“If he hasn’t already,” I say.
“If he hasn’t already,” Matt concedes, “but the Manchester PD has been looking for him all morning. There’s a good chance Kurt’s holed up wherever he’s been hiding out all this time, waiting for the heat to die down before he makes a run for it.”
“Let’s hope. Where do we start?”
We start at the beginning, so to speak. We make our way through downtown Manchester along the Merrimack River. It’s a New England Main Street-type area characterized by a lot of renovated brick mills now serving as residential and business space. In fact, it looks like half the city is made out of red brick, but it gives the city a cool retro vibe. It’s nice, clean, upscale...Mary’s Little Lamb Bakery and Café fits the tone perfectly, its missing plate glass window notwithstanding. Matt finds a spot to park down the street, and we walk back to the bakery, drawing a few curious glances along the way — a few, but not many. Since nearly every super-hero in the country went public, we’ve lost some of our mystique.
“Hrm,” Missy murmurs, cocking her head.
“What?” I say.
“Thought I heard something,” she says in that flat yet weirdly sing-songy voice she uses when she’s in character. “A low hum, like the sound Concorde’s suit makes.”
I pause and listen for such a sound, but all I hear is the typical white noise of a town center on a warm Saturday morning: cars, birds, pedestrians talking amongst themselves or chatting on their phones...
We reach the café. A handwritten sign taped to the door reads SORRY – CLOSED, but there are people inside — employees cleaning up from this morning. Matt tries the door, but it’s locked, so he peeks in through the former front window.
“Excuse me,” he says.
A middle-aged woman finishes tipping a table back onto its feet, looks our way, sighs, and frowns. “What now?” she says sourly.
Matt removes his facemask to make himself more personable. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Captain Trenchcoat from the Protectorate.” It’s a small lie, but we’ve learned that name-dropping the well-known adult super-team greases wheels quite effectively, whereas the Hero Squad inspires derisive snickering more than trust. “We’re here to find the person who did this to your business.”
It’s a solid opening pitch. He’s sincere, respectful, offering to make things right.
The woman’s frown deepens and she shakes her head. “Don’t you people talk to each other?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I already told your friends everything.” She harrumphs. “For all the good it’ll do,” she says, looking around at her trashed shop.
“Our friends?”
“They said they were from the Protectorate.”
Oh, did they now?
“When were our, uh, friends here?” Matt asks.
“Hour ago, maybe?” she says before turning her back to us, the universal sign for go away and leave me alone.
“What friends?” Stuart says. “We don’t know anyone around here.”
“There is a new-ish team in this area,” Matt says, eyes narrowing in thought, “a group of kids our age called the Wardens. Popped up over the winter, I think, but they haven’t been too active.”
“Guess that explains why I haven’t heard of them,” I say.
“Concorde tried to contact them but they never responded. He’s especially interested in talking to their flyer.”
“If the Wardens were here earlier asking questions, that means they’re looking for Kurt, too.”
Matt sighs. “Last thing we need is a bunch of inexperienced wannabes getting in our way,” he grumbles. I can’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“Were you listening to yourself just then? You sounded so much like Concorde from back in the day it was hysterical.”
“There’s nothing funny about this. We don’t know their capabilities, we don’t know how well they handle themselves in a fight...”
“They should step aside and leave the super-hero business to those of us who know what we’re doing before they get themselves killed,” I say with a heavy mock seriousness that sails right over Matt’s head.
“Exactly.”
“Dude. Irony,” Stuart says. “Grasp the concept.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You might be,” I say. “You said it yourself: we don’t know anything about them. They might be as powerful and as skilled as we are.”
Matt snorts. “Doubt that.”
“Maybe we should keep an open mind here, hm?”
“I’ll settle for open eyes and ears. I want to find Kurt before the Wardens do and take care of things quickly, quietly, and cleanly.”
I spread my arms. “We’re open to suggestions. Any idea how to find one guy in a city like this? A guy who could have easily made it into Canada by now?”
