“No idea,” Becky said. She motioned to him with one finger. “Come and get me, tiger.”
“Hold on,” he said. From the pocket of his pants he took out his cell phone. He aimed the camera of the phone at her. “I’ve got to get a picture of this or no one at the office will believe that I fucked the Heartbreaker Killer.”
This sobered Becky up faster than a dozen cups of coffee. “What? You think I’m the Heartbreaker Killer?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No! The charges were dropped.”
“Whatever. That just means you got the right connections.”
Becky rolled out of bed and slipped back into the pink dress. She stomped towards the door until Rolf moved to bar her way. “Where are you going, babe? I thought you wanted this.”
“You only wanted to fuck because you thought I killed those people? You sick freak!”
“Why else would I want to fuck you? I can get a dozen coke whores like you for what that fucking dress cost.”
“I am not a coke whore!” She tore the expensive dress off her body to throw into his face. “You can have your fucking dress back.”
She tried to brush past him, but he reached out to take her arm. “Come on, you can’t go out like that.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “Get back over there if you know what’s good for you.”
“You’d better let me go.”
“Or what? A skinny bitch—” He didn’t get to finish this sentence. Becky didn’t know all the kung-fu that Emma did, but she did know how to knee a man in the crotch. Rolf howled in pain; she pushed him down to the floor and then stepped over him.
Only when she got to the front door of the suite did she realize she wore only Emma’s bra and granny panties. She hurried back to the bedroom, where Rolf still writhed on the floor in pain. “I’m going to get you for this,” he said.
She responded with a kick to his midsection. She took the Armani suit from the dresser and then said, “I’ll have it pressed and mailed back to you.”
“You bitch!”
She left him to swear revenge and roll around on the floor while she left the hotel with his expensive suit jacket pulled tightly over her chest so as not to expose any skin. Only after she escaped from the hotel lobby did she allow herself to cry at another of her plans unraveling.
***
It took her the rest of the afternoon to walk back to her house. Without any money she couldn’t hail a cab or even take the bus. It might have been possible to hitchhike, but she didn’t want to wind up with another pervert like Rolf. Of all the millions of guys in the city and she had run into that creep. It wasn’t fair!
No one bothered her on the way to the historical district, but she did notice a few curious looks in her direction. Maybe this would become a new fashion trend, at least among the coke whores in the city. How could she have so badly misjudged him? Granted she knew Rolf had not been a nice man like Steve, but she hadn’t thought of him as a pervert either. She would need more practice to make this scheme work. The tattoos and piercings sounded a lot easier to pull off.
Her anger had ebbed a little by the time she reached her house, but it erupted like a volcano when she opened the front door to find Emma on the couch in Becky’s body. “What the hell are you doing here?” Becky said.
“I was just watching the news,” Emma said.
“No, I mean what are you doing in my house?”
“Well, I thought since I looked like you—”
“You do not live here. Not ever. Not under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
“But—”
“You can take your fat ass back to Ms. Chiostro’s place.”
“Becky—”
“Shut up! I hate you! I hate you and I hate your stupid, skinny body! I hate your ugly red hair and your pasty skin and your big feet and your crooked nose—”
“My nose isn’t crooked.”
“If it isn’t yet it’s going to be when I’m done with it.”
“Please, Becky—”
Becky pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out of here!”
Emma grunted as she pushed herself up off the couch. “I’m sorry, Becky, but don’t you think we should talk about this?”
“I don’t want to talk to you. I just want to go upstairs to my bathroom and take a nice hot bath and then go to sleep in my bed.”
“But it’s my body,” Emma said. Her eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that suit? What happened to my clothes? Have you been having sex?”
“Not yet. Your precious virginity is still intact.”
Becky watched her flabby cheeks turn bright red at this. “Now, if you don’t get out of here I’m going to fuck the first guy I come across.” A smile came to Becky’s face. “Maybe I’ll go down and fuck your buddy the Sewer Rat.”
