I feel Hericane start to move, and I hold up a hand to stop her. "Where's your boyfriend?" I ask the chimp.
"Why do you care?" Sick Little Monkey hops up so her face is in my grill. Talk about bad breath.
"I gotta tell him he won the lottery," I say. "Think of me as the prize patrol."
"Pig patrol is more like it." Sick Little Monkey screeches and jumps around some more. "You got zero authority down here, dipshit! Animal kingdom ain't part of your super-prick protectorate!"
She's right, and I could give a crap. Time to start pushing her panic buttons, making her squirm. "Just tell us where he is." As I say it, I push hard in her adrenal gland and back-brain, working up a major fear response. Enough of this tough-talking, stripper-loving monkey bitch.
I watch her face as the changes take hold. Her eyes widen, her nose twitches, her lips tremble.
How ya feeling now?, I want to ask her. Where's all the bravado, you piece of garbage?
I give Hericane the nod, and she steps forward, reaching for the chimp. But before she can lay hands on her, Sick Little Monkey reacts badly.
"Help! Help!" Her chimpanzee screams pierce the pounding techno music. "Don't let 'em take me back to the lab!"
Shit.
There's a moment before it all breaks loose. I see all the bestial heads turn toward us, and I know what's coming. A damn nightmare, that's what.
I start to reach out with waves of panic that will stave off the drama...but I'm too late. Everyone's already in motion. The whole damn Zoo is moving in on us. The room fills with the roars, howls, screeches, chatters, and shrieks of a hundred-some enraged bestials looking for a fight. More than, looking for dinner, I'm sure.
Shit.
*****
The mightiest woman in the world is standing inches away from me, less than an hour after her live-in girlfriend was murdered. Could there be a better person to have by your side when a roomful of mutated bestials rises up and comes after you?
No way.
Right before my eyes, she jolts into action mode. Her jaw clenches, her gaze turns to steel. Every muscle in her body tenses under her skintight white costume.
Part of me feels sorry for this horde of yipping, chattering idiots. They picked the wrong day to get froggy at The Zoo.
With a casual flick of her finger to Sick Little Monkey's head, Hericane knocks the chimp unconscious. She could fly us right out of here now, if she wanted to--just gather us up in her arms and blast through the ceiling.
But she doesn't want to. I can see it in her face when she looks at me. "Watch the monkey for me, wouldja?"
I nod and draw my gun--a .45 semi with laser sights. "Don't be long, okay?"
Hericane smiles coldly and holds up an index finger. "Right back," she says, and then she turns to the onrushing mob.
And then she goes after them. Like a buzz-saw.
There are superhuman heroes on the hardcore side of the crimefighting scene, characters who aren't afraid to administer the death penalty in the field. Hericane isn't one of them. Even tonight.
But these bestial idiots are probably wishing she was one of those types about now. You should see how she tears 'em apart, ripping and breaking and mangling--all without killing.
I admire her even more. Because this is Hericane on one of the worst days of her life. And she still doesn't compromise her code.
Not yet, anyway.
As I keep my .45 trained on the unconscious chimp on the floor, I steal glimpses of Hericane in action. I watch as she uses a bear-person as a club to bowl over a snarling mob of creatures. I see her tear the fins off a shark-person and use them to slice up the tough hide of a rhino-man. She breaks the legs of a wolverine-woman and drives her gnashing maw into the crowd, chewing up a cluster of hawk-people, wolf-girls, lizard-men, and some kind of praying mantis thing with laser eyes.
Fur, feathers, shells, and scales fly everywhere. Blood and bone and all manner of organic goo splatters the walls, floor, and ceiling.
It's a ballet of barely controlled violence. I consider using my power to break it up and send the bestials running for the hills...but I hold back. Nobody's dying, and Hericane needs this to let off some steam. Better this than bottle it up and go crazy later. Better this than lose it bad and drink so hard to kill the pain that you drunk drive headfirst into a utility pole and put yourself in the hospital for three months.
Like I did, after Jimmy and the kids.
