by Various
The teen nodded and headed off towards the side street where the Studebaker was parked.
When Rex turned back to the barkeep, he just caught the end of a smile on the man’s face that he didn’t much like at all. He frowned as the barkeep took a step backwards, and he made to take a step closer himself, maintaining the distance of intimidation and control, as he liked to think of it, but stopped short as three men peeled out from around the speakeasy’s loading door.
“Well now, that ain’t very nice,” said the first man. “These two niggers giving you trouble, Mr Jeremy?” He was tall and wide, not fat but built, like a football quarterback. His companions were a small, wiry teenager and another man who towered over both of them. The man who spoke raised an arm up to adjust a cufflink; a diamond the size of a pea glinted in the streetlight.
“McCabe, you sonovabitch,” whispered Rex. It was suddenly too hot and the air too thin. Rex gulped, but stayed still, hoping the poor light hid his fear.
McCabe. The sonovabitch. Head of a family business running liquor and a dozen other rackets. One of the most powerful of New York’s underworld. Richest too. Rex had done a few jobs for him, years ago, before branching out on his own. While McCabe had seemed happy to let him go, Rex knew that one day it would come back to bite him. You didn’t make friends in this business, only enemies.
McCabe sat at the centre of a web that spread far and wide over the five boroughs, but Rex had thought he was safe. Midtown and downtown Manhattan hadn’t interested McCabe much in the past, the gangster apparently happy to let other mobs control the city. Rex had always thought that was odd, given the concentration of speakeasies in the area and the rich pickings they represented. It had only to be a matter of time, he was sure, before McCabe made his move, but in the meantime there was moonshine to sell and barkeeps to squeeze. He’d forgotten about McCabe, but clearly McCabe hadn’t forgotten about Rex. The time had come to add Midtown to his empire, and two black guys pushing liquor was the obvious place to start.
“Oh, language please, Rex. Didn’t they teach you to speak nice down on the plantation?” McCabe laughed and his heavy sniggered; the teenager—the driver, thought Rex—was expressionless. He probably had no clue what McCabe was talking about, and he sure didn’t want to show it.
Rex held his hands up.
“McCabe, I apologise, I really do. So how about we have a drink and talk things over? I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”
McCabe smiled. Rex dropped his hands.
“I’m sure we can, Rex, I’m sure we can. And it starts with the disappearance of two amateurs causing trouble. How about that, huh?”
Rex ran his tongue along his bottom teeth. He tensed his calves, ready to make his move. Jerome hadn’t returned from the car, which either meant McCabe had more men around the side of the building or that he’d seen or sensed trouble and was waiting at the wheel. He hoped it was the latter.
“Not your style, McCabe. How about you just buy me out and I retire to somewhere nice in New Jersey, huh?”
McCabe laughed and the heavy sniggered again. Rex thought that perhaps the heavy understood as little as the driver and was just matching his employer’s mood because he was paid to. Behind the trio, Martin Jeremy slipped through the loading door and back into his speakeasy. Wise man, thought Rex. Trouble was brewing.
“Billy, fetch the car,” McCabe called over his shoulder. The teen nodded and turned, heading down the back street. McCabe smiled at Rex again, then looked up at his muscular companion.
“You wanna grab some dinner after, George?”
The heavy nodded and balled his fists. “Sounds nice, Mr McCabe. I feel like steak.”
McCabe clicked his fingers. “Oh, yeah, me too. We should head down to that grill on Fourth.”
“Sounds great.”
The pair took a step forward.
“Aw, you guys are sweet,” said Rex, taking a step backwards. “When’s the big day?”
White light swept into the alley as a car turned in, engine purring as it coasted towards them in low gear.
“We’re taking a little ride, you and me, Rex,” said McCabe. He put his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodded at George. “You can either get into the car, or George here can fold you up and put you in the trunk. That’s up to you.”
The car was nothing but two spotlights in the dark. As it slowed, McCabe moved to one side to allow more room, then reached out for the door.
The door swung out and back in one swift movement, connecting with the gangster with enough force to knock him off his feet. He hit the tarmac on his backside, but George was at his side in a second, helping him up.
