“You’d like to be the one who kills them, wouldn’t you?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “Is that wrong?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
“I know it won’t bring them back to life. It might not even make me feel better, but—”
“But you still think you ought to, am I right?”
“Yes. They killed Mom and Dad. Shouldn’t I want to get even?”
“That won’t really make you even, will it?”
“Should I just let them go free?”
“No, of course not. But you can’t act like they’re something special. Treat them like any other thugs in this town. What would you do then?”
“Turn them over to the police.”
“Exactly.”
Emma’s fists clenched involuntarily. “But the police are corrupt. You know that. The judges are even more so. What if they aren’t convicted? What if they only get a year and are out in six months for good behavior?”
“Do you really think that will happen?”
“It’s happened before.” More times than Emma wanted to count, the criminal she had risked her life to put in jail landed back on the streets months or even weeks later. Usually they went right back to their old ways, so that by now she had already busted some of them three times. That couldn’t happen in this case. She wouldn’t let it.
“So you should be the judge, jury, and executioner now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it.” He heaved a tired sigh. “I can’t say I know exactly how you feel. My parents died in the Blitz, killed by some faceless Nazi bastard. That was part of the reason I joined up with the army. But I do know what it’s like to want to kill someone. I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for a story?”
“I’m always up for one of your stories,” Emma said.
“Well, here goes then. When I was in the army, my best friend was a private named Sydney Bernard. We were the best of mates, sharing a foxhole among other things. We saved each other what must have been a half-dozen times at least.
“After the war, I came here while Syd tried to make a go of things back in England. He wanted to be part of the solution, to rebuild the place. Found himself a wife, had a couple of little girls. Happy as a clam.”
“What happened to him?”
“He made the mistake of coming to see me one year when he was on a business trip here in the States. Back in 1956, long before your time. I had been doing the duty for almost ten years. Thought I was the toughest bloke around.
“We met at the airport and then went to the pub for a few pints. Just like the old days. Of course we were a little older and he was a little heavier, but it was like we had seen each other just a couple days before. That’s how it is with best friends, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“We were having a grand old time, really whooping it up. Then I get word there’s some big fire going on downtown. Women and children trapped, lives in danger, all that. So I tell Syd I’ve got to go to the bathroom and I call for the armor, suit up, and head over to the fire. Went up to the top floor, rescued a half-dozen women and kids trapped there.
“I dropped them off and headed back to the pub. I knew something was wrong when I heard the police sirens.”
“Syd was dead?”
“Exactly. Shot dead in the alley. He’d gone to the bathroom to find me and seen I wasn’t there, so he went out into the alley. This bloody wanker named Hank Fortuna followed him out there and blew his brains out. Took his wallet and ran. He died for fifty dollars American and twenty-five pounds.”
Mr. Graves stopped at this point, his voice choked up. Emma waited for him to gather the strength to go on. When he finally did, his voice was hoarse. “I went back to England with the body for the funeral. Did what I could to comfort the grieving widow and the children, but you know how that is. Nothing you can say will make anything better.
“When I got back to the city, I made it my life’s work to find this Hank Fortuna and spray his brains all over an alley. Night and day I worked on it, tracking every worthless hole he might be hiding in. Found one of his mates and broke his arm in three places to find out where Fortuna might be hiding. He pointed me to a girl’s house.
“I went straight over there. Kicked the door in. I wasn’t going for subtlety this time; I was going for blood. He was in bed with his girl. When she saw me, she threw herself across him, trying to protect him. I picked her up like a rag doll and threw her against the wall. Knocked her out cold. He pulled a gun from the nightstand to shoot me. I let him. I wanted him to do it so I’d feel more justified in cutting off his head so I could mail it to Syd’s widow.”
“But you didn’t. Why?”
“I just about did it. Held the Sword of Justice up to him. It glowed brighter than anything I’d seen, excluding the Dragoon. I brought the sword up to finish him off. But I couldn’t do it. I saw the fear in his eyes. He wasn’t a monster, just a small man who’d done a terrible thing. I almost felt sorry for him then.”
“You let him go?”
“Don’t be daft, girl. I tied him up and tossed him on the doorstep of the nearest police station along with a newspaper clipping of Syd’s murder. He confessed to the whole thing.”
“What happened to him?”
“He did ten years of his life sentence. Died in the joint of a heart attack while cleaning the toilets. I thought it was poetic justice.”
Emma thought about this for a moment. “So you’re saying I should treat these people like anyone else because they aren’t monsters, just people?”
“Precisely, my girl. That’s what you must do. That’s why you’re the Scarlet Knight.”
“What if I don’t want to be the Scarlet Knight anymore?”
“I don’t believe that for an instant. You’re the best of the lot. Better than me, and I set the bar pretty high. Ask that little weasel Marlin if you don’t believe me.”
“What good is any of it if I can’t bring justice for the ones I care about the most?”
“You think killing them is going to do any good? Revenge is a short-term solution. You want to really get justice for your parents, make them proud by doing the right thing.”
