tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61514732869703813642024-02-08T05:08:37.614-08:00NotoriousThe Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-51445416493768723252011-08-26T20:50:00.000-07:002011-08-26T20:54:35.262-07:00Issue 2.7 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-26-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
"What the hell were you thinking?"<br />
<br />
I'm in the passenger seat of Agent Duncan's car, checking Marlowe's gun to see how much ammo I've got. Turns out it was fully loaded.<br />
<br />
Figures.<br />
<br />
"You didn't give me a lot of room to improvise," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"You blew up your apartment," she says, and then she gets angry. "You laced your own apartment with <i>explosives</i>. Are you fucking insane?! What if--the fire--"<br />
<br />
"Taken care of. I've been setting up bombs since I was 12. With the right explosives, I could scramble an egg without cracking the shell."<br />
<br />
"Thought you said you don't remember anything back from when you were a killer."<br />
<br />
"I still remember the trade." I look back behind us, down the street. Fire engines in the distance. They won't find much to clean up; just the charred, thoroughly drenched remains of my apartment. "You can slow down now. Unless he bugged your car, Marlowe won't find us."<br />
<br />
She struggles between staring at me and keeping her eyes on the road. "How do you live like this?"<br />
<br />
"I make time between explosions. I need your Agency badge."<br />
<br />
"Excuse me?"<br />
<br />
"I need it to fix this."<br />
<br />
"Just because you saved my life doesn't make us friends."<br />
<br />
"You blew my cover. Now I've got to come at this from a different angle. Give me your Agency badge."<br />
<br />
"Goddamn it, <i>no</i>. I'm not part of this--this thing you're doing," she says. "I'm just the woman who's turning you in."<br />
<br />
"You made yourself part of it when you decided to snoop around my place to see what I was really up to. If it comes up later, tell them I stole it from you."<br />
<br />
"I need to report a missing badge immediately."<br />
<br />
"I've still got 24 hours before you report me to the Agency, right? Do it then."<br />
<br />
"<i>Goddamn it</i>."<br />
<br />
Before she can make a decision, my phone starts ringing. Probably Marlowe. I flip it open and bring it to my ear.<br />
<br />
"Hello, Marlowe. Liking my place so far?"<br />
<br />
A woman laughs on the other end. "Did I interrupt something?"<br />
<br />
That's not Marlowe.<br />
<br />
"Who is this?" I look at Agent Duncan, then do a quick scan of the road. Is someone following us?<br />
<br />
"I'm hurt. You've already forgotten what my voice sounds like?"<br />
<br />
Every muscle in my body seizes up all at once. Nerve endings fire up warning flares. A flock of goosebumps flutter down my back.<br />
<br />
"Miss July," I say.<br />
<br />
Agent Duncan stiffens besides me. "What?" she asks.<br />
<br />
"I've been observing your little situation from afar. I hope you don't mind; we like to keep an eye on our valued assets," July says.<br />
<br />
"<i>The</i> Miss July? As in, 'member of the Administration' Miss July?" Agent Duncan asks. <br />
<br />
I ignore Agent Duncan and focus on the phone. "I'm not an asset anymore."<br />
<br />
"Come on, Jack. We both know better," July says. "It's only a matter of time before you get over this whole 'mid-life crisis' of yours and come back in out of the cold."<br />
<br />
"Not interested."<br />
<br />
"Then I'll make it interesting," she says. "All it takes is one phone-call, and Marlowe will know exactly where to find Jessica. I wouldn't even have to call--a text message would do."<br />
<br />
I'm good when it comes to picking up survelliance, but the Administration's got a network of informants that outnumbers the population of some small countries. On top of that, they've got entire <i>satellites</i> on their side.<br />
<br />
"This isn't your business," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"You're always our business. We want you to do a job."<br />
<br />
"I'm not killing anyone."<br />
<br />
"This one's easy," she says. "In fact, I'm doing you a favor. It's related to your current case. We want you to kill the man responsible for hiring Marlowe to take out Nova."<br />
<br />
Alright. <i>That's</i> different.<br />
<br />
"And who would that be?" I ask.<br />
<br />
"You already know."<br />
<br />
"What, Jimmy Rico?"<br />
<br />
"Mmhmm."<br />
<br />
"<i>Seriously</i>?"<br />
<br />
"He has his reasons."<br />
<br />
"So," I say, trying to get a grasp on all of this. "You want me to kill the guy who's trying to kill Nova. If I don't do it, you'll let his people kill Nova. If I <i>do</i> do it, you'll let Nova live. Is that about the size of it?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
If Jim Rico is responsible for this--for trying to kill Nova, for the hotel bombing, for everything--then he's one slimey son of a bitch, and killing him is very tempting. But that's not my style, not anymore.<br />
<br />
"So what's your gameplan here?" I ask. "Going to keep feeding me morally reasonable targets to kill?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, no," she says. "Eventually, I'll work you back up to the puppy-stomping."<br />
<br />
"You know, when you're trying to seduce someone to the dark side, it helps if you don't actually tell them."<br />
<br />
"That's boring," she says. "Besides, we both know you're an addict."<br />
<br />
Agent Duncan spares another glance at me. She's been quiet since the beginning of this exchange, just listening. I'm thankful for that, but I'm also worried she's mulling over the wisdom of turning me in right now.<br />
<br />
"I'm done with that," I tell July.<br />
<br />
"Tell it to your therapist," she says. "What was the line you fed Agent Duncan, again? 'I don't remember any of it'? But you do, don't you? You remember every glorious moment. After our little experiment, you just had a... 'moral lapse'."<br />
<br />
My grip on the phone tightens. July doesn't let up.<br />
<br />
"It's hard, isn't it? Not killing. Particularly when you're surrounded by so many amateurs. Like whoever did that hotel bombing. Sloppy. Stupid. <i>Unprofessional</i>. That sort of incompetence--it makes you want to hurt someone, doesn't it, Jack?"<br />
<br />
"I'm done with that," I repeat. Like a mantra.<br />
<br />
"The world's full of morons," she says. "All of them dousing themselves with gasoline. And you? You've got yourself a pack of matches. What's one more sociopath to the fire?"<br />
<br />
"Shut up."<br />
<br />
"You've got a day to take out the trash. We'll be in touch."<br />
<br />
She hangs up. I suck in a long breath, then turn to Agent Duncan.<br />
<br />
"I need your badge," I tell her. "And some explosives."<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-26-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-80655470851979327962011-08-23T07:45:00.000-07:002011-08-26T20:50:58.880-07:00Issue 2.6 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-25-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-27-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
A guy like Marlowe doesn't trust easy, so, all things being equal, I'd give 9 out of 10 odds of the gun being empty. He just wants to see if I'm willing to blow a government official's brains out. Like a trust-building exercise, except for sociopaths.<br />
<br />
Unless Marlowe's smart enough to realize <i>I'm</i> that smart. Then the gun is almost certainly loaded with just one bullet. I pull the trigger, blow Agent Duncan's brains out, look shocked, and Marlowe knows I'm not not on the level. Then I'm alone in a room with an unloaded gun, a dead agent, and a five hundred pound rock man.<br />
<br />
But if I've got one bullet in the gun, I've got leverage--I can use it to take Marlowe hostage and get us out of here. But if there aren't <i>any</i> bullets in the gun, then I'm going to look pretty stupid.<br />
<br />
Either way, it's a game. Either Marlowe trusts me, or he doesn't. Either Marlowe's smart enough to know <i>I</i> know, or he isn't. It's like that scene in the <u>Princess Bride</u> with Vizzini and the drinks--is the poison in my cup, or in yours?<br />
<br />
One thing about that scene: I always wondered why Vizzini didn't just stab the guy when he wasn't looking.<br />
<br />
In one practiced motion, I turn and swing Marlowe's gun down pommel first into the arms-dealer's cranium. It makes a satisfying crack that sends him stumbling backward; I step behind him, grab him by the shoulder with the gun in hand, then snatch up a nasty looking kitchen knife and bring it to his throat.<br />
<br />
Games of chance are for chumps.<br />
<br />
"New game," I say. "First rule: Block, pull out your piece, drop the mag, pop the chamber, throw it away."<br />
<br />
Agent Duncan blinks. Blockhead stares. Marlowe squirms.<br />
<br />
"What the <i>fuck</i> are you doing, Burroughs?" Marlowe says, dazed and bleeding.<br />
<br />
"Five seconds. If he doesn't start doing what I told him, then you get a new mouth," I tell Marlowe. "Five. Four. Three."<br />
<br />
"Do it!" Marlowe shouts.<br />
<br />
Slowly, Blockhead pulls out his piece and snaps out the clip. Just as he's moving to toss it to the floor, I growl.<br />
<br />
"Hey, hey! This is my goddamn apartment," I tell him. "Show some fucking decency. Wastebin, asshole."<br />
<br />
He throws it in the wastebin. Followed by the bullet in the chamber, then by the whole gun. Once it's in, I take a step back with Marlowe, giving Blockhead some room.<br />
<br />
"Now," I tell him, "untie Agent Duncan."<br />
<br />
"You're a dead man, Burroughs," Marlowe says.<br />
<br />
"Not exactly the words I'd use on the guy with a steak knife at my throat," I tell him. "Tell your boy to do what I said."<br />
<br />
Marlowe nods. Blockhead does as he's supposed to, like a good boy. Agent Duncan gets to her feet, rubbing at her wrists. She looks back at Blockhead--who glares--then back at me. Hesitantly, she makes her way to step behind me.<br />
<br />
"What--what the hell is the plan?" she asks me.<br />
<br />
"Working on it." I shift my grip, reaching for my cell phone while keeping the knife at Marlowe's throat. As I do, he starts to laugh.<br />
<br />
"Plan? You have no plan," he says. "You're fucked, Mr. Burroughs. I like your loft. Do you think they'll let me keep it after I kill you?"<br />
<br />
"You wouldn't like it," I say, punching in the numbers on the phone. "Rent's shit, neighbors are a pain, the AC's busted. " I hit send. "Plus, it's on fire."<br />
<br />
Several pounds of high-end explosives detonate with enough force to shatter every piece of glass in the room. The destruction is contained--shaped charges designed to decimate the apartment, but nothing else. Fire will take care of the evidence, with foam bombs going off to take care of the fire.<br />
<br />
The concussive force is enough to send Blockhead to his knees. Marlowe yelps as I kick him into the center of the loft, then grab Agent Duncan's waist and jump out the window onto the fire escape.<br />
<br />
As we land, smoke and flame following us, Agent Duncan looks up to me, her eyes brimming with fury.<br />
<br />
"Do you own <i>anything</i> that doesn't explode!?" she shouts.<br />
<br />
"I had a cat, once."<br />
<br />
We run.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-25-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-27-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-33829300690155937802011-08-19T21:25:00.000-07:002011-08-23T07:46:14.338-07:00Issue 2.5 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-24-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-26-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
By the time I get back to the car, I find Nova clutching a blanket to her chest in the front seat. The radio's on, with two DJs speculating about who might have blown up the hotel. It's a toss up between terrorists or the Nefarium.<br />
<br />
"They're really trying to kill me."<br />
<br />
The snarker in me wants to respond with 'yes, the guy dressed like a dog who tried to tear out your heart earlier today would be a clue'. But between the wetness in her eyes and the fear in her face, some part of me manages to figure out that's the wrong response.<br />
<br />
"They're not going to succeed."<br />
<br />
"Maybe I could have gone somewhere else, or stayed at my old house. Maybe--"<br />
<br />
I get into the seat besides her and close the door. "Wherever you were, it wouldn't have mattered. This guy would have followed you."<br />
<br />
She starts to cry. I search for something to stare at while she tears up. I don't know what to do. I fix problems, usually with well-timed explosives. But fixing grief? Sorrow? Pain? Not my department.<br />
