The Night's Legacy

by P. T. Dilloway

  Seeing no point in the pretense, she took off the helmet and shook out her troublesome hair. She tossed the helmet onto the desk. “All right, who the hell are you? How do you know so much about me and Mom? And how did you know what was going on at the museum?”

  “I’d rather not answer those questions.”

  “This isn’t optional. You answer me or your shoulder will be the least of your troubles.”

  He smiled at her. “I bet you would. Didn’t get your mother’s temper, did you?”

  She put her hand on Caledfwlch’s hilt. “The next time you say something like that I’m going to cut off your damned head.”

  “You might want to check with your friend Percival about that. I think your Sissy Society has rules about that.”

  “Yeah? Let’s see how well you insult me without that mask, Stinky.” She ripped the fedora off his head, followed by the mask. He was a lot older than she’d thought, his tangled hair entirely white, as was his patchy beard.

  She focused on the tangled hair and his pointed nose. Subtract the beard and change the eyes from brown to blue and it was like seeing what she would look like when she was about Mom’s age. She staggered back, reaching out to grab onto the desk for support. Besides the desk, there was how he knew so much about her and Mom and how he’d saved her life in the museum. “Daddy?” she whispered.

  * * *

  When she was a child she had concocted a number of scenarios about her father. When not thinking that Dr. Johnson would one day reveal himself as her dad, she had imagined he would be a big, strapping man with bulging muscles and a square jaw. She pictured him as a fireman or construction worker or something manly like that. When she was little, she imagined that he would pick her up and throw her into the air, catching her as she screamed with delight. Even as she got older, she kept these images of her father looking like the model for paper towel or cigarette commercials.

  In reality her father was a grubby little hobo. Dropping onto a three-legged chair that went with the three-legged desk, she supposed it made sense. That was why she had taken so readily to life on the streets; she was a chip off the old block. “You?” she said. “You’re my father?”

  “Yes.”

  She buried her face in her hands, feeling the pointed nose and tangled hair she had inherited from him along with the ability to be comfortable in filth. “And you’ve been here the whole time?”

  “Not here. I’ve moved around a lot.”

  “Well sure, there are laws against vagrancy in this town. That’s what you are, a vagrant. My father is a fucking vagrant. No wonder Mom never told me.”

  He laughed at this. “Do you think your mother would have kept this secret for so long on her own?”

  She looked up at him. “So that was your idea?”

  “Of course. Look at me. What kind of girl would want me for a father?”

  “Me!” When she punched the desk, the augmented strength of the armor caused her to break it in two. “I’d rather have a fucking vagrant than no father at all. Do you know how badly I wanted to see you? Every fucking birthday and Christmas I hoped you would come through the door.”

  “I’m sorry. It had to be that way.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say? You abandoned me for twenty-three years and that’s all you’re going to say? Couldn’t you have even sent a goddamned postcard so I’d know you existed?”

  “I thought it was best not to get you involved at all. It was better for both of us that way.”

  “Why? What was so goddamned important that you abandoned me and Mom?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Then uncomplicate it or else I’m not going to need the armor to choke the life out of you.”

  The smelly man stared at her for a moment, the look lacking the hardness of Mom’s Glares. He nodded. “All right. I suppose you know enough already.” He took a deep breath and then explained it to her.

  * * *

  My name is Sam Rivers. It used to be Detective Sam Rivers until about thirty-five years ago. I worked in the homicide bureau for the Ren City police. The department wasn’t any better back then than it is now. In some ways it was worse.

  We were getting paid by the Ren City government, but most of us were in the employ of the mob. Back then it was still the Italians at the top of the heap, a guy named Bolchenzo ran the whole thing. He was the type to have you put into the river with cement shoes if you crossed him.

  When they promoted me to detective it took me about five minutes to see how deep the corruption went. I was still green enough I thought I could change things. I went to internal affairs. They made a few token inquiries, but nothing happened to the bad cops. Me they cornered in the locker room and told in no uncertain nose to keep my big nose out of their business.

  For a while I tried to look the other way. I even took a few bribes just to keep from drawing any attention. I dropped the bribes into the poor box at church; maybe the blood money could help some poor sap who needed it.

  Then one night me and this detective named Foote responded to a call. Supposedly a heist at a jewelry store. They had the owner, a Mr. Schulman, tied to a chair. He hadn’t made with the protection money. Foote put a bullet in him while I watched. He turned to me and said, “Looks like the thief put a bullet in him and run off, right Sam?”

  I saw a picture of Schulman behind the counter. He had a wife and kids, one a girl about your age. Something in me snapped. I couldn’t let it go on anymore. They could kill me if they wanted, but I wasn’t going to be their patsy anymore.

  I drew on Foote. Put three bullets in his gut. He’d spend the next few hours in constant pain until he finally gave it up and joined Schulman. I hoped he’d wind up in a different place, one with a lot of flames and burning sulfur like the priest used to say.

  I was still a sap, though. Turns out the whole thing was a double-cross. Foote had been in deep with the mob for something like a quarter-million. Bolchenzo told him that whacking Schulman would make them even. Then he figured I’d take out Foote and solve both problems for him. If I didn’t he had a couple goons on standby to whack me and plant a murder weapon so it’d still look the way he wanted.

