|
#5
MAR 14 |
 |
“Keystone”
“Bring me his head!”
Nightwing had to admit, this was a new one to him. It wasn't every day that he took on a bike gang armed with giant executioner-style axes. They even wore the black hoods and were all bare-chested, all ten of them. The woman who gave them their marching orders was bound in leathers of all shades of tight red leather, her face powdered though she wore a biker's helmet with a golden crown painted on it.
They had attacked an armored truck and had managed to wound the driver, with the other guard still inside the quick cash store where the pick-up had been happening. Nightwing had swung onto the scene just as one of the hooded men was about to chop off the head of the downed guard, but now found himself being circled by the pack of men on their bikes with his head being called for.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Nightwing called out as the one he had kicked, who had since reclaimed his bike after Nightwing had been pulled off him by another, took a swing at him. He ducked low to avoid the blade but another raced in to take a swipe at him. He dodged it narrowly. “The Red Queen or something?”
“Whut?” The red-clad woman shook her 'crowned' head. “I thought...no...I'm the Red Princess!”
Nightwing would have shaken his head if he wasn't busy avoiding two executioners that raced along either side of him. “I think you should reread your Wonderland, your majesty.” He vaulted and grabbed the handlebars of a bike as it bore down on him. Nightwing kicked, taking the man square in the chest which sent him off his bike in a heap. Nightwing jumped free as it crashed and rolled, in time to miss another axe as it came down. The force of the blow embedded it in the concrete for a split second, which was enough to send the man who held onto it flipping through the air, off his bike. He hit the armored car hard and slid to the ground unconscious. “At least you don't seem to have a Jabberwocky at your command.”
Another executioner barreled in but Nightwing stepped in and planted his feet as he also grabbed the shaft of the long axe. He twisted and yanked the man off his bike to send him skidding off the pavement. He'd have a nasty road rash, but considering they had sought to kill a man, Nightwing was okay with that.
“What are you babbling about,” the Red Princess howled in frustration. She had ten, now seven, men who were all incapable of carrying out her command. “What you...think I'm from a book?!” She sounded so shocked. “I'm a princess and I'm red!”
“Oh,” Nightwing breathed as he tossed a Nightarang that took rider's tire which sent the bike and rider flying. “Forgive me,” he shrugged and tried not to feel too put out. “I guess I'm too used to dealing with the likes of Mad Hatter or even Penquin.”
“That's no way to speak to our princess,” barked another hooked biker. He tossed his axe at Nightwing, who batted it aside with a quick draw and swing of an eskrima stick. The speaking executioner was silenced a second later as Nightwing leaped and spun, kicking a foot square into the man's hood.
The Red Princess screeched and almost instantly the remaining five bikers raced to her. “Stop toying with him. Ignore him and get me that money!”
The five raced forward and they veered and darted away from Nightwing as a means to get around him. The vigilante took aim and fired his zipline, the end looped in time to twine around one of the men and Nightwing yanked to bring him off his bike and bound on the ground.
Past him, the four remaining bikers crashed their way into the store. Nightwing was about to make for the on-looking Red Princess when the gunshot from within the store drew his attention in that direction. Before he reached the store however, out stumbled one of the hooded men holding his side, bleeding and then the three others raced out each brandishing sacks of cash. Inside the guard cursed and called out, so even if injured, at least he was alive.
Nightwing had his eskrima sticks out and was already running towards the store. As the hooded men came out, they didn't have time to prepare for the crime fighter as he was on them. He jumped between a pair with his arms out wide, which allowed a stick to take each in the chest, which sent them sprawling and down. As he landed he turned and Nightwing jumped just in time to land on the back of one of the fleeing bikes. “Thanks for the ride,” he grunted and pushed, knocking the goon off the vehicle smoothly as he slide into the man's place, as he had taken control of it with little more than a wobble.
The Red Princess was hissing and spitting as Nightwing raced towards her. The last hooded man turned, but too slow and encumbered by the axe he still held onto. As clumsy as he was, Nightwing smacked him easily across his bare back as he raced past.
