by N. P. Martin
“Scarlet fucking Hood,” Pan Demic said before I could even finish.
“I was going to say, Jane Smith,” I said glancing at Scarlet, who was staring hard at Pan Demic as if he would jump her bones any second.
Another voice piped up from inside, that of Artemis. “Did I just hear the name Scarlet Hood mentioned?” he said. “Tell me it isn’t—” He froze with a wondrous look on his pale, bespectacled face as he came to stand by Pan Demic.
“Dude,” Pan Demic said, hardly able to contain himself. “It so fucking is.”
“Jesus Christ,” Artemis said, clamping his hands to his head like his mind had just been blown. “I can’t believe it.”
Shaking my head, I barged past the two of them as I walked into the penthouse. It was like walking into the Batcave it was so dark, thanks to the black-painted walls and the covered windows. Scarlet stepped inside as well a few seconds later, still unsure of what to make of the two Technomancers ogling her like smitten schoolboys. I should’ve known they would know who she was, though how they knew, I wasn’t sure. The reason Scarlet had such a fearsome reputation was that she came and went like a ghost, with no one knowing exactly what she looked like. Most people who saw her face ended up dead straight after.
“Miss Hood,” Artemis said as he did a ridiculous bow in front of Scarlet. “It is a true honor that you grace us with your presence on this monumental night.”
“This isn’t a D&D session, Artemis,” I said. “We’re here because we need your help.”
“The gods have indeed smiled down on us tonight,” Pan Demic added, completely ignoring me as he continued to gaze at Scarlet, who was pretty weirded out at this point, and looked like she wanted to draw her gun on these two head-melters. “We never dreamed that such a legend as this would ever walk through our doors.”
“I walk through your doors all the time,” I said. “You never say shit like that to me.”
“Silence, Drakester,” Artemis said, showing me his hand. “Your legend status pales in comparison to Miss Hood’s here.”
“Gee thanks,” I said, eliciting a smile from Scarlet.
“I have to ask,” she said, finally addressing the two of them. “How did you recognize me?”
“From the video,” Pan Demic said like it was obvious, then turned to Artemis. “Show her.”
As excited as I’ve ever seen him, Artemis—grinning like a kid at Christmas—ran to the bank of computer monitors in the center of the living room and dropped into his customized leather chair, which had bat wings stitched into the back of it, along with a pointed devil’s tail. He tapped the keyboard at blinding speed, and a few seconds later, the video in question appeared on the screen in front of him.
Pan Demic ushered Scarlet over as he sat down next to Artemis, in a chair that had The Devil tarot card painted on the back. Scarlet seemed interested in what was on the video, if a little annoyed that it existed at all. As if to assuage her concerns, Artemis told her not to worry, and that they were the only ones who had a copy. I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at Scarlet, who shook her head at me before focusing on the video.
The video was taken from security cam footage it looked like, so there was no sound, and as far as the terrible twosome were concerned, there was also no need to lower the volume on the death metal, so the harsh music continued to blast unabated in the background.
The date on the video footage said it was recorded in December three years ago. It appeared to have been shot in a restaurant filled with about a dozen men all dressed in suits—mafia guys if I didn’t know any better.
Going by Scarlet’s face, she recognized the scene straight away as she mashed her bright red lips together and nodded to herself.
Looking back to the screen, I saw a commotion begin in the restaurant as some of the men pulled out their guns, at least two of them getting blown away by Scarlet, who was still off camera at this point.
“And here she comes,” Artemis said in an awed whisper.
As if on cue, Scarlet’s form appeared on the screen, wearing a black one-piece leather outfit with a hood covering her head. She advanced on the men in the restaurant with some kind of automatic weapon; her shooting platform near perfect, the result of years of practice and experience in the field.
She took out about half the guys in the room with the automatic before the clip ran out. When it did, she dropped the gun and took out a pistol from a holster strapped to her leg and continued her slaughter with that, blowing guys away left and right, expertly diving across tables to avoid getting shot herself, using her close-quarters skills on anyone who got within a few feet of her, always finishing them with her pistol.
In what seemed like no time at all, she had taken out every guy in the room.
All except one.
A hugely overweight man who was cowering in the room’s corner behind an overturned table. As Scarlet approached, he tried to shoot her with what looked like a .22, causing Scarlet to roll to one side. When she came up, she kicked a chair in the fat man’s direction; the chair crashing against the table he was hiding behind, knocking the table back onto him so he ended up on his back like a beached whale.
Scarlet stood over the man for a moment, and then shot him—twice in the chest and once in the head, before turning and heading back out the way she came. On her way out, she stopped and looked up at the camera, her face now plainly visible despite the hood. She raised her gun, and a second later, the screen went black.
“Well?” Pan Demic said as the two of them turned in their chairs to face us. “Was that fucking awesome or what?”
“I’ve totally lost count of how many times we’ve watched that video,” Artemis said. “Like a thousand fucking times or something.”
“More,” Pan Demic said, leaning down for a snort of coke.
“I’m feeling a little creeped out now,” Scarlet said.
