The Ace of Spades #112
Previously in the pages of The Ace of Spades, Rick found himself falling in love with Anna Kimble, aka Darklight, the Weirdsville Witch. During the subsequent fallout of having his identity exposed to the world at large, Anna offered him a place to stay.
The Crimefighters' League repelled an invasion from the Negaverse. Once that had been dealt with, Rick and several members of the League went out for Chinese food at a restaurant Steve Rand, aka Showdown, knew about. They discussed many things, and Rick and Anna's relationship became public knowledge.
The next day, meeting at the ancestral manor of Wayne Masters, aka Midnight Avenger, the League compared notes on the situation in Action City, and decided on plans of action for everyone...
The Ace of Spades #112 - A Squirrelman: Sins of the Past Tie-In!
Starring -
Rick Duncan, aka the Ace of Spades!
with
Anna Kimble, aka Darklight!
Stephanie Cooke, aka Blue Jay!
Kimmy Sinclair, aka Ragdoll!
Astrid Jessie Wagner, aka Rapunzel!
and
Wayne Masters, aka Midnight Avenger III!
Rick wakes up and his first thought is, Cat.
It's an unusual thought for him, deserving of some consideration. He spends some time contemplating the thought, his eyes only sort of open, only sort of focussed. He decides the thought deserves more than contemplation. It deserves active examination.
He blinks his eyes and forces them to focus. Ah, he thinks. That's why.
There is a cat, an enormous shorthaired black cat, sitting on his chest, looking down at him with amber eyes. Its name, Rick remembers, is Hecate.
"Going to spend the day abed?" the cat says. This does not catch Rick by surprise.
"Nag, nag, nag," Rick answers, sitting up. Hecate jumps off him as he does so, landing gracefully on the bed beside him.
Rick drops to the floor and performs a quick fifty count of push-ups and sit-ups. He'll do the rest later. He and his team have been so busy lately that his regime of exercise has been shot all to hell, but Rick figures he's more than making up for the lack by actively being involved in, you know, crimefighting.
Once done his workout, he jumps in the shower of the small but comfortable guest quarters Anna had magically prepared for him. He knows what the others think, that since they were a couple now and since Rick was staying here, at her place, they must be sharing a bed. But Anna had asked that they wait before taking that step, and he had gentlemanly complied. He had been raised to respect a lady's wishes. He might have pressed the issue a little harder if it had been another lady, but with Anna... He's never felt this way before, about any of his previous girlfriends. Which isn't to say there isn't a certain physicality to their relationship, and passion. But rather than be tempted by sharing a bed to give in to carnal pleasure, he stays in the guest quarters.
"Soon," she says whenever their passion threatens to overwhelm them, breaking away from his embrace with obvious reluctance. "Soon, my love." And he, surprising himself, agrees every time.
Showered, he dresses in his old costume, a spare he salvaged from his apartment, carrying his team uniform jacket. He looks down at the strip mask he's worn for the last seven years, saving the last week. He puts it in his pocket for later.
Leaving the guest room, he closes the door with a click. As always, when he turns, the door has vanished. He heads down to the kitchen, where he can hear Anna moving. The smell of fresh-baked bread greets him, and he grins.
"How long you been up, hon?" he asks as he walks in. He drapes the jacket across the back of the heavy wooden chair he's begun to think of as his. The kitchen is a throwback to a simpler time - huge cast iron stove on one wall, a small and perfectly serviceable fireplace opposite it, thick wooden counters, a pump for water above a porcelain basin. Copper pots and drying herbs hang from the ceiling. Sunshine streams through the window, the fresh loaf cooling on the sill.
She turns to face him, smiling, the very picture of domesticity, apron over her black dress, long blonde hair pulled back in a loose bun, towel in her hands, a smear of flour on her cheek. Her face lights up his day.
He goes to her and leans down to kiss her, to which she responds happily, twining her delicate fingers in his hair. It's a kiss unlike any he's ever experienced. They all are.
"Coffee?" she asks when they finally part.
"Sure," he answers, taking a heavy earthenware mug down from a shelf and holding it out as she pours him a cup of some of the best coffee he's ever tasted.
He leans against the counter and watches her as she busies herself with breakfast. Casting a quick spell to make the knife chop the shallots, she turns and beats eggs into a froth, humming to herself. He catches her casting glimpses at him, as though to make sure he's still there.
"Did you foresee this, hon?" he asks, sipping his coffee, savouring it.
"Breakfast?" she asks.
"No, us."
"I've known for some time that you and I would fall in love, love," she replies, actually answering his question. "But not when or how."
He moves to her, taking her in his arms. He wipes away the smear of flour on her cheek, and she leans into the caress, closing her eyes, smiling gently.
"When is now and how is like this," Rick says, leaning in and kissing her softly. When they part, she leans her head against his chest.
They have breakfast of omelettes and toast in silence, drinking in the sight of each other. He can't believe how quickly he fell for her, and how hard. Like it was meant to be, he thinks, then shakes his head, chuckling at himself for being a romantic fool.