“Idiots,” squealed the Princess as she kicked at her bike to get it to start.
Nightwing put an end to that before it could begin as he leapt onto a still rolling bike and ran it into hers, which sent them both flying. “They are that,” Nightwing agreed as he tumbled and caught the Red Princess who flailed through the air. They hit the ground hard and rolled, though Nightwing made sure he came out on top.
“No!” She snarled and clawed up at him but Nightwing just shoved her down. He moved to pin her and she struggled under him, but to no avail. “Get off me! Let me go!”
“Now, that behavior is most unbecoming of nobility,” Nightwing scoffed. He reached for her helmet to pry it off as she wormed under him. “If you're really that into decrees and sentences then I think I you're headed for right pla–...”
“Jerk! That money was supposed to me mine! I wanted it!”
Nightwing was silent as he looked down at the villainess he had just subdued. What had made him stop mid-sentence was the braces. The fact that she had to be no more than thirteen or fourteen is what kept him silent.
“I wanted it! I deserved it!” The Red Princess had a tantrum under him, as she kicked and screamed. Still, Nightwing kept her where she was even as he moved to bind her hands. “It's mine, mine!”
The Red Princess was bound and Nightwing stood. He watched as a couple of the downed men pulled off their hoods and coughed or spat, and he saw that they had to be no older than their Princess, if not younger. The wounded guard at the truck was working to get to his feet now, going for his radio to call for help. Nightwing just moved to tend to all of this, wondering what the heck his city was coming to.
*SLAM*
The room shook with the force of the man being shoved into the lockers and the thunderous sound rattled around the deserted men's changing room of the central precinct station. Gannon Mallory collected himself as best he could after that push but was grabbed right away by powerful hands and slammed back again. His assailants had picked their timing well, or informed everyone else to steer clear as Gannon was alone against the two men that had attacked him. He struggled and sought to get free, but the stocky strong man that held him had a good hold on his loose clothing, as Gannon was partially undressed as he had been mid-change after his shift. He then tried to strike his fellow officer in efforts to get free, but the tall lanky man behind the other slapped him hard.
“None of that now,” bit out Ruben Whiting. He then brought his slapping hand up to smooth back his hair as he watched the younger patrolman struggle against the hold of his partner, detective Hugh Drebben. “We just want to talk.”
Drebben sneered, however, and as Mallory almost wormed free he withdrew a hand but then lightning quick punched Gannon in the gut. Drebben had once been a semi-pro boxer and Mallory dropped to his knees coughing. “Well, he may want to talk, but I'd sure love to beat some religion into you. Problem is, I ain't a religious man, so it's mostly just beating you up, you damned–”
“Exceptional officer?”
That came from behind them and both turned to look at Dick Grayson who stood there.
“Stay out of this, Grayson,” sneered Whiting. “This doesn't concern you.”
“Oh, but I think it does,” Dick moved forward.
Drebben reached down and snagged Gannon by the hair. “Course it does, this is his boy...friend,” the stout man just laughed.
Gannon grunted and punched but, staggered and weak, it barely phased Drebben as it struck his hard belly. Detective Drebben just pounded Mallory's head back to the lockers which caused Gannon to finally cry out in pain.
Dick pounced.
But Whiting was there and punched him across the jaw. It sent Dick reeling and Ruben recoiled as he held his hurt hand, as he was wiry and no boxer. “Damnit! Back off, Detective. This doesn't concern you, I told you that!”
“Let him go,” Dick wiped his jaw and regained his feet.
“Worried I'm going to ruin his pretty face,” Drebben taunted.
“Enough, shut up, Hugh! Damnit, you ruin everything...I needed to talk to him.” Whiting turned from scolding his partner to face Grayson again. “Look, this doesn't concern you. You think we're going to kill him here? Don't be stupid.”
“Assaulting a fellow officer is pretty stupid,” Dick spat back but he looked to Gannon to see how his friend was doing.
“This fruitcake?” Drebben laughed louder.
“God Damnit, Hugh, SHUT UP! You're making it worse!”
That's when they all fell silent by the sound of the gun being cocked.