“Don’t be,” Artemis said as he accepted the coke mirror and rolled-up twenty-dollar bill from Pan Demic. “I mean, we’re just in awe of your skills, that’s all. You’re like a female John Wick, only better. I mean—” He stopped to snort a huge line. “You’re fucking for real.”
“Fucking A,” Pan Demic said, now staring at Scarlet’s form, no doubt filling up the wank bank for later.
“That was impressive. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with that level of skill," I said, leaning over to get the coke mirror from Artemis, and then added, "Maybe one.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “You?”
I winked at her. “You got it.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”
“Fuck,” Artemis said as if he just remembered something. “We have footage of the Drakester as well.”
“Shit, that’s right,” Pan Demic said. “We could totally do a side-by-side comparison.”
“You fucks have a video of me?” I said after snorting a large line of coke, a drug I don’t usually touch, but I didn’t know when I was going have time to sleep next, so I needed all the help I could get to keep me going. “Where from?”
“From that time you took out that thrill kill cult a few years ago,” Pan Demic said. “About ten or more of those crazy murdering fucks all attacked you when you found them about to kill everyone in the Jones Theater in Peterborough. You remember that?”
I nodded. “I remember. One of them shot me.”
“But you got back up,” Pan Demic said. “Like it never even happened. Fuck it, Artemis, Ctrl+Alt+Run VT.”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I haven’t got time for this. I got a case to get to.”
“What’s the matter, Drakester?” Artemis said in a wheedling voice. “Afraid Scarlet here has you beat on style points?”
As Scarlet laughed, I said to Artemis, “Fuck off.”
“Alright, Drakester,” Artemis said, snatching back the coke mirror. “We’ll not embarrass you in front of the great Scarlet Hood. What is it you need, anyway?”
“Traffic cam footage,”
I said. “Probably deleted, but I’m sure you guys can work your magic and get it back again.”
“Just to be clear,” Pan Demic said looking at Scarlet. “This is for you, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then consider it done.”
I smiled over at Scarlet. “I’ll leave you in the boys’ capable hands then.”
“You’re going?” she asked, seeming almost afraid to be left alone with Artemis and Pan Demic.
“You’re Jane Wick,” I said as I started walking toward the door. “What do you have to worry about? Call me when you’re done. I’ll come pick you up.”
“Gee thanks,” she called out over the music, making me smile.
As I reached the door, I overheard Pan Demic say, “Hey, Scarlet, did you know that They Live was not a satirical low-budget sci-fi movie romp? It was actually a historical documentary from an alternate Earth fifty years ahead of us. Ditto for Prince of Darkness. John Carpenter’s best movies were the ones he channeled from parallel universes. Sadly, this ability of his has faded over time, which explains why he doesn’t pump out classics anymore…”
Good luck, Scarlet, I thought on the way out the door.
When I got to the precinct, I found Hannah down in the subbasement, which served as a base of operations for Unit X, even though we hardly ever used the place. The area once functioned as the primary 911 call center for the whole city until they moved to swankier premises across the river. The gloomy subbasement held thirty desks left over from the call center days, most of which were now pushed against the walls, leaving a large open space in the middle of the room with just two desks in the center, one each for Hannah and me.
Both desks held a phone and a computer, along with a stack of manila folders containing reports on the half dozen cases we had worked so far, redacted versions of which ended up in the central file system.
Hannah was at her desk typing on her computer when I walked in, a lit cigarette burning away in a glass ashtray beside her. She also had earphones in, which she removed as I walked through the door, smiling like she was pleased to see me, her demon Visage hovering behind her as usual, almost blending with the shadows in the room.
“You finally made it,” she said as I came and sat down at my desk, opening the top drawer to take out a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses, filling both glasses before handing one across to Hannah.
Dressed in tight-fitting black pants and a black leather jacket, she wore her dark, lustrous hair down. Looking at her, I couldn’t help but picture her naked body and the Yakuza tattoos that covered her skin.
She must’ve sensed what I was thinking, for she looked away coyly for a second as she took a drag of her cigarette. My heart thudded against my chest as I considered the possibility of fucking her right there on her desk. No one would catch us, for no one else ever came down here to this dungeon.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, staring into her dark eyes. “You doing okay?”
She nodded. “I’m doing good.”
I continued to stare at her as the drugs in my system exacerbated my wanton desire to lay her across her desk and fuck her. Drinking her Jack, she gazed over the top of the glass at me, her eyes filled with unmistakable desire now. Even her Visage seemed to glow a little brighter as it shifted in anticipation, almost.
A mutual need arose, hanging in the air between us until I couldn’t take it anymore and I downed the rest of my drink before going to her, standing over her as she gazed up at me, her mouth hanging open, her eyes widening as she waited on me to take her.
I pulled her up out of her chair by her wrists, then slid my hands under her armpits and lifted her straight up before setting her back down on the edge of the desk, her legs spreading wide as she smiled up at me.
Leaning over, I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her. Her Visage, eyes faintly lit, swayed back and forth behind her, as if daring me to continue.
