Arrow

by Marc Guggenheim

  A shot split the night and Cross’s chest folded in on itself.

  Damn!

  Blood and gore gushed from his back as if someone had tossed a bucket of chum across the deck boards behind him. The open water drank in the sound of the gunshot, leaving a hollow of silence that contained only the dull melon thunk of Cross’s head hitting the deck as his corpse slumped forward.

  From the shadows stepped a dripping wet Hallsey, holding a chrome revolver.

  “What did you do?” Green Arrow bellowed, whipping his bow up to aim at the newcomer.

  “I keep telling people,” Hallsey said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask he wore, “I’m doing what you should be doing. Stopping crime.”

  “You committed a crime—you killed him.”

  “That’s shortsighted. I prefer to look at it as you should. He killed himself when he chose a life that could only end by violence. I am merely the instrument of Judgment.”

  “You don’t have the right.”

  “I have the obligation,” Hallsey snarled.

  Green Arrow stepped forward. “Drop your weapon or I will shoot you.”

  “We’ve already established that you won’t kill me.” Hallsey slipped the revolver into a holster on his hip. “But thank you, I did learn something the last time we got together.” Hallsey extended his hand, opening his fingers. A metal cylinder rolled from his palm, striking the deck between them and bouncing once. On impact it began rapidly spewing thick yellow smoke.

  * * *

  White Canary stepped out in time to see the smoke clear, torn apart by the night breeze off the water. She took in the drug kingpin, dead from a bullet hole, and her fellow costumed crime fighter shaking in rage and staring at the otherwise empty deck.

  SEPTEMBER 2017

  1

  “How much longer is this going to take?”

  Miranda gripped the steering wheel and pulled herself forward. It really hurt her back driving in stop-and-go city traffic, but her son’s school wasn’t free. The man behind her could pay for it. He could pay for a month’s tuition with just the price of the new smart phone he furiously tapped with his thumbs.

  She extended her hand out toward her dirty windshield, indicating the line of traffic in front of them.

  “Gonna take as long as it takes,” she said.

  “I have a meeting to make, a flight to catch and, basically, a million things to do that are not sitting in this traffic.” He said it without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “I understand.”

  “No doubt you also understand that the longer we sit on this bridge, the more money I owe you,” he commented.

  You’re the one who called a cab, she thought—but she said, “No one works for free.”

  He looked up from his phone, catching her eyes in the rear view mirror. “Honey, I bill at three hundred and forty-nine dollars per hour. I know all about not working for free.” His eyes dropped back down, dismissing her.

  You just can’t get that one more dollar out of them, canya son? Miranda thought. The little bit of meanness made her feel better. Her fingers touched the knob on the radio, seeking something new to distract her. Looking down, she didn’t see the explosion that rocked the bridge underneath her taxi.

  Miranda looked up in time to see the fireball that engulfed the cars in front of her. It rolled over her hood, blistering the paint as it did, turning her windshield into a blackened, bubbled mess.

  * * *

  The door to his office opened sharply, and Quentin Lance walked in. Oliver looked up, taking in his deputy mayor’s face, creased with anxiety.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We have a situation,” Lance said. “Somebody just blew up part of the Star City Bridge.”

  Faust, Oliver thought.

  “Give me the details,” he said.

  “First responders on scene, and more on the way. As far as we can tell, the bridge is still structurally sound, and not in danger of collapsing. Every indication so far is that it was all smoke and flame. Early reports have injuries—mostly from the panic of drivers hitting other cars—but no deaths.”

  “So this is a way of getting our attention.”

  Lance nodded grimly. “If I were a betting man, and I am a betting man, I’d put money on it.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “As mayor? Yes. As the other guy? No, not yet.” Lance leaned forward. “The city needs a voice of comfort, and a show of leadership.”

  Oliver nodded. He often thought of being the Green Arrow as doing night work. Yes, they could—and did—operate during the day, but this would be too exposed. It wasn’t like the attack on Dearden Tower, where they needed to pitch in with search-and-rescue. Here the sight of costumes would just be a distraction. If the bridge was sound, he would leave the police and others to do their jobs.

  Standing, he squared his shoulders and buttoned his suit jacket.

  “Let’s go to work,” he said.

  * * *

  Outside his office stood a short, dark man holding a wide white envelope. One word was written on it, in thick green sharpie.

  Queen

  Oliver and Lance stopped short.

  “Can I help you?” Lance asked.

  “Are you Mayor Queen?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, this isn’t a good time, pal.” Quentin moved to put the man aside. “We’re a little busy.”

  “I stay here until I give this to the mayor.”

  Oliver stepped forward. “I’m Mayor Queen.”

  The man looked at Oliver, nodded, and held out the package.

  “Who is it from?” Lance asked.

  The man shook his head. “No idea. It was prepaid over the internet, then delivered to us with proof of payment. I was told to deliver it here, precisely at this time.” He raised his hands. “That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you for the information.” Oliver tilted his head toward Lance. “We’ll have our team look into it.”

