Scratch

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                                             ***
  Kraft the Bounty Hunter stood on the rooftop of the National Bank. A shadow whipped past him, and he turned and threw, his hand blurring. The knife thudded into the metal door that led downstairs, and stuck.
  He ran for the door, and the shadow smacked him away. He flipped sideways and lunged, hitting the door and kicking off it, pulling his knife away. The shadow twisted, and he sliced, and the shadow was cut in half.
  Henry Spades appeared from the shadow, and there was a nasty graze on his left cheek. He didn't seem to care. Neither he nor Kraft wasted time on words, threats or demands. He simply swung his spade, and Kraft pounced.
  They collided, and rolled across the roof, each struggling to gain the upper hand. A pair of playing cards, an ace of hearts and ten of hearts, skidded onto the roof next to the combatants.
  "Blackjack," someone whispered, and the cards exploded. Dancing spots covered Kraft's vision, and he diagonally cut through the air. Henry Spades appeared again, and this time the cut was on his arm.
  Kraft threw, and his knife bounced off the spade, which twirled in Henry's nimble hands. "Too late." His mouth twisted into a savage grin, and hands reached around Kraft's neck, and pulled hard.
  Kraft jerked, choking, and flailed out behind, catching someone. He stumbled back, and turned, and three identical men faced him. He picked one at random and stabbed twice, but they just went through his chest.
  "Wrong," said all three.
  Another pair of cards landed on the roof. Another explosion, and he was knocked off his feet.
  Henry Spades scowled. "Stop fooling around, Blackjack."
  Blackjack clambered up the rooftop, two more cards in his hand. He dropped them, and fire engulfed Kraft.
  The three men surrounded him. "He's not dead yet."
  Blackjack looked faintly surprised. "Guess he's trained for fire."
  "Enough!"
  Kraft looked around, and where there were three men and two clones were five men and no clones. He coughed weakly. "Five Thieves..."
  "Yes, Five Thieves, because there are five thieves here, aren't there?" this came from someone who looked like a monkey and acted like a monkey, but who spoke like a boy. Nimblefinger, he was known.
  Kraft glanced at the last newcomer. He wore a top hat and clutched a cane, and bore the monocle he was known for.
  "Well, good day."
  Then Nimblefinger's hand blurred with inhuman speed, and warm liquid spurted on Kraft's face, and he closed his eyes and let the fire take him.