My breathing heavy now, I dropped my face down next to hers, pulling her head back so I could kiss her long neck, running my lips up over her chin until my mouth met hers and we started to kiss, both of us breathless now as she reached up and grabbed the back of my neck to pull me tighter against her.
Taking my trench off, I let it fall to the floor and then undid her pants, sliding them along with her underwear down to her ankles as she spread her legs wide to reveal her glistening cunt. With an eagerness I hadn’t felt in a long time, I spent the next several minutes with my head between her legs as she moaned loudly, gripping my hair with both hands, pushing into me with her hips, her hot juices running into my mouth, spilling down my chin.
“Fuck me,” she demanded, pulling my head back so she could look at me, an amber glow in her eyes. “Fuck me now.”
Standing up, I roughly pulled her forward, turning her around before pushing her back down onto the desk, running my hands over the perfect curves of her ass for a moment before sliding inside her. She cried out so loud, I was sure someone on one of the floors above would hear her, but I didn’t care as I started fucking her, my cock rock hard from the coke and the Snake Bite in my system.
As I fucked her, I grabbed her long hair and pulled her head back sharply, causing her some pain that she didn’t seem to mind, and which only seemed to increase her pleasure.
“Harder…” she moaned. “Fuck me harder.”
And I did, slamming into her as her demon Visage looked on from above, seeming to will me on until I finally came inside her, crying out as my body stiffened and shuddered with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.
As the waves of my orgasm began to subside, I leaned over and lay on top of her, both of us breathing hard, our bodies still quivering as I inhaled her sweet scent.
When we were both dressed again, she came and put her arms around me, leaning her head against my chest. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d be without you.”
“Yeah,” I said, stroking her hair as I stared at the desk. “Me neither.”
She pulled away, looked up at me, and smiled. “I guess we should see if the girl is ready for an interview. You know, like do our jobs.”
I smiled back. “Our jobs, yeah. That would be good.”
“You think anyone heard us? You were loud.”
“I was loud?”
She laughed. “I don’t care if they heard or not. We’re outcasts here, anyway.”
“Didn’t take you long to get with the program.”
“It’s just you and me,” she said, putting on her jacket. “That’s how I like it. That’s how I hope it stays.”
“Well,” I said, putting away the Jack bottle. “I don’t think anyone else will be joining us down here anytime soon if that’s what you mean.” I looked over at her. “By the way, I never thought to ask, typical male that I am—are you on any contraception?”
Hannah cocked her head to one side. “What do you think?”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Ethan. You don’t have to worry about getting me pregnant.”
“Assuming it’s possible, given your celestial origins.”
“I’m not sure. The former Hannah was on the pill, so I continue to take it.”
I nodded. “Glad we got that straight.”
“You can fuck me till your heart’s content. No need to worry.”
I laughed and shook my head at her. “Let’s go.”
As we headed for the door, she asked me what happened at my apartment earlier, and I told her Carlito sent men after me.
“Fuck,” she said. “That’s bad.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you going do?”
I opened the door for her, and she stepped out into the dark hallway, heading for the stairs that would take us up to the basement and then the first floor of the precinct. “I don’t know yet,” I said.
“I don’t think you have many options, do you?” she said as we made our way t
hrough the basement now.
“Carlito isn’t exactly leaving me one. Even if I did as he asked, he’d still try to kill me. I’ve crossed the line as far as he’s concerned, and there’s no going back.”
“Did you find Scarlet Hood?” she asked as she opened the door of the basement which led to another set of stairs.
“Yeah, I did. I’m helping her find her sister.”
“Okay,” Hannah said. “That’s different to putting her head on a silver platter.”
I laughed. “Yeah.”
“Will you need my help?”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Keep your focus on this new case. Take the lead.”
“Really?” A wide smile crossed her face.
“Really.”
Before we got to the door that would take us out to the first floor of the precinct, Hannah stopped and pushed me against the wall, standing on a higher step so she could kiss me, taking me aback slightly. “You’ve no idea what this means to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “As long as you know, all the paperwork is on you.”
She smiled. “I can handle that.”
As we both emerged from the basement exit into the main reception area, I told Hannah to go on ahead and prep the girl for the interview while I headed to the men’s restroom.
As I stood in front of the urinal about to relieve myself, I heard the door open behind me, and a second later I looked across to see Detective Jim Routman standing next to me, wearing his usual brown suit and jaded demeanor as he flicked his eyes in my direction.
“Ethan,” he said, scratching his heavy jowls with one hand while he held his cock in the other.
“Jim,” I said, barely looking at him, the fact that he framed an innocent woman for murder—Barbara Keane—still fresh in my mind. Not that the old codger gave a shit as he stood with a smug look on his lined face.
“Saw your partner bring that pregnant girl into the interrogation room. What’s that about?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Well, she looks crazy. Should be right up your street.” He smiled like this was funny.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did, Jim,” I said, staring straight ahead. “Makes me wonder how many of the people you put away actually deserved it.”