Briefly, I feel a pinch of jealousy. I wish I'd had her power back then, when my family was murdered. I wish I could've beaten the shit out of an army of bestials like Hericane.
Or maybe I'm better off that I didn't. Because my code isn't the same as Hericane's, not by a long shot. Not since the day I lost my family.
*****
As the dust settles, Hericane flies over the twitching bodies of her beaten foes and lands on the nearest stripper stage. "You'd never guess I used to want to be a veterinarian, would you?" She dusts off her flared white gloves, which are stained with blood that no amount of dusting off will ever remove.
"How 'bout we get what we came for." I wave the muzzle of the .45 at Sick Little Monkey, who's still out cold at my feet.
Hericane hops off the stage, grabs the chimp by her shoulders, and lifts her like she's a pillow. "Hey, banana breath." She shakes the monkey hard, trying to wake her. "Rise and swing."
Reaching out with my power, I give Sick Little Monkey a gentle nudge, just enough to break her sleep. It does the trick. Her eyes flutter open, and she smacks her lips softly, coming back to life.
"Where's your man, poop-flinger?" snaps Hericane, shaking her some more. "Where the hell is Chimpanzero?"
"Stick it," mumbles Sick Little Monkey, drifting back to slumberland. "Got nothin'...to say...to you..."
I nudge her harder this time, and her eyes shoot wide open. So does her ugly yap, which proceeds to screech like a cop siren.
Hericane smacks her across the face, and that's the end of the screeching. Instead, the bitch chimp starts struggling in her grip, fighting to break free. As if that's even remotely possible. She might as well have meat hooks stuck in her shoulders; Hericane's grip can't be broken.
"So you want me to dump you at the Filipino restaurant in Paratown?" says Hericane. "The one where they eat monkey brains?" She hauls the chimp up close and snarls the next words in her ugly kisser. "You know they serve 'em live, don't you? Crack the skull like an eggshell and scoop 'em out with a spoon?"
The chimpette screeches again, spraying Hericane's face with slobber. Hericane responds by calmly snapping the monkey's right arm at the elbow with a jab of her finger.
This time, the monkey's screaming in pain for real. I add to her distress by giving her back-brain a kick, ramping up the sheer terror knifing through her.
"Where is he?" shouts Hericane. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not fooling around here."
When my next zap sets off a fresh round of screeches instead of a confession, I decide to apply a different form of inspiration. Specifically, I swing up the .45 and stick the muzzle in the chimpette's nose.
Suddenly, she stops screaming. Her eyes cross as they lock on the barrel of the gun.
"For the last time." I shove the muzzle in a little deeper. "Chimpanzero. Where?"
*****
I have to beg Hericane not to break down the doors. I know she wants to--I do, too--but we're on tricky turf.
Sick Little Monkey knew it, which is why she sneered when she broke down and told us. "You can't touch him there!" she screamed. "He's safe!" After which, Hericane knocked her unconscious again and tossed her aside like a used piece of gum.
But the chimp bitch wasn't far wrong. I've been to this place before, I've dealt with its guardian, and it's never been a walk in the park.
"We can't just blast in there," I tell Hericane on my way up the front steps.
"Sure we can." Hericane snaps her head to one side and stares at the big double doors, then slowly lowers her gaze. Th
e pulsing golden aura appears around her, signifying the use of her powerful senses. "I see him inside there, in the basement. All we have to do is blast in, grab him up, and shoot out of there."
"Can't." I shake my head. "You know that. You know what this place is. We're not at The Zoo anymore."
"I don't care." Hericane glowers as I draw up beside her. "We're wasting time."
"We'll do it by the book." I reach up and knock hard on the oak door in front of me. "At first, anyway." I give her a meaningful look.
She just nods. Message received.
I knock again. Without warning, the door creaks inward. A heavyset man peers out at us, blinking under his thatch of brown hair. "Yes?"
"Father Obregon?" I do my best to keep my tone even and courteous. "May we come in? I'd like to speak with you, if I may."
