Who is Killing the Great Capes of Heropa?

by Andrez Bergen

  The GWH’s expression registered nary a morsel.

  Getting to his feet, Jacob kicked away pins-and-needles in the leg that’d been shot in Heropa — it still played up — and unbolted the door to this room. He opened it to an overgrown, flooded back yard bathed in a combination of darkness and artificial light. The rain was loud on an overhead corrugated roof, and the outside air, though hardly pristine, began to diffuse the stench in this place.

  Where out there was the Big O, and was there anybody to look after his comatose body?

  “The people of Heropa didn’t forget,” Jacob announced to the rain. “They gave you a right royal send-off. Enough to make a person proud.”

  What was his name? Truly Lee, or was that an alias he used in Heropa? Did this matter anyway?

  “Like you, I’m going to betray that faith. I know you meant to do the right thing with Louise — with Mitzi. Doesn’t mean I agree with it at all, but likewise I’m going to try to do something that rectifies matters. People’s memories will be sacrificed in the process. I know I’m being selfish. I think you did, too. Right? There’re times when idealism needs to take a back seat.”

  Jacob stepped out into the rain, pushing through brittle, waist-high weeds, peered up at the sky, and got wet all over again.

  “So, turns out I’m no better than you.”

  THE KN0CK-0FF

  #177

  Jack and Midori touched down precisely where Jack had wound up on his first visit to Heropa — the busy sidewalk next to the travel agency, amidst late-afternoon pedestrian traffic. A gaily-coloured banner across the agency window read ‘Holiday in San Gusto!!’.

  The sky above was a deep blue, the sun relatively low on the horizon, and temperature-wise a perfect twenty-three degrees Celsius, or seventy-three-point-four in the old Fahrenheit system.

  Adding to the déjà vu, that same dizziness was there, riding shotgun with a mild sense of panic. Once again, Jack tore off his mask. Obviously in the woman’s case there was an additional touch of nausea, since she bent over and threw up into an alcove between the footpath and a brick wall.

  When she recovered, Midori wiped her chin and had an embarrassed smile.

  “Always the same reaction to the download,” she said in an alluring, melodious tone, rotating her shoulders and stretching her back in the black swan leotard, “but, my, it’s nice to stand up straight.”

  “Well, you can turn off the charm.” Jack looked down at his chest, couldn’t quite see over the now-protruding pectoralis major — being brawny had its drawbacks. “How many stars do I have?”

  “Five. One more than the last time I saw you.”

  “Then the system remembers replacement costumes.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, Jack. All you now need is a shield.”

  “Nah, too much effort to lug around — besides, I have the Brick.”

  Adjusting her mask, Prima Ballerina continued to smile. “You know, we ought to be fighting right about now.”

  “Nice to take a break from that silliness.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You feeling okay?”

  “Getting there.”

  Timely Tower’s doorman Stan waltzed up to them, and he examined the two Capes with a keen eye and rascally grin.

  “Here’s something to marvel at,” he announced, genuinely pleased. “An Equalizer and a Rotter arriving together — as comrades-in-arms. It’s very good to see you both.”

  “Thanks, Stan. Likewise.”

  “Mmm,” said Midori, suspicious. “How do you know who I am?”

  “I’m Stan the Doorman. I see all.” Having clicked his heels, the man’s snow-white moustache twisted into a tighter grin. “I have to say I happen to be quite the fan — I always did have a soft-spot for the ballet, and your offensive use of the balançoire is sublime.”

  “People aren’t supposed to like me. I’m a villain.”

  “With a heart of gold. Always the best kind.”

  “Huh.”

  “I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to autograph this for me?” The elderly man reached into his starched red miliatary jacket and produced a glossy, rolled-up parchment that had a caricature on it in pencil, looking like Belle Époque poster art.

  Jack laughed. “Stan, please don’t tell me you carry that around with you just for occasions like this?”

  In response Midori punched his arm. “Hush, you.” She swept up the picture, pressed it against a convenient brick wall, signed away, and then passed it back. “Here you go, you old darling.”

