"Don't worry about my brother," Nora said.
"I really need to get going anyway," Ben said. He hesitated before leaning over and giving Nora a kiss. He handed her keyring back and headed out.
"Really? You're taking up Dad's job of trying to scare off my boyfriend?"
"I did nothing," I said.
"Yeah, but you've got that whole glare and body language like you're about to rip someone to shreds. You picked it up from Dad." She tried to glare at me, but with her face, it was just comedic. "Where's Donny anyway?"
"You mean you don't remember?"
"Remember what?"
"It's Monday, he left for that traineeship with a team on the west coast. Anyway, he left a voicemail earlier. Said something about having the time of his life. Couldn't understand much, he was gushing the whole time. I figure that means he's all right."
"He's probably just happy to be away from your gloomy ass."
"Jack asked me to patrol with him tonight. Will you be all right?"
"You did not just ask me that. I've kicked super-villain butt; I can handle a night alone in my own home."
"I wasn't aware they'd upgraded 'Little Piggy' to a tier-one threat." I suppressed a laugh at Nora's expression. "If you're not tier one, you don't get the adjective 'super', what was he, four, five?"
"Knock it off. I still beat him on my own. Besides, he never went by 'Little Piggy.'"
"No, that's just what everyone called him."
"I'll be fine. Go keep Jack company."
Part 2
I hate the fabric hero costumes are made from. It's alien tech and is one of the few fabrics that can withstand the abuse the average wearer puts it through. If you run one type of charge through it, it becomes elastic, stretching to many times its original size. The opposite charge, and it clings to you like an armored hide. Not armored enough to stop bullets but enough to prevent most scuffs, scrapes and lacerations. The aliens who make the stuff see the body as a work of art, regardless of shape, and they see nothing wrong with clothing that adheres to every little curve and feature. I, however, disagree. So under this black-and-charcoal gray second skin, I had a few choice undergarments from the Community Fund catalog.
To most people, the Community Fund is a charitable organization which sells hero merchandise to finance schmaltzy, feel-good projects like community centers, playgrounds, and shelters. It's also a well-financed hedge fund and manufacturer of dozens of different products. It's there to provide the lowliest of the community members access to the same hardware as the most connected of us. Little things like comm gear, body armor, trackers, impact resistant electronics, and so on. The line launcher and slim form parachute are quite popular with those of us who can't fly.
Access to the fund is based upon how much good you've done and how long you've been with the community. My account is limited, consisting mostly of transfers from Dad. That's why I don't have a line launcher and have been staring down at Fifth Street from four stories up for a while now.
The oversized domino mask might be a tad cliche, but Mom designed my outfit. Which is probably why I've never changed it. While the mask didn't improve my night vision any, it also didn't hamper it. While I stared down at the intersection of Fifth and Avenue C, I tried to look as though I was keeping an eye out for troublemakers. All I was really doing was looking for the easiest way across without getting spotted. I might have made provision for my modesty, but "Shadowboy" would look like a bit of a fool dashing across the intersection in plain sight.
"I have to practically hover the whole time to not lose you," Jack said.
"Yeah, yeah, you can pace an airliner at cruising speed," I said. "My best speed can't beat a marathon in less than eight hours." Actually, it was barely less than nine, but by that point, I was just glad I made it to the finish line. It would have been my moment of glory, but the chatter afterward set off a debate about who was faster between Jack and Nora. That led to their race at the salt flats and quickly overshadowed me. Completing a marathon at fifteen doesn't hold a candle to breaking the sound barrier on foot. I should have taken up chess.
"Do you want me to carry you?" Jack asked with absolute sincerity. I bit back my rage. He honestly thought he was being helpful; that was the infuriating part.
"No," I said, eyeing a fire escape. "I'll walk." As I approached the ladder, I heard voices from the alleyway below. Peering over the edge, I took in the scene.
"Look, Lady, we're going to get our money one way or another." The one who'd spoken was the apparent leader of a gang of youths in denim and leather. She was clad in a denim jacket two sizes too small for her; a pair of leather pants and a purple tube top. The hair on the top and back of her head was long and bright blue, while the sides were shaved to stubble. In a steady grip, she held a machete longer than her forearm. The two figures encircled by the gang appeared to be at least twice the age of the oldest gang member. They were a black couple. The woman was rotund and dressed in a pink suit. She reminded me of a far more serious version of Ms. Reece. The man was shorter, thinner, dressed in brown corduroy, and clutched a briefcase to his chest. His hair had once been in a small afro, but male pattern baldness had sculpted it into a rather oddly shaped mass. Receding hairlines at his temples raced towards the bald patch at the back of his head, carving out unflattering voids.
"How?" the woman in pink asked. "You're running on the presupposition that all, or even most money, is in a physical form you can seize by force. Your machete won't help you against a computer."
