That was why she was on the roof of an apartment building, to watch as Frank Niccione climbed into a black pick-up truck. From the file Lieutenant Donovan had given her, Emma knew Niccione had worked with French and Estima in the past. She also knew from the look of the two other men in the truck, Niccione was up to no good. From the heavy chains in the back of the truck, she could already guess what they were up to.
She then had only to follow Niccione and his partners to their destination. Her motorcycle could have easily kept pace, but a bright red motorcycle ridden by a woman in red plate armor was hard not to notice. The roofs in the Trenches were spaced close enough that she could leap from one to the other and still keep sight of the truck.
Also over the last eighteen months she had learned how to land on her feet better when she jumped. Sylvia had been her tutor for that; she had learned martial arts from an ancient Japanese master. Emma still stumbled a lot, but she could manage now not to fall on her face or back. She and Sylvia had accepted that was the best she could do; Emma’s body wasn’t designed for grace.
After six blocks, she had a good idea where Niccione would go. She altered her route to take a shortcut. It was a three-story drop onto the roof of the drugstore, but the golden cape billowed up so she could land easily. Then she just had to wait.
About three minutes later she saw the truck approach. As it neared the drugstore it cut its lights to make it harder to see on the store’s surveillance cameras. Then the driver hit the accelerator.
Emma counted to three before she leaped from the drugstore’s roof. Her aim was slightly off, so that she landed squarely on the hood of the pick-up in a crouch. The driver immediately hit the brakes, which threw her forward. Before she could tumble into the truck’s bed, she grabbed a windshield wiper. It snapped off in her hand, but it slowed her momentum a little as she dropped to the side of the pick-up. Sylvia’s training paid off as Emma landed in a more dignified crouch.
Niccione’s partners got out of the truck. Emma didn’t reach for the Sword of Justice yet. Despite that she had been on the job for over a year now, some of Rampart’s criminals still didn’t take her seriously. They still chose to think of her as a skinny little girl they could make cry with a few punches. That was an advantage she could use.
“You better get lost, lady,” one said. He cracked his knuckles for emphasis.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Emma said. “You three surrender now or else.”
“Yeah? What are you gonna do, sweetheart?”
She knew this was the time for a demonstration. She grabbed the other man by his left wrist and then tossed him over her shoulder as if he weighed nothing. With the added strength of the armor that was almost true. Before the other one could react, she kicked him in the midsection. He flew backwards, over the hood of the truck.
Niccione was no fool. While Emma dealt with his partners, he got behind the wheel. The truck’s tires squealed as it backed away from the drugstore. Now Emma took out the Sword of Justice. She threw it sideways like a Frisbee and guided the golden blade with her thoughts as it flew towards the truck.
The Sword of Justice sliced through the back tire of the truck. Emma didn’t stop there; she took out the front tire on the driver’s side as well. There was a metallic thump as the truck sagged to one side. Niccione continued to try and drive away, but the two flat tires slowed him enough that Emma could catch up on foot.
She yanked the door open, followed by Niccione. She tossed him onto the ground. With her mind she called the Sword of Justice into her hand. The blade glowed to indicate she was in the presence of evil.
“It’s time for us to talk,” Emma said. She pointed the blade at Niccione’s throat.
“What, are you going to give me a civics lecture? Tell me to straighten up and fly right?”
“No. You’re past that.” She tried to sound as menacing as possible as she added, “You’re going to jail. Whether you have to make a trip to the hospital first is up to you.”
“Tough girl, huh? I like that.”
Emma was tempted to punch him, but she held back. “You used to work with two men named Roy French and Victor Estima. I need to find them.”
Niccione grinned at her. “I didn’t realize you were a bounty hunter.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The money.” When Emma didn’t say anything, he elaborated, “The five hundred g’s Don Vendetta’s put out on those guys. Maybe we could split it.”
“I don’t want the don’s money.”
“Fine, I’ll take the reward. You can have Roy and Vic. Send them up the river. If they get that far.”
“What does the don want with them?”
“They did a job for her a few months back. That robbery at Third National? I’m surprised you missed that one.”
“What happened there?”
“They got sticky fingers. Skimmed more than their take. Thought they could fool the don’s people. They never were too bright. Soon as she found out, she put that reward on their heads. Just about everyone’s looking for them now. You’re going to have some competition.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“That depends. What will you do for me?”
She put the sword away to seize him by the front of the shirt. She usually kept the helmet’s visor down, but this time she lifted it so he could see her eyes. “I’ll let you keep feeling in all your limbs. Now, where are they?”
The grin faded from his face; he must have realized she was serious. “I don’t know. Soon as I heard from the don, I tried to call them. Even went to some of the old haunts. They’ve gone to ground. If they had half a brain they’d have gotten on a boat to Rio by now.”
“What are some of these old haunts?”
