Paul Kupperberg on October 29th, 2010

When I started writing for Archie Comics about a year ago, the first script I turned in was a 10-page story entitled “All the Doggone Day!”

When I saw veteran Archie artist supreme Stan Goldberg at the NY Comicon earlier this month, I told him that my Archie-writing experience wouldn’t really be complete until he drew one of my scripts. He said he believed he had already done just that, though it was months ago and he didn’t remember the title.

Needless to say, the story Stan had drawn was “All the Doggone Day!” and what a beautiful job he did! See…

Hilarity, you can be sure, ensues! And it’s going to be published next week, in Archie’s Pals ‘N Gals Double Digest #146!

C’mon! You know you wanna…!

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Paul Kupperberg on October 21st, 2010

I was there, along with anywhere from 80,000 to 120,000 of my closest friends! I’m inclined to believe the lower number, but New York’s Jacob Javitts Convention Center was jammed packed with fans of everything from Superman to…well, I don’t know the names of any of the manga/anime characters who were parading around the hall, but there were lots of ’em!

I had a swell, if exhausting, time, meeting up with old friends from near and far (from one-time Vigilante collaborator, artist Tod Smith, who lives in the same state as I do, to artist Brian Bolland, all the way from England) and getting a little work in around the socializing. With some luck, a fairly major new project and several new clients will have come out of this show. I’ll keep you posted…

Archie Comics letterer Jack Morelli, me, and artist Dan Parent signing at the Archie Comics Booth
Being interviewed by the Loud Idiots online radio show at the Captain Action Booth with Phantom and Captain Action writer Mike Bullock
The panel for the Sequential Arts book, Gotham 14 Miles to which I contributed an essay. From left to right are: Michael Miller, Joe Berenato, I’m not sure, me, Mark Waid, Robert Greenberger, Peter Sanderson, and the book’s editor, my pal JSA Jim Beard at the podium
Speaking of old friends, this young lady and I have a bit of a history
And a new friend, the mighty Thor…Thorette?…

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Paul Kupperberg on October 6th, 2010

It’s comicon time! Woo-hoo!

The New York Comic Con 2010 hits the city’s Javitts Center Friday-Sunday, October 8-10 and I’m just Trendoid enough to want to be there! I’ll be there Friday and Saturday, how about you?

I’ll mostly be wandering around, checking in with friends, hanging out in artists alley, and looking for cool stuff to waste my money on, but I am scheduled for a few signings and one panel, so I hope you’ll come by and say hello and bring stuff to sign:

Friday, 1:00-2:00       Archie Comics signing (booth #2309)
            2:00-3:00       Captain Action signing (booth #2380)

Saturday, 1:00-2:00   Captain Action Signing (booth #2380)
                3:00-4:00   Archie Comics Signing (booth #2309)
                4:15-5:15   GOTHAM 14 MILE Anthology Panel (location TBA)

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Paul Kupperberg on September 10th, 2010

Just a taste, to whet your appetite! I wrote ’em, Norm Breyfogle penciled ’em, Andrew Pepoy and Joe Rubinstein inked ’em, and Archie Comics copyrighted ’em…!

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Paul Kupperberg on September 9th, 2010

While I usually use this space to flog more high-profile projects, like Life With Archie: The Married Life, Scooby Doo, or kids books from Stone Arch, I do write other stuff that wouldn’t, for the most part, be of interest to readers of this space…both of you!…Scorpions, Spiders, Centipedes and Millipedes, anybody?

One of my regular accounts is Dalmatian Press, for which I write coloring books (and things like Scorpions, Spiders, Centipedes and Millipedes)…lots of coloring books, based on DreamWorks animated properties such as Penguins of Madagascar, Kung Fu Panda, and Megamind (DreamWorks’ Will Ferrel-voiced winter release). While I don’t normally haunt the coloring book aisle, I happened to be in Toys ‘R Us the other day (where I do haunt the action figure aisle) and saw this:

So if you’re of a mind to do some coloring, head on over to your local toy store and look for The Penguins of Madagascar: Penguins on the Job and The Penguins of Madagascar: Team PenguinTeam Penguin coming, I should mention, with its own crayons…and, no, it hasn’t escaped my attention that two of the three properties I write these coloring books for feature penguins and a panda, critters that are black & white.