“Rex!”
He didn’t need the invitation. Rex was halfway to the car when Jerome called, the driver leaning over to open the passenger door. Rex dived in head-first, head landing practically on Jerome’s lap. Jerome put the car into gear and pushed the accelerator to the floor, Rex’s legs flapping out of the open door as they powered out of the street.
TWO
REX WOKE UP in the dark and rolled over into a large puddle. He jerked at the shock and knocked his forehead into the curb.
“Ah, Jesus…” Rex grabbed for his forehead with one hand and the curb with his other. He pulled himself up and held the free hand in front of him until it rested on a wet wall, his forehead following close behind. His head hurt, and he was dizzy. For a moment he didn’t know his name.
Shit. The car. He spun around, finally focussing on the commotion around him. Or rather, near him. He was in the lip of an alley, in the dark. The main street ahead was a flurry of activity. People were gathered, lots and lots of people. Tourists and locals sandwiched together behind a flimsy police barricade, the boys in blue desperately trying to hold a line. The car—the huge, expensive, fast Studebaker—was upside down in the middle of the street, smoke curling from the undercarriage. Jerome was lying awkwardly over the lip of the missing windshield, and wasn’t moving.
Rex’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and he patted himself down. But aside from a bump on the forehead, he felt fine. The car was angled slightly towards him, the one intact and functioning headlight spotting the wall next to him.
“Holy Mother of God…”
Rex kicked at something soft that tangled his feet. It was a stack of wet newspapers. He’d been thrown clear in the crash, through the missing windshield, into the mush of rotting paper. It was remarkable, miraculous. Rex didn’t believe in God, but he muttered a thank-you just in case.
Then he noticed something. The police and the crowd weren’t looking at the car, or the dead body of the nineteen year-old under it. The wreck was a sideshow, a distraction even, from the main event that shone across the street in brilliant flashes of red and blue.
Over the half-finished shell of the Empire State Building, two superheroes were punching seven shades of shit out of each other, their tiny, doll-like bodies silhouetted against the maelstrom of energy that erupted around them with each connecting blow.
Rex staggered to the corner to get a look. It was mesmerising. Exactly what he needed. Dragging his eyes away, he checked the crowd over. Everyone, police included, were looking away. He snuck out, hugged the corner and quietly ducked under the police barrier, the replacement for the broken boom which had been pushed into the gutter opposite. Safe in the crowd, confident that McCabe had probably taken off as soon he saw the Studebaker flip right in front of the police, Rex looked back toward the Empire State Building.
There was a flash of green so bright the crowd gasped as one, followed a second later by a colossal sonic boom, so loud the crowd ducked. This was a heck of a fight between New York’s two superheroes. In Rex’s dazed state it pushed McCabe and Jerome and his shattered business clean out of his mind for a moment.
Two superheroes? Scratch that. One superhero, one supervillain. It was a great story, one that Rex—and everyone else in the city, if not the country—knew, a tale of friendship and betrayal so perfect
the movie was just waiting to be made.
The Skyguard and the Science Pirate had been partners, friends since childhood. Brought up in the wrong part of town, they’d formed a dynamic duo even at school, watching each other’s backs as they fought their way through their teenage years. As adults, they became rocket-powered heroes, the protectors of New York. They fought crime, corruption, enemy agents and infiltrators. They fought fascists and lefties, the mob, petty criminals. Bootleggers and Prohibition breakers. They defended the Constitution of the United States of America with fairness and impartiality. The ultimate patriots, given the freedom of the city and state, publicly awarded by Coolidge just a couple of years before.
So the story went, anyway.
Rex had been lucky. By the time he’d left McCabe’s employ, the golden age of heroism had passed. The Skyguard and the Science Pirate stopped fighting crime and started fighting each other, effectively handing the city back to the overworked, underpaid, and highly corruptible NYPD.