Amy Rohrbach stood there, her sidearm drawn and leveled on Drebben, pointed right for his squat face. The short man made a move to haul Gannon up in the way by the hair but Amy just 'tsk'ed sharply to let the detective know that if he continued with that she would shoot him before he had a chance to do that.
“Y-you aren't g-going to shoot us,” Whiting stammered as he tried to muster up courage. “One-handed and...”
“I shoot with my right.” Amy held up her left arm, where the stump was very much there. “Leave now, unless you want me to see who else is in hearing distance.”
“And who's gonna' rush to the help of the cripple and the fa–!?” Drebben didn't to finish that as Dick spun and kicked, taking Hugh right in the face to send him sprawling away. His meaty hands had come up to his face as blood streamed from his now broken nose.
“Forget about me?” Dick didn't waste another breath as he moved to collect Gannon.
Amy shifted her aim to Whiting who looked white as a sheet, both from anger and frustration. He just turned and put his hands on Drebben's shoulders, as Hugh looked ready to charge in. Ruben just looked back over his angular shoulder to Gannon. “Another time, Officer.” With that he nudged, poked and prodded Drebben away.
Once they had finally left Amy finally holstered her piece and she too went to Gannon, now on a bench as Dick checked his bumps and bruises. “Should we even ask?”
Gannon chewed on his silence for a moment as he looked between the pair of detectives. He mulled it over but finally relented but lied as he spoke. “Just the same old as it always is.”
“Bull,” Dick challenged. “Whiting said he wanted to talk, and I doubt it was about more than…that.”
Amy remained silent and Gannon did too for a moment, but finally he sighed. “My dad showed up this morning, here, at the start of my shift. Seems he was wanting to see if he could rely on me, and he spoke rather loudly, to be sure that everyone could hear.”
“Rely on you for what?” Amy asked as she stood over the two men on the bench.
“If,” Mallory sighed again, “I could be counted on to do 'what he needed doing'…which means, for him, falsifying reports or tampering with evidence, if not making it go away. He's a lawyer and I guess he decided to move here recently. From Florida.” Gannon pushed to his feet, wobbled, but reached out to his open locker for support. “I guess he got called in by family to be here, so when I didn't answer him and just stocked off...”
“What?” Dick stood too now, looking for that piece that would put it together. “That still doesn't explain why Whiting wanted to talk to you.”
“It's because of who Ruben Whiting *really* works for. I'm sure you've heard the rumors,” Gannon frowned.
“Roland Desmond,” Amy gave, to which Mallory nodded.
'Blockbuster' was all Dick heard.
“The rumor mill also has it that Whiting wants out, though no one seems to know why, or at least that anyone is saying. I think he just wanted to pressure me to set up something with my dad, to see if there's not some way he could arrange to just vanish.”
“Your father works for Desmond?” Dick offered.
Gannon sighed. “He was always a bastard. He threw my mother out, and me along with her, which is when we came to Bludhaven. We had nowhere else to go. I have her name: Mallory. My dad, well...” He turned to his locker. “There's a reason that I get to hear things, things I shouldn't, like the stuff about Whiting, is because of who my great uncle is.” He just signed and turned back to Amy and Dick. “Like I said, he was called to town by family.”
Three robberies. One back alley brawl. Six, wait, no, seven carjackings. A pair of muggings. A drive-by. It was turning out to be a very busy night for Nightwing and it wasn't even midnight yet. No sooner had Dick gotten home after his shift than he was changed and out into the night. He had promised himself that it would be a quick swing to Gannon's place to make sure that his friend had gotten home safe, but Nightwing still hadn't even reached that side of the city yet.
Nightwing went from rooftop to rooftop as he swung his way through the air. Bludhaven was stuffy tonight, still muggy from the intense rainstorms it had experienced only days ago, with Electrocuitioner's outbursts. Off in the distance, Nightwing saw the outline of Lockhaven and he reminded himself to check in there before swinging home, to sneak in to be sure that they had secured the twisted glass prison that 'Cuitioner was now trapped in. He also made a quick note to make it by the Port Authority Bus Terminal to look for clues to Echo's skillful disappearance, as he had yet to make it out there to do so. If it wasn't one thing it was just something else.