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Paul Kupperberg on September 5th, 2010

In either a burst of generosity or a fit of laziness, writer Keith R.A. DeCandido has offered the use of his blog, KRAD’s Inaccurate Guide to Life to his friends and fellow writers this Labor Day Weekend to promote their various projects.

I’ve taken him up on his kind offer and my contribution, ‘Everything’s Archie!’, is now up along with those of fellow guest-bloggers Steve Savile, Steve Paul Lavia, Aaron Rosenberg, Joan Marie Verba, Robert Greenberger, Dayton Ward, and others. Fine folks all, involved in some projects you might find of interest!

Much thanks to Keith for the use of his space (with his very kind introduction!) and for kick-starting our little experiment in cross-bloginazation.

A happy Labor Day to all…and don’t forget: the annual Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon is tonight! Watch Jerry! Give a little, it wouldn’t kill you!

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Paul Kupperberg on August 15th, 2010

Great article today in the New York Times about Archie Comics and its march towards building a media empire…just like we have Archie doing in the Archie Loves Veronica series!

Archie (c) Archie Comics

 
Hey, Archie! Want to Build an Empire?
By GEORGE GENE GUSTINES

(c) New York Times

HAS Archie Andrews “gone wild”? 

Last fall, Archie, the comic book redhead from Riverdale, got married — twice. (No worries: Archie is not a bigamist. The story line showcased two possible futures.) 
But those marriages haven’t stopped from him turning into a playa: he recently flirted and locked lips with Valerie, who is one-third of the all-girl band Josie and the Pussycats. 
And Archie’s recent forays into parody — in which he and his friends were reimagined as the stars of the “Jersey Shore” reality series and the “Twilight” films — have landed him write-ups on TMZ and MTV.com
At 68 years old, Archie is suddenly looking awfully spry. 
His new zest for life is the work of new management at Archie Comics. The team is aggressively trying to take the tried, true and previously lethargic Archie family of characters, including Betty and Veronica, Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Josie and her bandmates, and transform them into global brands in comics, film, apparel and more. 
“We’re at the beginning of the beginning,” says Jon Goldwater, co-chief executive of Archie Comic Publications. “We’re going to expand. Publishing will always be part of it, but we must morph into a multimedia company.” 
With more than $40 million in print and digital sales last year, Archie Comics, based in Mamaroneck, N.Y., is a small player in a large but unforgiving market dominated by DC Comics and Marvel Entertainment. Archie’s titles capture less than 1 percent of sales at comic book specialty shops, and the competitive challenge is only growing: Comics in general are battling the popularity of other distractions like video games and YouTube. And traditional readers of comics are aging, with no steady stream of new ones to take their place. 
But comics alone are not what generate the hundreds of millions of dollars that characters from DC and Marvel can rake in, which is what Mr. Goldwater wants to emulate. 
Enter Hollywood, where comic book characters can sometimes lead to box-office blockbusters and ancillary merchandise. Last year, the Walt Disney Company acquired Marvel for $4 billion and gained access to Spider-Man, the X-Men and thousands of other characters. In February, DC Comics was reorganized by its parent company, Warner Brothers Entertainment, with an aim to make Superman and his fellow heroes available anywhere a consumer lurks. 
Archie, clearly, is no superhero, but that’s not necessarily a negative. His stories lend themselves to comedy or romance, says Ira Mayer, the publisher of The Licensing Letter, a newsletter for the licensing industry. “It’s a property that actually has some personality, so you can build on that,” he says. 
The risks and potential rewards in such an effort go from “zero to billions,” says Mr. Mayer. (For example, the recent “Batman” films were a phenomenon, while “Jonah Hex” was not.) “You have to appeal to various demographic groups,” Mr. Mayer says, and while baby boomers may know Archie, “that’s not enough to grow a business on.” You need to build a younger audience, he adds, and “you have to make it relevant.” 
One Archie enthusiast is Mark Freedman, the president of Surge Licensing, who in the late 1980s helped turn the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, an independent comic book, into top-selling toys, an animated series and films. He pursued Archie for about 18 months to win a contract to license the company’s entire family of characters. “It’s kind of the flip side of the superhero market, a soft intellectual property aimed more at girls,” he says. 
