The Night's Legacy

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Can’t you ‘pop over’ to him?”

  “Not if I don’t know where he is—or who he is.”

  “Then what good are you?” She turned up the police scanner and then began pacing. She didn’t want to sit here all night; she wanted to do something.

  She said the silly “magic words” to conjure the armor from its trunk at the other end of the room. As Percy had said, the armor appeared in a flash of light, already assembled, including the cape and sword. She took Caledfwlch from its sheath and dropped it on the floor. This time she didn’t close her eyes as she focused on the blade. It wobbled a little, but didn’t get more than an inch of the floor. “Goddamn it,” she grumbled. She resisted the urge to kick the sword with her boot. “Why isn’t it working?”

  “Maybe because your mind is too preoccupied?”

  “Yeah, probably,” she said. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths and then closed her eyes. She thought of Slowey, how comforting he had been, so soft and warm against her, almost like Tony in his backseat—

  She opened her eyes to find Caledfwlch hovering at eye level. She had done it! The sword immediately clattered back to the floor. “Shit!” Maintaining her focus seemed to be the problem. That was something to work on in the future. Or maybe this would all be finished before that would be necessary.

  “You’re getting better,” Percy said. “Slightly.”

  “Gee, thanks.” A woman’s voice came out of the police scanner, indicating there was a bank robbery on Florence Boulevard, about five blocks away. “Well, that sounds like good training, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  Lois didn’t waste any time in using the cape to get out of the museum. She had left the bike parked in an alley nearby, between a dumpster and a wall where it would be hard to see. She kicked the bike to life and then took off.

  The Kawasaki hadn’t even reached maximum speed before she neared the site of the bank robbery. She dumped the bike in another alley, hoping no one tried to steal it while she was busy dealing with this. If she survived, she would have to come up with a security system for the thing.

  Fifth National was the bank being robbed. The cops hadn’t arrived on the scene yet, which wasn’t all that surprising. Most calls they didn’t respond for a half hour or longer, unless it was someone important. The bank might be important enough for them to show up in ten minutes. In the meantime she would be on her own.

  The two cars in front weren’t all that different from the Cadillac she had stopped last night. With the cape around her, she crept past the vehicles, into the bank itself. As soon as she did, she saw one of the thieves standing by the door. He wore the same getup as the museum robbers. That didn’t mean they were the same crew, but it was an interesting coincidence.

  She resisted the urge to punch him in the face, deciding to find the rest of them. One was behind the counter, in front of the vault. The other two were in the vault, tossing bags of money into canvas sacks. Studying the situation for a moment, she decided on a strategy.

  There was enough of a gap between the vault door and the wall for her to get behind it. She pressed her body against the vault door and then used her whole body to push the door. The armor’s strength was enough that closing the vault was as easy as closing her bedroom door. The vault slammed shut, trapping two of the thieves inside. The one nearest to the door pounded ineffectually on it.

  “What the hell happened?” the one by the door shouted.

  “I don’t know. It must have closed itself.”

  During this Lois hurried towards the front door. The two thieves were still debating what to do when she butted the one in the midsection with her head. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his stomach, his machine gun lying next to him. Lois kicked it away and just to be on the safe side kicked the thief in the face. He went down in a heap, probably needing a few thousand in dentistry.

  Only then did she let the cape drop. “Oh shit,” the remaining thief said. “They said you were dead.”

  “You wish. Now drop the hardware.”

  He was smart enough to do as she requested. He set the gun on the floor and then kicked it away. She snatched it up and popped the clip out of it. Out of curiosity she tried to break it in half the way she’d seen done in the movies. The rifle snapped like a twig. “This is pretty sweet,” she said.

  “Are you going to kill me?” the thief asked, staring at the broken halves of his weapon.

  “Not today. But I might if I see you again. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Then she punched him in the face hard enough that he probably wouldn’t be talking again for six weeks.

  For good measure she went outside and used Caledfwlch to slash all four of each car’s tires. That would make sure no one got very far if the police didn’t get here soon. She looked around for Percy, ready to gloat a little. She had got back on her bike when he appeared. “You missed it?”

  “How did it go?”

  “I was awesome! I closed the vault on two of them and then—”

  “Yes, I’m sure you were spectacular. We have a larger problem.”

  “What?”

  “Someone is hitting the Federal Reserve bank.”

  “Now we’re talking,” Lois said and kicked the bike to life.

  * * *

  The Federal Reserve had been built on a peninsula at the north end of the main island. The terrain made it naturally defensible, with only one entrance by land unless you wanted to scale twenty feet of sharp rocks. That one entrance was the only way in or out, which meant to storm the place you would need an army.

  Or one man with a magic stick. The Private Eye watched from a tree near the isthmus leading to the bank. Through his binoculars, he watched as Set popped up through the roof of a Hummer, his gold stick at the ready. The guards hadn’t even shouted a warning before he fired. The guards didn’t have a chance. Neither did the main gate.