"So what's the game plan for today?" he asks her finally, breaking the quiet. Time to get into the game. He stands, helping to clear the morning dishes.
"Katie and Hannah should be over in an hour or so," Anna says, as the water pump pumps itself. She runs the dishes under the running water.
"You girls stay out of trouble, now," he jokes. She smiles and rolls her eyes.
"And you?" she asks, handing him a clean dish to dry.
"Same ol' same old," he answers. "Team up with Kimmy, Steph, Jessie and Wayne, hit the streets, check our sources, find the bad guys and save the day."
"Don't try to take on the Revolutionists by yourselves," Anna advises.
"Don't worry none about me, hon," he grins. "Worry about them."
"Rick..."
"My momma didn't raise no dummies, hon," he quips, but mention of his family brings the recent fight with his brothers to mind. His smile fades.
"Love," she says, caressing his cheek. "It will be alright. One day."
"You know that? One of your visions?"
"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?"
Rick thinks about it.
"It's okay," he says, finally. "I believe you."
One last kiss and Rick pulls on his jacket. He reaches into the pocket and pulls out his mask.
"Back to the mask?" Anna asks him.
"I'm thinking about it," he answers.
"Why not?" she asks, sensing his hesitation, skipping to the point.
"Doesn't seem much point, really," he replies. "I mean, I get what Kimmy and Matt were saying, about the mask being our public face and all, but... seems to me my face isn't the mask. It's this," he says, tapping the spade on his chest. "Anyway..." He puts the mask back in his pocket, zipping it shut. "I'll see you tonight."
"See you later, love," she smiles back at him.
He steps out into the day, leaving her small apartment at the back of her shop, picking up his flying card on the way out.. The day is overcast, he notices, wondering about the sunlight streaming in her kitchen window. Probably rain later, he thinks, activating the flying card, stepping on and flying into the air.
He loves flying. It was the primary motivating factor to his decision to put on the tights and join the ranks of costumed crimefighters the world over, even though anyone with a few bucks can buy an anti-grav belt or an ornithopter harness or a flying disk. But there's something about soaring to the rescue, flying to the scene of a crime, zooming after an escaping crook. Maybe an adrenalin thing, he thinks.
Rick soars into Hitch Plaza, zigging and zagging through the fifty-foot columns that circle the concrete park. He sees Kimmy and Wayne standing near the fountain at the centre, which sparkles in the dawn light like a million diamonds spewing from a pool of the same. As he sees them, Steph flies into view, landing with the grace of a figure skater near the others. Rick notices Wayne's in his full Midnight Avenger costume, Kimmy's wearing her mask without the red wig and her League uniform, and Stephanie is wearing a combination of her old costume and the new uniform, masked.
Rick lands near them with considerably less grace, but a much bigger smile, than Stephanie had. Steph hasn't been her normal sparkling self, not since her boyfriend dumped her for not unmasking to him personally. Rick thinks it's a pretty shitty reason to dump someone, but then, he doesn't know the whole story, so he's not prepared to make a judgement. Still, Steph is a teammate and a friend, and he's more inclined to side with her than her scumbag ex.
"Sup gang?" Rick asks, bopping fists with Wayne and smiling at the women.
"We should develop something like that, for us girls," Steph jokes.
"There's the two-cheek kiss," Kimmy says, "or a hug, but I-"
Steph grins and leans in, not realizing Kimmy was being sarcastic, and gives her a two-cheek kiss. Jessie jogs into the plaza, waving to them, and the ritual is repeated with her. Kimmy looks beset-upon. Jessie's wearing her old costume with the League jacket over top, masked. Upon arriving, she shortens her hair to shoulder-length.
"Okay, everyone's here," Wayne says. "What's the plan?"
"Why are you asking me?" Rick asks him.
"Matt put you in charge," Kimmy answers.
"He did?" Rick looks at her, surprise clear on his face.
"When he said, Rick, I need you to take Steph, Kimmy, Jessie and Wayne and hit the streets of Lower Uptown," Wayne says.
"I guess he did," Rick grins. "Okay, well... I guess the best thing to do would be to split up, check our sources. Something as big as the prison break of the century, somebody's gonna know something."
"Right," Kimmy says. "I'll take Seven Year, the snitch who tipped Squirrelly."
"Okay," Rick agrees. "Uh... Jessie go with Wayne, Steph with me?"
"Alright," Jessie says. "Shall we meet back here later? Say, noon?"
"Sounds good," Kimmy says, heading off with a nod.
"What's up with her?" Rick asks the others.
"Dunno, she's been acting odd lately," Stephanie answers, crossing her winged arms with a ruffle of feathers.
"Think she and Squirrelman are fighting?" Jessie asks, her hair rising slightly with worry.
"No, I think it's something else," Wayne says. "Although I don't know her as well as you all do, it's not a lover's quarrel. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was professional malaise."