Matt’s eyes narrow again. “There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts right over there,” he says, pointing out the coffee shop across the street.
“It’s New England, dude,” Stuart says. “That’s like saying, ‘Hey, check out the guy in the Red Sox cap.’”
“But Kurt came here,” he says, gesturing at the café. “He passed on a Dunkin’ Donuts to go to a fancy bakery that sells finger sandwiches and petit fours — and I doubt Kurt even knows what a petit four is.”
I get where he’s going. “He had a reason to come to this specific café.”
“Exactly.”
A second round of gentle inquiries with the staff reveals that Kurt was a regular. The woman who works the front register says he’s been coming in once or twice a week for the past several months, and he always picks up a box of Mary’s World-Famous Rainbow Macarons.
“Yeah, Kurt doesn’t seem like a rainbow macaron kind of guy,” Matt says distantly.
“Come on, boss, don’t keep us in suspense,” Stuart says. “You got a theory?”
“Hold on,” Missy says. I look over at her, and her head’s cocked again, listening. “That sound again.”
“What sound?” Matt says.
“She said she heard a weird hum, like Concorde’s suit,” I say. Matt’s eyes widen, and he steps to the edge of the sidewalk, scanning the sky. “Matt?”
He doesn’t respond at first. “There,” he says, pointing at a shape flying at low altitude over Manchester. It’s moving too fast to get a good look. Matt pulls a pair of binoculars out of his coat and watches the object until it vanishes from sight.
“Was that Sky-what’s-his-name?” Stuart says.
“Skyblazer. Yeah, I think so,” Matt says.
“Is he a natural flyer, like Carrie?” I ask.
“No, he has a suit, which is why Concorde wanted to talk to him. Anyone who owns tech like that is either a genius with considerable financial resources or has connections — most likely, questionable connections.”
Connections like the Foreman, whose organization has a track record of outfitting wannabe super-villains. Yeah, that’s a good reason for wanting a sit-down with anyone rocking a shiny new high-tech flying suit.
“Missy, you said you heard him pass earlier,” Matt says. “How long ago?”
“I don’t know. Ten minutes?” Missy says.
“He’s flying a search pattern?” I say.
“That’s my guess,” Matt says.
“What do we do? Wait for him to make another pass and try to flag him down?” Stuart says.
“I doubt he’d see us. But...”
“But?” I say.
Matt slips his facemask back on. “But maybe he has an onboard comm system we can tap into.”
Matt syncs our comms together so we can all listen in as he scans the various public — and a few not-so-public — communication bands.
“— not seeing anything. C’mon, Rando, the guy’s not going to show his face in public anytime soon,” someone says. It’s a young man’s voice.
“Maybe not, but I want eyes in the sky in case he does make a break for it,” a girl replies. “Don’t worry, we’ll call you in
if we need you. We’re heading to the next hotel now.”
“Don’t waste your time. He’s not hiding out in a hotel,” Matt says.
There’s a moment of startled silence. “Who the hell is this?” the girl says.
“Someone who’s been doing this longer than you have. Trust me, Kurt isn’t hiding in a hotel. Hotels cost money, which he doesn’t have, and no hotel in a decent town like this is going to rent to a teenager.”
“I repeat: who is this?”
“Captain Trenchcoat of the Hero Squad. You know: the team that actually does work with the Protectorate.”
Another moment of silence. “Where are you?”
“In front of the bakery. We tried to talk to the staff but we were informed that our friends had already done that.”
“Think you could turn the righteous indignation down a notch?” I say to Matt. “We’re supposed to be the professionals here, remember?”
“Fine,” he sneers. “Rando, was it?”
“It was,” Rando says.
“Let’s meet up and compare notes. Where can we find you?”