That's when the sound of squealing tires drew his attention off to the left, which caused him to turn mid-swing, to loop around and then land on the rooftop that had been behind him when he looked. The siren and lights kicked on then as Nightwing just watched the ambulance race off, and that's when he realized he was standing atop the Rabe Memorial Hospital.
“Don't go chasing ambulances now, as nothing good ever comes from that. Nothing you can do where that's headed. The damage has already been done.”
Nightwing turned to see where that had come from. At the top of the building, on the front-facing wall, was a neon sign to announce what this was, but for the past week the 'Memori' had been flickering. Broken, the hospital lacked the funding to have it fixed, so there on the 'Rabe -al Hospital' sign was a man. He wore a dark coat, had short dark hair and hard eyes, stubble and...bare feet?
“I just want to talk, honest.”
Nightwing narrowed his eyes. “I've heard that before.”
“I'm sure you have,” the man laughed but still he patted the spot next to him on the sign. “Come on up. It's quite the view. Besides,” he turned for a moment to then hold up two cups of something steamy hot, “I brought coffee.”
It sure smelled like coffee, but Nightwing didn't move.
“The only difference,” the mysterious man said as he took a sip from each to prove that neither was poisoned, “is that yours has like six packets of sugar and nine creamers in it. The way you leap around, I took you for a sugar guy.”
It took a long moment and then several more after that for Nightwing to move. Carefully, casually, he moved to climb up and join the man, who keep his watch out on Bludhaven below. The hospital overlooked Highway 61 which cut right through the middle of the city and the traffic below was constant, though the real core lay behind it. Off in the far distance was the posh Avalon Hills, but beyond the buildings was the stretch of swamp lands to the north that dominated the horizon.
“Thanks,” Nightwing finally offered as he accepted his cup. “It's rare to be given a present like this by a jumper.”
The man just smirked. “Not even close.” He turned to look at Nightwing and just shook his head. “Not a bad guess, considering. I hear the suicide rate here is more than double the national average.”
“Nearly triple, but hey, we also have the best corn dogs in the nation, six years running.”
“Is that how you're going to do it?” the man asked as he took a sip of his black coffee. “Save this city with one lame funny line at a time?” He just chuckled at his own joke.
Nightwing frowned. He wanted to ask who this was but he doubted he was going to get an answer. “No, I'm going to save this place with hard work.”
“And determination and stick-to-it-ness?” The man shook his head, his eyes out on Bludhaven. “You took down the boss of bosses in this here neck of the woods, hotshot. Yet look, the 'Haven trudges on as it always has, always will. Downward. Why do you think that is?”
“Like in Gotham, once…”
“Bludhaven is *nothing* like Gotham City,” he man cut him off, and followed with a sharp, “there's a city crying for salvation, just weeping for it. That's why so many hear the call. Even you, right?”
Nightwing frowned. Who was this?
“You choose to come to Bludhaven.”
“That's right.”
“I didn't ask,” the man pointed out. “There was no cry, no plea for help. You just packed up and decided to come here on your own. Well, she didn't ask you to come. Just so you know. In fact, I'd say she's downright pissed you're here.”
“Who didn't?”
The man was silent for a moment and then shook his head. He turned to look at Nightwing. “What if I told you that the best thing you could do for Bludhaven was to leave, here and now, today?”
“I'm not leaving.”
“I thought so,” the man sighed and his shoulders actually slumped. Suddenly he looked as tired as Nightwing suddenly felt. “She's going to do something about it,” he said to them both, as though he was sharing something he had just heard.
“Who is?”
The man looked out over Bludhaven, his eyes settled on the distance, out towards the Hills. “You've seen a lot, Nightwing, far more than most men have or ever will. I'm not talking about goddesses or battles in space, the things you fought as a kid and yes, as a man. You have seen humanity, really seen it, just like as you continue to on a night like this. You know, even if you deny it or lie to yourself when you face it, that some people just don't want to be saved.”