“Don’t you dare do that to Jim!”
“Oh come on, he’d probably jump at the chance.”
Emma took a swing at her own body, but her fat arm was too slow and Becky’s reaction time too fast for it to connect. Though she didn’t know Emma’s kung-fu moves, Becky did know how to push Emma onto her back while she was off-balance from the aborted punch. Emma landed with a heavy thud; before she could get up, Becky sprang on top of her. “I don’t want to see you again until the witches find a way to change us back. Understand?”
“Yes,” Emma whimpered.
“And you’d better not take my car. Or my credit cards. You can have my driver’s license. There’s no way they could ever confuse me for you.”
“I’m sorry, Becky. I am.”
“You’re sorry all right.” She helped Emma up and then pushed her to the door. Before Emma left, Becky found her purse to take out the driver’s license and twenty dollars. “Here, that’s so you can take a cab home. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my body.”
After she was sure Emma had gone, Becky went upstairs to run a hot bath. She took off the Armani suit and left it in a heap on the floor. Tomorrow she would mail it back to Rolf, preferably after she found some dog shit to rub on it. That would serve him right.
As the water ran, she studied Emma’s body in the mirror. For the first time she noticed the scars, especially the two-inch pink blob on her left shoulder from where the first Black Dragoon had stabbed her. The red armor protected Emma from most everything except for magic or holy instruments.
When it came down to it, Emma wasn’t that good of a superhero. The first Black Dragoon had killed himself after he fought Emma to a draw. Marie Marsh had killed the Watchmaker. Isis had died when she tried to consume Emma’s heart and in the process killed the second Black Dragoon. Not to mention that Don Vendetta remained on the loose, her mob syndicate as powerful as ever in the city. What had Emma really ever done besides lose a lot of sleep?
Becky settled into the warm water. She didn’t usually take baths in this tub because her body didn’t fit into the old-fashioned tub comfortably. Emma’s svelte body fit with plenty of room to spare; the only problem was to find a way to fit her legs in the water, which Becky solved when she bent her knees.
She closed her eyes and let out a tired sigh. The warm water would wash away the stench of Rolf and would make at least a dent in the sewer smell. How Emma could stand to hang around the Sewer Rat she had no idea. She had even befriended a rat and let it climb up through her toilet! Becky hoped the rat didn’t decide to pay her a visit here or it’d end up as lunch in a Chinese restaurant.
The warm water combined with the turbulent day prompted her to drift off to sleep in the tub. She was still in the tub when she heard Steve’s voice. “Becky? Becky, where are you?”
“I’m here, Steve. It’s me.”
Steve came down through the ceiling like a ghost, but he wasn’t transparent like Marlin. Instead, his body looked solid; it also glowed with the light of an angel. He even had a halo of light around his head, but lacked the wings to complete the illusion. “Steve, it really is you!”
“It’s me, Becky.”
> “Am I dead? Are you going to take me to Heaven?”
“No, you aren’t dead. You aren’t going to die for a long time.”
“Oh. I guess that’s good to know.” She reached out to touch him, but he pulled away. She began to cry. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, Becky. We’ll be together again someday. Until then, you need to do something for me.”
“What is it? I’d do anything for you, Steve. You know that.”
“You need to take Emma’s place.”
“Take her place?” Becky’s eyes widened. “You mean as the Scarlet Knight?”
“Yes.”
“But I can’t do that. I don’t know how to fight. Not like Emma.”
“You have to do it, Becky. No one else can. The world needs a Scarlet Knight to fight against evil.”
“Seems like the world is doing fine without her.”
“No, Becky, there’s something terrible out there, waiting to strike. You have to stop it before it’s too late.”
“What is it, the Black Dragoon? I thought he was dead.”
“No, this is something else, something worse in some ways.”
“What?”
“I can’t tell you.” Steve’s angelic face looked down on her sadly. “Becky, you have to do this. Tonight. We don’t have much time. It’s almost back at full strength.”