Rando gives us an address, a mill near the river that’s undergoing renovations. We climb a rusty fire escape to the roof, where we’re greeted by Manchester’s hometown team, the Wardens — although greeted may be too strong a word. An African-American girl wearing dark jeans, a black leather jacket, and a domino mask steps forward, crosses her arms, and puts on her best tough girl scowl. Oh, this is going to be fun.
“Rando, I presume?” Matt says.
“That’s right,” she says. “This is my team.”
We don’t need a formal introduction to tell who Skyblazer is. His blue-and-white armor immediately strikes me as an off-brand knockoff of Concorde’s suit, and that’s not suspicious at all. The other girl in the group is Zip, who makes me look pudgy by comparison. She’s wearing a retina-scorching neon green leotard with matching sneakers and a pair of old-timey pilot’s goggles. The other boy, the one in the mirrored sunglasses and a black tank top that shows off his lean muscles, is Magnum Hand.
Don’t you dare make a joke about his name, I say to Matt over the brainphone.
Me? Never, Matt says. I’m a professional, remember?
“Psyche, Superbeast, Kunoichi,” Matt says, pointing each of us out in turn.
“Nice to meet you,” Rando says without meaning it. “Sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
“Excuse me?”
“This is our territory. We’ll handle...Kurt, you said?”
“Yeah...”
“We’ll handle Kurt. You can go now.”
“We could,” Matt says, his patience quickly wearing thin, “or, crazy idea here, we could work together, share resources...”
“Come on, Rando,” Skyblazer says, “they could help.”
“We don’t need their help,” Rando growls.
“Really? I think you do,” Matt says, “because what I see here are four people looking in all the wrong places for a guy they know absolutely nothing about.”
“We know he’s super-strong and mean as hell.”
“That’s because Kurt Martens is a genetically engineered killing machine — a human-wolf hybrid, to be precise.”
“My dad made him,” Missy says. “And me.”
“And the three other superhumans he may be hiding out with. You knew about them, right?”
Rando fidgets.
“I think you made your point,” I say. Matt’s grown into a great team leader, but he still needs to work on his interpersonal skills. “Look, we’re not here to hog the glory or step on your toes,” I say to Rando, “but let’s be honest: we’ve fought these people before and we know what they’re capable of. You don’t. But we don’t know the area. You do. It makes sense to work together on this. We are all on the same side, right?”
“Rando,” Skyblazer prods gently.
Rando gives him a dirty look then throws her hands up. “Great. Whatever.” She strides up to Matt. “All right, smart guy, you’re so hot to tell us what we’re doing wrong. Let’s hear it.”
Matt takes a calming breath. “This is what we know,” be begins. “Kurt escaped from Byrne last year. That’s the penitentiary —”
“The penitentiary for superhumans,” Rando says. “Yeah, I know. I’m not completely stupid.”
“Neither is Kurt. He’s managed to evade capture longer than any of the other Byrne escapees, people with more life experience, more resources, and more formidable powers.”
“He can’t be too smart either, if he decided to hide out in a town with its own super-hero team.”
“Unless he had a good reason to come here.”
“Like someone willing and able to help him hide,” Skyblazer says. “Someone local.”
“Very local. The bakery staff said Kurt popped in a couple times a week to buy pastries.”
“Mary’s World-Famous Rainbow Macarons,” Stuart clarifies, “which sound awesome.”
“They are,” Zip says. “I eat, like, an entire box of them at a time.”
“Focus,” Rando says. “All right, so you think Kurt’s staying with someone who lives within reasonable walking distance of Mary’s,” she says to Matt. “That doesn’t narrow things down much. There are hundreds of houses and apartments in downtown Manchester.”
“Then we look for a connection,” Matt says.
He fires up his comm to access the Protectorate’s master database — the team’s in-house Wikipedia on all the super-villains we encounter — and searches Kurt’s file, looking for extended family or known associates in the Manchester area. It’s a quick search that comes up empty.
“Dammit,” he mutters. “Nothing.”
“So much for that theory,” Rando says, smiling for the first time.