He went on. “Sometimes they just want to hurt, to ‘feel’, something. They need that pain, to know what existence is. They have known love, they know what shelter is and what glory warmth can bring, they've held newborn children, they've laughed, but there is no joy for them in hope or even in the pursuit of it. Some may want to watch the world burn, others seek to be burnt. You fight to save them but they fight you because they don't want salvation. It's not that they don't deserve it; it's that they don't want it. What they crave can only be inflected. Pain, misery, suffering…to them that is living.”
Nightwing stood now, leaving his coffee untouched beside him. The man followed, also getting up to his feet. “I...,” but he fell silent as he knew than the mystery man was right. “If your argument is that they can't deny what they feel, well, neither can I.”
“She said you'd say that,” the man frowned. He brought his cup up to his lips and sipped but then reached a hand out carefully for Nightwing's shoulder. “I guess this conversation was her way of asking you to leave her alone, but since you won't...” He just frowned, considering something. Finally, he spoke again. “Goodbye, Nightwing.”
That's when he shoved the vigilante.
Nightwing tumbled out into the night, but only for a moment. He fired a zipline and a second later he swung back up to where he had been, only he found the rooftop and flickering sign empty, save for his coffee cup.
The was the sudden wail of a siren below him, this one joined by another and then another. Nightwing turned, his zipline still in hand and swung out into the night to give chase to the ambulances.
He was ready to go home.
The ambulance chase had lead to a pair of car collisions, but right after that there had been another mugging, a car-jacking...and more. Nightwing had lost place or count. It was well past midnight now and he was exhausted. He had planned to make it to the Port Authority Bus Terminal but that would have to wait for tomorrow, as he was just beat and his bed was calling, even if his wife was a city away in Gotham.
Nightwing kicked into his swing to send himself south, to home, when the 'call' came in. He was glad to hear her voice, but her tone let him know that it was a business call.
Nightwing, you need to change direction. You have to get to the west side of Melville Park.
“Keeping eyes on me, huh?” He was already altering his angle to go where he was needed.
Always. She was quiet on the other end for a moment, which was enough to let Nightwing know to less playful and more serious. You'll need to hurry as best you can. She didn't have good news for him.
“Go ahead, Oracle. What am I heading into?”
Nothing good and it's only getting messier by the moment. The girl you apprehended earlier, she paused.
“The Red Princess,” Nightwing confirmed as he released that line and fired off another.
Britney Summers, actually. Thirteen and has a rap sheet longer than one of Cobblepot's hired help.
“Yeesh, starting young, isn't she?”
Same age you were, Robin, Oracle pointed out. She went on. When the authorities called her only guardian, her father, they had no answer. They sent out a car and found that Carl Summers was dead. He had a historic weapons store, sold mostly to re-enactments, ren-fairs and the like.
“That at least explains the axes they were swinging around.”
The boys that went in with her were all classmates, that is if they actually went to school, which they mostly didn't. They were all eager to point her out as the ringleader, saying she had charmed them into this. Carl, the father, had also been a biker in some petty gang, called himself the Krimson King, with a 'k'.
Nightwing kept silent himself now as he released that line and tucked into a dive, the sharp plummet forcing the weariness from him.
She was released from booking twenty minutes ago.
“I'm sorry,” he grunted as he fired off another line and swept into a graceful arch. The big 'full' swings like this were demanding physically, but they would get him across town a lot faster, since he was swinging fifty stories or more at a time. “I thought you said she was released.”
She was, Oracle confirmed. Why? The booking officers simply didn't want to deal with her, so they set her free instead of handling her. Apparently she was having quite the tantrum.
Nightwing almost cursed to the darkest god he could think of, but thought better of it as Raven likely wouldn't like him invoking that name.
So, that. Hrm, I have distress coming in. I'll need to go.
Nightwing kicked out into his next swing, to propel himself towards the park all the faster. “Her royal highness was headed this way?”
They set her off with her bike and everything. She promptly broke into a jewelry store. I can only guess she's looking for her crown. Oracle then cut out but was back, only briefly. Got to go. She was gone.