  Three more Hummers came after Set’s, each full of mob goons. The Private Eye shook his head. This didn’t make sense. Rahnasto was a dirty criminal, but he wasn’t stupid. The government could look the other way at running drugs and guns, claiming they didn’t know, but when you brought the fight to them, they didn’t have a choice except to retaliate. There would probably be a division of Army troops marching through the streets of Ren City tomorrow.

  This had to be Set’s doing. The word from the Private Eye’s sources said this character had shown up the other night and declared himself de facto ruler of the city, if not the entire country. He thought that magic stick gave him the power to do whatever he wanted without fear of reprisal.

  Maybe he was right. He had taken down the Silver Seraph. She was lying in a hospital bed, crippled, out of the fight forever. With her gone, who had the power to take on Set?

  He didn’t have any magic armor or a famous sword, but the Private Eye was damned well going to try. He might wind up in the same room as Jessica Locke or he might end up on a slab in the morgue. Either way, he would go down fighting, the way she had.

  He waited until the convoy was inside the bank before he dropped down from the tree. He broke into a run, his pistol at the ready. As he ran, he kept watch of the bank for any sign of the mob goons on the walls. What did they plan to do with the money and gold inside? The money they could burn if nothing else, but what about the gold?

  Light bathed him even as he thought this. Turning he saw a tractor-trailer bearing down on him. He rolled to the side, into a hedge as the truck roared past, followed by two more. There was his answer: the trucks had more than enough room to cart off the money from inside the bank. Or at least as much as they could get their hands on before the cops sent every available unit, not to mention the National Guard and Coast Guard.

  He broke into a run again, determined to get inside. He was only one man, but maybe he could slow them down. Set might have a magic stick, but it might not matter against the SWAT team and a couple platoons of Guardsmen.

&n
bsp; He trotted through the shattered gates and then took cover in a guardhouse to survey the scene. A couple of goons were guiding the trucks into position by the freight entrance. Disabling those trucks would serve his purpose of slowing them down. They would have to choose between the money or their lives.

  He couldn’t just start firing wildly. He needed a distraction to get them away from the trucks so that he could disable them. The distraction showed up right on cue. He watched as a silver motorcycle streaked through the front gates, a silver figure hunched forward on it, white cape streaming behind her. No, it couldn’t be! She had still been in the hospital this afternoon. Had she found some kind of miracle cure?

  He realized the answer when the bike came to a stop and she leaped off. It wasn’t Jessica Locke wearing the armor. It was someone else. Another woman, one shorter by probably a foot and better-endowed in the chest. The feet were about the same, he saw as she kicked a goon in the groin. Even without those differences he knew it wasn’t Jessica because she wasn’t so stupid as to go barreling into a situation like this. She was patient and cunning, like him. This new Silver Seraph was an amateur, thinking brute force and magic armor could make up for a lack of planning.

  At the very least she would make for a good distraction. He crept out of the guardhouse, keeping himself in the shadows to avoid being spotted. Not that anyone would notice him while the Seraph was hopping around like a fish out of water. Though he had to admit she did have better coordination than Jessica, whose willowy body had limited her agility.

  The Private Eye saw the reinforcements first. They were coming up from a stairway, probably alerted by the noise outside. He didn’t have time for anything pretty, just something desperate. He reached into his pocket for a flash grenade and then hurled it at the door. He made sure he was looking the other way when it went off. From the screams he heard, the bank robbers with their infrared goggles hadn’t been so lucky.

  With the reinforcements blinded, the Private Eye dashed for the nearest of the trucks. Slashing the tires wouldn’t do any good since he couldn’t possibly get all eighteen wheels in time. Again he would have to do something uglier to get the job done.

  From his pocket he took out a switchblade he kept. He wasn’t an expert on trucks, but he knew where to find the fuel line beneath the truck. He slashed this with the knife, backing away before any of the gasoline splashed on him. He dropped the knife back into his pocket, reaching instead for his lighter. A paper napkin leftover from someone’s lunch would serve as his fuse. He balled up the napkin and then lit it. As it began to burn, he tossed the napkin beneath the truck.

  Then he ran like hell. The thieves were all too busy with the Silver Seraph to worry about him or the truck. He dove to the ground by the guardhouse as the truck exploded. The mob goons had parked them close enough together that the first explosion lit off a chain-reaction. He crawled into the guardhouse, keeping himself flat on the ground throughout the explosions.

  When he risked looking up, he saw three smoking hulks and a large hole in the concrete wall of the Federal Reserve building. The bodies lying scattered about didn’t seem very likely to move ever again. What about the Silver Seraph?

  Someone reached into the guardhouse, lifting him to his feet. He found himself looking down into the visor of the new Seraph. He couldn’t see her face, just a few stray dark red hairs that had escaped from her helmet. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted.

  “Improvising.”

  “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I had this under control.”

  From the way she talked, she was definitely not Jessica Locke. Jessica had never uttered a bad word in her life, not even when some son of a bitch stabbed her in the midsection with a sacred knife. “I saw what you were doing. I thought I’d give you a hand.”