And thanks to Archie’s longevity, a nostalgia factor is at work. But that eternalness has a downside. “The problem that the Archie people have always had is the changing times of teenagers,” says Mark Evanier, a comic book historian. “Dating is not what it was when Archie was created.” 
In the past, Archie was also perceived as out of touch. “I think there’s been periods when you can tell that Archie comics had been written by men in their 50s,” Mr. Evanier adds. “It’s nice that the folks at Archie have met this problem head-on because to not do anything would give them a greater problem: it would make them irrelevant and corny, like a 1950s hygiene movie.” 
ARCHIE’S roller-coaster ride began in May 2009, when word leaked that this seemingly perennial bachelor would marry Veronica Lodge, one of his longtime love interests. That news — and its twist, revealed in October, that Archie would also marry Betty Cooper — made headlines worldwide. 
“That was the tipping point,” says Mr. Goldwater. “It let people know that Archie was still here. We don’t have a television show or an animated series or a feature film, but we were all over the media.” 
The company’s latest project, which began this month, is “Life With Archie,” a magazine-size publication that is part comic book, part “Teen Beat.” Each issue will contain two comic book stories — one chronicling his future with Betty, the other with Veronica — and special features like casting calls for “Archie” films or one-offs like “The Archie Guide to ‘Glee.’ ” 
The magazine-size comic was more attractive to retailers, according to Chip Smith, the vice president for client services at Kable Media Services, which distributes Archie, Dark Horse and other comics to traditional brick-and-mortar stores. “The retailer community is geared to a regular-sized magazine,” he says. “Comics don’t fit that mold anymore.” 
“Life With Archie,” Mr. Smith says, is bigger, better and provides more space, editorially and on the display shelves. It will also increase the comic book presence outside specialty stores. The magazine will be sold at a selection of CVS, Walgreen, Wal-Mart, Target, Toys “R” Us, Barnes & Noble and Rite Aid stores. Widening the availability is a main ingredient in the Archie plan. 
“I hate to denigrate comic book stores,” says Michael Uslan, a comic book historian and the writer of the wedding story line. “They are wonderful, but for a kid to buy an Archie comic or for a parent to buy an Archie comic for a kid, they are not going to go to a walk-up in a bad part of town.” Having the comics at drugstores and toy stores, he says, will make them “more accessible to the masses and not just the fan boys.” 
Mr. Goldwater says the new format was easy to enact. “There’s no board I had to take that to; we made the decision right there,” he said. “We’re mom-and-pop, but we’re nimble.” 
Mom-and-pop is right. Archie Comics was first known as MLJ Comics, which was derived from the first initials of the partners Maurice Coyne, Louis Silberkleit and John L. Goldwater. The company began publishing in 1939, but Archie did not have its premiere until Pep Comics No. 22, published in December 1941. 
In his heyday, in the 1940s, the character sold “well over a million” copies an issue, says Mr. Uslan, and the company reflected that popularity by officially becoming Archie Comics in 1946. “He was the poster child for everything going forward,” says Mr. Goldwater, 51. 
In April 2009, Nancy Silberkleit, 56, the daughter-in-law of Mr. Silberkleit, and Mr. Goldwater, the son of John L. Goldwater, the creator of Archie, came on board as co-chief executives. They took over after Richard Goldwater (Mr. Goldwater’s half-brother) and Michael Silberkleit (Ms. Silberkleit’s husband), who had led the company, died within months of each other. 
Mr. Uslan likes to call Archie “a sleeping giant,” and Mr. Goldwater wants to awaken it. 
“The previous administration had no interest to grow the company” like a DC or Marvel, he says. Worse, revenue had fallen in the previous couple of years. “The company had been neglected, and the bottom line suffered,” he says. “That has turned around.” (The old regime did at least one thing right: the “Sabrina the Teenage Witch” television series, Mr. Goldwater says, generated more than $500 million in revenue for its partners.) 
Before the wedding, single-issue sales for Archie at comic book stores were near the bottom of the month’s top 300 comics. They averaged around 2,455 copies. The first issue of the marital story line moved nearly 60,000 copies, and new issues have averaged just above 5,000. Mr. Goldwater says that mail-order subscriptions, across all Archie titles, are also up. 