  “Excellent. The lads on nightshift shall be green with envy.” The doorman again inspected his two young charges. “Coming home?”

  Jack nodded. “For now.”

  As before, no one save Stan could see the new arrivals, so they were forced to weave amidst oblivious types as the three of them crossed the park, past the fountains and a flock of white doves, and then a newspaper stand with a headline that grabbed Jack’s attention: ‘Big Bill Blows It’.

  “What’s the deal there?”

  Stan chuckled. “Our illustrious mayor was arrested yesterday for mob connections and graft. I dare say he won’t be running for another term.”

  “Politicians always get off scot-free,” Midori countered. “Haven’t you people learned that lesson?”

  “A degree of optimism never, ever goes astray.”

  After waiting for a tram to rattle through the intersection, the trio crossed over and entered Timely Tower. In the foyer, the Equalizers banner was absent from its perch above the elevators — replacing it was a 75 x 45 cm brown coir doormat with the Equalizers logo on its 15 mm brush pile.

  Stan followed Jack’s gaze.

  “Stolen,” the doorman said, shaking his head.

  “The doormat is a nice touch.”

  “We had to improvise. I don’t know what this world is coming to.”

  Midori harrumphed. “You were the one singing about being optimistic just now.”

  “Even so. The flag was taken the other night, when Mac over there,” Stan nodded in the direction of a security guard with a noticeable black eye, “was knocked senseless by thugs-unknown, trussed up in the broom closet…and that terrible business went down. I’m so sorry, Jack.”

  “Forget about it.”

  Midori leaned in close. “What terrible business?”

  “Later,” Jack replied, a frown pleating his forehead.

  “You know, we could have the banner replaced,” said Stan.

  “It’s only a piece of material. Besides, I think the thing has had its day.”

  “A very good philosophy.”

  “Our old friend optimism,” retorted the woman with them.

  From there, Jack and Prima took a lift to the penthouse, accompanied by ‘A Walk in the Black Forest’. It had the girl humming again.

  “This tune drives me bananas,” Jack muttered.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  “And enough with the optimism quips.”

  “Never entered my mind.”

  When he pulled the concertina door across, they found the headquarters of the Equalizers curiously quiet and barely illuminated. It was dusk outside the windows, which added to the gloom, but Jack was more than grateful to note that the flowers from his last visit had been removed.

  They stepped out into the hallway, memories flooding through Jack’s mind — things he’d much rather forget — just as he saw the drawings of all the Equalizers, past and present, mostly dead and gone. He attempted to smother these diversions as he checked for sign of anybody, and the two of them entered the main room.

  “Never thought I’d set pointe shoe in Equalizers high command,” Midori said lightly. “The place is like a crypt.”

  Jack tore his eyes from the gloomy, totemic masks on the surrounding walls. “What makes you say that?”

  “Let me think now — because it’s so lifeless? Like a concert hall minus the audience.”

  “I guess you’re right. Hello?” he
called out. “Brick? PA—?”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  The two newcomers recoiled. Slap-bang before them, in a space a split-second before devoid of life, was a seven-foot giant of a woman with hands on her hips and an angry, expectant expression planted on the kisser.

  “Hello, PA.” Jack returned her a languid smile.

  “Hello, my foot. Answer the question.”

  “My, that’s a lovely haircut,” Midori ventured, sounding edgy all the same.

  Pretty Amazonia flicked a glance the other woman’s way, and then whipped it back to Jack. “Also, what’re you doing with her? Well?”

  “Easy, now. Prima’s okay.”

  “Nonsense. She’s a Rotter. A dangerous one.”

  Jack looked from one to the other, brandishing the same half-mast smile. “I think those old distinctions are dead and buried.”

  “Really?” His teammate, he noticed, was impatiently tapping one boot.

  “Yeah — really.” Moving diplomatically between the two women, Jack faced his teammate. “Sorry I disappeared on you.”