Which was fine, as Nightwing was there only moments later.
He dropped to the street before 'Diamonds, Diamonds, Diamonds, Inc.' to find the front window smashed, likely from the red biker helmet that lay in the middle of the floor amidst all the broken glass. The store's alarm was blaring but no one had come to investigate, and inside Nightwing saw Britney moving from display case to another, using the butt of the pistol in her hand to smash them open.
“That's far enough, young lady.”
“You!” The Red Princess spun and fired, clumsy and unpracticed as she didn't aim so much as just spray gunfire in the crime fighter's general direction. Her braces gleamed in the dim light and her choppy starkly dyed red hair whipped about. Nightwing dodged them all but was driven back as he had to duck around the storefront. “No one else will get me what I deserve, so I'm taking it, taking it all for myself,” she spat. She fired again and again at the corner Nightwing was safely behind, until the gun clicked empty.
A gun with that many rounds...Nightwing had only had a glance, but he was sure that was standard police issue. “Just what kind of 'sent you on your way' care package did those police give you?” He turned back into the store only to find that Britney had slid another clip into the gun.
“Heh heh, all I had to do was tell him I wouldn't leave until he gave me this,” she patted her waist where the officer's belt was lopped around her. She fired again and, as Nightwing ducked and dodged, she spoke around her gun-play. “No one can stop me, no one wants to! Just give me what I want and I'll go, simple as that!” She laughed as she fired another round into the counter Nightwing ducked behind.
“I think it's time someone told you 'no',” Nightwing returned as he launched himself. He jumped up, meaning to surprise the armed red-clad girl.
The Red Princess just shook her head and fired under Nightwing, at her own bike which was just outside. The bullet caught the thing and the next punctured the gas tank, but not before Britney sneered, “No one says 'no' to me!”
*Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmm!*
The explosion caught Nightwing in the back and sent him lying to the wall hard, over the Red Princess' head. She too was blasted back by the blast, and flames leaped from the ruined bike. They licked at the walls of the storefront and then erupted forward as the whole building seemed to suddenly burst into flames.
Nightwing was dazed and now choking as thick smoke filled the room along with the heat from the instant inferno. It was then that a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled, and the vigilante could do little more than go limp as he was hauled out, his head ringing and his body numb with throbbing pain.
He was dumped on the ground out the back and over him stood a strong-looking Russian man who was coughing in fits, but who had turned to look at 'Diamonds, Diamonds, Diamonds, Inc.' as it went up in a blaze. However, the man was more concerned with what was atop the store, which Nightwing now noticed had been an apartment, presumably where this storekeeper had lived. Nightwing rolled and got his feet under him. “G-got to g-go back...there was...a girl,” he choked.
The man just shook his head. “She run away, other way.” He pointed. “Took no jewels,” he sounded almost hurt by that.
Nightwing looked to where the owner had pointed, but saw no signs of red. “Have to stop her,” he swallowed and stood upright.
This caused the storekeeper to just laugh, which caused him to cough. Yet, he said, “Why? Is easier to collect insurance money.” His eyes returned to his apartment as the blaze took it and all that had been inside.
Nightwing just shook his head and took to the skyline, to search for Britney Summers in vain. As he headed up he could hear the sound of the sirens of fire engines. At least the firemen in Bludhaven were proficient, Nightwing thought, unlike his fellow police who had returned the Red Princess to the streets.
It was nearly dawn before they finally managed to reach it. “About bloody time!”
“You're telling me,” snorted the other man. The jacket to his suit had long since been abandoned and his tie was loose about his dirt-smeared shirt. He scratched at his rolled up sleeves and tossed out the shovel he had been using for the past six hours straight. “Let's get this thing open, get what we came for and get out of here.”
His partner shifted as he was sore and exhausted but he climbed out of the pit the two had labored to dig. “And get the hell out of this town. I hate Bludhaven, man. The only good thing here are the corndogs, and I'm a vegan.”
The man in the hole snorted and then kicked at the polished wood under his shoe. “Yeah, get me back to Metro any day, man. It may have Superman but at least the place don't stink like this one does. When I say stink, I mean it too.”