"Why certainly, Bonnie." He smiles as he opens the door wider and waves for us to enter. "Mi casa es su casa."
He bows his head as the both of us walk inside. The politeness is an act; I know that all too well.
I know how this guy operates and the games he can play once he's got you inside the confines of St. Frances Cabrini Church.
*****
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" says Father Obregon as he pulls the door shut. "What can I do for you, Bonnie?"
Our footsteps echo as he leads us down the center aisle of the big, gray church. As far as I can see and sense, we're the only ones in the place.
"It's a rather urgent matter, Father," I tell him. "My friend here..." I gesture at Hericane. "She lost a close friend tonight." No need to mention the fact that she was a romantic interest of Hericane's. Father Obregon wouldn't approve.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Father Obregon stops midway to the front of the church and gestures at a pew, indicating that we should sit. "Does she require counsel?"
I don't sit. "She needs to talk to someone you know."
Father Obregon's expression is hard to read as he stares at me in the shadowy space. Even with the lights on and racks of votive candles flickering in the wings, it's a dark and murky cave of a church.
"Who would this be?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know.
"Chimpanzero," I tell him. "We need to ask him some questions."
"Ah, yes. Questions." Father Obregon rocks back and forth of the balls of his feet. "I have seen how you ask questions."
Here we go again. I knew he was going to screw with me. "We've had our differences, Father. I won't deny that."
"Good." He raises a thick index finger and grins through his brown goatee. "Because that would be a lie, my child."
"We know he's in here." Hericane scowls and points at the floor. "We know you're hiding him."
Father Obregon raises his eyebrows. "Then you also know that if he's here, he's been granted superhuman sanctuary. This is a rescue parish, after all."
Ever want to punch a priest in the face? Me, neither--but this guy makes me come close. He's the first to put a superhuman spin on the rescue parish concept, providing sanctuary to refugee superhumans just as other churches do the same for illegal immigrants. Does he do it out of some spiritual devotion or deeply held theological principle? Is he such a devout man of God that he can't turn away a superhuman in need? Or is he such a total contrarian ass that he just does it to get a rise out of people and have a laugh at the shit-storms he whips up?
I guess you know which theory I subscribe to. "Please, Father." So I try to appeal to his ego, which I believe is pretty twisted. Desperate times call for desperate measures. "Can't you help us? We have nowhere else to turn."
Father Obregon folds his hands over his ample belly and seems to give my plea serious consideration. Then, he purses his lips and shakes his head. "Sanctuary is sanctuary. For all I know, your mission here is a wicked one."
"Wicked?" So much for appealing to his ego. "You do know your charge is a violent criminal, don't you? He's a danger to the superhuman community and the community at large as well."
"All are equal in God's sight," says Father Obregon--and that's when I see it. The glint in his eye. He's enjoying this. He'll never give in.
Then, all of a sudden, the glint is gone. Just like that.
Because guess who just dropped through the floor beside me?
"Help!" cries Hericane as she descends to the sound of smashing floors and furniture. "I'm falling!"
Which of course she isn't falling, she's drilling her way to the basement, as we all know. Father Obregon doesn't even look surprised.
Just pissed. "Now that's a real shame." He wags his head slowly from side to side. "If you can't get what you want, you take it."
"That floor collapsed." I toss off a shrug on my way to the stairs. "You might have a lawsuit on your hands, if you're not careful."
*****
When I get to the church basement, the room is full of foul-smelling green smoke. I guess Chimpanzero must have had a secret weapon handy for just such an occasion...and it must not have worked out too well, judging from the sound of his screeching.
Father Obregon is hot on my heels as I follow the sound of the chimp. He'll be registering his objections right down the line, I'm sure.
Like I care. My only concern is putting this effing case to bed while the trail is still warm...giving Hericane the one thing I still don't have to this day. The one thing I maybe could have had if I'd gotten this kind of help right after Jimmy and the kids were murdered.
Closure.
When I find Hericane in the heart of the rancid green cloud, she's holding Chimpanzero up off the floor by the scruff of his neck. His feet pedal helplessly at the green gas drifting around them, and he's screaming his head off.
