*Editing magic performed by Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*
*This tale is a bit tongue and cheek as well as kinky, so be warned.*
*The carnage of unintended consequences*
[PRELUDE]
[LATER THAT NIGHT]
Liberty Lincoln lying there in her ICU hospital bed looked like hell warmed over. They had blown her the fuck up. The 'they' was yet unknown, but I was going to find out who they were before I paid them back tenfold for what they had done to ... my friend.
"Is she going to be safe in there?" Arachne fidgeted.
"Why are you asking him?" Lucky Dead reacted before her spoken word engaged with her brain.
"She is asking me because she already knows what you can bring to bear," I snapped back.
"You guys ...," Arachne played peacemaker once more.
"To answer your question, Arachne, I've let people in Freedom Force know about this and I've got their pledge they will be looking after her from here on out," I put a comforting hand on Arachne's shoulder.
"Is this the end of ... us ... working together," Lucky Dead deflated.
"No," both Arachne and I said at the same time.
"Lucky, whomever did this isn't going to like the cost of their escalation. They dropped a city block on Liberty ... untold 'normies' buried in that mess plus Liberty," I assured her. "We are going to drop the whole city on them."
"But we don't even know who did this?" Arachne worried.
"So we start busting heads until we get the answer we are looking for," I insisted.
"But what are we looking for?" Arachne fretted.
"Bomb-makers aren't a dime a dozen," I started. "Furthermore, someone had to be scouting Liberty's neighborhood. We check over surveillance cameras at the local stores for anyone, or anything, which seems out of place."
"How do we do that?" Lucky Dead wasn't convinced.
"You two get the surveillance data and go over it. I'll go looking for the bomb-maker," I suggested. "We keep in touch because it makes sense we are next on the hit parade."
"You think any of us could be getting blown up?" Arachne asked.
"It depends on how tight a secret identity we have," I reasoned. "Liberty lived out in the open thus was easy to find. They will be looking for us looking for them from here on out - ambush us as we look for information on them."
"Fine ... that makes sense, so what do we do?"
"Be damn careful," I demanded. "I'm going to find out who would dare make a bomb big enough to drop a city block - even in Brocton. That kind of sick fuck shouldn't be that hard to locate."
"If it is that easy, why haven't the cops found them yet?" Luck Dead mused.
"The people I'll be talking to don't normally talk to the cops," I smirked.
"But they will talk to you?"
"I'll make them an offer they can't refuse," I let my smirk grow into a full-blooded predatory smile.
[~]
"Tell me about the bomb maker, Eddie," I insisted.
"Fuck you!" he spat back. The wisdom of that response was questionable because I had said criminal flunky known as Eddie Grover by the heel and a hundred feet off the ground. Beneath us was the back alleyway filled with junk and asphalt.
"I don't like that answer, Eddie," I mocked him ... then let him go.
"AAAAAHHHH!!" he screamed as he plummeted toward the ground. I gave him a moment to really feel the likelihood of death then raced to catch him with my TK gauntlets. Inches over the ground, I secured his heel once more.
"You ... you fucker," he gasped.
"Your attitude hasn't improve with your change in altitude," I shook my head. Up we went again.
"Noooo," he groaned.
"Let's see how much closer to the ground you'll get this time," I chuckled.
Three drops later, Eddie was a mess and willing to talk. He gave up what he knew about someone seeking the talents of a bomb-maker and I was one step closer to finding out who was behind all this. The reality was I was willing to do whatever was necessary to get to the truth while Arachne wasn't. Worse, the street level goons knew this about her. She wouldn't kill them while the people behind the attack on Liberty Lincoln just might kill her, or them for ratting the bomber out.
Four contacts later and I had an identity, though not the real name of the paymaster behind all this. The name of the paymaster ... The Orchid. I couldn't pursue my leads further though. I had to return to my public life and that meant a late brunch with Boniface Franklin ... plus a dozen other members of the Press as I was now one of the Ten Most Eligible Bachelors of Megalopolis. Ugh.
[CHAOS AT THE CONTEST]
I barely made it in time to my appointment. I was still adjusting my tie when I approached the table where Boniface was waiting for me.
"You just made it," Boniface smiled. "Tough night?"
"I count tardiness as a crime on par with Involuntary Manslaughter in my hierarchy of sins," I responded.
"Ouch!" she snorted. "Remind me to always be on time around you."
"That shouldn't be a problem," I physically greeted her ~ an arm stroke and a kiss on the cheek. I even held her chair for her as she resumed her seat.
"You are also a gentleman," she noted.
"I'm behaving special just for you," I winked.
That earned me another laugh.