“Hold on,” Skyblazer says. “Uh, Trenchcoat? Captain? You said Kurt might be hiding out with his friends?”
“Yeah, three other Byrne fugitives,” Matt says. “They were all part of a gang of wannabe super-villains.”
“Maybe of them is the local connection?”
“Let’s find out.”
The second search yields results. Ivy’s extended family includes an aunt in Manchester who lives a half-mile away from Mary’s.
“Yahtzee,” Rando says, slapping her fist into her open hand. “Let’s go pay her a visit.”
“And do what?” Matt says.
“Uh, duh. We take names and kick ass.”
“Oh, for —”
“What? What’s your problem now?”
“We need a plan. You can’t march down to some old woman’s house in the middle of town, kick down her door, and start a fight.”
“There’s not going to be a fight. We’ll hit these losers so hard and fast, they won’t have time to —”
“Hit them hard and fast? That’s your —? Never mind, Screw this. This isn’t going to work,” Matt says to me, as if looking for my support. “Sorry, Wardens, I’m grounding you.”
“You’re what?” Magnum says.
“You heard me. I’m ordering you to stand down and let us handle this.”
What was it I said about Matt and his interpersonal skills?
“You’re ordering us?” Rando says. “The hell you are. We don’t work for you, you arrogant jackass, so take your order and shove it.”
“This is our town,” Magnum says, getting right up in Matt’s face. Well, sort of — Magnum only comes up to Matt’s chin. “If anyone’s standing down, it’s you.”
“You might want to back up a step, pal,” Matt says.
“Or what?”
“Magnum, come on, don’t,” Skyblazer says.
“You stay out of this. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Trencher,” I say. “A word?”
Matt steps away from Magnum but doesn’t turn his back until he’s out of reach. “What?”
“Did we really drive all the way up to New Hampshire just to get into a pissing contest with the local super-team?”<
br />
“They are a liability.”
“Right now, so are you. You’re not leading, Matt; you’re getting sucked into a battle of egos.”
“That girl,” Matt says, jabbing a finger at Rando, “is inexperienced, undisciplined, reckless —”
“Sounds a lot like a certain fresh-faced aspiring teen super-hero I once knew.”
“I was never that obnoxious,” Matt protests.
“HA! You absolutely were that obnoxious. And you want to know the real irony of this situation? Right now you’re treating her the way Concorde treated you when you first started out.”
Matt reacts as if I slapped him across the face with a dead fish. Now that I have his full attention...
“Those kids are us two years ago. Yes, they are inexperienced, overconfident, and a little too enthusiastic for their own good, but they mean well. What they need now is understanding, support, and guidance — the kind of guidance you wanted from Concorde. Don’t repeat his mistakes.”
Matt stands there for a moment, digesting what I said. He nods and returns to the two teams, who are locked in a tense staredown. One wrong word and we’re going to end up brawling on this rooftop while Kurt and his gang kick back and eat rainbow macarons.
Matt removes his facemask and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bossed you around or tried to tell you not to protect your home. I was out of line.”
“Damn right you were,” Rando says.
Skyblazer smacks her in the arm. “Knock it off.”
“But I stand by what I said about needing a plan,” Matt says. “Shock and awe has its place but it needs to be utilized strategically. You need to know exactly who and what you’re going up against. You need to know the environment you’ll be fighting in. Most of all, you need to know what could happen to innocent bystanders if things go sideways — and believe me, even the best plans can go off the rails.”
“We’ve seen people die simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I say, “and believe me, that is not something you want on your conscience.”
“You see enough death on this job as it is,” Matt adds, and I catch a flash of powerful anger off one of the Wardens — off Skyblazer, to be precise. Hmm...
“All right,” Rando says. “Then what should we do?”
The attitude suggests she’s not soliciting advice so much as she’s humoring us, but it’s an opening.
Action Figures - Issue Six: Power Play Page 32