THE BLACK TIGER IS A MARTIAL ARTS BAD-ASS FROM DETROIT, MICHIGAN. EX-CIA, EX-COP, TURNED MOB HIT-MAN. UNTIL ONE DAY HE WANTED OUT, THEN ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. HE WAS SET UP BY HIS FORMER CRIME FAMILY, AND NOW HE’S GOING AFTER THEM!
A former cop sits on the edge of his bed in a cheap hotel and reflects back on his life. “I used to be one of the good guys…but now…I don’t know what to call myself.” He remembers the looks on the little kid’s faces as he came down the street in his new uniform. The respect they used to give him…the casual toss of a football to a guy they recognize from the ‘hood. He was one of them. A stint in the army, then joined the force. Later tapped for C.I.A. He was an outstanding asset to every organization he ever worked for. Then things went south. His wife left him, and he developed a drinking problem. He got kicked out of the agency and decided to open his own Karate School. He tried to keep it open, but after all, he had opened it in a run down area, and his students as well as their parents were dead broke. He took on work for the mob. 1st as a debt collector, then when that wasn’t paying enough, he became a hit man.
Today is the day he decides enough is enough. He never questioned who the target was before. But now, he realizes that the target is the father of one of his former students. “Dude was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He thinks.
“I ain’t gonna end him just for that”.
Time ticks on and the Mob Boss who ordered the hit sees that the deadbeat debtor hasn’t caught lead poisoning yet.
A ruthless underworld thug who climbed his way to the top of hell’s perch to sit in judgement as the king of crime lords over a ghetto filled with the poor to prey on, and recruit for his schemes. He went by the handle ‘Lefty’ for years, but then became known as “Sinistral”.
He snapped his bony, aging, arthritis ridden fingers to summon a henchman. The pain annoyed him to do so. He gave the order to bring in The Black Tiger.
The henchman grew slightly numb with fear. “Uh Boss….y-y-you mean by m-m-my-s-s-self?”
He smiled a wicked smile at him. Then amended the order.
“Take some muddufuckas wit-cha, if you need ’em. Now gits the fuck out ma face!” His voice had a whispery, serpent-like tone. He sat back in his lush, pimpy chair and smirked to himself at how clever he was. He would get rid of his light-weight henchman and put The Black Tiger on notice.
Carl Chance a.k.a The Black Tiger finishes up a friendly dice game in the alley. He usually lost, but tonight he was feelin’ kinda lucky. He walked away with pretty much what he started with, and a ten-spot more.
The pitter-patter of thuggish feet clodded behind him, for too long a ways. As he neared his dive, he decided to duck into the alley and let danger catch up.
Sinistral was bored so he visited a watering hole he was unknown in, but still part of his territory. His enforcers and collectors knew the joint and brought him his damned money, that’s all that counted. He followed a chick in, that looked like she was a workin’ girl. His first mistake of the night. He was a 69 year old hard case, ailing from old man-itis.
They only thing holding him up was the cheap Vodka, he started out drinking as a little shaver. Though he had better for his high rollers and friends if you could call them that. His knees wobbled when he walked, so he used a cane to steady his lean, mean, bony-bastard of a frame.
Seeing a near 70 year old drunk-ass with wobbly knees and a mo-fuggin’ cane would cause most young healthy thugs that they could handle him….but then again they would be wrong.
The lady was not a tramp, she just dressed like one. Sinistral flashed his gold toothy grin and showed the married woman a roll o’ hunnuds. Her husband grabbed “Sin” and being too tired to fight or stab accurately, flipped out his bitch-pistol (a Derringer) and put one in the man’s kneecap.
He handed the screaming couple his wad of cash, and whispered in his snakey voice to them “Git yo’ ni-gga to da damn hos-pi-ta and keep yo motha-fu-ckin’ mouthsss…..ssshut.”