"Oh?" Steph remarks, looking worried for her friend.
"She doesn't like the life any more?" Rick asks.
"Something about it, anyway," Wayne replies. "Well, sooner started is sooner done."
"Right," Rick says, nodding. He and Stephanie take to the air. Wayne and Jessie get in Wayne's Midnightmobile and speed off into morning traffic.
Stephanie and Rick spend the morning in frustrating uneventfulness. None of their contacts have heard anything about the Revolutionists. It's as though the prison break was orchestrated in a vacuum. Wayne remarks as much when they meet up again at lunch.
"It's peculiar, alright," Rick agrees, shaking his head. Wayne pays for lunch, since the others still haven't had their funds cleared by their respective banks.
"Save the bill," Kimmy tells him. "Squirrelly will-"
"It's hot dogs in the park, Ragdoll," Wayne smiles. "Claiming twenty bucks more or less isn't going to change all that much."
"He'll still want a receipt," Kimmy replies stubbornly.
"Honestly, it's my treat," Wayne says.
"So you think they're hiding something?" Stephanie asks.
"I think the Revolutionists are the new big guns on the block," Rick answers, flipping a card back and forth over his fingers, a nervous habit of his.
"And now everyone in town owes them big time," Kimmy adds.
"Exactly," Rick says, taking a bite of hot dog.
"And no one wants to be the one to finger them," Stephanie says.
"Makes our job that much tougher," Wayne remarks sourly.
"Anybody have any good news?" Jessie asks, putting aside her half-eaten hot dog with a distasteful look.
"I still haven't found Seven Year," Kimmy says, washing out her mouth with club soda, spitting it into a bush with an incongruously ladylike movement.
"This is good news, how?" Rick asks, finishing his first hot dog and picking up his second.
"Good because it means he's still out there, somewhere," Kimmy explains. "Gone to ground, most likely."
"Unless the Revolutionists got him first," Wayne says.
"How would they know to get him at all?" Stephanie asks.
"We caught them at the Museum," Kimmy states simply, as though that explains it all.
"We didn't exactly catch them," Rick says.
"Okay, Semantics Man, we ran into them at the Museum," Kimmy replies sardonically.
"So because we found them at the Museum, they figured out Squirrelly got the info from Seven Year and did something to him?" Stephanie asks, trying to make it clear in her mind.
"Hopefully not," Kimmy says.
"Seven Year still with that rabbit chick?" Rick asks. Wayne snorts, choking on his cola.
"What's so funny?" Rick asks once Wayne's stopped choking.
"'Rabbit chick' produced a... really peculiar visual," Wayne coughs.
The others chuckle at the inadvertent joke.
"Pretty sure," Kimmy says, answering Rick's question.
"I wonder," Rick says, thinking out loud.
"What?" Wayne asks.
"Would Seven Year take his girlfriend with him?" Rick wonders.
"Maybe not," Kimmy answers, considering it.
"Why not?" Stephanie asks, a trace of bitterness in her voice.
"If he takes her with him, it means she knows something, too," Wayne says, thinking it through. "If he skips out without her, she's nothing, not even a possible hostage."
Stephanie rolls her eyes as if to say, Men.
"So, what, we find White Rabbit and maybe we find Seven Year?" Kimmy says.
"Yeah, maybe," Rick says. "And I know where to look for her."
"Where?" Jessie asks.
"Skritch," Rick answers.
"That transhuman club Uptown?" Jessie says.
"Not Furr-eez?" Kimmy asks.
"No, Skritch. I know the owner," Rick says, but then, everyone at least knows of Action City's most famous transhuman, Shawn Fox.
"You know Shawn Fox?" Kimmy says, suspicious.
"Yeah," Rick answers, pensive.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Jessie asks, her hair lengthening and wavering slightly with anticipation.
The five of them make their way Uptown, arriving at the popular transhuman club, Skritch, not long later. It's mid-afternoon, and the sky is filled with clouds, so the patio is empty. It's more of a nighttime spot anyway, but there are a few patrons scattered here and there - a big guy with bull horns growing out his temples and a woman with a wolf's snout and ears are in a corner booth; a thin guy with leopard fur at the bar, being served by the snake-skinned bartender; four or five others, all with various animal traits. A thin waitress with white skin covered in black spots like a dalmatian walks up to them.
"Can I help yooooOH MY GOD!!" she shrieks. The bartender looks up from the drink she is pouring.
"You're Blue Jay! The actual real Blue Jay!" the dalmatian waitress babbles. Blue Jay looks taken aback, smiles nervously, and nods.
"Oh wow," the waitress says. "The boss will be thrilled!"
Behind her, Rick notices everyone's eyes are trained on them, human eyes in animal faces. The transhuman movement is populated mostly by the bored, slightly perverse rich - deliberate metahumanization may be illegal, but cosmetic modification of one's body to resemble animals never crosses that line.