“I can’t. I’m not a hero, not like Emma.” She motioned to the suit on the floor. “I’m not pure of heart like her.”
“Becky, I know your heart better than anyone. You can do this.”
She wiped at her tears and then looked into Steve’s eyes. Those eyes were as innocent as she remembered, though now with a certain element of sadness to them. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it. For you, not for her. I love you.”
“I love you too, Becky. I always will.”
She wanted to grab hold of him, to pull him close and keep him there forever, but he floated out of range before she could. Her fingers grazed his foot before he ascended through the ceiling to disappear in a burst of golden light.
Becky opened her eyes to find herself still in the tub. There was no sign of Steve’s angel. She thought for a moment she had imagined the whole thing, but then she looked down at her hand, the one that had touched his foot—it glowed just as he had.
Becky jumped out of the tub to run into her closet for something to wear. Before she left the house, she collected a few bottles of air freshener from the kitchen. When she got back—if she got back—she would need another bath. But she would do this for Steve and only for him. She wasn’t a hero, nor would she ever be, but she was still Steve’s wife.
Chapter 17
Becky brought a crowbar, not that she really needed it to pry off a manhole cover in Rampart City. Nevertheless, she kept it with her as a weapon, along with her plastic grocery bag of chemical weapons. With the crowbar tucked into the waistband of a pair of Steve’s old blue jeans—which fit Emma’s body much better than anything in Becky’s wardrobe—and the grocery bag around her neck, she descended the ladder into the sewers.
She had smelled the sewers on Emma and her clothes before. That didn’t prepare her for the stench of it firsthand. She immediately doubled over to throw up the lunch that sleaze Rolf had bought for her. Becky didn’t have a gas mask, so she had to rely on a bandana tied around her face. The bandana kept out a little of the stink, enough so she didn’t puke every few steps.
The rats stayed out of sight, but she could hear them splash around in the water and talk to each other in the screeches and squeaks Emma referred to as “ratspeak.” While a fugitive from justice nine months earlier, Emma had learned ratspeak so she could communicate with the vermin just like her new friend Jim Rizzard, aka the Sewer Rat.
Becky prayed she wouldn’t have to meet the Sewer Rat in person, but she would be ready in case she did. That was why she carried the bottles of air freshener; the Sewer Rat hated anything that didn’t smell like sewage, especially flowers. The lilac and spring meadow air fresheners would be like nerve gas to him.
The Sewer Rat wasn’t the first one she saw. Emma’s pet rat Pepe appeared first, recognizable by the silver streak that ran from head to tail. The rat jabbered something at her in ratspeak. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” Becky said.
The rat came closer. She didn’t need to know ratspeak to catch the gist of what Pepe said when he sniffed at her foot and then ran back as if his tail were on fire. The rat soon disappeared from sight, probably to relay what he’d found out to his master. Becky reached to her waistband for the crowbar; she sensed things were about to get ugly. She ignored the stench as she quickened her pace. It wouldn’t be much farther to the Sanctuary, where she could fulfill her promise to Steve.
Emma had often said she could smell the Sewer Rat long before she saw him. This turned out to be true. The air became dense; the smell of various waste products suddenly tripled. Becky’s knees turned to rubber, but she didn’t stop. If she hurried, maybe she could make it before he found her.
The ladder was in sight when she heard a voice hiss, “Who you?”
Becky spun around and brandished the crowbar. “I’m Emma. See?”
The Sewer Rat came closer. He wore a coat made from some of his little friends who’d gone on to whatever kind of afterlife rats believed in. That combined with his long hair, pointed nose, and buck teeth made him look like a very large rodent. He shook his head. “You not her.”
“Yes I am. Look at me. I’m Emma Earl.”
“No.” The Sewer Rat took a step towards Becky; she reached into the bag for a bottle of air freshener.
“You’d better stay back or I’ll use this!”