In 2009, the comic book industry had about $680 million in sales of single issues and trade paperbacks, down from $715 million in 2008, according to Milton Griepp, the publisher and founder of ICv2, an online trade publication that covers pop culture for retailers. Despite the overall industry dip, Archie has had some small gains. As of June this year, Archie Comics is the 10th-ranked publisher, Mr. Griepp noted, up from 15th a year earlier. Marvel controls 39 percent of the market, followed by DC Comics, at 32 percent. Neither Marvel nor DC would comment on Archie Comics’ plans. 
The comic industry went through a significant but temporary boom in the 1990s. The growth was fed primarily by speculators who bought comics as investments and were attracted to event story lines like the “death” of Superman. In those days, millions of copies of a single significant issue could be sold. These days, however, one issue of a popular story may generally sell just 100,000 to 250,000 copies — though a Spider-Man comic featuring President Obama sold more than 520,000 in 2009. But the overall decline shows how the search for new readers is of great importance to the industry. 
BRINGING Archie into the modern age was one of the first goals of Mr. Goldwater, who had also worked in the music industry. He told the editorial team to take chances and be contemporary. 
“Look, Archie is fantastic,” he says. “It’s been built up over generations and decades, but we need to step forward and reflect what kids are going through today.” 
Mr. Goldwater’s 19-year-old daughter, Shannon, helped lead to the introduction of Kevin Keller, who is blond, blue-eyed and openly gay. She told her father that some of her classmates were gay and wondered, “How come Archie doesn’t have any gay friends?” 
Kevin is not a gimmick, according to Victor Gorelick, the co-president and editor in chief at Archie. 
“He will be part of Archie’s world,” says Mr. Gorelick, who has been with the company since 1958. 
Another of Mr. Goldwater’s initiatives was to embrace the digital realm. “I learned that lesson from the music business,” he said. “They fought against digital and got burned.” In June last year, Archie rolled out its first digital comics for portable devices. The revenue on the Archie app, Mr. Goldwater says, has increased monthly since it was first offered. It was not until this year that Marvel and DC Comics aggressively entered this arena. 
Mr. Goldwater says that for Archie, digital comics have not cannibalized print sales, as some comic book companies feared. The company plans to release exclusive digital material starring some of its other characters: the model Katy Keene, Li’l Jinx as a teenager, and Josie and the Pussycats. Archie is also in early talks to provide content to a mobile carrier in Japan. 
The first ancillary products out of the gate will be apparel: sleepwear, caps and Halloween costumes. A line of T-shirts that will soon be available at Urban Outfitters and Target stores includes one of Archie, Betty, Veronica, Jughead and Reggie crossing a street in Beverly Hills à la the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” album cover. 
There may be other music in Archie’s future. Nancy Silberkleit, who describes her background as mother, housewife and schoolteacher, is in charge of scholastic development and theater — but she is coy about discussing rumors of a possible Archie musical. “It takes three to four years to develop a musical or Broadway show,” she says. But “I feel confident in the connections that I have made that it will happen.” 
Ms. Silberkleit has more to say about a project she has started: Comic Book Fairs, a program that uses Archie comics to promote literacy. It also helps schools to raise money by selling comics, with 40 percent of the proceeds going to the institution. 
Other possible ventures for the company include new TV series, animated shows and live-action movies — though all of those also take time to develop. To help in that quest, Archie has signed up with William Morris Endeavor. 
The full extent of the company’s library of characters goes back to the Shield, whom Mr. Uslan called “the first patriotic superhero.” The Shield, whose costume was based on the American flag, had his premiere in 1940 and predated Captain America by a year. 
Superheroes will return to Riverdale next year, when Mr. Uslan unveils heroic personas for Archie, Betty, Moose and the rest of the gang. He also has a grim surprise coming up in “Life With Archie”: the death of a major character. 
“Riverdale is not Gotham City or Metropolis,” he warns. “They don’t die and show up again a year later.” 
Mr. Goldwater will probably be happy if the character’s demise generates the same buzz as the “Jersey Shore” and “Twilight” parodies. He asks: “When would Archie have ever been mentioned on TMZ or MTV before?”