Seeing Jack start to move towards the edge of the roof, I gave the hand signal to stop. He froze, raising an eyebrow. "There's more to this story than it seems," I whispered. Jack nodded, setting down on the roof. I went over the edge and slowly lowered myself to the first landing on the fire escape.
"That's our money, con-woman, You're going to give it back." I suppressed a grin as my instincts were validated. There was more to this, and curiosity had taken hold. I had to know what it was. Easing down to the next landing, I did my best not to draw anyone's eye. I wasn't particularly well-camouflaged against the brick, and only the human tendency to not look up kept me hidden.
"Oh, really, so now I've conned you? You know there is risk to every venture."
"You lied to us," the gang leader said, brandishing her machete closer to the pink-suited woman's face. "Now you're going to give us back our 'investment' before things get ugly." I sank down to the bottom landing of the fire escape. I was still effectively one story up from them, but the proximity had me on edge. Luckily, goosebumps were one of the few skin features that didn't seem to show up though the fabric of my costume.
"Please," the woman in pink practically rolled her eyes. "You have no leverage. Hurting me won't get you anything."
"Maybe it'll get us bloody satisfaction. Emphasis on the bloody."
"The venture tanked. It happens."
"You still got enough to pay us back. So what we're going to do is send your husband to the bank when it opens in the morning to withdraw what we paid you, since he doesn't have the stones to double-cross you. You're going to pay us back, and then we part ways."
The woman in pink gave a snort. "Fenton doesn't have approval to take any money out of the bank. I'm the only one who can do it."
"We let you go, you call down the cops on us, and if Fenton bites it in the crossfire, you'll merrily collect his insurance payout. Not gonna happen."
From my perch, it looked like an impasse where the next step would be violence. So I decided to make an entrance. Dropping inside the ring of gang members, I caught everyone's attention. "Ladies, business deals aren't negotiated with weapons," I said. I wished it was more pithy, but it was the best I had.
The gang leader shook her head. "United Fruit. East India Company. Ring any bells?"
"Okay, civilized business de
als don't involve weapons."
"Come on Pam, let's just waste him and deal with these two," one of the gang members said.
"Hold it," the leader, presumably Pam, said. "This one's just a sidekick, that means they've got a heavy hitter waiting in the wings. It's not worth the risk."
"Oh, now you know about risk," the woman in pink said.
"We ain't done, Greeler," Pam said. "Let's clear out before the heavy hitter starts breaking heads." The gang members streamed out of the alley, keeping a wary eye on the eaves.
"Now, miss--" I was cut off by a briefcase smashing into my face. Fenton sucker-punched me with it. Despite the posh leather exterior, it had a steel body, and the hit sent me sprawling. One upside of the mask: it kept my nose from being broken as the alleyway seemed to spin above me. Fenton hit a catch on the case and it popped open. It contained no papers, just two big-bore carbines. Greeler took one and Fenton snagged the other.
"And I thought it was that copper guy who was on our tail," Greeler said. "You're going to give us all the evidence you collected in your snooping. Especially the wiretaps."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I have no idea who you are!"
"Then we'd better clean up here." Both chambered a round at the same time. With the way my brain was rattled, I wasn't sure how well I could avoid their fire, but Jack made his entrance. Dropping down from above, he interposed himself between me and the shooters. The mass of ricochets plinging around the alley was worrisome, but the two were bright enough to realize their bullets had no effect. "Crap," Greeler said.
Jack's body blocked my view of events, but the two scrambled away from him as he dropped their mangled guns. "Now I've got you on assault and attempted murder," Jack said, "I'm going to drag you in and let the experts take a peek at your finances."
"Like the cops have a clue what they'd be looking at," Greeler said.
"Not the cops, ma'am, the tax man. I'm sure a shady dealer like yourself will interest them greatly."
"Nice timing," I said, standing up.
"You were right, there was more to the story." Jack snagged the two by the arm. "Will you be okay while I bring these two to the authorities?"
"I'll be fine," I said.
Jack headed off, taking the prisoners with him.
I heard Pam's voice from around the corner, "See, a really heavy hitter taking care of Jasmine Greeler and her weevil of a husband. Aren't you glad I stopped you guys from beating down the sidekick?"
"Yeah, Pam, we made you the leader 'cause you're the smart one. But we're still out a shit-ton of money."
I flattened myself against the brick wall near the corner of the building, eavesdropping.
"We'll figure something out," Pam said, "but it's got to stay low-key. Anything high profile and we're on their radar, which means a world of hurt for anyone without powers."
"Where can we get some powers?"