“Letting their killers go free?”
“By doing what’s right.” He reached across the gulf between them to take her hand. “I don’t have to tell you what’s right—you already know. That heart of yours is pure gold. Who else would befriend an old coot like me?”
Despite herself, Emma laughed at this. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you.” She pulled him into a hug.
“That’s a good girl. I best get back inside before they start sending out the search parties. Take care of yourself, love.”
“I will.”
She gave him another hug and then went back to her motorcycle. She still needed to find Marie Marsh.
Chapter 7
The halfway house where Marie Marsh lived had once been a Victorian mansion built by the Windham family. They had sold the house in 1877, after their daughter died. After a couple of decades as a boarding house, the mansion fell into disrepair. It remained unoccupied until the mid-1970s, when it was converted into the halfway house. Those who needed to recover from substance abuse or some other psychological trauma now occupied the many bedrooms and guest bedrooms, until the state deemed them ready to live on their own. Emma learned all this from a pamphlet she found on the table by the reception window while she waited for the receptionist to check on Marie’s room.
The reception area had probably been a parlor in its past life. Down the hall, Emma could hear a television and occasionally muffled laughter. In a way it didn’t seem much different than the nursing home where Aunt Gladys had lived—where Marie worked. The main difference was of course that the residents here were much younger than the nursing home, some of them like Marie very much younger.
Emma wondered what Marie had done to end up in a place
like this. It most likely had something to do with that unique talent of hers. Had such a strange gift driven her mad? Had she used it to hurt someone? Marie hadn’t seemed like the type to hurt anyone, but maybe she had been driven past her breaking point.
“Dr. Earl?” the receptionist said.
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid Marie’s not here right now.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“If you’d like to leave a message—”
“Actually, could I go to her room?”
“I’m afraid not, Dr. Earl. All visitors have to stay on the first floor.”
“I see.” Emma forced herself to smile and then took out a business card. “When she does turn up, could you have her give me a call?”
“Certainly.”
Emma nodded to the receptionist and then went out the front door. She didn’t go very far. The halfway house had a tall fence and a row of bushes that were probably as much to keep people from escaping as to maintain the house’s privacy. The gap between the fence and bushes was big enough for her to squeeze into. She squatted so no one would see her.
“Mekka lekka weep ninibaum,” she whispered. Those were the magic words that summoned the case of red armor. Perhaps because it was magic, the red case managed to fit in the gap as well.
Emma peered over the bushes to make sure no one had spotted her. Then she squatted back down to open the case. She didn’t need the armor itself right now. All she needed was the golden cape. This would let her turn invisible, so she could get up to Marie’s room unnoticed. She also took the golden gloves, which would allow her to open the door if it were locked. As soon as she closed the lid, the red case disappeared.
She had to do a complicated dance in order to get the cape around her body within the confines of the bushes. Once she emerged, she paused for a moment and wondered if anyone could see her. If anyone did, they would probably have her committed to the psychiatric ward for observation. Not even in Rampart City did anyone go around in broad daylight with a golden cape wrapped around her body.
No one raised an alarm, so Emma shuffled back towards the halfway house. She made sure to be careful as she climbed the steps up to the front door. The problem now would be to get through the door unnoticed. This problem was solved by the receptionist she had just talked to.
Emma froze when she saw the woman approach. Then she saw the pack of cigarettes and the lighter in the receptionist’s hand. She was headed outside for a smoke break. Emma stepped to the side of the door and waited until the receptionist barged through it. Emma’s size-9 flats made a perfect doorstop to keep the door ajar. While the receptionist lit up, Emma slunk through the door.
The problem now would be to find Marie’s room. It had to be upstairs in one of the old bedrooms; she didn’t have any idea which one. But with the receptionist outside, Emma had a chance to look at the office records.
She slipped into the office and used one hand to sift through some papers on the receptionist’s desk. She didn’t see anything that listed which resident occupied which room. When she heard the front door slam, she knew she was out of time.
Then she saw a list in the most obvious place: above the telephone. The list had each patient’s name, room number, and whether they were in or not at the moment. Marie’s row listed she lived in room six but was not in the house.
Emma took a step back as the receptionist came through the door. The receptionist sat down at her desk and began to go through the papers Emma had looked through. The stench of cigarette smoke brought on a wave of nausea that prompted Emma to hurry out of the room.
Down the hall she saw a middle-aged man and a younger woman on a couch in what must be the rec room. They were the ones whose laughter she’d heard before. They didn’t pay her any mind as she crept by, to the stairway.
The door to Room 6 was locked. Emma put one glove to the door. A second later the lock clicked open and she slipped inside.
Once safely in the empty room, Emma let the cape drop. She took a look around and knew it was unlikely she would find anything useful here. Marie didn’t have any knickknacks on the shelves. There was no journal or diary in the drawers or under her pillow. Emma found nothing but Marie’s nursing uniform and some other clothes that all seemed to come from second-hand stores.