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Paul Kupperberg on August 9th, 2010

Superboy © DC Comics

The Adventures of Superboy #55, that is.

Or, should I say, the unpublished Adventures of Superboy #55!

In 1984, I was the writer on the monthly Superboy title (as well as the monthly Supergirl, and probably a quarter of the other Superman titles, including DC Comics Presents) when we got canceled in the middle of a story. In all fairness, the intention was to bring Superboy (and Supergirl, whose monthly was also canceled at the same time) back in the 48-page DC Double Comics, several issues of which I’d written before some brightbot came up with the idea of Crisis on Infinite Earths and retconned half my monthly output out of existence.

As a result, the ongoing story threads in Superboy #54 (including Pa Kent’s political problems and subsequent murder trial) were left dangling…and fans have long badgered me to find out what happened in The New Adventures of Superboy #55…and, the thing is, I’d forgotten! I didn’t even have a copy of the script and, in fact, no memory of having ever written the issue. I had it in my head that we just stopped with #54 and then I started writing the new direction stories for Double Comics.

But, a couple years back, Paul Levitz, combing his files, found a stash of old scripts from Julie Schwartz’s files, most of them “written off” by DC in the 1980s (this is a tax thing, charging the costs of unused material against taxes as a business loss), including the original scripts for #55, as well as Double Comics #1 and #2, all with Julie’s hand edits (this was written in the typewriter days, on an IBM Selectric, IIRC). As soon as I started reading the #55 script, it all came back to me, but, until then, as I said, I had no recollection of having written it!

If you’ve been wondering all these years how things were supposed to turn out, here’s your chance to find out! You can now buy a copy of the unpublished script to The New Adventures of Superboy #55 over at Crass Commercial Kupperberg and finally complete your collection, only 24 years later!

(This has been a crassly commercial advertisement brought to you in the spirit of cheap shilling. We’ll return to real postings sometime in the next couple of days.)

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Paul Kupperberg on July 31st, 2010

Sometimes straight from the doggie’s mouth…!

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Paul Kupperberg on July 25th, 2010
Once upon a time (1988), I created and wrote a comic for DC called Checkmate!. which ran for about 33 issues, and was recently revived by DC for another 30 issue run, playing a major role in whatever mishagas the DC Universe recently through. But way back when, I apparently had the bright idea to do a Checkmate! novel and even went so far to write a couple of chapters. I don’t remember doing this, but then, I have so many bright ideas, who can keep track? The date in the story itself is 1990, so I’m assuming that’s around when I wrote it. Here’s the first chapter (heavily influenced, I notice, by Adam Hall’s style in his Quiller novels…highly recommended!):

Checkmate (c) DC Comic
Everything else (c) Paul Kupperberg


Chapter One

New York City.  September 5, 1990.  1:36 A.M.

Twisted metal.  Safety glass popcorned from impact, little diamonds littering the pavement, glistening in the lamplight.  Acrid gasoline stench.  Hissing steam from mangled engines.  The cemetery stillness of night.

And the dead.  Innocent and guilty alike.

Time’s still speeding, senses heightened by adrenelin.  Heart pounding, blood pounding, head pounding.
          
This is the worst moment, when it’s over.  Slumped against a wall, skin itching, the whole being surprised to be alive.  It takes the conscious mind a while to catch up with the environment, adjust to the cessation of danger.  And fear.  That was a big part of it, the motivating factor in survival.  Fear of death, or worse, of pain.
          
The other players in this game were lucky.  They weren’t going to have to deal with pain.  I was luckier, because neither was I and I was still around to appreciate the fact. 
          
And wonder who the hell wanted me dead. 
          
Wrong question.  My line of work is all about people wanting to kill me, for one reason or another.  The right one would be, who wanted to kill me at this particular moment in time?  I haven’t been active for almost two months and I’d been in New York for less than an hour, my flight having just landed at Newark Airport.  Even in this city the odds of having a car full of heavilly armed individuals trying to blast you and your taxi to bits in the heart of Manhattan inside of sixty minutes are astronomical.  So either I’d won some bizarre sweepstakes, or somebody is real unhappy me with.
         