  “Don’t bother.” The man raised his hands. “I don’t have anything to hide, but I don’t want anyone looking into me.”

  “Not your choice, pal.” Lance put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Without waiting, Oliver tore open the envelope and looked inside. There he found a flash drive, with the crude symbol for fire imprinted on the side.

  2

  Oliver, Lance, and Dinah stood around Oliver’s desk, watching the video on the computer monitor. The film was clear.

  “Hello, Star City!” Faust grinned at the camera. “It’s your favorite mother’s son, and I have to tell you it’s a real blast being here.” He bowed his head, holding his hands up. “Sorry, terrible joke, just awful.”

  He adjusted his face, adopting a deadpan expression.

  “This is serious business, and as such I won’t waste any of your time, Mayor Queen. You know I blew up the Star City Bridge—well, not exactly blew it up, more set it on fire. Now, you know I’m both able and willing to blow things up if I don’t get what I want.”

  Oliver watched the bomb maker. The man never sat still, always moving in some small manner—a twitching finger, a tic under his left eye, always some part of him in motion, even when he wasn’t dancing around like a fool. It was a mystery how this frenetic, spastic individual could be steady enough to ever wire a bomb.

  But they knew firsthand that he could, and once more Oliver was stunned at the depths of Adrian Chase’s hatred for him. It ran so deep that he’d set this maniac loose on Star City, just for revenge.

  “Simply wire twenty-three hundred bitcoins to this account.”

  A number flashed across the screen.

  “Or I will use this to blow up a significant landmark in Star City.”

  The camera pulled back to reveal a ballistic missile. It hung in the air behind its maker, a stubby-looking thing despite its size and sharply pointed nose cone. It looked like a brutal piece of equipment, and had just one purpose.

 
Destruction. On a large scale.

  Faust jumped in front of the camera, filling the screen with his face.

  “You have two weeks,” he said. “The deadline— and I mean dead—is midnight, October twelfth.” The screen went blank.

  “That guy is crazy,” Lance said.

  Dinah’s eyebrows creased. “He is,” she agreed, “but what do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t know how much a tactical missile goes for these days, but they don’t come cheap. Like millions not cheap. This clown is going to use one, just for twenty-three hundred dollars? It makes no sense.”

  “Bitcoins,” Dinah corrected.

  “Bit what?”

  “Bitcoins. It’s a cryptocurrency.”

  Lance looked at her, his question plain in his eyes.

  “It’s digital money,” she offered.

  “Okay, it’s internet dollars. How much is the exchange on these bitquarters?”

  Oliver spoke for the first time. “Roughly ten million dollars.”

  “You just knew that?” Lance asked.

  “The Russian crime bosses love bitcoins.”

  Lance nodded. “Ten million isn’t that much, not for a city budget.”

  “That’s the point,” Oliver said. “A good extortionist never asks for more than their mark can afford to pay.”

  “The Russians again?”

  Oliver nodded.

  “Damn those commies,” Lance said.

  Oliver pulled the flash drive from the computer. “Quentin, hold things together here,” he said. “Not a word about this to anyone—not yet.”

  “You’re taking it to the brainy part of the team?”

  Oliver nodded.

  Lance turned toward the door. “Tell Miss Smoak I said hello,” he said, and he turned. “Dinah, it was good to see you.” They said their goodbyes and Lance shut the door behind him.

  “Can I talk to you?” Dinah asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Suddenly, she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say. The words sat in her throat, behind her teeth.

  “Is everything okay, Dinah?”

  “You should talk to John.”

  “Does this have anything to do with how little he’s been involved with the team recently?”

  “I don’t know, maybe, probably—but you should check in on him. I think the stuff on the island might still be bothering him.”

  “Is there something I should know?”

  “John’s your friend, just talk to him.”

  Oliver frowned.

  * * *

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Felicity held the door open as Donna Smoak stepped inside her apartment. They embraced, hugging tightly. Donna jerked back, loosening her grip.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “I didn’t mean to squeeze so tight.”

  Felicity frowned. “Why—oh, don’t worry about my back. You won’t hurt me.”

  Donna shook her head, amazed at the weird science that gave her daughter back the ability to walk. Not understanding it, but grateful for it. She stepped inside, and Felicity closed the door behind them.

  “I can’t believe it’s been so long,” Felicity said.

  “I can’t believe I’m back in Star City.”

  “You’re always welcome here.”

  The area around Donna’s eyes grew tight. “You can’t say that for everyone.”

  “I can say it for me.”

  “Does Quentin—?”

  Felicity reached out, placing a hand on her mother’s arm. “You know that’s not his way.” She said it as gently as she could. Donna waved her hands, shaking off the sadness that threatened to well up inside her.

  “What is going on in your love life?” she asked. “Are you seeing someone special, or have you and Oliver stopped being dumb?”

  “Getting right to it—well, okay,” Felicity replied, grimacing and smiling at the same time. “No, no one special. Things with me and Oliver are… complicated.”

  “They always have been. You need to—”

  “His son lives with him,” Felicity blurted out.