He gave her a list of places, mostly seedy bars. She would have to check them out later. “You’ve been very helpful,” she said. She allowed herself a smile when she punched Niccione in the face and heard the snap of cartilage in his nose.
She used the chain in the truck to bind all three men to the pick-up. The police would find them later. Emma still had work to do.
***
Once again Becky ended up at Steve’s house, this time via a cab. He was still up, albeit dressed in the T-shirt and shorts he’d worn to bed last night. She didn’t give him time to ask what was wrong before she collapsed against him. He stumbled back a couple of steps, but managed to stay on his feet.
“Becky, what’s wrong?”
“Emma and I had a fight.”
“About her aunt?”
“Yes.”
He led her over to the couch again. She rested her head against his shoulder while she continued to cry. He stroked her hair for a while, but didn’t say anything. She was the one who spoke first. “I don’t know what to do. She won’t listen to me.”
“Just give her some time. She’ll come around.”
“When? Eleven years from now?” Becky shook her head. “Why won’t she let me help her? I thought I was her best friend.”
“Hey, come on, don’t say that. Of course you’re her best friend. You’re my best friend too.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Thanks,” she said with a sniffle. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’m sure you’d figure something out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here though.”
“So am I.”
Becky continued to snuggle against Steve, but for the moment she was done crying. Steve’s presence made her feel much better about things with Emma. She didn’t feel so alone, not like those five years Emma was away at college. Then Becky didn’t have anyone to turn to at moments like this. She had managed a few dates, but no one she ever considered an actual “boyfriend” and while some of the other girls at school had been friendly, they had never advanced much beyond acquaintances.
They watched television for a lit
tle while, until Becky started to get drowsy. It was almost one in the morning; how many criminals had Emma put in jail already? There wasn’t any local news on at the moment for Becky to hear if the Scarlet Knight were involved in anything big. She would have to wait until tomorrow night, if Emma bothered to show up at the apartment.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep before Steve shook her awake. “What’s going on?” Becky asked.
“Someone’s knocking on the door.”
“Now?”
“Probably one of the guys forgot his key,” Steve said. Becky groaned as she slid away from Steve so he could answer the door.
She waited on the couch and watched TV as he answered the door. “Can I help you?” she heard him ask. Must not be one of his roommates. It was a little too late for a salesman either.
“I need your help,” a girl’s voice said. It sounded familiar to Becky. She got to her feet when she heard the girl say, “There’s been an accident. Becky’s been hurt.”
“What? Becky’s right here,” Steve said.
“She is?”
Becky hurried over to the door. She gasped a little to see a pale young girl with black hair that covered most of her face. “Marie? What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Becky? I’m, um—”
“She said you were in an accident,” Steve said. “Was that some kind of prank?”
“Prank? No. I, um—”
“Marie, what’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Becky asked. She had seen the young woman a few times at Aunt Gladys’s nursing home. Marie always gave her the creeps; Emma had told her what Marie could do with her one eye, the one she kept covered with her hair. It was unnatural, not to mention downright spooky.
“No, not trouble. I just, um, I need Steve to come with me.”
“Why?”
“I need his help. It won’t take long. I promise.”
Becky looked over Marie’s shoulder and saw a white cargo van by the curb. A man sat behind the wheel, but she couldn’t see his face. “Who’s that in the van—?”
Marie brushed the hair back from her face. Marie’s unnaturally pale eye turned to Becky. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t as Marie stared at her. “Your mother was mean to you. She used to lock you in the furnace room.”
Even as Marie said this, the world around Becky turned dark, so dark she could only see a faint outline of the furnace. The stench of the room was far worse, like eggs left to rot for months. Worst of all was her mother’s drunken cackling. “That warm enough for you, Piggy?”
“What are you doing to her?” Steve shouted and yet Becky still couldn’t move. She was trapped, too fat to be able to turn around or find a comfortable position. She would be stuck like this for hours, if not the entire night if Mom forgot about her.
“I’ll be good, Mama,” Becky whimpered. “I’ll be good.”
“Stop it!” Steve shouted.
The furnace room made one orbit around Becky before she collapsed to the floor.
***
Marie had never wanted to use her special eye on Becky. She and Becky weren’t really “friends,” but Becky was nice to her. There were far too few people like that in the world.
She didn’t have a choice, though. Not after the lie the Watchmaker had told her to use had fallen apart. She was supposed to tell Steve that Becky was hurt and they needed to go to the hospital. The Watchmaker hadn’t told her what to do if Becky were in the house and Marie had never been a good liar.
When Becky had touched her, Marie unleashed her special eye as a reflex. The things she saw inside Becky made her cringe. Becky’s mother had been a horrible woman, a drunk who abused all four of her daughters mentally and physically. She saved the bulk of her abuse for Becky; she constantly derided Becky about her weight to make her feel terrible about herself, which in turn prompted Becky to eat more. But Becky accepted the brunt of the abuse to spare her sisters.