  Those goons got the drop on me before my pistol even stopped smoking. They put two bullets in me, about the same place where I got Foote. Then they dumped about a freighter’s worth of gasoline and lit a match.

  What they didn’t count on was that I would be able to crawl out of there. It was tough going, but there’s nothing like an inferno on your heels to motivate you. I crawled out the back door, into an alley. I found an old bum. He was wearing this coat and hat. They’d put a couple bullets in his head just to make sure he couldn’t come forward as a witness.

  I had lost a lot of blood and I could hardly stand, but somehow I found the strength to get off his hat and coat. I dragged him into the building along with the others. Tossed my wallet in there too. Then I put on the bum’s clothes and got myself to a hospital. Without ID they treated me as a John Doe, just another hobo meeting a bad end.

  They didn’t try hard to save me but I lived anyway. Saw in the paper that as far as Bolchenzo was concerned everything was wrapped up neatly. Schulman, Foote, and me had all died in the fire, three problems out of his way.

  When I could get up and around, I grabbed my clothes and walked out. The hospital didn’t give a shit. If I went and died in an alley it’d be less paperwork for them to fill out.

  I knew I couldn’t go back to my old life. Between the dirty cops and the mob, I’d be dead if I ever showed my face at the station. So I took to living on the streets like a real hobo.

  That didn’t mean I’d still be their patsy. I bought this mask from a thrift shop and then got some blank business cards. Since most private eyes are cops put out to pasture, that seemed to be a good moniker.

  I started going after the dirty cops and the mob, the ones who’d taken my life from me. I didn’t think I’d last thirty-five days let alone thirty-five
years. Luck was on my side, though sometimes I wondered if it were bad or good. Seeing you, I think it was good luck.

  “Don’t try to flatter me, old man,” Lois said. “Tell me the rest. Tell me about Mom.”

  Your mom came onto the scene about five years after I did. I heard rumors about her for a few weeks before seeing her up close. She was something to see, the way she moved around was like a dancer in spite of her size.

  We really met the night Bolchenzo died. I’d heard that a rival gangster from Cleveland named Butcher Brown was going to hit him on his yacht. I stowed away to make sure they took each other out. I’d pick up any pieces they left behind.

  Brown’s people had already come on board when your mom showed up. Even with that armor she managed to swim from another boat onto Bolchenzo’s. I heard the commotion outside and decided to go find Bolchenzo. He was in his quarters, on the bed with a girl. They were both dead already. I didn’t feel as good as I thought I might about that.

  Your mom saved me for the first time that night. I was so caught up in seeing Bolchenzo dead I let Brown get the drop on me. He had the pistol at the base of my neck when your mom took him down. I just dove onto the floor and watched as she went through five guys like they were made of straw.

  We made our introductions. Your mom was younger than you are now, but not nearly so cocky. She was smart enough to realize she could use my help. I knew the city a lot better than her and I could do things she couldn’t. I was the bad cop and she was the good cop.

  We stayed on a professional level for about seven years. The mob was up for grabs after Bolchenzo died, but there was always someone to fill the void. It was like that old whack-a-mole game at the arcade; we get rid of one crime boss and another would pop right up.

  The latest was named Bykov, a Russian. I’d heard from some sources that he had himself set up in an old factory like this. I went over to check it out. If it were true then I’d meet Jessie and we’d figure out a way to take it down.

  But it was an ambush. Bykov knew enough about me that he’d planted information for me to find and lead me to the factory. There were a dozen of them there, all with machine guns and not afraid to use them. I took one in the stomach, not far from where Bolchenzo’s guys hit me.

  I figured I was a goner, but then your mom showed up like an avenging angel. She took them all down in about two minutes flat. Then she scooped me up and carried me out of there.

  Just like now I didn’t want to go back to a hospital, but your mom insisted. I’d never seen her lie before. She was good at it. She went in as herself and said she’d found me on the street and felt obligated to bring me in.

  I gave them a fake name and they didn’t bother looking into it, figuring I was just another pathetic hobo. This time your mom made sure I got quality care. She was there every day to visit, bring me balloons and cards and such that made me feel like a real person for the first time in twelve years.

  One night when no one was around, it was dark and someone had left a radio on an oldies station. A sappy old love song came on and we kissed. That was all we did then. Your mom acted embarrassed about it and I tried to play it cool, like it didn’t mean anything. We were both lying to ourselves.

  When they decided I was fit enough to leave, Jessie took me back to her place. She said she didn’t want me living on the streets anymore. One thing led to another—you can probably guess what.

  “You made me,” Lois said.

  That’s right. I didn’t know about it for a while. That night I slipped out while Jessie slept. I decided right then not to see her anymore. I didn’t want her getting mixed up with someone like me. And I knew I still couldn’t go back to my old life; the mob might have changed hands but some of the old guard remained and had long memories.

  I avoided her for about five months. When I finally did see her during a bust, I couldn’t help noticing her stomach. I knew your mom wasn’t the sort to let herself go, which could only mean one thing: she had something else in there.