  “We didn’t know what to think. Thought you might be dead, or worse. You could have called.”

  “Not from where I’ve been. I was back in Melbourne.”

  “What—?” PA dropped her hands from her hips. “How?”

  “Swore at an inopportune moment.”

  “And it worked?”

  “Two-day penalty, and all.”

  The woman’s mouth twitched — and then PA guffawed, acting as if the weight of this world had been lifted. “Oh, that’s right,” she managed to squeeze out, between peals of laughter. “I did once warn you, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” Without thinking, Jack covered the distance between them to give her a hug, left ear pressed against her sternum. “Man, I missed you.”

  “Sure, sure,” PA protested, even while her arms tightened and he heard her heart beat faster, “don’t go getting all mushy. Thought you didn’t trust me.”

  “I learned.”

  “Swell. And you’re okay?”

  “I am, surprisingly.” Jack released her, as he peered up. “The Brick?”

  Gravity returned to the woman’s expression, as she lost the smile. “He’s had a relapse. Gypsie-Ann’s blood wasn’t enough — only a temporary effect. I can’t explain it.”

  “What?” Prima Ballerina pushed forward and closer to them both. “What are you saying? B’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Silence. “Where is he?”

  “Here. In the clinic.” Pretty Amazonia dissected the Rotter with her eyes. “Took Jack a while to learn how to trust me — how’re we ever going to trust you?”

  Herself angry now, Midori stared up at the other woman, and her voice possessed none of its singsong charm. “What the hell do you think, lady? You think you can stop me finding him?”

  PA’s cheeks dusted pink. “Are you threatening me?”

  Once again, Jack pushed between them. “Enough with the schoolyard behaviour, kids — we have more important stuff to think about. PA, Midori has a point and we all need to know. Is the Brick going to be okay?”

  Pretty Amazonia swivelled to face the big, dark windows that rounded one side of the Equalizers’ meeting area. The sun outside had already set and Jack could see that a fire still licked part of the city over near the harbour.

  “If he survives the night,” she said in a soft voice, “I’ll be surprised.”

  Where had the optimism fled?

  #178

  Lying on his back, on a reinforced steel bed that still deigned to sag in the middle, the Brick had his eyes closed.

  He’d apparently fallen asleep listening to classical music, since an orchestral tune (in mono on black shellac) spun at 78 rpm towards the finish of the single track. The record rotated atop a stained, wooden 1930s Zenith tube player beside him, a cumbersome thing much like the patient — a big, rectangular box with a bronze dial at the front and a deco-style grille covering the single speaker.

  A rash of intrusive behaviour by Midori — who rushed over, snapping up his massive four-fingered right hand in both of hers, and then putting on the weeps — revived the ailing Equalizer. Petrous eyelids flickered, there was a soft groan, and seconds later he gazed up at the girl.

  “Hello, sunshine,” he squeezed out, all feeble voice.

  “Shhh, B. I’m sorry I left. Didn’t mean to. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Forget it. Yer here now.”

  “I am.”

  “That’s what counts.”

  While she reached over to give him a hug, the Brick’s blue irises, faded in colour, moved across the room and found Jack and Pretty Amazonia in the doorway.

  “Kid. Yer back. Knew you’d be back…Grand t’see you.”

  Jack inclined his head, forcing a smile. “You too, Mister B.”

  “Word is yer loaned me Henderson — looked after that li’l beauty, right…?”

  Jack distantly recalled a bent-up and smashed motorbike in the ground floor front lobby of the Port Phillip Patriot. “Sure thing,” he said, nodding too quickly.

  “And we’re a team again.” The Brick wrapped his rocky arms around Prima Ballerina, squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re a team. Together.”

  Midori showered kisses all over the craggy brow while he tittered, at which point Jack and PA chose to do a runner. After closing the door, they walked silently together, carousing with thoughts each preferred not to put out on the line.

  The woman ruptured this silence first. “I can’t stand to see him like that.”

  “He looked okay.”