<br />
She pushes her head up against my chest, sobbing into my coat. I fumble awkwardly for some place to put my arm and finally settle on her shoulder. <br />
<br />
"I'll get these guys, alright?" <br />
<br />
She starts sobbing harder.<br />
<br />
Okay. Wrong response.<br />
<br />
"They're dead," she says in-between wet heaves. "Henry, Jacob--the family that was downstairs. They're all dead, and it's my fault, because I didn't want to stay at our old place."<br />
<br />
I gently peel her face off my jacket and stare down at her. She's an absolute mess; eyes rimmed with pink, jaw quivering, snot leaking out of her nose.<br />
<br />
"Jessica. All you did was be in a place. Someone took that as an opportunity to blow that place up. This is not your fault."<br />
<br />
"My mother could have died," she says. "She could have been there--"<br />
<br />
"She's safe. No one knows she's at the clinic but us." And Vigil, but I trust him. "We put her under a fake name. Don't worry."<br />
<br />
"Why would someone want to kill me? Why would they do all this?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out. And when I do, I'm going to make sure they pay. Alright?"<br />
<br />
She weakly nods, then sniffles. I yank out a napkin from the glove compartment then start up the car.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Thirty minutes later and I've dropped her off at Cassidy's apartment. Cassidy and I talk once Nova's inside and out of earshot.<br />
<br />
"They haven't found her body. People are getting suspicious," she says. "Half the city is looking for her."<br />
<br />
"Let them keep looking. I took her cell. She might want to call her mom or dad on yours, make sure they know she's okay."<br />
<br />
"Jack, maybe you should step back, let Vanguard handle this. Even if they're compromised, they might be able to--"<br />
<br />
"Too risky. Vanguard's unreliable. I can handle this."<br />
<br />
"You're not like us, Jack. You don't have any powers," she reminds me. "You're only as good as your plan. And I'm pretty sure that, as of now, you don't have one."<br />
<br />
I throw on my trademark grin. "Oh ye of little faith. I've <i>always</i> got a plan."<br />
<br />
She smiles, turns, closes the door. I head to the car, ready to meet with Marlowe.<br />
<br />
I have absolutely no plan.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Takes me fifteen minutes to get back home. I run through my mental checklist of what to expect, go over what resources I have available--their placement in my apartment--then fiddle with my phone for a while. Once I get back, I quickly check the area for signs of surveillance, then head upstairs to my room.<br />
<br />
When I finally open the door, I'm ready for anything. Ninja SWAT team? Yes. Killer robots? Absolutely. Agent Duncan tied to a chair?<br />
<br />
Okay, not that one.<br />
<br />
She's gagged and bound; Blockhead's standing besides her with a gun strapped to his side. Marlowe's in my kitchen, mixing himself a drink.<br />
<br />
"Mr. Burroughs," Marlowe says. "Glad to see you managed to get back."<br />
<br />
My mind moves fast to put the pieces of this puzzle together. Meanwhile, my mouth does some faster talking. "Hey. There's some Daniels on the top shelf, if that's more to your taste."<br />
<br />
"I'm quite fine with this," Marlowe says, and then he gestures to Agent Duncan. "Do you know her?"<br />
<br />
The problem with conversations like these is that you never know what you're <i>supposed</i> to know until it's too late. By then, your cover is blown and you're staring down the business end of a barrel. The key to surviving these conversations is to stall for time.<br />
<br />
"Should I?" I ask.<br />
<br />
"Perhaps. We found her snooping around your apartment. Found this on her," he says, and then he produces her Agency badge.<br />
<br />
Shit.<br />
<br />
Okay. I can work with this.<br />
<br />
"Seems like you found my tail," I tell him, making my way around the loft, toward the fridge. I make like I'm going for a sandwich, but really, I just want to see how Blockhead reacts. If he lets me by, I know Marlowe still trusts me. If not...<br />
<br />
Well, hopefully I can make it to the grenade I've got stashed next to the eggs.<br />
<br />
Rather than Blockhead, it's Marlowe who steps in my way. He puts the badge in my hand. "A tail isn't good, Mr. Burroughs. This is something that needs to be addressed. Does she have a partner?"<br />
<br />
I look to Agent Duncan, then back to Marlowe. "No. She's been stalking me on her own. Agency thinks she's on vacation."<br />
<br />
Marlowe smiles. "How fortunate." And then he produces a gun, holding it out to me. "Would you care to do the honors, then?"<br />
<br />
When a criminal offers you a gun, one of two things is happening. Either he trusts you with his life, or he's testing you.<br />
<br />
"Me?" I say.<br />
<br />
"This <i>is</i> your problem, Mr. Burroughs."<br />
<br />
I snort. "Yeah, fine." I pick up the gun and turn toward Agent Duncan. "But I'm not cleaning up the mess."<br />
<br />
She stares up at me with wild, bewildered eyes--somewhere between terror and confusion.<br />
<br />
"Sorry, girl," I tell her. "Game over."<br />
<br />
I lift the barrel and bring it to her temple.<br />
<br />
I still have no plan.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-24-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-26-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-32764993396406137122011-08-15T04:28:00.000-07:002011-08-19T21:27:15.010-07:00Issue 2.4 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-23-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-25-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Before I get out of the car, I hand Nova my cell.<br />
<br />
"Anyone you don't recognize comes toward this car, you start it, and you drive," I tell her. "Then you hit the 'send' button right here. It'll call the police."<br />
<br />
"Where would I go?" she asks.<br />
<br />
"Doesn't matter. Just tell the police where you are, let them track you down."<br />
<br />
"I don't have a driver's license."<br />
<br />
"Then drive slow." I leave the keys in the ignition and step out.<br />
<br />
We've stopped in a parking lot about six blocks away from her apartment. She's given me a list of things she'll need, and I've got a duffel bag to put them in. Not the most ideal arrangement, but it'll do.<br />
<br />
I'm not looking forward to explaining this to Henry and Jacob.<br />
<br />
I don't get three blocks closer before I smell the smoke and hear the sirens. Suddenly, I'm running toward the sound--not just because I need to find out what's going on fast.<br />
<br />
Vigil was looking after this place. What if someone else was looking after Vigil? And what if, when he left, they took that as an opportunity?<br />
<br />
There are a lot of ways to assassinate a target, but inevitably, they boil down to two basic methods: Precision versus overwhelming force. Both will, with luck, get the job done. Professionals prefer precision. Thugs prefer force.<br />
<br />
When I round the corner, it's made clear to me precisely which school of thought we're dealing with. Several floors around the sixteenth floor of Nova's hotel have been gouged open, with flaming debris dangling from the hole like a lulling tongue. Fire engines and police cars have sectioned the entire area off. In the distance, I can see the soot-plastered faces of emergency response teams and the people they're desperately trying to save.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I don't think Henry or Jacob are going to be much of a problem for me at all.<br />
<br />
I pull out my spare cell phone and call Cassidy.<br />
<br />
"Jack? It's kind of late," she says. "You change your mind?"<br />
<br />
"Need a favor." <br />
<br />
It's hard to hide my anger from the people I know. I try, but Cassidy picks up on the rage in an instant. That, and I wouldn't call her unless shit just met fan.<br />
<br />
"Fuck. What's wrong?"<br />
<br />
"Turn on the news. Hotel explosion."<br />
<br />
I hear her rustle around her apartment for a moment. A few seconds later, and I catch her sigh. "Shit. Is that where--?"<br />
<br />
"She's safe. I took her out on an errand. Her guardian followed. Think whoever did it was watching him, not her. Probably didn't realize that she wasn't still there."<br />
<br />
"Fucking amateur hour. What do you need?"<br />
<br />
"I need you to look after her for a bit."<br />
<br />
"Jack..." Her voice is tense. She knows me. She knows what I might do.<br />
<br />
Who knows how many people this explosion killed?<br />
<br />
"Just look after her. Only for a bit. Need to follow a few leads." My phone beeps as I get another call. "I'll drop her by your place in a little bit." I hang up on her, then switch over to the other line.<br />
<br />
"Hello, Jack." It's Marlowe. Not someone I'm in the perfect mood to talk to right now.<br />
<br />
"Bad timing," I tell him, and I mean it. When you're undercover, the wrong emotion is your greatest enemy. Either find the right place to put it or get rid of it. Not sure if I can do either.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry to hear that. But this is important. We need to meet."<br />
<br />
"Right now? I'm in the middle of something," I tell him.<br />
<br />
"Yes. We're waiting for you at your apartment. Come as soon as possible."<br />
<br />
"I'll be there in under an hour."<br />
<br />
"Excellent."<br />
<br />
After he hangs up, I start back where I left Nova. I've got to tell her that her hotel blew up. And then I've got to drop her off at Cassidy's. And then...<br />
<br />
Then, I've got a meeting with Marlowe, the man who arranged the hit that ended up in an explosion that might have killed dozens, if not more.<br />
<br />
I've got to keep myself centered. As tempting as it is to just beat the name of whoever did this out of Marlowe, it'll be far more useful to keep in his good graces. If he hired one thug willing to blow up several floors of uninvolved civilians, who's to say he hasn't hired more?<br />
<br />
I need all their names. More than that, I need the name of the person who hired <i>Marlowe</i>, too.<br />
<br />
Still. It's going to be hard as hell not to shoot him in the face.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll just settle for the kneecaps.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-23-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-25-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-80175280373472660852011-08-12T15:15:00.000-07:002011-08-15T04:29:20.459-07:00Issue 2.3 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-22-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-24-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
By the time we're reaching the clinic, I realize we're being followed.<br />
<br />
Good tails are hard to notice. They'll work in teams, following you for a few miles before switching out with another car so not to lift your suspicion. But with a little forethought and a lot of luck, even a lone professional can tail you half-way across the city without ever so much as raising your goosebumps.<br />
<br />
Things get trickier when the tail is following you on foot.<br />
<br />
I catch him purely by luck. It's night, but the sky is clear; as we round the next city corner, I see a figure blot out several stars as he jumps from one rooftop to the next.<br />
<br />
"Fuck," I say.<br />
<br />
"What?" Nova asks.<br />
<br />
"Nothing. Just realized I forgot something." For me, lies are second nature. Sometimes I do it without even thinking. Might be a better call, anyway. No reason to make them nervous. "I'll pull into the parking lot here. You two talk, say whatever it is you gotta say. Gonna grab a smoke."<br />
<br />
I shift the car into park, leave Jessica with her mother, and step out into the night air. I walk a bit of ways from the car--but I keep it in sight. While I pull a fresh cigarette out of my pocket, I let my hand slowly creep toward the hilt of my holster.<br />
<br />
"That won't be necessary."<br />
<br />
There aren't a lot of people who can sneak up on me. To pull it off, you either need serious tech, serious magic, or serious skill.<br />
<br />
Pretty sure this guy's got all three.<br />
<br />
I pull the gun and spin, but he's already caught my wrist and twisted. I drop the gun, crumple to the ground, then catch the weapon with my other hand as I fall. Before I can lift it, he brings <i>his</i> other hand to grasp the barrel.<br />
<br />
The metal sizzles as it melts, wisps of smoke swelling out from between his knuckles.<br />
<br />
"Fuck."<br />
<br />
"I'm not here to fight you," he says.<br />
<br />
Well, that's good, because I'm pretty sure if he was, I'd have just lost.<br />
<br />