The bartender is on the phone, hangs up. The patrons are coming over to the crimefighters, all of them wanting to shake Blue Jay's hand, to touch her wings that really work, not paying much mind to the others. A second or two later, an elegantly suited man with a fox's head and a fox's tail strides into view, smiling. Shawn Fox.
"Welcome, welcome!" he says, charming. Human eyes sparkle in a face of red fur. He shakes Blue Jay's hand, then each of the other crimefighters' in turn, recognizing them and calling them by name: "Blue Jay, more beautiful than the vids even hinted at. Ragdoll, of course. Midnight Avenger, welcome. Rapunzel, always happy to meet a fellow restauranteur. Ace, you old dog. Welcome! Get you anything? Sissy, get these heroic crimefighters something to - No? Ah well. Business brings you by, I suspect. Well, first things first - Blue Jay, my dear, would you do me the very great honour of posing for a photo? Yes, old fashioned I know, but I love to have my picture taken with the famously transhumaned. And you are, you know, my beauty! Oh yes, it's true."
"Fox, we need to talk to you," Rick says, trying to get a word in edgewise. He knows from experience that talking with Fox is occasionally like trying to climb an avalanche.
"Naturally my boy, naturally! But first the photo, eh? Now you stand here, my lovely, no spread those beautiful, natural wings of yours, let's see them. Darma, don't just stand there, dear, get the camera, that's it, and smile!"
The dalmatian waitress snaps the picture with a flash of light that leaves spots burnt on their retinas. Fox ushers them over to a more secluded spot of the club, but not so secluded that the patrons can't see him with famous guests.
"I really enjoyed your show, Mr. Fox," Blue Jay says.
"Did you? How kind. Too bad the ratings didn't. But still, fun ride while it lasted, and I have some other things in the works, don't be too surprised if you see me on the vid again-"
"Fox." Ragdoll's voice cuts through Fox's banter. "Where's White Rabbit?"
"Ah, so that's what brings you by. Well, I could tell you, my dear, but then what's to keep me alive, hmm?"
"Keep you alive?" Rick asks. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You need White Rabbit to find Seven Year, correct?" Fox says, a sly look on his vulpine features. His voice drops low, quiet. "You need Seven Year to find the Revolutionists. Don't look so surprised, hero. Everyone who's anyone knows Seven Year ratted them out. No biggie as far as we're concerned, just business. Smart guy, Seven Year. The escapees will be bad for business. Bad for everyone. You think last week was rough? Cake walk compared to what's coming. Just watch. No... I tell you where White Rabbit is, you find Seven Year, Seven Year spills, you track down the Revolutionists, couple months later, one fox-headed corpse found down by the docks, in Crater Lake. Or maybe never found at all."
"We can arrange to put you in protected custody," Blue Jay begins to say, but he cuts her off with a barklike laugh.
"Protected custody? A dingy motel with maybe an undercover cop out front? Trapped in a room without even decent cable or room service? No... I like it here. And I like my head without any bullet holes in it."
"We can force you to talk," Jessie says, still upset from the offhand reference to her private life when they met. Her hair rises behind her, medusa-like, threatening.
"And here we are, 've haf vays to make you talk,' ja fraulein? You masks. When brains and charm run out, all you have left is your fists."
"Not so," Wayne says, sitting forward and lacing his fingers together. "Tell me, Fox, what's the overhead on a place like this? Must be pretty steep. Five figures, monthly? But then, the profits have to be considerable."
"What's your point, Avenger?" Fox asks, his head tilted back, looking down his snout at Wayne, as though trying to sniff out Wayne's line of attack. The nose, however, is only for show - the unmetahumanized human brain could never handle the olfactory information the fox nose is capable of providing.
"My point is, you know who I am. I'm looking to invest - as a silent partner - in a nightclub. It seems like an interesting venture. I did some research on the way over, and I'm prepared to offer you, say, forty percent of what Skritch is worth."
Fox goes very still. Wayne's offering him a considerable chunk of change.
"In exchange for what?" the bar owner asks.
"Share of the profits, someplace to come and drink on occasion, and White Rabbit's whereabouts," Wayne says, spreading his hands as though showing an excellent hand of cards.
"I'd retain full control of the operations?" Fox asks.
"Of course. What do I know about the nightclub business?"
Fox sits back, thinking.
"You could do a lot with that kind of money, I suspect," Wayne says, looking around. "Renovate, get that second floor really jumping. Maybe even put Furr-eez out of business. Then you'd be the only transhuman club in town."
Fox's eyes light up, a slight smile curling one vulpine lip.
"You're smarter than your rep, Masters," Fox says. "All those risky deals..."
"None of them ever went sour, though, did they?" Wayne asks.
"People say it's mostly luck," Fox counters.
"I say you make your own luck," Wayne says. "Risk big, win big, right?"
Wayne puts out his gloved hand. Fox looks at it for a moment, then reaches his own furred hand, nail-claws elegantly manicured, across the table, shaking on it.