Nobody knew what went wrong exactly, or when, or how, or why. The Science Pirate turned against his partner, and the two became bitterest of rivals. Gone was the crime-fighting, the crusade against the mobs and gangs: the dealers, smugglers, predators. Instead the Skyguard and the Science Pirate declared open war on each other, each dedicating all their efforts and resources to this new monomania. And while the Skyguard and the Science Pirate fought, the city suffered. The mob made inroads again, and corruption—both local and Federal—began to eat at the core of the Big Apple. The police were stretched to the limit. The FBI was called in as McCabe and McCabe’s ilk returned to the city and crime became organised once more, the city’s sworn protectors having abandoned their cause. Which was all good for Rex, of course. He kept his own little business empire just so, large enough to make a tasty profit, small enough to stay out of McCabe’s way. Until tonight, that is. Rex rubbed his head, wondering where his hat was and whether he could afford another car. Or, for that matter, another driver.
Nobody really knew exactly who was the hero and who the villain. Certainly the crowd in the street was almost evenly split as they oohed and aahed and cheered the terrible battle in the sky. This was spectacle, entertainment. Hell, people needed it these days, Rex knew that. Two superpowered, costumed crime fighters who could fly and shoot rays, slugging it out in the open air. It was quite a sight.
The Skyguard and the Science Pirate looked similar; even without knowing their history, you could tell they were, or had once been, a team. Visored helmets and long cloaks, each wearing the remarkable inventions of the Science Pirate which had enabled them to protect Manhattan from the air. He was the brains—as his chosen moniker reflected—and the Skyguard was the brawn, although in truth they were pretty evenly matched. But each acting alone, people weren’t sure. How could the Skyguard maintain his arsenal of amazing equipment that had been designed and built by the Science Pirate? And how could the Science Pirate counter his opponent’s battle plans and tactics?
The crowd chattered and a single thought entered Rex’s head. This was it, the final showdown, the ultimate battle which would finally decide who had the right to protect the citizens of New York, and who would be denounced as a traitor and a criminal, locked up forever and a day.
Rex silently cursed the tall man in front of him who had just shuffled into his line of vision, dragging his lady friend with him for a better look. Rex tried standing on tip-toe to get a better view, but it was no good. There was another flash and another bang and the couple moved. The man laughed, and smiled down at his lady friend. Rex scowled but the man wasn’t looking, which was probably a good thing.
Rex had a theory about the city’s two protectors. He knew, knew, the Skyguard was the patriot, and had been protecting the Science Pirate all the time they were together. He’d heard rumours, heard the talk about where the Science Pirate had come from, that in his past life the Feds had taken an interest and he’d been hauled in front of a Senate subcommittee for some reason or another. The Skyguard had taken him in as his ward, swearing to rehabilitate his misguided friend. In the Skyguard’s custody, the Science Pirate was untouchable.
But it hadn’t worked out. The Science Pirate had shown his true colours. What kind of hero calls himself a pirate, anyway? And why was he so happy to let the Skyguard take all the glory and make all the speeches and just stay in the background?
Rex needed a drink. His mouth was dry. Later. He’d watch the fight and wait until the crowd was clear. He felt OK, surrounded as he was, but who knew who was lurking on the side streets? If not McCabe, then maybe McCabe’s boyfriend. Rex sniggered, then ducked as another explosion, much louder this time, echoed around the city blocks.
Looking up, he saw the two crime fighters were heading towards the crowd, and at some speed. The crowd buckled and there were some shouts. A police officer, or perhaps a couple, tried to use loudhailers to calm people down, but nobody was listening. The Skyguard and the Science Pirate were only a hundred yards away now and just fifty in the air. Maybe one had thrown the other off the building. Whatever, they were here, and it was close. The crowd backed away, but only a little. Nobody wanted to miss this.
The Skyguard let loose a quick one-two, forcing his opponent back in the air several feet. He shot forward on his rocket boots and finished with a savage uppercut, sending the Science Pirate tumbling head over heels into the sky. The crowd cheered and the Skyguard paused, watching the trajectory of his opponent.