 I wasn’t being presumptuous assuming I was the target of the attack.  The only other warm body in the vicinity during the incident had been the cab driver, one Mohammad Hardeji according to the hack license on the dashboard.  He took the first hit when the black sedan had pulled abreast of us on Houston Street, splattering his head like an overripe melon in mid-complaint about those sorry bastards at the Taxi and Limousine Commission.  I was doing what I’ve done with verbose taxi drivers the world over, tuning him out with thoughts of the nice, soft bed awaiting me uptown at the Plaza Hotel.
         
 I guess two months out of the saddle blunts the edge, dulling the instincts that you rely on to keep you alive while a mission’s running.  I didn’t do more than glance at the Buick as it came alongside the cab before settling back in my seat and closing my eyes, wishing Mohammad would shut up.
        
Something exploded.  Glass shattered.  Mohammad screamed, a high pitched cry of terror and pain cut short by the disintegration of the top of his head, his hands reflexively jerking the wheel to the left.  I didn’t get it right away, sitting up ready to deliver a few well chosen words about his driving skills.  That’s when the flying glass and bits of human tissue flew into my face and the reality of what was happening hit me.
        
I didn’t know what or why, and it wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference if I had.  The cab was careening out of control, bumping up over the curb while automatic weapon fire chewed up its side, and me without a weapon handy.  They didn’t let you carry artillery onboard airplanes these days.  Damned stupid regulation as far as the good guys go, at least from my current vantage point.  But who the hell thought I’d need one for the cab ride between airport and hotel?
        
The Buick was speeding past us, guns trailing heavy fire out its windows.  Forget them!  The emergency, any emergency, was composed of moments, fragile slivers of time, each holding their own danger.  The worst mistake you can make is not taking them in order, one at a time.  Start thinking ahead and the control is lost.  Concentrate on the instant.
          
The instant: Mohammad was slumped over the wheel, a dead man steering us straight towards a brick wall.  I didn’t know if I was going to survive the bullets, but I wanted the chance to try and that meant I had to get out of the cab in one piece.  I was over the back of the front seat before I even knew what I was doing, shoving aside what was left of Mohammad, grabbing the wheel, fumbling to find the brake pedal with my foot.  I felt it under my shoe and squashed it down to the floorboards.  The brakes caught with a tortured squeal, but we were going too fast, the brakes locking and the cab sliding without any appreciable slowing.  I spun the wheel hard, feeling the automobile about to tip over before slamming into a wall broadside with spine jarring impact.
         
 The instant: The Buick was skidding around in the middle of the street, coming back around for another straffing run at the cab.
        
The instant: I slapped the gear shift into reverse and jammed down on the gas, gunning the car back onto the street, then into drive.  The Buick was coming for me, so I went to them.  They wouldn’t expect that.  The victim is always supposed to turn and run in the face of overwhelming firepower, right?  The Buick’s driver tried to swerve, but there wasn’t time or space.  I stayed with the cab just long enough to make sure of that before I yanked open the door and rolled out onto the pavement, still rolling as I heard the metallic scream of the head on collision.
          
The instant: I was on my feet, adrenelin filling my ears with a dull roar.  I’d taken the initiative; the trick was to keep it, not let my adversaries regain their balance.  Don’t do a single damned thing they might expect.  Drive straight at them.  Charge into their guns.  Take away the security they derive from superior numbers and heavy firepower.  Make them wonder just what the hell kind of suicidal maniac they were dealing with. 
         
 The instant: An unsteady figure in a dark suit dragging himself out of the crumpled sedan’s window on the driver’s side, steam hissing from the mangled front ends.  I was on him, charging out of the obscuring cloud of steam before he was halfway through the window.  He had his gunhand outside the car, leveraged against the door panel to help pull himself out.  He saw me and started to bring up his weapon, a Steyr A.U.G. autoloader, but I slammed my foot into his wrist, pinning his arm against the door and jamming my elbow down into his throat.  If he made a sound, I didn’t hear it over the rush in my ears and the escaping steam.  The Steyr dropped from dead fingers as he slumped in the window frame.
          
The doors on the passenger side of the Buick hadn’t been jammed shut by the collision and they flew open as I stooped to retrieve the fallen weapon.  Timing is everything, because as I bent, the two other occupants of the car opened fire over the sedan’s roof, bullets ripping the air over my head. 
         
 But the score had just evened up.
          
My hand closed around the weapon, my arm swept up, finger tightening on the trigger to unload what was left in the magazine through the window at their exposed bellies.
          