"Pretty smart," Fox says.
"Smart as a fox," Rick replies.
The Crimefighters' League repelled an invasion from the Negaverse. Once that had been dealt with, Rick and several members of the League went out for Chinese food at a restaurant Steve Rand, aka Showdown, knew about. They discussed many things, and Rick and Anna's relationship became public knowledge.
The next day, meeting at the ancestral manor of Wayne Masters, aka Midnight Avenger, the League compared notes on the situation in Action City, and decided on plans of action for everyone...
The Ace of Spades #112 - A Squirrelman: Sins of the Past Tie-In!
Starring -
Rick Duncan, aka the Ace of Spades!
with
Anna Kimble, aka Darklight!
Stephanie Cooke, aka Blue Jay!
Kimmy Sinclair, aka Ragdoll!
Astrid Jessie Wagner, aka Rapunzel!
and
Wayne Masters, aka Midnight Avenger III!
Rick wakes up and his first thought is, Cat.
It's an unusual thought for him, deserving of some consideration. He spends some time contemplating the thought, his eyes only sort of open, only sort of focussed. He decides the thought deserves more than contemplation. It deserves active examination.
He blinks his eyes and forces them to focus. Ah, he thinks. That's why.
There is a cat, an enormous shorthaired black cat, sitting on his chest, looking down at him with amber eyes. Its name, Rick remembers, is Hecate.
"Going to spend the day abed?" the cat says. This does not catch Rick by surprise.
"Nag, nag, nag," Rick answers, sitting up. Hecate jumps off him as he does so, landing gracefully on the bed beside him.
Rick drops to the floor and performs a quick fifty count of push-ups and sit-ups. He'll do the rest later. He and his team have been so busy lately that his regime of exercise has been shot all to hell, but Rick figures he's more than making up for the lack by actively being involved in, you know, crimefighting.
Once done his workout, he jumps in the shower of the small but comfortable guest quarters Anna had magically prepared for him. He knows what the others think, that since they were a couple now and since Rick was staying here, at her place, they must be sharing a bed. But Anna had asked that they wait before taking that step, and he had gentlemanly complied. He had been raised to respect a lady's wishes. He might have pressed the issue a little harder if it had been another lady, but with Anna... He's never felt this way before, about any of his previous girlfriends. Which isn't to say there isn't a certain physicality to their relationship, and passion. But rather than be tempted by sharing a bed to give in to carnal pleasure, he stays in the guest quarters.
"Soon," she says whenever their passion threatens to overwhelm them, breaking away from his embrace with obvious reluctance. "Soon, my love." And he, surprising himself, agrees every time.
Showered, he dresses in his old costume, a spare he salvaged from his apartment, carrying his team uniform jacket. He looks down at the strip mask he's worn for the last seven years, saving the last week. He puts it in his pocket for later.
Leaving the guest room, he closes the door with a click. As always, when he turns, the door has vanished. He heads down to the kitchen, where he can hear Anna moving. The smell of fresh-baked bread greets him, and he grins.
"How long you been up, hon?" he asks as he walks in. He drapes the jacket across the back of the heavy wooden chair he's begun to think of as his. The kitchen is a throwback to a simpler time - huge cast iron stove on one wall, a small and perfectly serviceable fireplace opposite it, thick wooden counters, a pump for water above a porcelain basin. Copper pots and drying herbs hang from the ceiling. Sunshine streams through the window, the fresh loaf cooling on the sill.
She turns to face him, smiling, the very picture of domesticity, apron over her black dress, long blonde hair pulled back in a loose bun, towel in her hands, a smear of flour on her cheek. Her face lights up his day.
He goes to her and leans down to kiss her, to which she responds happily, twining her delicate fingers in his hair. It's a kiss unlike any he's ever experienced. They all are.
"Coffee?" she asks when they finally part.
"Sure," he answers, taking a heavy earthenware mug down from a shelf and holding it out as she pours him a cup of some of the best coffee he's ever tasted.
He leans against the counter and watches her as she busies herself with breakfast. Casting a quick spell to make the knife chop the shallots, she turns and beats eggs into a froth, humming to herself. He catches her casting glimpses at him, as though to make sure he's still there.
"Did you foresee this, hon?" he asks, sipping his coffee, savouring it.
"Breakfast?" she asks.
"No, us."
"I've known for some time that you and I would fall in love, love," she replies, actually answering his question. "But not when or how."
He moves to her, taking her in his arms. He wipes away the smear of flour on her cheek, and she leans into the caress, closing her eyes, smiling gently.
"When is now and how is like this," Rick says, leaning in and kissing her softly. When they part, she leans her head against his chest.
They have breakfast of omelettes and toast in silence, drinking in the sight of each other. He can't believe how quickly he fell for her, and how hard. Like it was meant to be, he thinks, then shakes his head, chuckling at himself for being a romantic fool.