I drop what's left of the gun and wait for him to let go of my other hand. When he does, I spring to my feet and back up, getting a good look at him. Doesn't take long for me to put a name to the face.<br />
<br />
A long black wool coat. Salt-and-pepper hair, combed back; a face so harsh and hard that it looks like you could wrap an iron girder around it without so much as disturbing an eyelash. And his eyes--pure white, without any sight of pupils or irises.<br />
<br />
"Vigil," I say.<br />
<br />
"You're investigating Vanguard," he tells me. "Why?"<br />
<br />
I rack my brain for what I remember about Vigil. One of the oldest members of the Vanguard Society; some folks peg his age at a couple of centuries. Lot of people don't even think he's real. Apparently, he's not only a brilliant detective, but a pretty well-trained sorcerer, too. I think Bill once described him as 'Batman, but with magic'.<br />
<br />
"I think you've been compromised," I tell him. No use in lying. If he's the leak, I'm pretty much screwed. "One of you is out to kill Nova."<br />
<br />
"I know."<br />
<br />
I do a double-take. Then I grimace. "You were watching her, weren't you?" And I didn't even notice it. "You're part of her security detail, from Vanguard."<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"And you didn't make a move when I took out her guards?"<br />
<br />
"I knew you wouldn't hurt her."<br />
<br />
<i>Now</i> I do a triple-take. "What? How?"<br />
<br />
"I've been watching you."<br />
<br />
"Okay. That's not creepy at all."<br />
<br />
"I'm putting Nova temporarily under your care. Make sure she stays safe."<br />
<br />
At this point, I decide that a quadruple take would be a little over-the-top. "Wait, you want me to look after her? The ex-killer with no powers?"<br />
<br />
"You're capable. You're also not part of Vanguard, which makes it harder for the killer to find you."<br />
<br />
I glance back to the car where I assume Nova is still talking with her mom. Then I turn back to Vigil. "What are you going to do?"<br />
<br />
"Turn my eyes to Vanguard and discover the source of this corruption. Then cut it out at the root."<br />
<br />
"Okay. So, uh, should we, like--exchange numbers or something? Emails? Facebook profiles?"<br />
<br />
Those pure-white eyes stare at me. Feels like he's stripping me bare--tearing through flesh and bone.<br />
<br />
"Right," I say. "So I guess it's some sort of 'I'll-Call-You' deal?"<br />
<br />
"I also want to give you a warning. The Administration wants to bring you back in."<br />
<br />
"Fuck them." The words pop out without thought. Pure, raw instinct.<br />
<br />
He turns, then jumps up on top of a nearby fence. There's something cat-like about the way he moves--impossible agility, effortless grace. Just as he's crouching down for the next jump, I step forward and speak.<br />
<br />
"I think your guy might be Rico," I tell him. "I'm still looking into it, though."<br />
<br />
"Look after Jessica," he tells me. "I'm depending on you."<br />
<br />
His next jump clears three stories, bringing him to an office building's rooftop. In the next second, he's out of sight.<br />
<br />
I head back to the car. When I get inside, both Jessica and Julia have wet eyes. They're talking in hushed whispers.<br />
<br />
"You need any more time?" I ask.<br />
<br />
They look at each other, then they both shake their heads. When Julia gets out of the car, Jessica follows. They hug each other at the gate.<br />
<br />
I watch, waiting patiently. Once Jessica comes back, I fumble with the keys.<br />
<br />
"Are you alright?" she asks.<br />
<br />
"Huh?"<br />
<br />
"Your hands are shaking."<br />
<br />
"Just a long night."<br />
<br />
"I can relate." Her eyes wander back to the gate her mother went through. "Do you think she'll be okay?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. I think so. For now, we've got to concentrate on you."<br />
<br />
I start the car and head back to her apartment.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-22-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-24-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-60701470463007148302011-08-07T20:54:00.000-07:002011-08-12T15:15:43.694-07:00Issue 2.2 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-21-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-23-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
When charging in blind, I like to start by blinding everyone else first. You might not be able to buy a flash grenade at your local grocery mart, but the basic ingredients are easy enough to find--break open an etch-a-sketch for the aluminum, shavings from a magnesium fire-starter for the flash, and a model rocket engine's propellant for the oxydizer.<br />
<br />
The address Nova sent me is a studio flat on the sixteenth level of some high-end condo. By the look of things, she's bought up the entire floor. There's two goons outside the door to her room--I start things up by lobbing my home-made flash grenade out in front of them.<br />
<br />
While they're busy squawking and rubbing their eyes, I come in low--taser the first, headlock the second. In fifteen seconds, they're out cold.<br />
<br />
I pull one of their guns out of its holster, kick the door down, and prepare to unleash All Hell into the faces of whatever supervillain is making his move.<br />
<br />
I am instead confronted by the sight of Nova, head in her hands, crying on a couch.<br />
<br />
"How many?" I ask her, sweeping the apartment for signs of other aggressors.<br />
<br />
"How many what?" she asks, sniffling.<br />
<br />
"Attackers."<br />
<br />
"What?"<br />
<br />
"Assassins," I tell her. "How many in the apartment?"<br />
<br />
"There--there aren't any," she says, trying to strangle back a sob. "I just needed your help."<br />
<br />
I stop. Look back at the two unconscious thugs. Then back to her. "What about them?"<br />
<br />
She looks past me, catching sight of the two for the first time. At once, she leaps to her feet, panicking. "Oh--Oh God! Henry and Jacob! You didn't kill them, did you?"<br />
<br />
Oh, right. Her security detail.<br />
<br />
Shit.<br />
<br />
"They're unconscious," I tell her as I holster my new gun. "Okay, I think we have a misunderstanding here as to what constitutes an emergency."<br />
<br />
"I didn't know who else to call," she says. "My mom--she's in the bathroom, with her dealer."<br />
<br />
"'Dealer'?"<br />
<br />
She makes a sidelong glance at the bathroom, not saying anything else. She doesn't have to.<br />
<br />
The only problem money solves is not having enough money. You're still left with the same issues--and now you've got the cash to flaunt them.<br />
<br />
Thing is, these sorts of problems aren't my specialty. Give me a house full of cleaning supplies and I can whip up a grade A bomb. Toss me into a room full of sociopaths and I'll convince them that I'm their best friend in five minutes flat. But shove me into the middle of a dysfunctional family, and all you're gonna get is more dysfunction.<br />
<br />
"Look, kid," I tell her. "You've got Vanguard's number, right? Can't you call--"<br />
<br />
"If I call the police or Vanguard, they'll just arrest her," she tells me, and now she's starting to tear up again.<br />
<br />
I scratch the back of my head. "You got, uh, an uncle or something? Family? Maybe--"<br />
<br />
"My dad," she says. "But I can't get in contact with him right now. They're divorced."<br />
<br />
For fuck's sake. I'm a goddamn <i>operative</i>, not some sort of therapist. But one look at those tears and I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.<br />
<br />
Out of everyone she knows--her family, her friends, her agent, her fans--the only person she trusts enough to call when her mom starts snorting blow is the guy she met in a parking lot during a shootout.<br />
<br />
That's some sort of lonely.<br />
<br />
I sigh, shake my head, and pull out my wallet. I start searching for the right card--when I find it, I put it in the wallet's ID frame. "Tell me your mother's name."<br />
<br />
"Julia. What are you going to do?" she asks.<br />
<br />
"Her dealer. What's his name? He got a gun?"<br />
<br />
"Terrence. I--I don't think so. I don't know. He's just some jerk," she says. "What are you going to do?"<br />
<br />
"You asked me that already."<br />
<br />
"You didn't answer."<br />
<br />
"I'm going to fix the problem."<br />
<br />
I walk toward the bathroom and kick down the door.<br />
<br />
Terrence and Julia are hunched over the bathtub with the mirror laid flat, lines of coke laid out across it.<br />
<br />
"Who the fuck are you?" Terrence says, standing up.<br />
<br />
Good fake IDs are expensive as fuck. Bad ones are a dime a dozen--and most idiots won't know the difference. Not to imply that all drug-dealers are idiots, but the two groups have been known to occasionally overlap.<br />
<br />
I flash him my cheap FBI ID, pull back my coat to show off my new shiny gun, then nod my head at the door. "Beat it."<br />
<br />
Terrence runs.<br />
<br />
Julia turns toward me with her eyes burning full of rage and hate. But when she sees the badge, she pulls back. I flip it closed before she can get a better look at it, shut the door, then kick the mirror. It shatters into the tub, scattering powder among razor-sharp shards of silver and glass.<br />
<br />
"No! You--you fuck!" she screams.<br />
<br />
"Julia. You're standing in front of a Federal Officer with enough blow to trigger a cartel war. Stop worrying about the drugs, start worrying about me."<br />
<br />
She shudders, shakes her head, then drops down to the toilet. Looks up to me with a dull, confused expression. "What are you doing here?" she says. "You--you can't come in here. Not without a search warrant, or--"<br />
<br />
"Your daughter is in danger. I'm here to make sure she doesn't get killed," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"She--wait, what?" Something almost akin to clarity enters those eyes.<br />
<br />
So she didn't know.<br />
<br />
I clear some glass off the side of the tub and sit down besides her. "Long story short. Bad people want your daughter dead. Right now, she needs a mother, not a headcase. You up for that job?"<br />
<br />
We're all junkies when it comes to hope. Dangle a scrap of it in front of us and we'll swear off food, water, and air just to get there. When I ask her if she's up for the job, what she's hearing is an FBI agent who's caught her with blow talking about something other than how long she's going to prison.<br />
<br />
"What do you want me to do?" she asks, her voice tiny.<br />
<br />
"You're going into rehab. I know a place, they owe me a favor."<br />
<br />
Shock registers on her face. "When?"<br />
<br />
"Right now. You've got thirty minutes to pack your things. You can say goodbye to your daughter on the way."<br />
<br />
"I--I can't just up and leave!" she says. "Who will take care of Jessica?"<br />
<br />
"We'll handle it," I tell her, thinking of Jessica's dad. "But as long as you're using, you're a danger to her--emotionally and physically. So you've got one of two choices--either you go into rehab tonight, or you go to prison."<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-21-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-23-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-81911284916048026102011-08-04T20:20:00.000-07:002011-08-07T20:55:30.623-07:00Issue 2.1 - Dealing With Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-2-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-22-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
The list of people I will do everything in my power to avoid pissing off is relatively short. Bill's mother is close to the top.<br />
<br />
The gray-haired brickhouse of a woman is standing out front of the garage when I pull in. She's got a patchwork nightgown that looks like it devoured and digested several other dresses on its way to her closet.<br />
<br />
"Jack," she says as I approach. "You getting my boy into trouble?"<br />
<br />
"No ma'am," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"You realize that the only reason I'm not shoving my boot up your ass is because you helped him a while back."<br />
<br />
"Yes ma'am."<br />
<br />
"But my gratitude's wearing awfully thin. Particularly when you keep stopping by here with stolen cars."<br />
<br />
"Sorry, ma'am. I'll make sure to return it when I'm done."<br />
<br />
"Alright. Go do whatever it is you gotta do. Just don't make a mess."<br />
<br />
"Yes, ma'am." I step into the garage. Bill is waiting for me.<br />
<br />
"There's only one guy in Vanguard that the forums figured would go after Nova," he says.<br />
<br />
"Wait. Hold on one second." I lift my hand. "You posted this on your goddamn forums?"<br />
<br />
"Well, yeah. I mean, it's important, right? Some of the people there--"<br />