Pissing himself, as well. Urine's running right down the albino white fur of his left leg.
Poor thing's terrified.
Rightly so. "Why'd you do it?" snaps Hericane, giving him a hell of a shake.
He stops screeching and slumps in her grip. The pee keeps running down his leg to the floor. "I didn't do nothin'."
"Put him down!" barks Father Obregon. "That chimp has been given sanctuary in this rescue parish! I demand you respect his rights!"
I shoot Obregon a look of utter disdain. "What rights? The right to throw his own feces? He's a monkey."
"With a genius I.Q.!" Chimpanzero thrashes when he says it. "I'm the equal of any human!"
Who does he think he's fooling? "Any human moron." I shake my head in disgust. Chimpanzero's nothing but a ten time loser, and everyone knows it. Even Father Obregon. Brains don't mean much when you've got the common sense of an ape.
Not that Father Obregon will let that keep him from beating the drum. "That's enough." He whips a phone out of his pocket and starts snapping photos. "I'm calling PETA and the Pope, in that order."
Rays of golden light shoot out of Hericane's eyes and fry the phone. "Tell the Pope I said hi," she says innocently as the priest juggles the super-heated phone and drops it.
Should I bother apologizing? Should I take the time to explain to him why it's so important we question the monkey and close the case? Why it's so important not just to Hericane, but to me? Do I think he'd understand?
Understand, maybe. Give a crap, no way.
Keep moving. "As we were saying." I step up to the chimp, keeping just out of reach of his brawny albino arms. Damn things can have the strength of five men--plenty powerful enough to kill me with a single blow. And based on what I saw at the crime scene, this particular monkey's got a lot more strength than that. "We know you were in Mardi Gras' apartment tonight. We know what you did."
"I'm telling you, I didn't do it!" Chimpanzero kicks and thrashes, then slumps again. "Please, I swear it!"
"You're full of it," says Hericane. "We know you're lying." She shakes him violently, making him scream.
Father Obregon clears his throat. "Would you like me to step out of the room while you torture this poor soul? I wouldn't want to make you feel like you have to hold back."
I comple
tely ignore him. "Why did you do it?" I inch closer to Chimpanzero--but not too close. "You've got one way out of this--tell us."
"No, please, no." Chimpanzero flails weakly. His pale eyes are bloodshot, his fur smeared red.
"Where is she?" says Hericane. "Where did you take her?"
Chimpanzero scowls. "Take who? I didn't take nobody nowhere."
So Hericane's still in denial. But I can't play along or the monkey won't take me seriously. "Mardi Gras, stupid! You went to her apartment to murder her, didn't you?"
"All right, that's enough." Father Obregon puts a hand on my shoulder and tries to pull me away. I shrug him off and shoot a little panic buzz into his back-brain. "I mean, uh..."
"Talk, you piece of shit!" I pull out my .45 and point it at the chimp. Meanwhile, I pump up the priest's panic enough to send him retreating through the green fog.
Chimpanzero's eyes flare wide with sheer terror at the sight of the gun. "She was dead when I got there! I swear!"
"And why were you there in the first place?"
"I was there for a job!" says Chimpanzero. "I got a call from a fight promoter!"
What the hell? "A promoter? You mean you're a palooka now?"
The monkey nods, then bows his head, looking embarrassed. "I need the cash. I'm desperate."
I shouldn't be surprised. Chimpanzero's always been a ten-time loser. Makes sense he'd look for work as a palooka--paid by a promoter to go up against super-heroes who need a reputation boost. There's plenty of demand for guys like him, lots of so-called heroes who need a couple of showy bouts to get 'em in the papers. A good palooka needs to be just tough enough to go a couple rounds in the jewelry store or bank or whatever, but not so tough that the headliner can't drop him in high style when the time comes. Chimpanzero's worthless against someone of Hericane's caliber, but I can see him holding his own against some lower tier crusader like Partycrasher or Rx, the Prescription for Crime.
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