"So what's the game plan for today?" he asks her finally, breaking the quiet. Time to get into the game. He stands, helping to clear the morning dishes.
"Katie and Hannah should be over in an hour or so," Anna says, as the water pump pumps itself. She runs the dishes under the running water.
"You girls stay out of trouble, now," he jokes. She smiles and rolls her eyes.
"And you?" she asks, handing him a clean dish to dry.
"Same ol' same old," he answers. "Team up with Kimmy, Steph, Jessie and Wayne, hit the streets, check our sources, find the bad guys and save the day."
"Don't try to take on the Revolutionists by yourselves," Anna advises.
"Don't worry none about me, hon," he grins. "Worry about them."
"Rick..."
"My momma didn't raise no dummies, hon," he quips, but mention of his family brings the recent fight with his brothers to mind. His smile fades.
"Love," she says, caressing his cheek. "It will be alright. One day."
"You know that? One of your visions?"
"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?"
Rick thinks about it.
"It's okay," he says, finally. "I believe you."
One last kiss and Rick pulls on his jacket. He reaches into the pocket and pulls out his mask.
"Back to the mask?" Anna asks him.
"I'm thinking about it," he answers.
"Why not?" she asks, sensing his hesitation, skipping to the point.
"Doesn't seem much point, really," he replies. "I mean, I get what Kimmy and Matt were saying, about the mask being our public face and all, but... seems to me my face isn't the mask. It's this," he says, tapping the spade on his chest. "Anyway..." He puts the mask back in his pocket, zipping it shut. "I'll see you tonight."
"See you later, love," she smiles back at him.
He steps out into the day, leaving her small apartment at the back of her shop, picking up his flying card on the way out.. The day is overcast, he notices, wondering about the sunlight streaming in her kitchen window. Probably rain later, he thinks, activating the flying card, stepping on and flying into the air.
He loves flying. It was the primary motivating factor to his decision to put on the tights and join the ranks of costumed crimefighters the world over, even though anyone with a few bucks can buy an anti-grav belt or an ornithopter harness or a flying disk. But there's something about soaring to the rescue, flying to the scene of a crime, zooming after an escaping crook. Maybe an adrenalin thing, he thinks.
Rick soars into Hitch Plaza, zigging and zagging through the fifty-foot columns that circle the concrete park. He sees Kimmy and Wayne standing near the fountain at the centre, which sparkles in the dawn light like a million diamonds spewing from a pool of the same. As he sees them, Steph flies into view, landing with the grace of a figure skater near the others. Rick notices Wayne's in his full Midnight Avenger costume, Kimmy's wearing her mask without the red wig and her League uniform, and Stephanie is wearing a combination of her old costume and the new uniform, masked.
Rick lands near them with considerably less grace, but a much bigger smile, than Stephanie had. Steph hasn't been her normal sparkling self, not since her boyfriend dumped her for not unmasking to him personally. Rick thinks it's a pretty shitty reason to dump someone, but then, he doesn't know the whole story, so he's not prepared to make a judgement. Still, Steph is a teammate and a friend, and he's more inclined to side with her than her scumbag ex.
"Sup gang?" Rick asks, bopping fists with Wayne and smiling at the women.
"We should develop something like that, for us girls," Steph jokes.
"There's the two-cheek kiss," Kimmy says, "or a hug, but I-"
Steph grins and leans in, not realizing Kimmy was being sarcastic, and gives her a two-cheek kiss. Jessie jogs into the plaza, waving to them, and the ritual is repeated with her. Kimmy looks beset-upon. Jessie's wearing her old costume with the League jacket over top, masked. Upon arriving, she shortens her hair to shoulder-length.
"Okay, everyone's here," Wayne says. "What's the plan?"
"Why are you asking me?" Rick asks him.
"Matt put you in charge," Kimmy answers.
"He did?" Rick looks at her, surprise clear on his face.
"When he said, Rick, I need you to take Steph, Kimmy, Jessie and Wayne and hit the streets of Lower Uptown," Wayne says.
"I guess he did," Rick grins. "Okay, well... I guess the best thing to do would be to split up, check our sources. Something as big as the prison break of the century, somebody's gonna know something."
"Right," Kimmy says. "I'll take Seven Year, the snitch who tipped Squirrelly."
"Okay," Rick agrees. "Uh... Jessie go with Wayne, Steph with me?"
"Alright," Jessie says. "Shall we meet back here later? Say, noon?"
"Sounds good," Kimmy says, heading off with a nod.
"What's up with her?" Rick asks the others.
"Dunno, she's been acting odd lately," Stephanie answers, crossing her winged arms with a ruffle of feathers.
"Think she and Squirrelman are fighting?" Jessie asks, her hair rising slightly with worry.
"No, I think it's something else," Wayne says. "Although I don't know her as well as you all do, it's not a lover's quarrel. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was professional malaise."
"Oh?" Steph remarks, looking worried for her friend.
"She doesn't like the life any more?" Rick asks.