A dotted red line chewed its way across the face of a white shirt framed in the window, just above his belt, smashing him backwards and out of sight.
          
Two down, one to go.
          
The Steyr was empty, a useless hunk of metal and plastic that I disgarded.  The last man was on the far side of the Buick, crouched down below the level of the window, out of range.  He had a clean shot at my ankles and feet under the car; he could cover me coming around either end of the wreckage.  That left me with the option of going over the top.
         
 I took it, heaving myself up on to the roof, sliding on my stomach across the polished surface.
          
He heard me scrambling over the roof and was rising as I came for him.  He was too smart to expose himself, pointing the gun over the edge to fire blind at me.  I grabbed the barrel as he squeezed the trigger, jerking the weapon to the sky and throwing my full weight over the side and tumbling to the street, landing on top of him without letting loose of the chattering weapon.  I felt something in his arm snap as we hit the pavement in a tangle of thrashing arms and legs.  He howled but I didn’t care.  I wanted the son of a bitch to hurt, let him know he’d messed with the wrong man, prepare him for even more pain if he he had any thought of giving me a hard time when I got around to asking him why I’d been targeted.
          
He wasn’t ready to hang it up just yet, even flying on one wing.  He kicked out at my face.  I caught his ankle in the V of my crossed wrists, yanking up and twisting in the same movement, another bone giving way.  I leaned forward and dropped down to one knee, cushioning myself from injury on the hard pavement with the soft tissue of his groin.  His whole body heaved up, almost doubling over from the mind numbing agony of having my entire weight crushing down into his most delicate spot.
         
 Had I been thinking rather than merely reacting to the outside stimuli of attack, I probably would have admired the guy’s tenacity.  Wrist and ankle broken, balls squashed under my almost 200 pounds, he wasn’t giving up.  With his good hand he’d been groping for his fallen gun and found it, smashing it with everything he had left in him into the side of my head.  I went over, tiny stars of light exploding in front of my eyes.  I wasn’t feeling any pain from the blow, that would come later, but for now there was just the sensation of warm wetness oozing down my cheek from the gash in my forehead.  I was bleeding red.
          
Seeing red.
          
So I took him. 
         
 The heel of my shoe found his nose and mashed it into his face, jamming the stiff cartilage up through his sinus cavitity and into the soft mass of his brain.  His mind was dead several seconds before his body got the message and stopped twitching.
        
I was gasping for breath, shaking my head like a wet dog to clear the blood from my eyes, staggering to my feet.  The adrenelin was still pumping, but with the danger over, I didn’t have any way to burn it off.  I just had to wait for the glands to stop manufacturing it, for the uncontrollable shaking and stimulation of every nerve ending to die down.  Only then would it be truly over as far as my body was concerned.  But considering the alternate scenario, I could wait it out.  Gladly.
          
And that’s where I found myself now, propped against a wall, wondering why I’d just gone through this madness.  I didn’t have anything even remotely close to an answer, and I wasn’t about to get one from the trio of corpses with which I’d littered the Manhattan streets.  Maybe they’re carrying something that could point me in the right direction.  A long shot; they were professionals and pros don’t carry identification.  The best I could possibly hope for was to get a Scenes Investigative Team out here to do their usual fine tooth combing of the bodies and car. 
         
 Except for the thin, distant wail of sirens. 
         
 Far away, but getting closer, and fast.  There had been enough shooting to attract an army of cops.  From the sound of things, they’d be here in a matter of moments, which left me with two choices.
         
 I can wait for them like a good little citizen and spend the rest of the night in a New York police precinct, trying to explain what just went on without blowing my cover.  Local law enforcement agencies don’t usually take kindly to shoot ‘em ups in their streets, especially when they’re between members of a government intelligence agency and a car load of assassins.  Something about the feds in any capacity sets their collective teeth on edge in some strange territorial imperative.
          
Good luck on that score.
          
Or I could leave this mess for them to clean up and figure out on their own while I reported in to the nearest safehouse, getting what little information I had to people who could do something with it.  My superiors would handle the N.Y.P.D.  They won’t like being shut out of a triple homicide on their own turf, but things are tough all over.
        
I’m gone before the first patrol car screeches to a stop beside my handiwork.

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