  “It’s all front, for our sake. So, ends up I’m glad you brought the girl.”

  “Didn’t seem like it.”

  “We’re old enemies. Gallons of water under the bridge — but right now the Brick needs her.”

  “PA, he doesn’t have to die.”

  “You know a miracle cure I don’t?”

  “Maybe.”

  The woman slowed her pace as they descended the stairs, head cocked to one side. “And you. Are you really all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sure?” PA rolled her eyes, trying her best to look annoyed but obviously relieved. “You like playing it minimal, don’t you?”

  “I guess. Any news? — About Donald Wright, I mean.”

  “Plenty.”

  “Go on.”

  “The police found five cadavers in his burned-out offices.”

  “Five…?” This morsel made Jack uneasy. Had innocent people lost their lives? “Who?”

  “We don’t exactly know, not yet. They’re with the coroner — but the on-scene quack reported some striking similarities between the skeletal structures of all five victims. Kahn says he’ll let us know as soon as they finish with autopsies and have a verdict re: cause of death.”

  “Killed by Cape,” her partner mumbled, lost in thought. “And they’ll let us know their identities?”

  “And their identities, if possible.”

  “So this could be Wright,” Jack hoped aloud, “or his lookalikes.”

  “Maybe.”

  He narrowed his eyes — was PA now having a shot at playing it bare bones? “Do we know yet how many versions of Wright there are?”

  “Our beat cop Kahn has a pet theory: Six.”

  “Six? Why six?”

  “All to do with a note the Big O was packing when he died, apparently.”

  A thawing smile worked its way onto Jack’s face. Gonzo had mentioned that number. “Half a dozen? It’s possible.” Then he remembered something he’d noticed the first time he met Donald Wright at the Port Phillip Patriot — over by one window had been that tall, antique wooden hat-stand with six identical black bowlers. “You know, I think he might be right.”

  “Minus the suicide you and Gypsie-Ann witnessed would leave five.”

  “The five corpses at the Patriot?”

  “We live in hope.”

  “That’s for sure. Where�
�s Gypsie-Ann?”

  “Out doing her thing: Snooping. I swear this has given her a new lease on life.” The Equalizer stopped and looked down at her colleague. “What happened in Melbourne?”

  “I met Milkcrate Man, saw the GWH.”

  “The GWH? You spoke to him?”

  “No. I tried, but it was a one-way street. He’s gone, like you and the Brick figured.”

  “Dead?”

  “Next best thing.”

  “Ah.”

  “But Gonzo — Milkcrate Man — is looking after things out there. He has the Reset back online.”

  With her jaw hanging open, PA aped the spitting image of shocked. “You’re kidding me?”

  “About the Reset? Or the fact that we have to rely on Milkcrate Man.”

  “I don’t know — a portion of both?”

  “Live a little.” Jack winked. “I think we can strike Milkcrate Man off the suspects list. He’s going to help, and we Reset tonight. One final time.”

  “Why only the once?”

  “We can’t save a single soul in Melbourne, but these people here deserve the chance to develop on their own.”

  “When they do…they tend to hate us,” the woman sighed.

  “Then we have to earn their respect.”

  “Do you know a recipe for that?”

  “Think we’ll need to write one ourselves.”

  “Ye gods. So. What on earth have you cooked up?”

  Jack rubbed his jaw. “We hit Reset this last time, just to put things straight in Heropa — save the lives of any people in hospital, Cape or Blando; resurrect this city. I’m praying it’s also in time for the Brick.”

  PA started walking again, leading her partner to the kitchen. “And Louise.”

  “And Louise,” said Jack.

  “She won’t remember you.”

  The Equalizer shrugged, but he had an honest smile when Pretty Amazonia glanced back. “She doesn’t have to.”

  #179

  Jack didn’t have the gumption to set foot in his quarters, not after what’d happened there, so PA set him up in a spare room at the other end of a long corridor, and then delivered an armful of clothes — which, for anyone else, would have been two.