"Something about it, anyway," Wayne replies. "Well, sooner started is sooner done."
"Right," Rick says, nodding. He and Stephanie take to the air. Wayne and Jessie get in Wayne's Midnightmobile and speed off into morning traffic.
Stephanie and Rick spend the morning in frustrating uneventfulness. None of their contacts have heard anything about the Revolutionists. It's as though the prison break was orchestrated in a vacuum. Wayne remarks as much when they meet up again at lunch.
"It's peculiar, alright," Rick agrees, shaking his head. Wayne pays for lunch, since the others still haven't had their funds cleared by their respective banks.
"Save the bill," Kimmy tells him. "Squirrelly will-"
"It's hot dogs in the park, Ragdoll," Wayne smiles. "Claiming twenty bucks more or less isn't going to change all that much."
"He'll still want a receipt," Kimmy replies stubbornly.
"Honestly, it's my treat," Wayne says.
"So you think they're hiding something?" Stephanie asks.
"I think the Revolutionists are the new big guns on the block," Rick answers, flipping a card back and forth over his fingers, a nervous habit of his.
"And now everyone in town owes them big time," Kimmy adds.
"Exactly," Rick says, taking a bite of hot dog.
"And no one wants to be the one to finger them," Stephanie says.
"Makes our job that much tougher," Wayne remarks sourly.
"Anybody have any good news?" Jessie asks, putting aside her half-eaten hot dog with a distasteful look.
"I still haven't found Seven Year," Kimmy says, washing out her mouth with club soda, spitting it into a bush with an incongruously ladylike movement.
"This is good news, how?" Rick asks, finishing his first hot dog and picking up his second.
"Good because it means he's still out there, somewhere," Kimmy explains. "Gone to ground, most likely."
"Unless the Revolutionists got him first," Wayne says.
"How would they know to get him at all?" Stephanie asks.
"We caught them at the Museum," Kimmy states simply, as though that explains it all.
"We didn't exactly catch them," Rick says.
"Okay, Semantics Man, we ran into them at the Museum," Kimmy replies sardonically.
"So because we found them at the Museum, they figured out Squirrelly got the info from Seven Year and did something to him?" Stephanie asks, trying to make it clear in her mind.
"Hopefully not," Kimmy says.
"Seven Year still with that rabbit chick?" Rick asks. Wayne snorts, choking on his cola.
"What's so funny?" Rick asks once Wayne's stopped choking.
"'Rabbit chick' produced a... really peculiar visual," Wayne coughs.
The others chuckle at the inadvertent joke.
"Pretty sure," Kimmy says, answering Rick's question.
"I wonder," Rick says, thinking out loud.
"What?" Wayne asks.
"Would Seven Year take his girlfriend with him?" Rick wonders.
"Maybe not," Kimmy answers, considering it.
"Why not?" Stephanie asks, a trace of bitterness in her voice.
"If he takes her with him, it means she knows something, too," Wayne says, thinking it through. "If he skips out without her, she's nothing, not even a possible hostage."
Stephanie rolls her eyes as if to say, Men.
"So, what, we find White Rabbit and maybe we find Seven Year?" Kimmy says.
"Yeah, maybe," Rick says. "And I know where to look for her."
"Where?" Jessie asks.
"Skritch," Rick answers.
"That transhuman club Uptown?" Jessie says.
"Not Furr-eez?" Kimmy asks.
"No, Skritch. I know the owner," Rick says, but then, everyone at least knows of Action City's most famous transhuman, Shawn Fox.
"You know Shawn Fox?" Kimmy says, suspicious.
"Yeah," Rick answers, pensive.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Jessie asks, her hair lengthening and wavering slightly with anticipation.
The five of them make their way Uptown, arriving at the popular transhuman club, Skritch, not long later. It's mid-afternoon, and the sky is filled with clouds, so the patio is empty. It's more of a nighttime spot anyway, but there are a few patrons scattered here and there - a big guy with bull horns growing out his temples and a woman with a wolf's snout and ears are in a corner booth; a thin guy with leopard fur at the bar, being served by the snake-skinned bartender; four or five others, all with various animal traits. A thin waitress with white skin covered in black spots like a dalmatian walks up to them.
"Can I help yooooOH MY GOD!!" she shrieks. The bartender looks up from the drink she is pouring.
"You're Blue Jay! The actual real Blue Jay!" the dalmatian waitress babbles. Blue Jay looks taken aback, smiles nervously, and nods.
"Oh wow," the waitress says. "The boss will be thrilled!"
Behind her, Rick notices everyone's eyes are trained on them, human eyes in animal faces. The transhuman movement is populated mostly by the bored, slightly perverse rich - deliberate metahumanization may be illegal, but cosmetic modification of one's body to resemble animals never crosses that line.
