The Legend of the Red Specter (The Adventures of the Red Specter Book 1)

by M. A. Wisniewski

  "Ms. Fan! You have crossed the line into blatant extortion, and I do not appreciate it one bit," fumed Garai. "But if you are so determined, and though it pains me greatly, I may just be able to slash my budget elsewhere, just barely enough to squeeze out twenty-five—"

  "Thirty cents, Garai, or—"

  "Ms. Fan!" Garai sputtered. "You may not know this, but there's a certain etiquette to haggling. You are supposed to set your first offer at a much higher level than what you are willing to accept, so you can come down when I make a counter-offer, and then we meet in the middle. You don't start with—"

  "NO, GARAI!" Joy said, slamming her fist on his desk. "You don't get how this works. Because you know what? You know what I had to go through to get this story? Over the past twenty-four hours I have been yelled at, threatened, chased, insulted, had my best business outfit ruined, been assaulted by gangsters, chased some more, had knives thrown at me, been caught in a frickin' cattle stampede, nearly drowned, barely staved off hypothermia, was captured, tied up, punched multiple times in the head and stomach, had my finger dislocated, got terrorized by a shark lunatic, got insulted some more, then caught in bomb blast, got shot at again, had another lunatic threaten me with disfigurement and actually try to cut my ear off—I've stepped on a nail, and... and... been falsely accused of mass puppy murder, and I am tired and I am starving and I am getting THIRTY MOTHERFUCKING CENTS A WORD!"

  Joy stood there, glaring at Garai and trying to catch her breath after her tirade, while he leaned back and stared at her. They stayed like that for a while, letting the silence stretch through the empty office.

  Finally, Garai spoke. "Very well, Ms. Fan. You will get thirty cents a word on this story, but—"

  "On each installment of this story."

  "Yes, fine," said Garai, scowling. "But I am not going to be haggling with you over a story again. From now on, you will be on salary."

  "Salary? What sal..." Joy paused as the implication hit her. "Wait, you're offering me a job?"

  "Certainly. It will be worth it if you can bring in more stories like this."

  "Oh. Well... hold on, let me think," Joy said. A salary! That meant stability. Regular income—reliable money coming in every week. She could afford to do research. She could really turn her story into a book. But she'd be an employee of the Gazette. Professionally, she'd be tied to it. And she hated the Gazette. She wanted to work for a real newspaper….

  Or did she? The Journal had been a massive disappointment. Suppose she did try to relocate. She could swallow her pride, translate propaganda, spend a few months scrimping and saving, and relocate to a new city with a clean slate and a new reporter job. She’d have to start from the bottom again, and what if there was another Quintus at the new paper? It wasn’t improbable. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of assholes in the world. And it would only take one to completely undo months of her hard work.

  Fuck that. And fuck moving. Why should she move? Dodona was her city. The thought startled Joy, but it was true. She lived here and they weren’t going to chase her out. But if staying meant working for the Gazette, was that any better?

  Was it even a good choice for her? The only Gazette-appropriate story she'd ever turned in was this one, and only because it had been about the Red Specter. But what a story that was! Joy replayed all the events of the last twenty-four hours back in her head. Looking back, it was unbelievable. Most journalists could go their whole lives without getting a scoop like… no, not just one scoop. This had been like, five or six scoops, any one of which could make a career. But could she repeat that?

  Well, maybe she could and maybe she couldn’t. And if she couldn’t, she’d quit or be fired and be no worse off than she was now. But if she could really do it again, if she kept landing stories like this one…

  “All right, Garai—but I've got a couple conditions," she said. "I want to be the exclusive reporter covering Red Specter stories. And I want an expense account so I can track him down. Travel costs, mostly. Train tickets and hotels and the like."

  "Track him down?" Garai said. "How are you going to—"

  "I'll make it happen," she said.

  Garai looked her in the eyes, and she didn’t flinch. Apparently he saw something he liked, because he favored her with a wide, toothy grin.

  "Very well," he said. "I will hold you to that."

  A small part of Joy tried to talk herself down, tried to tell her she was making promises she couldn't back up, that she wouldn't be able to do it. She stomped it down, reminding herself that at worst, she’d be in the same spot she’d been at when she’d started this crazy story.

  "Hey, if I'm an employee now, does that mean I get worker's comp?"

  Garai paused, taking a long look at her bruises and bandages. "Yes," he said, somewhat reluctantly. "For injuries sustained after your hire date."

  Well, shoot. She couldn't say that was unfair, though.

  "Oh—and I keep the book rights to my stories," she added.

  Joy saw Garai's face twitch at that, but he recovered quickly. "You know, arranging a book deal is a complicated thing," he said. "Finding the right contacts, editors, and such. And you'll be busy with writing and research. But I do have contacts with publishers, and could easily handle those details for you—in exchange for twenty percent of the royalties."

  "Ten percent," Joy countered.

  "Fifteen."

  "Deal."

  Joy negotiated her salary in the same way, taking Garai's advice and asking for way more than she wanted, countering to the middle, and ending up with more than she'd expected to get.