  “Son?”

  Felicity nodded. “William.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s twelve.”

  “Oh.”

  “His mother was killed in an explosion. A car accident, her car exploded.”

  Donna stood there for what seemed like entirely too long, her mouth open but no sound coming out. She closed it and gave a sharp little shake of her head, trying to organize everything her daughter had just said. Gathering her wits, she finally found her voice.

  “Felicity, dear, are you okay?”

  “I worry about Oliver and William, and sometimes I can’t sleep very well, but otherwise I’m fine, just fine.”

  Donna stared at her daughter. “Sounds like you’re not really very fine at all.”

  Felicity just shrugged.

  “That’s a lot to deal with.”

  Felicity shrugged again.

  Donna’s eyes narrowed. “Felicity Megan Smoak.”

  “I hate it when you use my full name.”

  “And I hate it when you aren’t being honest with me,” Donna countered. “What is on your mind?”

  “Well, my severance pay from Palmertech is almost over.”

  Donna stared at her daughter, who just looked at the wall.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  Felicity shrugged.

  * * *

  Diggle answered his door, and found Oliver standing there.

  “I didn’t expect a visit from you.”

  “I need to talk to you, John.”

  “Come on in.” He stepped aside, allowing Oliver to enter. “Would you like a drink?”

  Oliver shook his head.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Oliver looked at him for a long moment. Diggle knew that look. He was trying to figure out just how blunt he could be. As much as he loved Oliver for all his faults and strengths, sometimes the man was lousy with his interpersonal skills.

  “Are you quitting the team?” Oliver said.

  Fairly blunt, he thought. “Why would you think that?”

  “You’ve missed the last few missions, to be with your family.”

  “It’s just the stuff from Chase, it’s bothering me more than I thought it would, but family is the most important thing…” Diggle bit back the brother, not wanting to throw Oliver’s words back in his face.

  “It is. I understand that even more now that William is with me. So, I understand if John Junior has made you begin to rethink the life we’ve chosen.”

  “But you’re here to talk me out of quitting?”

  “No.” Oliver shook his head. “I would support that decision. Completely.”

  “What’s the ‘but’? I know there’s one coming.”

  “Faust is still out there, waiting to create a crisis, and the copycat is still on the loose. Plus, you know this city—every day, every week could bring a new threat.”

  “I know all of this.”

  “So, my point is,” Oliver said, “I will support you quitting, but if you aren’t quitting, then I need you. I can’t keep this city safe on my own. You taught me that. And the team functions better with you as a part of it.”

  Diggle felt Oliver’s words like punches. He also felt the burn, deep in the nerve clusters of his arm, a constant low throb of pain that the medicine hadn’t been able to touch. Earlier that night he’d dropped a glass, his hand unable to maintain a grip.

  He looked down at Oliver.

  “I’m not quitting. You can count on me.”

  3

  “You wanted to see me, Hoss?”

  “Come in, have a seat,” Oliver said. “I wanted to talk to you for just a moment.”

  Rene walked in and stood beside the chair across from Oliver’s desk. He didn’t sit down. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, I just wanted to see how you were doing with your new position. I know Thea
left a lot behind, and now that several weeks have passed it will be hard to catch up.” He waved his hand, walking back what he just said. “Not that I doubt your abilities at all.”

  “It’s been a lot of work getting things organized.” Rene took the chair now. “I think I’ve got a handle on it, though.”

  “You know, Quentin’s very proud of the way you’re handling all of this.”

  “Really?” Rene shot him a side-eye.

  Oliver nodded. “He won’t say anything, at least not to you. Trust me, I spent many, many years trying to win that man’s approval. I know what it looks like.”

  The words made Rene sit a tiny bit straighter, and look directly at the man behind the desk.

  “However,” Oliver said, “it seems as if there’s a bit of a struggle where your daughter is concerned.”

  Rene looked off to the side. “Zoe is fine.”

  “I want you to know that I understand,” Oliver said, standing and moving around the desk. “Believe me, things aren’t easy at home with William.”

  Rene looked up at him.

  “I don’t know what to say, what to tell him, and what not to tell him,” Oliver continued. “I don’t know how to speak to my own son. And I don’t know whether I can keep him safe. I think I can, but is that my own arrogance? I don’t know.” Oliver shook his head at his own words. “My being the Green Arrow puts him in danger, and yet it gives me the ability to protect him. We truly help this city, and I don’t think that I can give that up.”

  “I understand that,” Rene said.

  “I just want you to know that you’re not alone, even though it may feel as if you are sometimes.”

  “I know I have the team.”

  “No, Rene, not just the team.” Oliver propped himself on the edge of his desk. “I know I can be a bit… distant, sometimes.”

  Rene nodded.

  “And I know that most of that is me trying to be a leader, whereas I’d rather do things on my own. If I’m by myself, there’s no one to blame if I get hurt, or make a mistake. I won’t have to feel guilty over it, because whatever I’ve done, it was my choice. My life. My fault.” He shook his head. “With the rest of you, it becomes so much more complicated.”