The Sewer Rat’s laugh sounded like a rat choking on a bone. “You not her. She not need weapons down here.”
“All right, I’m not her. I’m her replacement—temporarily, OK?”
“Where she go?”
“She’s taking a little vacation.”
“She not tell me.”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t want to bother you.” Becky could see the Sewer Rat’s friends nearby, led by Pepe. One word from their leader and they would devour Becky. Of course she would be able to spray enough air freshener to make it smell like lilacs for weeks. For the moment at least they were at an impasse. “Can I go?”
The Sewer Rat’s beady eyes narrowed. “You go. Not come back.” Before Becky could turn to leave, he added, “Tell her I miss her.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” Becky wouldn’t pass on any such message as she didn’t plan to see or speak with Emma until they were ready to change bodies again—if then. She could feel the Sewer Rat watch her as she made her way across the final gap to the ladder that led into the Sanctuary. He would probably dispatch his minions to spy on her, which was easy enough for rats to do in a city like Rampart City.
“She deserves a nut like that,” Becky grumbled as she started up the ladder.
***
Becky had never visited the Sanctuary before. She knew its history from Emma, who’d told her about the old bomb shelter constructed in a cavern beneath the Plaine Museum. One of the museum’s janitors, Percival Graves, had converted part of the bomb shelter into a secret hideout for the Scarlet Knight. From there he could monitor crime in the city to find where he was needed.
When Emma had taken over as the Scarlet Knight, she had renovated the place. She had installed video monitors and computers to bring the Sanctuary into the 21st Century. She had even added a refrigerator to keep cans of Red Bull for when she needed a pick-me-up. All of this had been destroyed when the second Black Dragoon blew the Sanctuary up, which had killed Percival Graves in the process. How the Dragoon had located the Sanctuary was not something Emma had told Becky, nor did she ever bother to ask. The Dragoon had probably followed Emma or Graves.
A fake wall separated the Sanctuary from the rest of the bomb shelter. Emma had patched this up, though it was still fairly obvious. The wall was made
of papier mache, which made it easy enough for Becky to push aside. She dumped the bag of air freshener at the entrance to make it easy for her to duck inside.
The crowbar she kept in her hand; she tightened her grip as she rose to her feet. Steve had warned her about something evil out there, but apparently it wasn’t in the Sanctuary—yet. The only things in the Sanctuary were her, the rubble, and Marlin.
The ghost looked none too happy to see her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “And where the hell have you been? I spent half the day looking around for you.”
“Yeah, well, here I am. I’m going to be the Scarlet Knight—at least for now.”
“You? You can’t just volunteer to be the Scarlet Knight. It’s not like a bloody charity.”
“Steve said I had to do it. He said there’s something evil out there and I have to stop it.”
“Steve? Your dead fiancé?”
“No, it was Steve McQueen,” Becky said. “Of course my dead fiancé!”
“Oh bloody hell. I don’t believe it. That girl. I knew she was nothing but trouble.”
“What are you blathering about?”
“You heard the Call. That means you are supposed to be the next Scarlet Knight.” The ghost shook his head. “Unbelievable. I wish the master were here, so he could switch you back. The last thing I need is some bloody greenhorn getting herself killed.”
“Hey, this isn’t my first choice either. She’s the one who put us in this fix.”
“Yes and where is she?”
“Probably at the witches’s house. Let’s just get to it, shall we?”
The ghost continued to mutter curses under his breath. Finally he spoke up loud enough to say, “Fine. It’s your life. Of course it’s her body, but this is her fault anyway, so I guess she gets what she deserves.” The ghost pointed to a corner. “Now, go over there and open the crate—and pray it doesn’t have any nasty surprises in store.”
Becky didn’t need to be warned about this. The armor had nearly killed Emma once and switched her with Becky; she didn’t need to be told of the danger it presented to the wearer it ostensibly protected. She threw aside the crowbar—she knew it wouldn’t do any good—and approached the crate slowly.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Page 14