"I'm glad you see me as something more than a pocketbook," she chuckled.
"That has never been a problem," I agreed. Nah, she knew who murdered my Mother, or so she claimed. She also claimed Mom was a Monster yet I never remembered her being that way.
That was the highlight of our brunch. During a break in the shooting the female producer asked us to 'spice up' the encounter.
"Like what ~ sit in her lap?" I joked.
"That might appear to be a bit too much," the producer mused thoughtfully. Noting she had really missed my sarcasm, Boniface and I did our best to make brunch a rather confusing blast.
As we were leaving, she turned to me and gave me the first truly authentic smile.
"Calling me Boniface is getting old," she regaled me. "Call me Bonny. All my friends do."
"We aren't friends," I reminded her.
"No, but we could be," she winked. Oh Boy!
[~]
It didn't take a Svengali to realize something was wrong when Bonny and I arrived for the late morning contest in Patriots' Park. We had been scheduled for an obstacle course filled with brain games at eleven. It turned out Barry 'the Brush' Bushnell, Point Guard for the Megalopolis Magicians NBA franchise, was missing and his 'highest bidder' was a bit distraught.
It appeared he'd missed his 'brunch date' as well. I could see the headlines already: 'The Brush brushes off Brunch'. Real catchy, I know.
It turned out I was wrong about ole Barry. He'd been kidnapped - names and nature of the kidnappers unknown. Their demands, if any, were unknown as well. As word of this trickled down to the small number of police cordoning off the contest from our adoring masses, the cops closed in on the nine survivors ... and our 'dates'.
The first questions the responding detectives aimed our way was about our well-being. Had any of us noticed anyone stalking us? Had anything been misplaced in our dwellings? Was anyone we regularly knew who had access to our dwelling missing / non-communicative?
After they ascertained (came to the erroneous conclusion) none of us were in immediate danger, the inevitable questions about how we felt about the victim came up. In essence, they wanted to know which one of us would want Bushnell removed from the contest. Was winning this dumb contest enough of a motive? Apparently the cops thought so.
What could I use as an alibi ... '
gosh, Mr. Policeman, I went to the hospital room of a known vigilante you failed to protect then beat up some street toughs in order to figure out who built the bomb which dropped a city block on her
' ... That wasn't going to fly so I plead the 'Fifth'.
But wait, I wasn't a suspect so I couldn't plead the 'Fifth', or so the FBI Special Agent claimed. Then I declared I wanted to see a lawyer ... which they claimed I wasn't eligible for because I wasn't a suspect - yet. Then I said I didn't feel like answering their questions because I was a citizen of a supposedly free country and their fascist Police State tactics disgusted me (they were actually very polite, if determined).
"What's your problem, smart guy?" the aging police detective sergeant who came over to me got gruff.
"Lying to the police is a crime," I elaborated. "So, I'm telling you I don't want to tell you where I was last night at the same time insinuating I'm not your guy."
"Why don't you let us handle that bit of information?"
"Fine, 'tough guy," I leaned into him and lowered my volume, "I'm a costumed vigilante who was doing illegal shit last night. I'm not going to tell you what I did - because then you could A-R-R-E-S-T me for this shit which had nothing to do with what happened to Barry."
"Why don't I just arrest you on 'suspicion'?" he glared right back.
"Suspicion of what?" I simmered. "My lawyer will bust open your ass if you try to detain me on something so insubstantial. All the while, the investigation into who kidnapped Barry Bushnell will be going nowhere."
"Who says Mr. Bushnell was kidnapped?" he thought he'd tricked me.
"There being the three FBI agents I've talked to in the past hour," I pondered. "FBI special agents don't investigate many local crimes - except kidnappings - thus my supposition Mr. Bushnell was kidnapped."
"Fine, Mr. Einstein, don't do anywhere," he responded. Off he went while I hung around.
"You are not making friends," Bonny, along with several others, migrated my way.
"I'm not prepared to sacrifice the portion of my soul which allows me to be impolite to law enforcement types," I simmered.
"Your bad attitude doesn't help anyone," was her mote of wisdom.
"My bad attitude allows me to sleep soundly at night," I countered.
"You slept well last night?" Kyle Rodney inquired playfully.
"Not really. I had some late night school work to attend to," I lied.
"I can't believe we are throwing so many detectives at
this
with the bombing down in Brocton last night," Inez Neustadt, the young police detective griped. Mind you, she was currently assigned to Narcotics; not Counter-Terrorism, or some kidnapping taskforce.
"Well, I heard Barry was kidnapped by the
Uptown Crew
," Louise Dresser, the workout icon, whispered in a rather conspiratorial manner.