<br />
"Bill, Vanguard's members <i>read your forums</i>."<br />
<br />
"I did it in a subforum where only administrators like me have access," Bill said.<br />
<br />
I rub my temples. "Okay. Fine. Just--what do you got?"<br />
<br />
"Jim Rico, aka Jimmy Blaze."<br />
<br />
"The singer?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. He got into Vanguard under the same circumstances that Nova did--more of a publicity stunt than anything. On top of that, she's been regularly outselling him since she became a member."<br />
<br />
"You're thinking this is some sort of jealousy thing, or an attempt to regrab the spotlight?"<br />
<br />
"Maybe."<br />
<br />
"That's... pretty thin, Bill."<br />
<br />
"It's all we could come up with."<br />
<br />
"Alright. We'll work with it." I scan the garage for things to use. "That model rocket--ever been used?"<br />
<br />
"Huh? Oh, no. My dad and I were gonna put it together, back when I was a teenager. Never got around to it. Why--?"<br />
<br />
I take the box off the upper shelf and put it on the bench. "You got an etch-a-sketch?"<br />
<br />
Thirty minutes later and I'm putting the finishing touches on my latest creation. Three plastic water-bottles, each filled up with a chemical concoction of my own devising.<br />
<br />
I'm just figuring out the fuses when Bill steps into the garage, looking sorrier than a dog who just pissed all over his Master's curtains.<br />
<br />
"What--?"<br />
<br />
"I didn't call her," he says. "She called me."<br />
<br />
And then Cassidy steps in from behind him.<br />
<br />
I've always had a thing for women who send out warning signs, and Cassidy transmits them clear enough to knock out satellites. Everything about her says 'Fuck-Off'--from the circles under her eyes to the piercings in her face. She's short and thick--the sort of build you'd expect from a biker chick. Fat curves and hard edges--all in the wrong places.<br />
<br />
She takes one look at my science project and throws on a crooked grin. "You've been a bad boy, Jackie."<br />
<br />
"Nothing to concern yourself about, Cassidy. This ain't one of those kind of jobs."<br />
<br />
"Heard about your run-in with Jackal. Looks like you're back on the beat, huh?"<br />
<br />
"How you figure that was me?"<br />
<br />
She sniffs. "Some teenage punk takes him down all by herself? No. Anyone else, they'd have stuck around for the press, but whoever helped her didn't want the spotlight. And there's talk underground about a contract on her little ass. Sounds like your kind of gig."<br />
<br />
I snort, but don't say anything. She circles me like a shark nosing her way through bloody water. "You sure you don't need a little extra help, Jack? You gotta admit, we make a pretty good team."<br />
<br />
The fact is, we do. But Cassidy's dangerous. Not just because she rings all the right bells in my head, but because when she works, she's a perfect storm of violence--a destructive force of nature. And there's still some small part of me that loves it. The part that I've been trying to bury.<br />
<br />
She's radioactive. And I'm Marie Curie.<br />
<br />
"Appreciate the offer, but I'm good," I tell her. "If I do need your help, I've got your number."<br />
<br />
She laughs. She's got a voice that's somewhere between a smoke-choked growl and the husky rumble of someone who's spent the past hour gargling hydrochloric acid. It's got a way of seizing you by the throat and throttling you against the nearest wall.<br />
<br />
"Right, then. You change your mind, you give me a whistle." She glances at Billy. "You keep him out of trouble, hm?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, ma'am," Billy says, then he swallows. She elbows past him, leaving us alone.<br />
<br />
Billy lets out a breath. "Sometimes, that woman scares me."<br />
<br />
"Yeah. She's a pretty scary character," I tell him, adjusting the fuses on one of the bottles. <br />
<br />
"She isn't like, a supervillain or something, right?"<br />
<br />
"No. She's one of the good guys. Kind of."<br />
<br />
"Oh." Silence. Then: "So why don't you work with her, then?"<br />
<br />
"It's complicated."<br />
<br />
"Oh."<br />
<br />
My phone rings. I pull it out and flip it open.<br />
<br />
Nothing but a text. Someone's forwarded me an address, along with a message:<br />
<br />
'NOVA - NEED HELP'<br />
<br />
I grab the bottles and run.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-2-dealing-with-nova.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-22-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-35165455863297497532011-08-01T07:38:00.000-07:002011-08-04T20:21:22.693-07:00Issue 2 - Dealing with Nova<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-19-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-21-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Five minutes later and I'm on the phone, calling Bill.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Bill. Got anything for me?"<br />
<br />
"Jesus, Jack," he says. "It's been, what--two hours?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. You got something, though, right?"<br />
<br />
"Well, yeah, of course I do. Just sayin', though."<br />
<br />
"Good. Meet me at your mother's house."<br />
<br />
"My--huh? Wait, what?"<br />
<br />
"I need new digs. My current apartment is compromised. Also, I need more armanents, fast."<br />
<br />
"My mom's not a gun-runner, Jack."<br />
<br />
"No, but she's got a garage, and tons of old junk."<br />
<br />
"She doesn't like you, Jack." He pauses, then adds: "Says you're a bad influence."<br />
<br />
"Smart woman. Tell her the life of a teenager hangs precariously in the balance."<br />
<br />
"She won't buy that."<br />
<br />
"Tell her I'm in trouble with dangerous people and need to lay low."<br />
<br />
"She'll buy that."<br />
<br />
"Good. See you in about fifteen." I hop into the car I stole earlier. Before I start it up, I dial up Marlowe's number.<br />
<br />
The armsdealer sounds groggy and displeased. Just how I like 'em.<br />
<br />
"Yes?"<br />
<br />
"Hey, buddy. Just wanted to call you about that girl. You didn't mention she had other suitors."<br />
<br />
Speaking in code is a good way to keep outside listeners guessing. More importantly, it builds credibility--criminals trust you if they think you're just as worried about getting caught.<br />
<br />
It takes Marlowe a moment to catch on, but he's a fast learner. "I didn't think that was important."<br />
<br />
"How the hell do you expect me to woo her when I've got to deal with a legion of pick up artists?"<br />
<br />
"Is that a problem?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, it's a fucking problem. Some shithead just screwed up my approach. Made a mess of things. She's gone to stay with her family." Family, in this case, means Vanguard. Marlowe's a clever boy; he'll figure it out.<br />
<br />
"I see," he says. "Will that interfere with your ability to win her heart?"<br />
<br />
"No. It's still on. Just changing some of the details," I tell him. "For starters, I was just doing this as a favor--but I assume these chucklefucks are in it for the dowry."<br />
<br />
There's a long, dreadful sort of pause. "Yes," he says. "I suppose they were."<br />
<br />
"In that case, I think I want in."<br />
<br />
"I see," he says. "And how much do you think her dowry was worth?"<br />
<br />
"I'll just have to find out," I tell him. "And when I do, I'll probably figure out a way to triple it. Let's call it the 'Dealing With Chucklefucks Tax'."<br />
<br />
There's nothing quite as lovely as the sound of a bad guy choking on his own spit.<br />
<br />
"You think that'll be a problem, old bean?"<br />
<br />
"No," he says, "No, I'm sure you're quite capable of securing that amount." His voice is raspy. Whatever he's offering these other assassins, it must be a hell of a lot.<br />
<br />
"Good to know. I'll call you after the honeymoon." I hang up and start the car.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-19-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-21-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-65202057445697527682011-07-28T23:11:00.000-07:002011-08-01T07:39:35.973-07:00Issue 1.9 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-18-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-2-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Agent Duncan springs to her feet and pulls her gun. The barrel is pointed at my temple.<br />
<br />
I slowly raise my hands.<br />
<br />
"Are you joking?" she says. "Fucking <i>amnesia</i>?!"<br />
<br />
"Agent Duncan, I'm--"<br />
<br />
"<i>Shut up!</I>" The rage flashes through her eyes again. And something else. Something else I should have recognized. Something that's been nagging at the back of my brain this whole while, but only comes screaming to the front when I piss her off enough to pull iron on me.<br />
<br />
Why did she pick that particular assassination file to show me?<br />
<br />
"Look at the file," she says, and she motions the gun down to the folder. I follow the barrel with my eyes, back to the image of the woman on the floor. "You don't remember that? Is that the shit you're trying to sell me?"<br />
<br />
I should have seen it before. It wasn't mentioned in any of the files I snatched on her, but that's probably because she took pains to hide it. Her anger when we first met--the obsessiveness with which she's been stalking me. Why didn't I figure it out?<br />
<br />
"You knew her."<br />
<br />
"And you killed her."<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"And then you somehow got the Agency to grant you immunity."<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"And now," she adds, the gun trembling in her hands, "when I've finally <i>got</i> you, when I've finally managed to corner the son of a bitch who killed my sister, you pull out this Jason Bourne shit."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry."<br />
<br />
"You don't get to be sorry."<br />
<br />
The advantage of having a tactically oriented mind is knowing precisely what line you need to walk to get what you want. The disadvantage is that the line often runs straight through the hearts and minds of those around you.<br />
<br />
"Fine, then. Shoot me. Or throw me to the Agency. But just remember that if you do, Jessica Wheatley dies."<br />
<br />
"Who?"<br />
<br />
"The girl I'm trying to save."<br />
<br />
"And what about after this? There's always more people to save. Will you take another job? If I try to turn you in then, will you feed me this same horseshit?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. I won't stop doing this. I won't stop scheming to save more lives. And eventually, you might get tired of watching me play the good samaritan. Whatever. I don't care. Either stop me or get out of my way."<br />
<br />
For a long time, we just stare at each other. The gun doesn't go away.<br />
<br />
"This is going to be your last case," she says.<br />
<br />
"I'm not going to stop."<br />
<br />
"I know. But in 48 hours, I'm turning over everything I've discovered to the Agency. That means you've got two days to save this girl's life. Then you're done."<br />
<br />
She puts the gun away. I feel my hands clutching at the chair--my fingertips are digging into the wood. As she walks away, she stops to throw me a parting glance.<br />
<br />
"You know," she says, "you could just kill me."<br />
<br />
"I don't do that anymore."<br />
<br />
"You're tempted, though, aren't you? It'd make things so much easier." Most of it is just her trying to get a rise out of me, but I pick something else there, too. Something pained. As if she's almost hoping I'll take her up on the offer.<br />
<br />
I can relate.<br />
<br />
"No. You're a good person, Agent Duncan."<br />
<br />
"But you aren't. Even if all this nonsense is true, there's got to be some part of you that remembers. Some part of you that's still a killer. People don't change, Jack."<br />
<br />
She leaves. My hands are trembling.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-18-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/08/issue-2-dealing-with-nova.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-19937128118633970332011-07-26T15:48:00.000-07:002011-07-28T23:11:52.352-07:00Issue 1.8 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-17-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-19-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
By the time I get back to my apartment, I'm exhausted. I've leapt out of a window, peppered myself with explosives, and gotten punched hard enough to dent metal. I imagine I must look like shit.<br />
<br />
"You look like shit." <br />
<br />
Agent Duncan is waiting for me. She's sitting at my desk with a new folder placed out in front of her.<br />
<br />