"I've heard some really messed up stories. Things that are more likely to kill you than make you strong, like depraved science or magic. Neither of which we got anyway. So don't go getting any stupid ideas." The voices were receding, so I took a peek around the corner. The gang was headed away from me, towards another alley further down. I couldn't shake the feeling there was bad news afoot with them. We could have brought Pam in for brandishing that machete, but it was such a penny-ante crime that judges tended to slap a hundred-dollar fine on it and show the offender the door to save space for "real" criminals. They even stopped bothering to confiscate the weapon.
Creeping down the dark sidewalk, I approached the mouth of the other alley.
"This sucks," one of the gang members blurted out.
"Give me time," Pam said, "I'll come up with a plan." I peered into the alley. The half-score or so gang members had assembled into a very loose cluster around a fifty-five gallon drum, where one of their number was trying to light a fire. As he sparked it up, a flickering light caressed the brickwork. For a moment, all I could think of was how good Pam looked in leather pants. I mentally chastised myself for letting her distract me, even as another part of me spoke up and said it was perfectly normal, then talked me into taking a second look.
As I was doing so, I caught the footfalls of something desperately trying, and failing, to approach me silently from behind. In my peripheral vision, I saw the dim glow of an electrical aura about his hands, which didn't help. I feigned being preoccupied with the gang as the figure crept forward. Just before he was close enough to strike, I slammed my forearm across his windpipe. I followed through with a left to the gut and a right hook to the jaw that sent the skinny guy to the pavement. He was dressed in an outfit which was mostly the shade of weathered bronze, save for a few copper highlights. He gasped for breath through a dislodged full face mask whose retro-futuristic stylings almost made him look like a robot.
I had no idea who he was. Before I could ask him, another figure charged out of the shadows across the street. He was dressed entirely in the corroded-copper green color that dominated the first figure's outfit. It looked familiar, but I was more preoccupied dodging a boot, and the thought wandered off. I caught a backhanded swing and delivered a punch to his ribcage, only to take a knee to my own. I staggered back and he kicked again. I ducked it, putting my face in the path of his fist. As I landed on the sidewalk, I kicked for the back of his knee, trying to catch it before his other foot made it to the ground. He went into a back-flip and avoided my kick entirely, landing firmly on both feet.
Hearing a chuckle, I realized that the whole gang was watching from the alleyway. That moment of distraction was enough for my opponent to land a kick to the side of my face. I wasn't knocked nearly half as senseless as when Fenton hit me, and I had enough wits to grab his ankle before it got away. Even through the green mask, the subtle change in expression told me he knew what was coming next. Starting around the knee, I began working the pressure points. I pounded two in the leg and five up the torso before driving both fists up under his chin. The bastard staggered back, but didn't fall. His friend with the copper highlights rose behind me.
The skinny one tried to make contact with his electric grip, but I caught his wrist and kicked him in the face. It was a showy move, I did it mostly because I had an audience. It was also a stupid move that left me on one foot with my back to the superior opponent. And he exploited the hell out of the opportunity. A kick to the back of the knee, a pair of punches to the kidneys and a body slam to the back of my shoulders drove my face into the pavement. He stood up on my shoulder blades almost triumphantly. I wasn't about to let the arrogant snot win that easily.
Raising up on my hands and upper chest, I wrapped my ankles about his neck and threw him. He twisted out of my grip before his face met the pavement and landed on all fours. I rolled into it and gave his face a fist for my troubles. He tumbled back as his copper-highlighted friend charged at me. Dropping to my hands, I kicked with both feet at his trailing foot. He shrieked as he fell into an involuntary split. He stopped shy of a full hundred-and-eighty degrees, but it was clearly further than he was accustomed to. I kneed him out of my way and hopped back to my feet. The older one was starting to look hesitant, a trickle of blood running from his nose.
I threw a series of quick jabs, but he stayed on the defensive, simply moving to block me as I probed for an opening. That analytical part of my mind told me the only thing keeping the pain at bay was adrenalin, and if I couldn't put him down soon, I'd really start feeling the beating I'd already taken. That's when my second mistake caught me. I'd taken copper-highlights to be down for the count. I hadn't made sure. The high voltage across my spine told me I'd been dead wrong. I don't know if I screamed. I probably did, but the sizzle was imaginary. I have no idea how much juice went through my back, but I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling like I should be smoldering. It didn't help that the jolt made the whole damn suit co
nstrict about my ribs, though that prevented me from looking like I was mid-seizure.
My vision was swimming and darkness clawed at the periphery of my sight. I was about to stammer "get it over with," when I heard what, at that moment, was the most wonderful sound.
"Let's see you try that on me," Jack said. I looked back over my shoulder to see that he'd wrapped his arms around the skinny guy with the electric touch.
"Wh... who are you?" he stammered.
"I'm Monoman." This drew peals of laughter from the alley.
"Wait!" the older one cried, summoning a fan of green flame to illuminate his face.
"Cupric?" Jack asked. "Why are you attacking Shadowboy?"
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