Both men laughed, considering where they were.
The near-morning air was cut with the man in the hole sighing and then calling for, “The saw.” The man who had climbed out headed for their car, which they had backed up to the site. The trunk was open and inside were an assortment of high-tech, otherworldly devices, most of them weapons…high-powered, alien weapons. Both men worked for Intergang. The man at the car rooted around, found what he was sent to get and pulled out a massive glove that had vibrant green chainsaw-like teeth around the fingers. He hefted it over to the hole and tossed it down to the man there.
“Think he'll be all leathery and gross, or all soupy and filled with maggots?”
“Either would be an improvement to his ugly mug.”
Both men laughed again, the sound of it carrying over Dixon Grounds Cemetery, a small plot out past the airport. It laid right on the edges of the swamplands but where most of that ground was rank and damp, Dixon Grounds was a crested mound before the swamp. It was windswept and mostly stone, which is why it had taken the two Intergang goons most of the night to get down the meager four feet to the coffin they had dug to. Protocol wasn't really an issue out here, since this cemetery served as a place where the city tended to send its more criminal element to rot once they were deceased.
“How do you turn this thing on again?”
“Blue button on the wrist. Red one makes it explode, yellow one sends all those green teeth off in all directions. You really should listen more when the boss explains how to use these things,” the man above signed.
“Which blue button? There's like six of them,” the man in the grave barked.
“The one on the *wrist*.”
“Why does the boss even care about what got buried here? I mean, it’s not like it's even worth it to anyone else. They're pretty much what you'd call a 'specialty item'.”
“'Cause,” the man above said as he stepped back to draw out and light a cigarette. “You know how he is about leaving anything behind. So, when it was in the will and stuff, guess the city figured why not give this bastard his last wish. Who knew he'd even have a will.”
“Who freaking needs glasses to see out the back of their head anyway,” the man in the hole bitched as with a high-pitched *whiiiiiiiiiirl* he had managed to find the right button.
“Someone stupid enough to get their head nearly twisted off and live,” the man above spoke to himself as the sawing drowned out his speaking. As the sound of wood splintered and broke, he moved forward again, oddly eager to see this. His appetite for nicotine was gone and he just dropped the smoking thing down on the meager headstone at his feet, snuffing it out right into the only words on it, 'Dudley Soames'.
The buzzing stopped and the glove was tossed out, and the man in the pit just looked up astonished, to let the man above see what he was seeing.
Inside the coffin was Dudley Soames, once a detective for the Bludhaven police department, who had been the worst of the direst cops the town had ever seen. Once he had been Blockbuster's main man, but when he got too ambitious Blockbuster had sought to kill him by twisting his head off. A lifetime of spite and anger fueled Soames to hold on and he returned as Torque, aided by Intergang who outfitted him with all manner of weapons, and even the special glasses his corpse now wore. He had been apprehended and shared a cell with Tad Rystead, and both had managed to escape Lockhaven, though once out Tad had beaten to Torque to death.
More-or-less just dumped into his coffin, Soames body was curled up into one corner, mangled. His left arm was on top, and it was so badly broken that like his head, it was twisted around, the palm facing upward. The right foot, under him, was off to the side and so stiff that it held even the left leg up as it rested atop it.
“God,” hissed the man in the hole with the body. “Let's get the glasses and get out of here.” He reached for Soames' twisted head but instantly recoiled, having gone shock white. “He just...smiled...” He scrambled back.
The man above gasped. Soames left leg shook and the fingers on his left hand twitched. With a grunt Torque used his right hand to push himself, sitting there uncomfortably in his own coffin. His left hand, twisted backwards like it was, rose and felt his face. The back of his head turned, those red lenses watching the sweaty, panicking the Interganger to scramble out of his shallow grave.
“Well,” croaked Torque, his voice rough. He chewed on something and spit it out and then reached out with his good, right hand. “Which one of you fine gentleman,” he rasped, “is going to give me a helping hand up?”
|
|
|
To Be Continued...
Previous Issue | Next Issue