  After we’d finished off the mob goons that night, we went somewhere quiet. She put my hand on her belly and said it was a little girl in there. You know your mom well enough to know there wasn’t any other possibility except that I was the father. She wanted me to come clean, to start a new life with her. I told her I couldn’t.

  What you have to understand about the mob is that they’re thorough. Remember Schulman? They didn’t just kill him. Eventually they got everyone in that picture: his wife and his two kids. If Sam Rivers showed up with a wife and child, they’d make damned sure it wasn’t just me eating lead.

  “Mom could have protected you,” Lois said. “She was the Silver Seraph. She could have kept us safe from a few mob goons.”

  That’s what she said. I told her it wasn’t worth risking your life. I was a lost cause. I had been for years. You see me now, just a broken-down old hobo. What could I do for you except get you killed?

  Your mom came around to see things my way. I think it hurt her terribly inside, but she was smart enough to understand. So we made a devil’s bargain. I would never see you or have any contact with you. After I died, she could tell you everything. Those were my terms, not hers. I think she went along with it hoping that I’d cave in eventually. For my part, I still didn’t think I’d go on living very long. Certainly not twenty-three years. But I did and here we are.

  * * *

  Lois tightened the makeshift sling she had fashioned from one of the rags on Sam’s bed. She refused to think of him as “Daddy” or “Dad” or “Father,” not after what he had done to her. That he winced as she tightened it made her smile. “You’ll probably go on living another twenty-three years,” she said. “You dumb son of a bitch.”

  “I never wanted you to find out. You were better off not knowing.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “It doesn’t mean much now, but your mom did a good job of raising you.”

  “A lot of people wouldn’t agree with that.”

  He snorted at this. “Look at you. You’re the goddamned Silver Seraph. How much better can you be?”

  “But I still work in a gift shop. I still don’t have my PhD. I’m still not Mom.”

  “You know your mom doesn’t want her to be you any more than I want you to be me.”

  “I have been you for the last seven years.” She shook her head, thinking of Red and Blue T-shirts back in Texas. “I even fought crime, inadvertently.”

  “I know things have been hard on you—”

  “You don’t know anything! You were never there. Richard was more of a real father than you’ll ever be.”

  She hated him for nodding at this. “You’re right. Dr. Johnson was a good man. He was the kind of man you deserved for a father. The kind of man your mother deserved.”

  “Then why didn’t she marry him? Why did she have to fuck you?”

  This time he managed a Glare to rival any of Mom’s. “I may only have one hand right now, but you say something like that about your mom again and I’ll knock some fucking sense into you, magic armor or no. Your mother is a good woman. The kindest, sweetest woman ever put on this earth. I didn’t want her to love me any more than you do. I did everything I could to keep that from happening.”

  “Maybe that’s what turned her on.”

  “Maybe. You’d have to ask her about it. Just try not to be too hard on her. This is all my fault.”

  “Sure, because you swept her off her feet with your style and charm. She was powerless to stop it.”

  He shook his head. “You spent more time with her than I have and you still don’t know her. You ever think about how lonely her life is? How much she’s given up for you and that cursed armor?”

  Lois looked down at her feet, Mom’s feet. “I’m starting to find out.”

  “You keep that in mind when you pay her a visit.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He motioned to her with his injured arm. “You did a good job with this splint. Your mom couldn
’t have done any better.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “I won’t be much good to you in a fight, but I can still help you catch that bastard who hurt your mom and killed Dr. Johnson. You come see me in a couple of days and I’ll show you around this city, show you how to do some real detective work.”

  “Why would I need to do that? I’ll just wait for Set’s next big heist and jump him.”

  “He’s going to be more careful now that he knows you’re around. And like they say, the best way to kill a bear is to get it in its lair.”

  “I’ll take your word for that.”

  He sighed and suddenly looked very tired. “My point is that the easiest way to kill him is to find out who’s behind the mask. Get him when he’s vulnerable. That’s the smart way to go about it, unless you want to wind up six feet under.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I’ll consider it.”

  “In the meantime, knock off that hot dog stuff. The armor isn’t invincible. Look at your mom if you don’t believe me. You aren’t going to get this son of a bitch by treating him like one of Rahnasto’s thugs. He’s a lot more dangerous.”

  “I get it, Sam.” She found her helmet and then opened the makeshift door. “I’ll see you around.”

  Before she left, he said, “It won’t mean anything now, but I do love you, Lois. You and your mom are all I got left in this world.”

  “Then maybe you should act more like it,” she said and then stomped out to her bike.

  * * *

  Rahnasto didn’t usually partake of the liquor sold in the Brass Drum. Even one glass of wine and he’d end up with a throat full of acid that night. At times like this he needed a good stiff belt of something much stronger than wine. He downed a shot of tequila, followed by another.

  He turned to the only other person in the bar at the moment. “I thought you’d taken care of her. I thought that old woman was the do-gooder. You promised to take care of her!”

  “I did take care of her. Another has taken her place. It’s no matter. This one is young and inexperienced. She’ll be even easier to destroy.”