“Stop it!” Steve shouted. He pushed Marie away. Her eye turned on him. There was nothing there. No angel like Emma, but no dirty little secrets either, not like other people had. He just had a few minor crimes, shoplifting some candy when he was six and a few dirty thoughts about Becky. He had not acted on those thoughts yet, not with Becky or anyone else. She had figured as much the one time Steve had accompanied Becky to the nursing home. He was so shy and gentle, so much like Emma that he had to still be a virgin as well.
“You love Becky,” Marie said. “You want to ask her to marry you, but not until you graduate. You don’t want to rush into anything.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can see it.”
“How?”
She pointed to her eye. “My special eye.”
“What did you do to Becky? Did you put her into some kind of trance?”
“I saw inside her. I saw her life.”
“Then all that—everything you said—it’s true?”
“Yes. Her mother was a terrible person. She tortured Becky for fun.”
“My God.”
Marie hadn’t heard the Watchmaker get out of the van or come up the front steps. One minute it was just her and Steve and the next the Watchmaker brushed past her, a ski mask on to conceal his face—except for his mustache. “I’m afraid we don’t have any more time for this,” the Watchmaker said. He lifted a pistol and aimed it at Steve’s chest. “You’re going to come with us. Otherwise I will be forced to kill your corpulent friend. Is that clear?”
Steve looked to Marie for help, but she only looked down at the floor. “All right, but can I get some pants first?”
“I’m afraid not. My companion here will be happy to get you something more suitable to wear.”
Marie took that as her cue to go upstairs. She needed to open three doors before she found Steve’s bedroom. She looked through his drawers and pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt for him to wear.
By the time she got back downstairs, Becky’s hands were tied with rope. Marie handed the clothes to Steve. He thanked her, which made her blush. After Steve had dressed, the Watchmaker waved to Becky with his gun. “The two of you get her to her feet and then put her into the van. She will be our insurance policy.”
Marie bent down to lift Becky by one armpit while Steve lifted her by the other. They dragged Becky between them out to the van; the Watchmaker walked behind them, the gun aimed at Becky’s back. They hefted Becky into the back of the van. The Watchmaker motioned for Steve to join her.
“I trust you won’t try to escape,” the Watchmaker said. “Or otherwise try to betray us. I would hate for anything to happen to your sweetheart.”
“What is it you want?” Steve asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Whether your friend survives that long is up to you.”
There was no doubt in the Watchmaker’s voice that he would kill Becky if Steve didn’t cooperate. Steve nodded. “I understand. Just don’t hurt her.”
“I knew you would see reason.” He slammed the van’s back doors shut. Then he put a hand on Marie’s shoulder. “Come my dear, it’s time to get underway.”
Marie hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not nice people like Steve and Becky. “Let’s go, my dear,” he said again. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about helping your friend?”
Marie thought about Veronica bathed in sweat as the fever slowly killed her. “No. I haven’t changed my mind,” she said and then climbed in the van.
Chapter 5
“Mama, I’ll be good,” Becky whispered. “Please let me out.”
It was so dark and so hot in here. Becky found it increasingly difficult to breathe. She felt for certain she would suffocate. Sweat dribbled into her eyes, but she couldn’t move her arms up to wipe it away, nor could she brush away the tears. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good!”
A crack of light blinded her. A figure stood silhouetted in the light. “Mama? I promise I’ll be good. Just let me go. Please?”
Becky squinted enough to see the person silhouetted against the light was not her mother. Her mother had disappeared years ago, much to everyone’s relief. Becky was twenty-two years old, not eight. No one was going to stuff her in a furnace room anymore.
The memory of her last moments of consciousness came back to her. She and Steve had been at his place and then there was a knock on the door. Marie and someone else in a van had shown up to lure Steve away. Then she had used that eye of hers on Becky.
From what Becky could tell, they had dumped her in an alley. Beside the man who had shouted at her, she saw garbage cans crammed to full capacity. Some loose trash lay on the ground at Becky’s feet. “You hear me, crackhead? Get lost!”
With a groan Becky got to her feet. “I’m not a crackhead,” she growled.
“You in some kind of trouble?”
“No, my boyfriend is. Can I use your phone?”
The man let her into the kitchen of his restaurant. Despite the seriousness of the situation, her gut started to rumble at the smell of barbecue. The man escorted her into an office not much bigger than her mother’s furnace closet. Becky felt a chill at this thought, but she squeezed herself into the room.
“Phone’s right there,” he said. “You want anything to eat? I was about to close up for the night. There’s still plenty left over.”
She knew what her stomach wanted to answer, but the rest of her knew she had better things to do now than stuff her face. “Just some water, thank you.”
Once the man had gone, Becky picked up the phone. She dialed the number for Steve’s apartment. It took five rings before one of his roommates answered. Before the roommate could say anything, Becky asked, “Is Steve there?”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 31