"It's been a long day," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"I really don't care." She slides the folder toward me. "You're fifteen minutes late. Be thankful I waited."<br />
<br />
I pick the folder up and flip it open. Inside are some pretty gruesome photos--a crime scene. Woman with her brain splattered all over her kitchen floor. Gunshot wound. Sniper rifle, by the look of it.<br />
<br />
"You know who that is?" she asks.<br />
<br />
"Yes. Her name was Dove. It was a nasty piece of work." I put the folder down.<br />
<br />
"It was <i>your</i> piece of work," she said. "And there are dozens more just like that. I've got cabinets full of it. Six years of assassinations--of murder and mayhem. Not just capes, either--military targets. Government targets. <i>Civilians</i>."<br />
<br />
When someone drops that sort of weight on you, there's not much you can say back. So I don't say anything at all.<br />
<br />
She pulls out another folder and puts it on the table. This one's a bit thicker. I can see newspaper clippings peeking out from the edges. "You're something nasty, alright," she says. "So when the analyst gets finished connecting the dots on all these articles, I have to wonder--just what the fuck are you playing at?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not playing anything, Agent Duncan," I tell her.<br />
<br />
She stabs her finger down into the folder. "Is this some sort of sick joke?"<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"A kidnapped heir, returned unharmed. A bank robbery foiled without a single shot fired. A terrorist cell shows up at the police station, hog-tied and with all the evidence needed to convict strapped to their chests. All these crimes inexplicably solved--with no pattern, no explanation, no connection. Except for you."<br />
<br />
I fold my arms and lean against the wall. Partly, it's because I don't know what to say, but partly, it's because I'm just so goddamn tired.<br />
<br />
"You've been saving lives," she tells me, and then, for a moment, she looks like she's about to vomit. "Please tell me you aren't trying to make up for what you did."<br />
<br />
"If I saved every man, woman, and child on this planet, it wouldn't make up for one life I took," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"Then what the hell are you doing?"<br />
<br />
"Right now? I'm trying to save a girl."<br />
<br />
"You deserve to be in prison," she tells me. "You deserve to be dead."<br />
<br />
"Probably," I agree. "But it'd be a lot harder to save her if I was."<br />
<br />
"If the Agency knew about all this--"<br />
<br />
"Then, yes, they'll revoke my immunity and put me in prison," I tell her. "Or they'll just shoot me. But if that's where this is going--if that's what you plan on doing--please tell me first, so I can try to find some way to save her life <i>before</i> I disappear."<br />
<br />
Agent Duncan hasn't looked at me with anything besides raw, uncloaked hatred since the very moment we met. But for a moment--just a single, spurious moment--I see something else slip into her expression.<br />
<br />
Hesitation.<br />
<br />
"A year ago, you disappeared," she says. "You were gone for three months. What happened?"<br />
<br />
"If I tell you, will you let me finish this job before turning me in?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not making any promises."<br />
<br />
"You hear of Project Vigilance?"<br />
<br />
"I read the file," she says. "Some sort of bizarre attempt to turn operatives into sleepless soldiers. Everyone involved either died or went insane."<br />
<br />
"Not everyone."<br />
<br />
She stares at me with a look that can strip you bare to the bone. "I told you not to bullshit me, Jack."<br />
<br />
"You've been tailing me, right? You must have noticed. I don't seem to stop, do I?"<br />
<br />
"So you don't sleep much."<br />
<br />
"I don't sleep <i>at all</i>."<br />
<br />
"Fine. Let's pretend what you're saying is true. What's this got to do with anything?"<br />
<br />
"Project Vigilance was more involved than just cutting out a piece of your head." I pull out a chair and sit down across from her. "They had to create a whole new structure--new architecture. Most of the volunteers didn't survive; those that did either went insane or turned into vegetables. But my case was special. Doctors said I didn't go mad because somehow, the process reset my brain." <br />
<br />
"Reset your brain?"<br />
<br />
I take in a big, healthy breath.<br />
<br />
Here goes.<br />
<br />
"The man I was died on the operating table. When I woke up, the doctors realized I'd lost all my memories."<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-17-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-19-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-12875303627334421252011-07-24T12:39:00.000-07:002011-07-26T15:49:03.559-07:00Issue 1.7 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-16-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-18-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
When pretty much everyone in the cape community either hates you or doesn't know who you are, it pays to have a few friends. <br />
<br />
Three months ago, a small, aggressive international security firm working for a foreign power made a move for William Terrence, aka Elasti-Lad. They wanted the formula that gave him his rubber-based powers; when they found out he didn't have it, they decided to try and tear it out of his spinal cord.<br />
<br />
The police were out of their league, and the cape community had stopped returning his calls years ago. Bill didn't have anyone else to turn to. So I stepped in.<br />
<br />
Now he thinks I'm some sort of caped crusader.<br />
<br />
He opens the door after the first knock, grinning like a school-boy with a secret. He's a tall, very heavy guy with a shaggy, unshaven face. He's wearing a Zombie Batman T-shirt and some sort of flannel PJ bottoms. Before I even step in, he's enveloping me in a giant man-hug.<br />
<br />
"Oh man, Jack--I've missed you!"<br />
<br />
I groan and shudder as the squeeze nudges my rib in just the wrong way. "Bill--please."<br />
<br />
He sets me down. Even years after his powers have dwindled into nonexistence, he's still strong as an ox. "Oh, right. Sorry! Are you okay?"<br />
<br />
I wedge my way past him and into the apartment. "Need some patching up," I tell him. "Also, your expertise."<br />
<br />
I'm well informed when it comes to capes and masks, but everything I know could fit in one sentence inside a book shelved in the library of Bill's mind. The man is obsessed with superheroics, both fictional and real--if Sovereign so much as pops a pimple, you can bet that Bill's got a video celebrating the event.<br />
<br />
His apartment is flooded with comic books and action figurines--an impermeable mass of superheroic lore. Some of it is neatly organized, but a lot of it is flooding off tables and shelves, threatening to spill across the floor. I limp my way past a table dedicated to evidence of Superman's dickery and drop myself on the couch.<br />
<br />
Bill arrives with a first-aid kit and a tray of ice. He passes both over to me, then turns to get me a drink. "So, what's the situation, Jack?"<br />
<br />
I undo my tie and start unbuttoning my shirt. "You know a cape named 'Nova'? Aka, Jessica Wheatley?"<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah, the singer? She's pretty cool." He brings over two cans of pop while I peel the shirt off and inspect the dark, multi-colored bruise that's spread out across my lower left ribs. Luckily, I don't think it's cracked--still hurts like hell, though. I bag up some ice and hold it to the wound with one hand and take the pop with the other. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Bill continues. "She can absorb and project light. Lots of talk on the forums about how she could even convert light into other forms of energy."<br />
<br />
"Someone's trying to kill her," I tell him.<br />
<br />
Bill blinks and pops open his can. "Really?"<br />
<br />
"Really."<br />
<br />
"She's a member of the Vanguard Society. Not really--I mean, she doesn't fight crime or anything--there was this whole flamewar on the Capes and Masks site because of that. But she's still considered a non-active member."<br />
<br />
"I know. Someone's put a contract out on her," I tell him. "Any idea who?"<br />
<br />
"I dunno. She's basically just a teenage starlet, doesn't have any arch-enemies or anything. You contact Vanguard yet?"<br />
<br />
"No. I think someone in Vanguard ordered the hit."<br />
<br />
Bill stares at me. "<i>Seriously</i>?"<br />
<br />
"Seriously."<br />
<br />
"You gotta be wrong about that, Vee. I mean, Vanguard--they're like the Justice League, y'know?"<br />
<br />
"I know. Been tracking stolen villain tech since last December," I tell him. "Lead me to Vincent Marlowe--armsdealer who operates on the east coast. Come to find out Marlowe has inside intel. Then, just two weeks ago, I catch his end of a phone call where his contact is feeding him info on shipments to Vanguard's Vault. Stuff only Vanguard would know."<br />
<br />
"Holy crap," Bill says. "You have any idea who?"<br />
<br />
"No. And as part of their ongoing 'deal', this person asked him to take out Nova."<br />
<br />
"How can I help?"<br />
<br />
I grimace, binding the ice to the bruise with the bandages. "I need a list of Vanguard members who might be willing to sell them out," I tell him. "And be paranoid. Sovereign's out, but there's got to be a few members who have beef with Nova. Maybe someone bitter about her getting to join the club."<br />
<br />
"Maybe I should call--"<br />
<br />
"No," I tell him. "Don't call Cassidy. We don't need her help."<br />
<br />
"But she loves working with you," Bill says. "And together, we make such an awesome team!"<br />
<br />
"We aren't a team, Bill," I tell him. "I just need your help."<br />
<br />
Bill looks down at his feet. I sigh.<br />
<br />
"<i>Fine</i>," I say. "But I swear to God, if you start calling yourself Robin--"<br />
<br />
"Robin was a sidekick," Bill responds. "I'm more of a Nightwing--your dark protege who went off into a whole other direction."<br />
<br />
"Just get me the data," I tell him. "You have my phone number. I've got somewhere to be." I get up, setting the pop to the side. "And <i>don't contact Cassidy</i>. This job's getting violent enough as it is."<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-16-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-18-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-30469831531440648772011-07-15T06:42:00.000-07:002011-07-24T12:39:53.146-07:00Issue 1.6 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-15-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-17-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
It's only after the danger has passed and your system has flushed all the adrenaline and endorphins that you start realizing how much damage you've done. My body lets me know by way of a politely worded missive with the word 'PAIN' written over a hundred times, delivered directly to my brain.<br />
<br />
So when I get the phone call, I'm not exactly in the most talkative mood.<br />
<br />
I pop into an alleyway. I've put a good six blocks between me and the concert hall; that should be enough to keep any suspicion off my back. I open the phone and hit 'answer'.<br />
<br />
"We need to talk." Agent Duncan. Not at the top of my 'to-talk-to' list.<br />
<br />
"Why? Planning on arresting me?"<br />
<br />
"I could."<br />
<br />
"On what charges? Looking damn good in a suit? I know I'm a repeat offender, officer, but surely we can come to a compromise."<br />
<br />
"Cut the BS, Jack. I've had an analyst looking over those newspaper clippings in your apartment."<br />
<br />
Shit. She must have taken pictures. Why didn't I think of that?<br />
<br />
"You there?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah," I say. "So, what? You think you got a lead on finding Mr. Scruffles?"<br />
<br />
"I'll be at your loft in two hours. Meet me there."<br />
<br />
I groan. "Actually, I was hoping to lay down for a bit."<br />
<br />
"Be there or I turn over what I've found to my superiors."<br />
<br />
<i>Fuck</i>. "So should I wear a suit, or...?"<br />
<br />
"Come as you are." She hangs up.<br />
<br />
I limp my way out of the alley and start thinking. Worst case scenario--she's got enough to bury me three times over. As far as the Agency is concerned, I'm on complete lockdown--I'm not supposed to run so much as a traffic light. If they got wind of how many operations I've been running, it won't matter <i>what</i> evidence Agent Duncan digs up. As far as they're concerned, 'rights' are imaginary things that apply to imaginary people. They only care about results.<br />
<br />