  “I don’t need your help—”

  A bolt of lightning sizzled between them, close enough to singe the left sleeve of his jacket. The Seraph tossed him to the ground. She reached for the sword on her hip. “Don’t try turning invisible,” the Private Eye said. “He can still see you.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  The whole courtyard became bathed in white light. The Private Eye thought maybe he’d died and gone to the afterlife, but then he heard the rotors. A police helicopter from its markings. SWAT wouldn’t be far behind. “It’s time to go,” he said.

  “For you, maybe. I don’t care about the cops.”

  He doubted Set would care about the police either. Right on cue, a bolt of lightning struck the helicopter. The light winked out, followed closely by the rotors. The helicopter spun around several times on its way to the ground.

  The Seraph dashed out of the guardhouse, towards the helicopter. Set seized the opportunity to take a shot at her. She dove, continuing to roll to where the helicopter came down in a fiery heap. The Private Eye watched as she tore open the helicopter’s door, trying to reach the pilot.

  From his knees, he saw Set aiming his staff for another shot. The Private Eye raised his pistol and fired. The bullet hit the bastard in the hand. It didn’t seem to do any damage, but it got his attention. The Private Eye flattened himself on the ground before the lightning bolt could burst his head open like a water balloon.

  The guardhouse had survived the trucks exploding and the helicopter crashing, but the lightning bolt proved too much. The roof caved in, chunks of cement raining down. The Private Eye did what he could by rolling to the left, but there was nowhere to go. One of the chunks hit his left shoulder. He cried out as he heard something snap, probably his collarbone.

  He tried to drag himself out of the rubble, but it was too hard with just one arm. Maybe one of the cops would find him before he died. In which case he was as good as dead. He supposed he was going to have to face it sometime. Today might as well be the day.

  The weight on him lifted. He heard the Seraph’s voice say, “I ought to leave you here, but there’s some questions I need answered.” She lifted him up, dragging him as if he weighed nothing over to her motorcycle. He remembered this motorcycle; Jessica had ridden it before buying the Spyder.

  As the first SWAT van drove into the compound they were on their way out. There was no sign of Set, but the Private Eye knew he was still out there and he wasn’t about to stop.

  Chapter 17

  Even if the man weren’t dressed like a film noir detective and wearing a red ski mask, Lois would have remembered him from the smell. She had met more than her fair share of hobos in her time, but he stunk worse than any of them. Didn’t he ever bathe?

  He clung to her with one hand, the other hanging limp at his side, probably broken. She should take him to a hospital, although then she wouldn’t get a chance to find out what he knew. He had been at the museum the night of the robbery, had saved her life. He hadn’t saved Mom’s. There was also how he knew about Set being able to see her. He must have seen what had happened to Mom. Had he just sat there and watched?

  She looked back at him and said, “I’ll get you to a hospital after you give me some information. Think you can stay conscious long enough?”

  “No hospitals,” he hissed into her ear. “I can take care of it.”

  “Really? You can fix a broken arm?”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “Right.”

  He gave her an address that was in the middle of the old industrial section. Not a private address, but then someone who smelled this bad didn’t probably live in a forty-room mansion. She supposed it could be a trap, but she doubted he would have warned her about Set if he planned to turn her over to that nut.

  She could feel him going slack against her as they entered the maze of old factories. Long ago these factories had churned out radios, bikes, and refrigerators. The last of these had closed down the year Lois came into the world. These days all Ren City made was money—and corpses. She wondered if the smelly man would become the latter.

  The address he had indicated in another life had be
en the Brinkman Electronics Company. She rode through the open gate, along a cracked concrete road. She reached back with one hand to give her passenger a shake. “Hey, buddy, we’re here.”

  “Take me to the main building,” he said.

  “Sure. Then we can discuss the fare.”

  She found a freight door open, the ramp allowing her to drive right up, into the building. Once inside she began looking around for any sign of where someone might live. The helmet’s visor allowed her to see in the dark, though she was pretty sure it didn’t do anything cool like shoot laser beams.

  He lived inside an old generator. The generator had been hollowed out, the shell serving as his house. He had left the door open so that she could see a three-legged desk propped up with cinderblocks. This was where he lived?

  She stopped the bike and then helped him dismount. He wrapped his good shoulder around her neck, letting her drag him inside the generator, into his house.

  It wasn’t a lot to look at. The whole area was probably seventy square feet, smaller than most prison cells. Other than the desk, there was a “bed” made from stacked wooden pallets covered with old rags. No wonder he smelled so terrible!

  She eased him onto the pile of rags, careful not to hurt his shoulder. Looking around, she didn’t see any medical supplies. “Not exactly a hospital, is it?” she said.

  “Grab a rag and make a sling out of it. The arm will heal in a few weeks.”

  “Do I look like a Girl Scout to you?” she snapped. “You think I can make a sling and set your arm?”

  “It’s not that hard. Just find a nice long strip, one that’s fairly clean.”

  “That might be hard,” she said as she began rummaging around.

  “You complain a lot more than your mother.”

  She froze at this. After a moment to get back to her senses, she spun around. “What did you say?”

  “You’re Jessica’s daughter. You ought to keep that red hair covered better. Your mom used a hairnet. Probably not much you can do about the feet without surgery.”