  "And I want an advance on my story," she said, calculating how much she'd need to get some decent new clothes, plus general expenses for the next few days. And maybe a new desk chair. "Five hundred dollars."

  "Eh?" Garai looked a bit startled. "Well, fine. I can write you a check—"

  "No, cash. I insist."

  "What? I can't do that." Garai noticed her expression and threw up his hands. "That's not some sort of tactic, Ms. Fan. You know I simply don't carry that type of money in the office."

  "Well, a check won't do me any good," said Joy. "It's a holiday and the bank's going to be closed."

  "You can't wait until tomorrow—"

  "No, I can't wait, Garai," she said. "I'm starving, I need money to buy food, and I am completely fucking broke right now."

  Garai looked at her like she'd grown another head. Joy wondered what his problem was, then groaned inwardly when she realized it. Admitting to being broke wasn't the best move after playing hardball financial negotiations, when neither of them had actually signed anything.

  She watched Garai, waiting for some type of indignant outburst, or a sudden interest in re-negotiating their deal, but instead he tipped his head back and roared with laughter, slapping his desktop.

  "Ah, that is amazing," he said. "I knew there was a reason I liked you. Flat broke!" Garai succumbed to another wave of laughter. He managed to fight it down after a minute or two.

  "Yes, keep that attitude and you'll go far in this business," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Well, I do have a hundred in cash I can give you. Will that suffice? Or did you intend to stuff five hundred dollars’ worth of food in that tiny stomach of yours?"

  Joy breathed a sigh of relief and grinned back. "I was going to give it my best shot. But I'll go with a hundred for today."

  He counted out her cash, wrote up a check, and reminded her to come in tomorrow with her next installment, and he'd have her employment contract ready. She thanked him and headed to the door, trying not to let her knees wobble. Her hand was on the doorway when he called out to her again. "Ms. Fan!"

  Something about the way he said it touched her. It was an ordinary enough thing, just calling her name, but there was a new quality to it—something in the intonation, that marked a new stage in their relationship. She wasn't some screw-up trainee, she was an equal, someone who could stand up for herself, a partner in the business of
reporting the news. It was a new feeling, and it was kind of awesome.

  "Yes, Garai," she said, turning back to him. "Something else you need?"

  "Ah, no," he said. "It's just that you have a large piece of packing tape stuck to your rear end."

  "Thank you," said Joy, with as much dignity as she could muster, while removing the offending tape, which also had chunks of cotton stuffing stuck to it as well. She’d been walking around with a lamb’s tail. Maybe she’d replace her desk chair before her clothes. That damned thing needed to be put out of its misery.

  "See you tomorrow," she said, and fled the offices of the Dodona Gazette.

  Chapter 52

  Victory Lap

  Joy stepped back out into the street, and took a long, deep breath. She'd done it. She had money in her hand and more would be coming in the future, guaranteed. She had more to do—more story to write, but it wasn’t urgent. Today she was free. The sun warmed her face and hair, and the breeze funneled it's way through the bright city streets, carrying all her worries away with it. She felt so light without them.

  Well, that wasn't the only reason she felt light. Her stomach was an empty void, and that needed fixing. But she could do that now. She stuffed the wad of cash she’d gotten from Garai into the front pouch on her sweatshirt. Her purse was still stashed beneath the boardwalk, down by the harbor, assuming nobody had swiped it. She could look for it later. She kept both her hands in her sweatshirt, protecting her little stash, as she strolled to her destination, with her copy of today's Gazette rolled up and tucked under her arm. Sure, her money wasn't likely to fall out of her pocket or anything, but why take the risk?

  She smelled the Golden Banquet before she saw it, sweet and savory and warm. The golden koi sculptures flanking the entrance greeted her like old friends. The hostess wasn't nearly so warm. She took in the wreckage of Joy's general appearance, her bruises, her bandages, her sweats and tatty work shoes, and adopted one of those careful, cool customer-service expressions of "We're so very sorry to be unable to assist you today, ma'am."

  Joy didn't let things get that far. "Hello, there," she said brightly. "I'd like a table for one, please—anywhere is fine. Oh, and I'm sorry about... all this," she said, making a gesture to encompass her entire appearance. "But the other day I was having an early dinner at this delightful little cafe out by the harbor, and, well... I know this is going to sound crazy, but I got caught in a cattle stampede. And I just got out of the hospital and I could really really really use some comfort food right now. That's okay with you, right? Please tell me that's okay."

  Joy got a table in the far back corner, which was fine by her. They weren't that crowded anyway, since she'd managed to hit the late-afternoon lull between lunch and dinner, holiday traffic notwithstanding. The restaurant's red-and-gold decor matched really well with the Liberation Day decorations too. Naturally patriotic. But the important thing was being able to hail down all the wandering food carts, and she'd managed to surround herself with a series of steaming baskets in no time flat.