The bartender is on the phone, hangs up. The patrons are coming over to the crimefighters, all of them wanting to shake Blue Jay's hand, to touch her wings that really work, not paying much mind to the others. A second or two later, an elegantly suited man with a fox's head and a fox's tail strides into view, smiling. Shawn Fox.
"Welcome, welcome!" he says, charming. Human eyes sparkle in a face of red fur. He shakes Blue Jay's hand, then each of the other crimefighters' in turn, recognizing them and calling them by name: "Blue Jay, more beautiful than the vids even hinted at. Ragdoll, of course. Midnight Avenger, welcome. Rapunzel, always happy to meet a fellow restauranteur. Ace, you old dog. Welcome! Get you anything? Sissy, get these heroic crimefighters something to - No? Ah well. Business brings you by, I suspect. Well, first things first - Blue Jay, my dear, would you do me the very great honour of posing for a photo? Yes, old fashioned I know, but I love to have my picture taken with the famously transhumaned. And you are, you know, my beauty! Oh yes, it's true."
"Fox, we need to talk to you," Rick says, trying to get a word in edgewise. He knows from experience that talking with Fox is occasionally like trying to climb an avalanche.
"Naturally my boy, naturally! But first the photo, eh? Now you stand here, my lovely, no spread those beautiful, natural wings of yours, let's see them. Darma, don't just stand there, dear, get the camera, that's it, and smile!"
The dalmatian waitress snaps the picture with a flash of light that leaves spots burnt on their retinas. Fox ushers them over to a more secluded spot of the club, but not so secluded that the patrons can't see him with famous guests.
"I really enjoyed your show, Mr. Fox," Blue Jay says.
"Did you? How kind. Too bad the ratings didn't. But still, fun ride while it lasted, and I have some other things in the works, don't be too surprised if you see me on the vid again-"
"Fox." Ragdoll's voice cuts through Fox's banter. "Where's White Rabbit?"
"Ah, so that's what brings you by. Well, I could tell you, my dear, but then what's to keep me alive, hmm?"
"Keep you alive?" Rick asks. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You need White Rabbit to find Seven Year, correct?" Fox says, a sly look on his vulpine features. His voice drops low, quiet. "You need Seven Year to find the Revolutionists. Don't look so surprised, hero. Everyone who's anyone knows Seven Year ratted them out. No biggie as far as we're concerned, just business. Smart guy, Seven Year. The escapees will be bad for business. Bad for everyone. You think last week was rough? Cake walk compared to what's coming. Just watch. No... I tell you where White Rabbit is, you find Seven Year, Seven Year spills, you track down the Revolutionists, couple months later, one fox-headed corpse found down by the docks, in Crater Lake. Or maybe never found at all."
"We can arrange to put you in protected custody," Blue Jay begins to say, but he cuts her off with a barklike laugh.
"Protected custody? A dingy motel with maybe an undercover cop out front? Trapped in a room without even decent cable or room service? No... I like it here. And I like my head without any bullet holes in it."
"We can force you to talk," Jessie says, still upset from the offhand reference to her private life when they met. Her hair rises behind her, medusa-like, threatening.
"And here we are, 've haf vays to make you talk,' ja fraulein? You masks. When brains and charm run out, all you have left is your fists."
"Not so," Wayne says, sitting forward and lacing his fingers together. "Tell me, Fox, what's the overhead on a place like this? Must be pretty steep. Five figures, monthly? But then, the profits have to be considerable."
"What's your point, Avenger?" Fox asks, his head tilted back, looking down his snout at Wayne, as though trying to sniff out Wayne's line of attack. The nose, however, is only for show - the unmetahumanized human brain could never handle the olfactory information the fox nose is capable of providing.
"My point is, you know who I am. I'm looking to invest - as a silent partner - in a nightclub. It seems like an interesting venture. I did some research on the way over, and I'm prepared to offer you, say, forty percent of what Skritch is worth."
Fox goes very still. Wayne's offering him a considerable chunk of change.
"In exchange for what?" the bar owner asks.
"Share of the profits, someplace to come and drink on occasion, and White Rabbit's whereabouts," Wayne says, spreading his hands as though showing an excellent hand of cards.
"I'd retain full control of the operations?" Fox asks.
"Of course. What do I know about the nightclub business?"
Fox sits back, thinking.
"You could do a lot with that kind of money, I suspect," Wayne says, looking around. "Renovate, get that second floor really jumping. Maybe even put Furr-eez out of business. Then you'd be the only transhuman club in town."
Fox's eyes light up, a slight smile curling one vulpine lip.
"You're smarter than your rep, Masters," Fox says. "All those risky deals..."
"None of them ever went sour, though, did they?" Wayne asks.
"People say it's mostly luck," Fox counters.
"I say you make your own luck," Wayne says. "Risk big, win big, right?"
Wayne puts out his gloved hand. Fox looks at it for a moment, then reaches his own furred hand, nail-claws elegantly manicured, across the table, shaking on it.
"Pretty smart," Fox says.
"Smart as a fox," Rick replies.
t!