I don't have much of a choice in this matter. Do as Agent Duncan says, or find myself in a prison that doesn't exist, located in a place you won't find on any map.<br />
<br />
In situations like this, all you can do is hunker down and try to keep moving forward. So I call William.<br />
<br />
The 30-something wonder boy sounds groggy and displeased. "Hello?"<br />
<br />
"Bill. It's me."<br />
<br />
"Jack?" His displeasure melts away the moment he recognizes my voice. Mine is just starting. If there's one thing I hate in this business, it's having fans.<br />
<br />
"Yeah. Need some help. Can I stop by your place in, oh, fifteen minutes?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, oh yeah, absolutely--uh, could you give me an hour first? I need to clean up--"<br />
<br />
"Sorry, but I'm on the clock," I tell him. "Has to be now or not at all."<br />
<br />
"Oh, sure. Are you on a mission right now? Oh man, yeah, just uh, I'll leave the door unlocked, or you can come in through the window, or--"<br />
<br />
"Door'll be fine, Bill. I'll be right over."<br />
<br />
I hang the phone up, spend a few moments clutching my ribcage in agony, then make my way back out into the street.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-15-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-17-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-18990284187002099502011-07-12T09:51:00.000-07:002011-07-15T06:44:00.830-07:00Issue 1.5 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-14-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-16-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Fighting a high-end supervillain in a one-on-one fight is less than ideal, particularly when you haven't had sufficient prep time. When your only 'real' power consists of chronic insomnia, it leaves you a little vulnerable to people who can light you on fire with their mind.<br />
<br />
One plus, though: People who regularly trade blows with folks like Vigil, Aegis, and Sovereign are likely to underestimate the little guy.<br />
<br />
And if there's one thing I love, it's being underestimated.<br />
<br />
The door we just came through breaks open beneath Jackal's foot. He charges into the parking lot, low and fast--meanwhile, Nova and I both run for my car while she drains what little light surrounds us.<br />
<br />
After Marlowe and Blockhead ditched their vehicle, I made sure to make note of the spot. A quick call to a towing service followed by a stop at the nearby classic restoration shop and I had myself a fresh engine inside of a 1931 Imperial Roadster.<br />
<br />
I see it as we turn around the corner. Sunlight pours in from the open wall besides it--Nova immediately steps into the light and spreads her arms, absorbing as much of it as she can. Meanwhile, I slam my fist into the trunk and pop it open, then reach inside and pull out Marlowe's shotgun.<br />
<br />
Automatic shotguns are a special breed of weapon. They rely on their ability to project a brief, impermeable wall of lead into the face of your target. Not very useful when you want precision or endurance, but when you're up against a killer-for-hire in power armor, it's just about perfect.<br />
<br />
Jackal leaps around the corner just in time. I swing the barrel around and smile.<br />
<br />
Firing a gun like this is like composing poetry. When I pull the trigger, the sound is not far removed from rapid-fire lightning. The barrel belches out a tongue of flame; each boom is a beat, each rumble a serenade. There is music in the clatter of spent shells as they fall to the asphalt--and the <i>thwack</i> <i>thwack</i> <i>thwack</i> as shot after shot strikes Jackal in the chest.<br />
<br />
Getting pummeled by an automatic shotgun hurts, even through power armor. Jackal buckles under the barrage and springs for cover behind a car. But not before he throws something at me.<br />
<br />
I block it with the shotgun. It makes a beep.<br />
<br />
I throw the weapon as far as I can. The sticky bomb explodes, taking the gun with it.<br />
<br />
Jackal braces himself against a concrete column and slams his foot into the side of the car he's using for cover. Metal creaks before the vehicle jack-knifes around, barely missing Nova. She leaps on top of my car, a concentrated look on her face. I notice the lights here are still dimming.<br />
<br />
"Whatever you're doing, do it faster," I tell her, and then I charge in close.<br />
<br />
Getting into melee range with a guy who can reduce your bones to paste isn't fun, but it's better than the alternative--letting him stay out of range and hit you with whatever he's got in his pockets.<br />
<br />
He takes a swing as soon as I clear the hood of the car. I duck under it, grab his wrist, and let inertia do the rest. He rolls over me and hits another concrete column with enough force to crack it; I help it along by spinning around and slamming the heel of my boot into his chest.<br />
<br />
He grabs my ankle and pulls. I'm thrown into a nearby car, hitting it back-first; the metal dents behind me. Pain stabs through my spine and ribs as I slump to the ground. <br />
<br />
Jackal lands in front of me, produces a nasty set of gold-tipped claws, and moves in for the kill.<br />
<br />
A single beam of light spears burns through his stomach and keeps going. He shudders and spasms, before arching up in pain.<br />
<br />
I reel my foot back and slam it directly into where the wound is--throwing him back and to the floor. He groans, clutching at his belly.<br />
<br />
"Oh god," Nova says, her hands clasped together--formed into the shape of a gun. "I think I--did I kill him? I didn't mean to--"<br />
<br />
"No," I tell her as I get up. The sirens are getting louder, now. Police will be here any minute. Along with Vanguard. "Cauterized the wound as it passed through. He'll live, if he gets to a hospital fast." I step toward her, moving out of earshot of Jackal. "Police are going to ask what happened here. You fought him off on your own. The shotgun was his, you blew it up with your laser beam. Got it?"<br />
<br />
"I--what?" she asks, bewildered.<br />
<br />
"I wasn't here," I tell her.<br />
<br />
"Who are you?"<br />
<br />
"The guy who saved your life. And I need to stay invisible."<br />
<br />
"I just saved <i>your</i> life," she responds, giving me 'The Look'. The one that says 'I'm not buying your bullshit for one second, Mr. Tall Dark and Mysterious'.<br />
<br />
Okay, so the kid's not a moron. Score her a few more points. Between this and how quick she was to pull my ass out of the fire back on stage, I'm starting to warm up to her. Even if she <i>is</i> a corporate-funded poptart.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, fine," I tell her. "Look, my ass is on the line here. You tell anyone about me, I'm in serious danger, alright? Just let me do my own thing." I hand her a card. Blank except for the number on the back. "If you need to contact me--if there's an emergency--dial this number."<br />
<br />
Sirens get louder. Any second, now. "But I should tell Vanguard--"<br />
<br />
"No." <i>God</i>, no. "Listen, I don't have time to explain. But if you tell anyone--particularly, Vanguard--I'm a dead man. Okay?"<br />
<br />
I take one look into those puppy-dog cinnamon-brown eyes and I know she won't whisper this to a soul. She's a good kid. Too good, maybe. That sort of goodness can get you killed.<br />
<br />
"Okay," she says. "I won't tell anyone."<br />
<br />
"Thanks." I go for the opening, look around, and choose a spot to jump.<br />
<br />
"Wait--we're three stories up!" she says. "You can't fly, right?"<br />
<br />
"No, but I'm pretty good at landing," I say, and I leap out.<br />
<br />
Taking a three story fall isn't conducive to living. Particularly when you're already nursing what's probably a fractured rib. But it helps when you've got something besides solid asphalt to land on. Someone's parked a car directly beneath the complex. My feet hit first, and then I drop into a ball.<br />
<br />
Metal gives beneath me. The windshield cracks and pops. Every nerve-ending stabs a fiery bolt of anguish straight up my spine.<br />
<br />
I'm still alive, and if I broke anything else, I haven't noticed yet. I roll myself off the crumpled roof and down onto the street. More bolts of pain stab through my arms and legs. I feel breakfast surge up into my throat.<br />
<br />
And then, with the sirens buzzing above and around me, I walk away.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-14-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-16-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-68257160945363868492011-07-07T11:08:00.000-07:002011-07-12T09:51:57.640-07:00Issue 1.4 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-13-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-15-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
When anyone with a suitcase full of cash and the right connections can get their hands on illegal tech, it's easy to become an assassin. Just buy yourself a third-rate freeze-ray, throw on a labcoat, and call yourself 'Professor Freeze Ray'. Toss in some sob story about how frostbite killed your parents, leading you to a life of crime, and the media will love you.<br />
<br />
But for every ten yahoos with a gimmick, there's one son of a bitch you've got to look out for. Jackal's that son of a bitch.<br />
<br />
Hell, I should know. I used to be that son of a bitch, too.<br />
<br />
The security agents don't think--they just open fire. It's raining lead and Jackal's getting soaked; too bad his power suit is bulletproof. He grabs two of them by their collars and hurls them to opposite sides of the room, then clears the distance between him and the stage in a single bound.<br />
<br />
Nova's power is showy, but offensively limited. But there are certain advantages to being able to control light. For instance: The moment a guy in power armor jumps on stage, she uses the opportunity to erect a wall of darkness around herself and the rest of her performers. But that won't give her more than a few seconds of time.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I move. Two security agents put themselves between me and the fight.<br />
<br />
Their mistake.<br />
<br />
It doesn't take a lot of pressure to incapacitate someone. Just apply the right force to the right point and you can turn a hulking bodyguard into a screaming heap on the ground. I grab the first agent's wrist and thumb as he lifts his hands to block me, then twist them in a nasty sort of way, producing a few pops in the process. He drops, but not before I dart my hand in under his coat and unstrap his pistol.<br />
<br />
The second agent turns to me, reaching for his own piece--but I've already pistol-whipped him across the side of the temple and kneed him in the solar plexus. He buckles to the ground; I pull the gun out of his hands and kick him aside.<br />
<br />
Armed with two 9mm pistols, I leap on stage and open fire.<br />
<br />
The bullets ping off of Jackal's armor. The gunfire is just to grab his attention--I get in close and throw one of the guns over his head to get him to look up. He falls for it, just as I deliver an open-palm strike to his upper torso--right where the armor is thickest. <br />
<br />
He steps back, but still takes it. My hand bounces right off his armor.<br />
<br />
His chest makes a soft beep. He looks down--and sees a wafer-thin circuit attached to his sternum. The small LCD display flashes '0:00'.<br />
<br />
He looks back up at me.<br />
<br />
I dive. It explodes. Jackal is thrown off stage, landing on his hands; he backflips into a crouch, snarls, and leaps toward me.<br />
<br />
All I'm doing is buying time. Time for Nova to escape and time for me to prepare. Jackal is a high-end player; his powers consist of enhanced agility, strength, and a power suit that allows him to throw cars. <i>My</i> powers consist of chronic insomnia and the ability to polish off a whole bottle of vodka without passing out. <br />
<br />
If I'm going to survive this, I'm going to have to get serious. Which means getting ugly.<br />
<br />
When he lands in front of me, I step back and drop into a stance. That's when a solid beam of light hits Jackal right in the face, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.<br />
<br />
"Run!" Nova shouts.<br />
<br />
Gotta give the kid points for guts. I move--but when I do, I take her wrist and pull her with me.<br />
<br />
"What--"<br />
<br />
"There's a contract on you," I tell her. "I'm here to help."<br />
<br />
She hesitates, but nods. Maybe she had some notion of making a heroic stand against Jackal; maybe she figured she'd just buy some time before the police arrived. Either way, the moment the word 'contract' leaves my mouth, she starts moving. She's the target, which means wherever she goes, Jackal will follow.<br />
<br />