When the Science Pirate reached the apex of his climb, he recovered and turned himself back upright. Spinning around his centre of gravity, he stretched into a long shape, fists pointed down towards the Skyguard, and with cloak streaming behind, accelerated towards his target. The Skyguard drifted out of the way by a little, but was caught in the twin energy rays projected from the Pirate’s eyes. He screamed, his cry a weird, machine-like screeching from inside his helmet, as he convulsed in mid-air above the heads of the crowd. The Science Pirate collided with him, bending the Skyguard almost in two over his outstretched fists. The Science Pirate didn’t stop, and with the Skyguard wrapped over his arms, ploughed straight into the cleared street ahead of the police barriers. The explosion was frighteningly loud and sent hot tarmac, concrete and dirt raining down on the crowd. Some cheered and some screamed, and the gathered mass of bodies recoiled slightly again. The police line at the front tripped and collapsed in a couple of places as the crowd it was attempting to hold back suddenly retreated.
For a second there was silence. The initial pall of smoke cleared, revealing a huge crater carved deep into the Earth. The crowd regained its composure and edged forward a little, Rex carried with them, the group hushed with collective anticipation. Had the Science Pirate succeeded? Had both been pulverised by the impact? Both were protected by their armour, but they were only human. Weren’t they?
Taking the opportunity, the police line reorganised and began herding people away. Gaps appeared in the crowd as people were pushed and pulled around, and seeing his chance, Rex ducked under the linked arms of yet another couple, then pushed past two young boys up way past their bedtime. He tripped over another person walking backwards, and righting himself Rex found he was at the front line, chest being pushed by a policeman. The policeman looked him in the eye and shook his head, and Rex just nodded. The officer relaxed, happy Rex wasn’t going to try to get any closer.
The crater in the street was massive, like something from the moon. Smoke billowed from it in a great grey cloud, but there was no sign of the two combatants. Several police peered nervously into it, hands ready on their holstered guns.
Rex frowned. Was that it? The two forces had cancelled each other out, leaving… nothing?
Something moved in the smoke, and a half-dozen police guns were pulled out as one. Someone snapped on a flashlight and played the beam over the smoke, picking out a black form, elongating it into a wispy shadow. A cloaked figure, with tall, winged helmet.
The Skyguard! Rex felt hi
s heart race. The Skyguard had triumphed. Ah, shit. If the Skyguard was the good guy, then his night had just got a whole lot worse. Rex wondered if this was a sign to leave New York altogether. Perhaps he hadn’t been joking about New Jersey.
The figure stepped out of the smoke, and held an arm up against the flashlight that now focussed on his face. Dirty and battered, he was an impressive figure on the ground. Tall and proud, the victor.
The figure’s arm dropped away, along with Rex’s thoughts of relocation. Out of the curtain of smoke, the long shadows of the Skyguard’s helmet and flanged gauntlets collapsed into the more austere, compact profile of the Science Pirate. The figure stopped in front of the crowd. Some clapped, and some cheered. Rex was suddenly unsure whether he’d got the good or the bad guys around the right way. The Science Pirate had won. Rex spat at the ground and the policeman in front of him raised an eyebrow.
Then people started shouting. There were cheers and jeers, and soon the cheers were outnumbered. Rex kept his mouth shut and his eyes open. The crowd seemed to think New York City was doomed. The Skyguard was down and now the Science Pirate had free rein. As the intensity of the crowd’s reaction increased, Rex realised that perhaps more people subscribed to his traitor theory than he had thought.
The Science Pirate stood and watched the crowd. He had supporters, but they were vastly outnumbered by those crowing for a retrial, that the fight had been staged, that the Pirate had cheated, that justice needed to be served. The Science Pirate raised a hand, not to silence anyone, but to acknowledge his supporters; but this only increased the ferocity of his detractors. A policeman, someone important with scrambled eggs on his hat and braiding on his shoulder, walked towards him with one hand out, shaking his head, the other resting on his gun.
Go on. Rex spat again. Finish it. It would be easier, after all. Either the Science Pirate was the hero, in which case things were going to get mighty tight in the city again, or he was the villain, which either meant pledging allegiance—and a percentage of the profits—or being run out of town. Or, depending on McCabe’s position in the new hierarchy, worse. McCabe would be furious that Rex was still alive, and if he had the ear of the new boss in town, well…
