though they spoke animatedly enough. One was older, a short man with a paunch and beads of sweat on his lip and expansive forehead. The other two were foreigners, probably of Arab descent, though that wasn't unusual in the gem business. Of a type, both were well-groomed and well-dressed, younger men, perhaps less than thirty, with smooth faces and dark eyes. A small velvet bag lay on the table, a dozen diamonds the size of thumbnails scattered about. There would be two more such bags in the case by the man's feet. Ten million dollars, his source had said. He believed him now.

"Thank you!" the older merchant gushed. "You have saved us quite a bit of money, and possibly our lives, as well. Please, tell us who you are that we may reward you."

"Shut up," he growled. His eyes were hidden behind shaded goggles but the men could feel the vigilante’s gaze upon them. "You came here to do business in my town, and to buy arms for your employer." Almost in unison the two Arabs opened their mouths to protest but he cut them off with a sharp gesture. "Don’t even argue. It wouldn’t do anything but waste my time and royally piss me off. As of right now your business here is concluded. Permanently. I already have your IDs on file. Today you walk away. Next time…” He trailed off with a cock of his head. He paused, his featureless mask instilling a sense of anonymous dread in the men. "Do you understand?"

They nodded. All three. He turned back to the merchant. "Same goes for you. Last time you dabble in questionable merchandise, understand?"

"Y-yes," he whispered, then nodded

The merchant glanced down and nervously reached for the diamonds. The staff blurred and the merchant drew his hand back with a gasp, sucking at his bruised knuckles.

"These I take with me, as a lesson to you." He gathered up the diamonds and shoved them into an inner pocket, then grabbed the case next to the merchant. “And since I have the diamonds, you don’t need the money, either.”

"Wait." One of the Arabs stood, his voice accented but commanding the language well. "Do not do this thing, for it will go bad with you."

He turned to regard the Arab carefully, memorizing every feature. Though his face was hidden the Arab somehow knew it would be that much worse if he could see the eyes that bored into him now. The Arab sat back down, nonplussed.

The vigilante stood a moment longer then left out the back, losing himself amongst the streets. He’d hide the diamonds for now. Later, after the merchant had filed an insurance claim, the masked man would return the diamonds in a most unfortunate manner, ensuring the merchant would at least be charged with fraud, if not something more. The authorities could deal with him then.

The money…well, that was a concern. Some of it would be distributed amongst a variety of charities. A bit more would make its way to those few widows and retired cops that he knew were legit. The rest would go toward upkeep, with whatever was left over hidden for future emergencies. It wasn’t the first time he’d paid his own bills in this manner, but he’d long since rationalized that taking money from criminals was better than turning it over to criminals with badges. At least this way he knew the money would be used to help the city.

The vigilante paused on a nearby rooftop to phone in an anonymous tip to the police about masked men at the jewelry store. That would tie up that little loose end.

He still had questions about the events of the evening, but he would follow-up later. It’d been a decent night’s work and he had to get away from the scene.

*****

An hour later he entered a building by the back door. It opened into a nearly-empty bar, two men sitting at the far end nursing their gin-and-tonics and not bothering to look up. A stocky man of perhaps sixty years stood behind the bar, idly wiping a glass while watching a muted television. He glanced at the newcomer with little expression, but he let out a slow breath as if he’d been holding it until that moment. The man nodded to the bartender as he tossed his coat to a chair and walked behind the bar to pour himself a shot.

The bartender waited until he downed it and had poured another.

"Busy night?" the man finally asked, running fingers through his hair. He was younger than the bartender, young enough to be his son. His face was strong, but his eyes were an icy blue, bright and piercing and intimidating all at the same time.

"Not bad," the man behind the bar said, his gruff voice as casual as he could make it. "Nobody died." He set the one glass down and picked up another. "You?"

He stared at his drink for a moment before answering. "The same." He downed the second shot and looked at the old man. He winked, and they shared a smile.