The light blinded him, but he's recovering fast. I kick my way through the back door, slap another explosive pack on the side of the frame, then charge up the stairs with Nova. Just as Jackal reaches the doorway, I hear it explode--followed by a series of curses.<br />
<br />
"How many of those things do you have?" Nova asks.<br />
<br />
"That was my last one," I tell her. "We need to get to my car."<br />
<br />
"I've tried contacting Vanguard," she says. "Sent a signal on my beacon."<br />
<br />
"They might be here in five seconds or five minutes," I tell her. "Either way, not relying on it."<br />
<br />
We burst into the indoor parking lot. Lots of cars, but mostly empty--we can hear alarms and sirens in the distance. Behind us, Jackal is leaping up the stairs.<br />
<br />
"We might have to hold him off for a while," I tell her as I move toward my new car.<br />
<br />
"Okay. What powers do you have?" she asks.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, about that. When I said 'get to my car', it's because that's where I got my gear."<br />
<br />
"Power armor?"<br />
<br />
"Shotgun."<br />
<br />
She stares at me. "Please tell me you're joking."<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-13-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-15-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-48172892550107226632011-07-07T11:07:00.000-07:002011-07-07T11:15:27.256-07:00Issue 1.3 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-12-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-14-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Working outside the law rather than above it carries certain advantages. Sure, police officers aren't lining up to shake your hand every time you show your face at the scene of a crime, but if you're any good at what you do, no one knows you. When Golem shows up to do surveillance, people say 'hey, isn't that a superhero?' and ask for an autograph. But when I show up for surveillance, people say 'nice suit' and move on.<br />
<br />
Still, a concert full of screaming teenagers isn't exactly the easiest place to blend in when you're over 20. But look like a concerned parent and you might manage to pull it off. If you really want people to buy it, grab a little girl's purse emblazoned with Nova's smiling face, hold it in your arm, and look as miserable as possible. Nothing sells 'I belong here' like 'I really don't want to be here'.<br />
<br />
I watch the concert from the back of the massive Metro Media Center. Low-power spotlights swirl through the audience, illuminating a sea of cheering, screaming faces. Men in suits patrol the crowds, keeping a watchful eye out.<br />
<br />
Up on stage, lights flash as a male's voice booms across the speakers: "They call her Nova... because she's a <i>SUPER-STAR!</i>"<br />
<br />
Everything goes downhill from there.<br />
<br />
There's a lot of choreography--performers dancing in perfect synchronization on stage--and then there's Nova herself. The latest in a long line of corporate-designed superstars belting out generic love ballads composed by people she's never met.<br />
<br />
Her only real distinction is that unlike the rest of them, she's actually got powers. Light-based, if I recall. During the act, they shine high-wattage spotlights on her--she absorbs the light and produces one hell of a show. Colors flash out from her--lasers fly from her fingertips as she's consumed by an incandescent flame. All harmless, but very pretty. Anyway, I'm not paying attention to that. My eyes are on the security team.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later and I'm not paying attention to them anymore.<br />
<br />
People watching is a lot like those games you find in newspapers with two near-identical pictures--you have to figure out what doesn't belong.<br />
<br />
A miserable 30-something guy holding a little girl's purse at a teenage rock concert? Sure, that makes sense. But a 40-something guy in a hat and big trenchcoat, with the collars popped up to obscure his face? Not good. Not at all.<br />
<br />
What's more interesting is that the security team casing this joint hasn't even made a move on him. Either they're sloppy or so good at their job that I haven't noticed their approach. And I wouldn't put money on the latter.<br />
<br />
I weave my way closer to him and try to filter out the noise of the crowd. Beneath the dull roar and chatter, I pick up a sound--a low, throaty hum. Doesn't take a degree in neuro-rocket surgery for me to figure out what it is.<br />
<br />
Coolant system. He's packing serious tech.<br />
<br />
It takes a lot of skill to pick a pocket, but it's way easier to put something into one. Particularly when your mark is wearing an oversized coat with lots of pouches. I get up close, pull the small electronic wafer out--set the timer--then just nudge my way past him, slipping the wafer into his coat as I pass.<br />
<br />
I count the timer down in my head as I make my way to one of the security agents. Put on my best embarrassed-but-concerned look. Then I clear my throat and shout to him over the crowd.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me, sir? I'm sorry to bother you, but I think that the gentleman over there--the one in the hat? I think, um, this is really kind of awkward, but I think he's doing something indecent underneath that coat."<br />
<br />
The security agent immediately gets a disgusted look on his face. The sort that tells me he's had to deal with this before. He puts his hand to his earpiece and starts directing other members of the security team to the person in question.<br />
<br />
"I've got to go find my daughter," I tell him, and then I melt back into the crowd.<br />
<br />
Just telling the security that you noticed someone with a coolant system under his coat won't always work. If they're any good, they'll want to know why you noticed the coolant system--which means now they're worrying about him <i>and</i> you. At the very least, they'll remember your face.<br />
<br />
It's way easier to just frame the guy for something they expect, then when the security gets close, pull back the curtains.<br />
<br />
I get within thirty yards of the stage when the timer reaches one second. I spare a glance over my shoulder; the agents are approaching the man in the coat, who's backing away in agitation.<br />
<br />
Extra points if, in the process of framing the competition, you also incapacitate him.<br />
<br />
The wafer explodes, tearing an immense hole in the coat's left flank. The man shouts with pain as all the agents pull their guns--there's a loud whirr, followed by another explosion. It's then followed by shrieks of fear and panic.<br />
<br />
He sheds his trenchcoat, exposing the power armor beneath. It's a series of interlocking black plates--they have an organic shape to them that makes him look buff. As soon as I see it, I realize they're in trouble--it's high-end stuff. The sort of tech supervillains base an entire identity on.<br />
<br />
A helmet unfolds from behind his shoulders, swings over his head, and snaps back together over his face. It's in the shape of a jawless golden jackal head.<br />
<br />
Shit. Jackal.<br />
<br />
They're in <i>serious</i> trouble.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-12-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-14-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-5022907204455936162011-07-07T11:03:00.000-07:002011-07-07T11:14:18.372-07:00Issue 1.2 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-11-business-as-usual.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-13-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
In my business, being told you're paranoid is a compliment. Taping a small hair along the bottom of your doorframe every time you leave so you know if someone's broken in while you're out isn't just a precaution; it's a matter of survival. So when I find that strand of hair broken, I check the door for traps.<br />
<br />
And when I find no traps, I know better than to relax my guard. I head up to the loft's roof, pop open the secret panel, and crawl in from above.<br />
<br />
An attractive woman in a suit and tie is waiting for me, her pistol pointed directly at my descending torso.<br />
<br />
"Oh," I say as I land in the middle of my living room. "Hello. You must be Agent Duncan."<br />
<br />
"Evening, Jack," she says. "Thought you might be a burglar."<br />
<br />
"Nope," I say. "Just, y'know. Breaking into my own loft."<br />
<br />
"I see." She doesn't holster the pistol. "Thought I'd drop by, take a look at what you were up to." She gestures to the immense wealth of newsclippings, photographs, and documents I have plastered to the far wall. They form an impenetrable puzzle of information--indecipherable except to the trained eye. Some of them refer to armed robberies--others refer to mysterious disappearances. Some are just missing pet notices.<br />
<br />
"Oh, you know," I tell her. "Just the usual."<br />
<br />
"You in town for long?"<br />
<br />
"Just a visit," I tell her. "Surprised you managed to find me. Anyway, now that you know I'm not a burglar, would you mind lowering the gun?"<br />
<br />
She doesn't lower it. <br />
<br />
Most investigations rely on your target being oblivious to the fact that you're watching him. But if Agent Duncan's read my file--and I'm sure she has--she knows that's not going to work with me. The same skills that make you good at surveillance also make you good at <i>noticing</i> surveillance. I figure she's here to try and shake the tree and see what falls out.<br />
<br />
So I decide to do some shaking myself. I throw off my coat and start undoing my tie. "Well, if you're going to stick around, can I get you something to drink? Something to eat, maybe? There's PB and J in the fridge."<br />
<br />
"You know, I could make a lot of people happy right now. Wouldn't take much," she tells me. "Just a few pounds of pressure."<br />
<br />
I throw the tie up near the mirror and start unbuttoning my sleeves. "You won't," I tell her, not bothering to look up.<br />
<br />
"Hell, I make it look good enough, they might even give me a medal."<br />
<br />
"You're not the type, Agent Duncan," I tell her. "When I heard you'd been assigned to my case, I did some research. You're a boyscout. Girlscout. Whichever."<br />
<br />
She narrows her eyes. "You don't know me."<br />
<br />
"Yes, I do. Well enough, anyway. Your hands are shaking. You've been here for a while, judging by the cigarettes in the ashtray besides you. The fact that you've even been tempted to do this terrifies you." I look at her. "You're not a killer."<br />
<br />
She meets my stare. "You are," she says.<br />
<br />
When you've been doing this job as long as me, you have to learn how to read people. And when I look at Agent Duncan's face, it tells me everything I need to know. Which words will get me out of here, and which words will get me a bullet between the eyes.<br />
<br />
For a moment, the latter tempts me.<br />
<br />
"Yes. I am."<br />
<br />
She holsters her pistol. "There was a disturbance tonight around the south end of the city, not more than two hours ago. Can you account for your whereabouts, Jack?"<br />
<br />
"Selling cookies to old ladies to support the local orphanage," I tell her, and then I smile. "You know me, Agent Duncan. In the end, it's really all about the kids."<br />
<br />
"We found an empty SUV outside of a warehouse, set on fire. Someone had doused it in gasoline and planted a remote-activated bomb under it," she said. "Soon after, we got an anonymous tip that lead us to <i>another</i> SUV full of armed bank robbers, all with warrants out for their arrest. You know anything about that?"<br />
<br />
"Bizarre," I tell her. "Have you looked into the local groundskeeper? Old Man Withers seems mighty suspicious. I hear he hates kids. Dogs, too."<br />
<br />
"I don't know what you're playing at, but whatever it is, I'm going to take you down," she says. "And when they put you in the ground, I'll be the first one to spit on your coffin."<br />
<br />
I turn back to the mirror and start to unbutton my shirt. "You better start camping out at my grave now, then," I say. "Line's gonna be long."<br />
<br />
After she leaves, I finish getting dressed, pull out the laptop hidden beneath the floorboards, boot it up, and start pulling up intel on Nova's next public appearance.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-11-business-as-usual.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-13-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-76317093425328297982011-07-07T11:01:00.000-07:002011-07-07T11:30:52.071-07:00Issue 1.1 - Meet Jack<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-1-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-12-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