  She started off with the barbecue pork buns, her favorite, and had to remind herself to be careful not to burn her tongue, to break them open first, blow on them to cool them, and just take little nibbles while they were so hot. She ended up burning her tongue a little anyway. It was so hard to wait when they were so good. But aside from that she could mix things up—get the steamed pork meatballs wrapped in noodles, and the steamed shrimp dumplings, too. Plus she had remembered to get the savory string beans, because you needed veggies in there, too. Oh, and they had that pressed turnip cake with the bacon bits—turnips were vegetables, right? And then there was—

  Joy found she had to slow down. She had a sudden tight feeling in her chest. Her poor shrunken stomach was reeling under the onslaught of all this delicious food. It fell like it was piling up to where it was reaching the bottom of her throat. She didn't stop eating, though, just took her time chewing, giving her insides a chance to shift things around and process them through. She thumped on her own chest in what she hoped was an encouraging manner and directed positive thoughts that way. Don't worry, little guy. You can do it. I believe in you.

  And her insides did indeed rise to the challenge, which was a good thing, because one of the sweets trays caught her eye, and they had the phoenix egg buns with the sugary egg custard inside, which she hadn't had for ages, plus those red bean jelly cakes floating on a layer of condensed coconut milk, along with a few more custard buns. And then there was another cart with more pork dumplings, only these were wrapped up in balls: gooey, sugary rice dough rolled in sesame seeds. She couldn't let those go by. And they also had the marinated shredded jellyfish salad--though really it wasn't so much the jellyfish she was after, as the pickled carrots that came with it. Those were to die for, though of course she ate the jellyfish too. And then there was.…

  Joy kept on like that until she was well and truly stuffed—her belly straining against the waistband of her sweats—fat and happy. She'd not quite managed to blow her entire cash advance on this one meal, but she'd made a decent run at it. She paid up, thanked the staff on her way out, and shuffled out to the street again. One of them stopped her for a second to hand her the copy of the Gazette, which she'd nearly forgotten. Why did she have this again? It was getting harder to think. The huge meal had turned her sluggish and lazy. She hailed a pedi-cab to take her back to her apartment. Pay for a cab? Instead of walking? How deliciously decadent!

  When she reached her apartment, she had just enough energy to close the blinds and peel off her sweats before collapsing on her mattress. She was about to drift off when she noticed the Gazette lying on the floor, and remembered something.

  The Gazette had a comics page. They had the Red Specter comic, the one that had left her on a cliffhanger yesterday. She fumbled out with one lazy arm and managed to snag it.

  A box of text brought her back up to speed. "Poisoned by the notorious witch Shiori Rosewing, poor innocent Lilla is being transformed... into a GAS MAN! Is there nothing our heroes can do to stop it?"

  Lilla lay on her back, with Kolton cradling her head and shoulders.

  "She's starting to dissolve," he cried. "She's turning into GAS! We have to stop it. We need to do SOMETHING!"

  "My boy…" said Professor Zhang, "It's too late... all my learning... all my science... It's worthless now."

  Feebly, Lilla reached out to the Red Specter, streams of vapor trailing off the blurred edges of her arm. "Please..." She whispered.

  There was a single panel of the Specter's expressionless mask. Then, in the next panel, he spoke.

  "STEP BACK AND TURN AWAY. ALL OF YOU. NOW."

  "WHAT?" said Kolton, enraged. "Are you telling us to give up? After all she's--"

  "No, my boy," said Professor Zhang. "Do as he says, right now. HURRY!"

  The next panel showed all the men facing away from the Specter as he knelt over Lilla. He began to unzip a section of his mask; the cone that covered his nose and mouth. Had there been a zipper like that on the real one? Joy thought back as best she could. That… could be accurate. Interesting.

  The Red Specter leaned further over Lilla, but it was shown from an angle where she couldn't see what was going on. Was he giving her mouth-to-mouth? All she saw was his back.

  Whatever he'd done, it worked, because Lilla sat bolt upright and gasped, all traces of the gas-infection gone. All the men rushed over to check on her.

  "Lilla" said Kolton. "You're okay!"

  "Oh, thank the heavens," said Professor Zhang. "I'd shame my ancestors if I let anything happen to you."

  "That's some convenient magic there, Specter," said Baz. "But just what the heck did you do to..."

  He trailed off as he looked about to realize the Red Specter had disappeared, and chuckled as he did. "Well, isn't that typical?"

  "SPECTER! Come back," cried Lilla. "You saved me! You saved us ALL! You need to let us thank you!"

  From somewhere off-panel, somewhere in the d
arkness, came the Specter's spooky voice. "NO NEED FOR THAT. THIS IS MY PURPOSE. WHENEVER TYRANNY REIGNS, WHEREVER EVIL STRIKES—LOOK TO THE SHADOWS, AND I’LL BE THERE. FOR NO INJUSTICE ESCAPES THE WRATH... OF THE RED SPECTER."

  And that was the end of the comic, of this adventure. But of course there'd be a new one tomorrow.

  Joy smiled to herself as she let the paper fall back to the floor. What a cheesy line. What a cheesy comic. The real thing was way more interesting. And she was going to prove it. Joy savored that thought as she let her eyelids fall. That would be an adventure for another day. And she was looking forward to it.