Emma sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head. She didn’t have any idea where Marie would go. She didn’t know anything about Marie to give her an indication of what Marie would do. For all Emma knew, Marie might have gone underground to hide out with the Sewer Rat.
The thought of the Sewer Rat reminded her of what she’d said to Becky earlier. Now would be a good time to pay the Sewer Rat a visit. Emma snatched a T-shirt from Marie’s drawer and then wrapped the cape around herself.
***
There wasn’t time for her to go back home and change into something better-suited for the sewers, so after she climbed down into the sewers, she changed into the red armor. It would keep the sewage and stink from her clothes. The helmet’s visor also helped her to see in the darkness, which always came in handy.
The hard part would be to locate the Sewer Rat. With the literally thousands of miles of pipes, he could be anywhere right now. It might take days to find him. She hoped once his rat friends spotted her, the Sewer Rat would find her.
She had gone a few miles when she came to an intersection. Against one wall stood one of the Sewer Rat’s sculptures of her. She had come across one of these before. It had depicted her in the red armor, with cardboard tubes for her legs and arms, a rusty garbage can for the torso, a sort of papier mache for the head, and a soiled red pom-pom for the hair. She had tried not to dwell too much on why the Sewer Rat made it, if he viewed her as some kind of goddess or if perhaps he had a crush on her.
By contrast, this one was made entirely of copper tubing. A tube made each of her limbs, with an L-joint and a smaller pipe for the feet and hands. Somehow the Sewer Rat had managed to bend a couple of pieces to make a round torso and a head. He had attached a piece of rusty sheet metal to the head to look like her hair. The figure was posed with one arm raised, a white plastic pipe attached to represent her sword.
She took an involuntary step back. The sculpture was crude, and yet it conveyed a sort of power. The figure with its sword upraised looked ready to vanquish evil and injustice. This sculpture was more of a superhero than she could ever be.
Mired in these dark thoughts, she didn’t hear the Sewer Rat until he hissed, “You back.”
“Yes.”
“You no go to you nest?”
She assumed he meant the Sanctuary, where she usually went when she was down in the sewers. “No, I’m not. I came here to ask you for a favor.”
“Favor?”
She looked up at him. While the stories on the street said the Sewer Rat was a half-man/half-rat creature, in reality he was simply a man who wore a fur coat made of rat pelts. He was several inches shorter than Emma and skinny beneath his coat from years of meals out of trashcans. Tangled brown hair covered most of his face, except for the pointed nose and chin, which helped to give him a rat-like appearance that fit his name. Despite that, he was quite harmless she had learned, so long as you didn’t threaten him or his friends.
“I need your help,” she said. “A friend of mine has gone missing. I’m trying to find her before she gets into a lot of trouble. I was hoping your friends might be able to help.”
“What she do?”
“She hurt a friend of mine. Not badly, but if the police find her, they’ll put her in prison.” Emma looked back down at the sewage. “I know it’s not really your business, but she’s a good person at heart. I don’t want her to throw her life away.”
She was glad she had the helmet’s visor down so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I’m not sure who else I can turn to.”
There was silence for a moment. Then the Sewer Rat said, “We help.”
“Thank you,” she said. She summoned the red
case of armor so she could take Marie’s T-shirt out of it. She handed this to the Sewer Rat. “This should have her scent on it.”
The Sewer Rat pressed the shirt to his nose and took a deep whiff of the material. She hoped Marie hadn’t used any floral-scented detergents that might upset him. Once he’d gotten a good smell, he knelt down and offered the shirt to one of his friends. This rat had to be two feet long with a silver stripe along its back. The rat sniffed at the material before it squeaked something. Then it skittered off.
“He tell others. They look.”
“Thank you so much,” she said. She was careful when she hugged him not so much because he stank but because with the armor on she could crush him like an empty can. “How can I contact you if you locate her?”
“We find you.”
She nodded to him. Before she left, he said, “You like?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sculpture. You like?”
“It’s very…heroic,” she said.
***
Steve was still asleep, his parents on one side of the bed and Becky on the other. It had been a very awkward introduction in the hospital waiting room when his parents arrived. “I’m so sorry about all of this Mrs. Scherr,” Becky said.
Mrs. Scherr was almost as big around as Becky and several inches shorter. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Thank you, young lady, but it’s not your fault. We told Steven not to live in this awful city. It’s so terribly dangerous.”
“Now, dear, Steven is old enough to take care of himself.”
“How can you say that when he’s lying in a hospital bed? He could be dying for all we know.”
“The doctor says he’ll be fine,” Becky said.
“Where is this doctor? I want to speak with him.”
While Mrs. Scherr stormed up to the front desk, Mr. Scherr patted Becky’s shoulder. “Don’t mind her. She’s always been excitable when it comes to Steve. Every time he skinned his knee, she acted as if he’d lost a leg.”
“She cares about him. So do I.”
“It is a good thing he had such a good friend to get him to the hospital.”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 33