Thirty minutes later and I'm in the back of a limousine, sipping sherry besides one of the most well-connected armsdealers on the east coast. Blockhead--with his forehead thoroughly bandaged--is driving.<br />
<br />
"I've heard of you," Marlowe says. "An assassin who specializes in killing superheroes. I must admit, I assumed you were a myth."<br />
<br />
"Most people do," I respond. "Not big on the whole celebrity thing, really."<br />
<br />
"I'd also heard that you've switched teams. Work for the good guys, now."<br />
<br />
"I've played both sides of the game, if that's what you mean. But at the end of the day, the only person I work for is my bank account."<br />
<br />
"You are a businessman, then," he says.<br />
<br />
"More or less."<br />
<br />
"By the way. Your dead man switch. If you wouldn't mind...?"<br />
<br />
I've been holding the device from earlier in my hand the whole time. When he mentions it again, I raise my eyebrow, smile, and produce it for him to inspect.<br />
<br />
He scowls. "That is... a ballpoint pen."<br />
<br />
I push the top down again, reproducing that distinctive <i>click</i>. "So it is," I tell him. "I didn't claim otherwise. Just asked you if you knew what a dead man's switch is."<br />
<br />
"You are a very confident man," Marlowe says.<br />
<br />
"In your line of business, you can use a man with a bit of gumption," I reply.<br />
<br />
"Very well. Then to brass tacks--precisely what is it that you want from me?"<br />
<br />
"Just like I said. I want to work with you," I tell him, folding my arms behind my head and leaning back. "I've been thinking about it for a while--doing the research. In this business, it pays to work with the man who can get you whatever technology you need."<br />
<br />
"Ah," Marlowe says, smiling. "Do you have something specific in mind?"<br />
<br />
"Not at the moment," I say. "But I did hear you have a bit of tech you're having trouble moving--something special. A piece of powered armor. I might be able to help with that. For a cut."<br />
<br />
Marlowe's eyes narrow. "And where did you hear this?"<br />
<br />
"See, Marlowe, this is why you and I need to work together," I tell him, giving him a pat on the back. "When your organization has this many leaks, you need a guy who can plug them up."<br />
<br />
"Fair enough, Jack. But the fact of the matter is that I don't quite yet trust you."<br />
<br />
"You wouldn't have been in business this long if you trusted easily," I respond. "But I'm willing to earn it."<br />
<br />
"You're offering your services, then?"<br />
<br />
I refill my glass with more of Marlowe's blush-red sherry. "Sure. I'll toast a problem or two of yours, show you that my offer is legit, then we can talk about doing some <i>serious</i> business."<br />
<br />
Marlowe smiles. "I actually have something very specific in mind, Jack."<br />
<br />
"Oh? What are you thinking?" I take a gulp of my drink.<br />
<br />
"I want you to kill Nova."<br />
<br />
I fake choking on the sherry, forcing a cough and making a show out of not spilling the precious liquor all over Marlowe's expensive suede interior. "Kill <i>who</i>?"<br />
<br />
"What? Do you have a problem killing teenagers, Jack?"<br />
<br />
"I don't have a problem stomping on a basket full of kittens if the price is right," I tell him. "But <i>Nova</i>? She's a member of Vanguard--"<br />
<br />
"An honorary member," Marlowe interrupts.<br />
<br />
"Honorary or not, she's a card-carrying member," I tell him. "I stomp on her, Vanguard's on my ass faster than flies on dogshit. Do you really want me to take on Sovereign? I mean, I'm good--I'm <i>real</i> good--but I'm not the goddamn Batman."<br />
<br />
"If this is something you can't handle--"<br />
<br />
"I didn't say I can't handle it," I cut him off. "But it's going to be tricky as hell. Making it look like an accident won't work--Vanguard'll be on it tighter than a proctologist on my prostrate."<br />
<br />
"Figure it out, then," Marlowe says. He knocks on the window between us and the driver; Blockhead takes the cue and pulls up to the curb.<br />
<br />
"Why do you want her dead?" I ask.<br />
<br />
"Does that matter?"<br />
<br />
"Might be important. Kill her the wrong way, it could screw up your plans."<br />
<br />
"I didn't like her last album," Marlowe responds.<br />
<br />
I grin. "Fair enough. Alright. I might need a few things, though. Things I can't acquire through my normal channels."<br />
<br />
Marlowe produces a business card. "I can provide that, within reason. Keep in touch, Jack."<br />
<br />
I take the card and step out of the car.<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
<center><a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-1-meet-jack.html"><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-12-meet-jack.html">Next-></a> </center>The Great Hippohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09289623983609678924noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6151473286970381364.post-76099779208434282712011-07-07T10:53:00.000-07:002011-07-08T10:52:09.176-07:00Issue 1 - Meet Jack<center><a href=""><-Previous</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com">Home</a> | <a href="http://notorious-online.blogspot.com/2011/07/issue-11-business-as-usual.html">Next-></a> </center><br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
One of the big pluses to not having to sleep is running one-man surveillance. Not needing nap breaks makes your average stake-out much easier.<br />
<br />
One of the big drawbacks is boredom. When your nights are as long as mine, you spend a lot of your time waiting. Waiting for sunrise, waiting for stores to open, waiting for the rest of the world to wake up. Or in this case, waiting for the sellers to arrive.<br />
<br />
They come in a dark burgundy 1931 Imperial Roadster. One of the few cars built for looks <i>and</i> class--its chassis is a wedge that narrows at the front and widens at the back; sleek humps cradle the tops of the back and front wheels, with a velvet soft-top and a suede-lined interior.<br />
<br />
I suppress the urge to whistle. It's always nice to see a criminal with good taste.<br />
<br />
The buyers got here fifteen minutes ago, crowded together in a SUV--some hunk of forgettable plastic dreck. There's four of them, all in suits, with a metal briefcase manacled to one of their wrists. They're at the center of the abandoned warehouse, waiting impatiently as the roadster circles around and comes to a stop.<br />
<br />
I gnaw on my last piece of jerky, shift my position in the warehouse's rafters, and adjust the scope on my sniper rifle. The crosshairs settle down on the head of the man with the briefcase.<br />
<br />
The roadster's doors open. The passenger steps out first--a short, plump, balding man in a good suit. Vincent Marlowe; professional armsdealer. Primarily handles illegal tech--the stuff supervillains use. Chances are he's kept a few toys for himself.<br />
<br />
The driver comes next. The car's suspension groans with complaint as he steps out; the way the vehicle bobs tells me that it's been modified with the man's girth in mind. He's six feet and change of solid bedrock--wrapped up in a three-piece suit and trillby hat. Rather than a healthy shade of flesh, his skin is the color of marble.<br />
<br />
His name is Blockhead. His job description can be summarized as 'block bullets, punch faces'.<br />
<br />
"Good evening, Mr. Marlowe," the buyer with the briefcase says. "I assume we're ready to make the trade?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, yes," Mr. Marlowe says. "I have the piece with me. Block, if you would?"<br />
<br />
Blockhead swings around to the car's trunk and pops it open. He pulls out a large box, then moves toward the four men and their SUV.<br />
<br />
They get nervous. With good reason. Blockhead doesn't just <i>look</i> like solid granite; he <i>feels</i> like it, too. Anything with less kick than a rocket launcher has a nasty habit of bouncing off his skin.<br />
<br />
I wait until Blockhead is between them and Marlowe. Then, just as the buyer steps forward, I swing the crosshairs down to the briefcase and fire.<br />
<br />
There's a sharp rapport as the slug cleanly separates the handle from the luggage. The handcuffs don't help much when they're connected to the wrong part. The briefcase hits the ground while the buyer's bodyguards all pull iron.<br />
<br />
I turn my mike on and speak softly, my voice carried through the speakers I've mounted inside the warehouse.<br />
<br />
"Greetings and salutations. Could I interest you gentlemen in discussing our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?"<br />
<br />
Everyone scatters. The buyer goes for the briefcase; I fire the second shot, putting a fist-sized dent into its base. He gets the idea, then goes for his SUV. His men follow.<br />
<br />
Blockhead throws the box back to Marlowe, who catches it. Marlowe gets into the car--Blockhead follows, making sure to keep himself between his employer and any danger.<br />
<br />
The SUV's wheels snarl across concrete and gravel as it swings around and makes its escape. Blockhead sinks into the roadster's driver seat and starts the car with a roar--six cylinders kick over and let loose an angry, anxious growl.<br />
<br />
It is an outrage to do harm to such a splendid vehicle, but sometimes the job requires that you do outrageous things. I snap the armor-piercing slug into the chamber, level the barrel of my gun on the hood, and fire. The bullet buries itself in the engine block, turning the car into an incredibly expensive piece of furniture.<br />
<br />
The SUV busts its way out of the warehouse's front doors just as Blockhead realizes I've ruined his lovely car. He gets out, tears the roof off with a loud <i>snap</i>, and picks up Marlowe along with the box.<br />
<br />
I place the sniper rifle aside and drop down. A strategically positioned dumpster full of padding breaks my fall. I hop out and run in low, strapping the modified sonic drill onto my hand. By the time Blockhead has caught sight of me, I'm driving my fist straight into his face--and turning the drill on.<br />
<br />
Sonic drills use ultrasonic frequencies to accomplish what conventional drills do with torque. They are incredibly precise, low-powered, and capable of penetrating a quarter inch of granite without breaking a sweat. They're perfect for delicate medical work--they can drill a hole through bone without disturbing the tissue around it. They're also good for knocking out a five hundred pound bodyguard made out of rock.<br />
<br />
When the tip of the cone hits Blockhead's temple, it produces a metallic squeal along with several sparks. An instant later and he is on the floor, with Marlowe and the briefcase tumbling after.<br />
<br />
Marlowe struggles to get up. He pulls something out of his coat--it unfolds with a snap into a full-blown assault weapon. Looks like what you'd get if a shotgun had noisy, violent sex with an automatic rifle and weaned the result of their forbidden union on a diet of steroids.<br />
<br />
Just as he's bringing it to bear on me, I drop the sonic drill and lift my other hand. The small device in my fist makes a <i>click</i>.<br />
<br />
"Do you know what a deadman switch is?" I ask him.<br />
<br />
The barrel of his automatic shotgun wavers.<br />
<br />
"I'll take that as a yes," I say.<br />
<br />
"Who are you?" he asks. "What the hell is this?"<br />
<br />
"What's it look like?" I tell him. "It's my job application."<br />
<br />
"Your job application just made me several very dangerous enemies," he responds.<br />
<br />
When selling yourself, it's good to know your buyer. If you're applying for a job with a bank, they want to know you can be trusted. If you're applying for a job with a car dealership, they want to know you can close a deal.<br />
<br />
And if you're applying for a job with an armsdealer, he'll want to know you can blow up an SUV full of potential enemies.<br />
<br />
I slowly pull the cellphone out of my coat with my free hand and hit autodial. Shortly afterward, there is a brief flash of illumination outside--followed by a boom, then followed by the smell of burning gasoline.<br />
<br />
I smile. "What enemies?"<br />
<br />
Marlowe snorts, but I can tell he wants to smile. "And what about <i>their</i> bosses?"<br />
<br />
"What, you think I managed to sneak a bomb under their car without doing surveillance on them?" I reply. "They're independents. As I'm sure you're aware."<br />
<br />
"Mm. So. Exactly what did you have in mind, Mister...?"<br />
<br />
"For starters," I tell him, "we should probably ditch your car, pick up your blocky friend, and get the hell out of here. Police wouldn't come for gunfire, but they might come for that explosion. As for who I am," I add, "I'm Jack Burroughs."<br />
<br />
<center>~*~</center><br />
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