by Chris Hechtl
“Okay, oh, Eric!” the blue Neocat blinked then yawned. “What's up, kid?”
“I bought an interesting thing at the cavern auction yesterday. But I don't know what the devil it is for. It's got a solar panel and some ports, but the screen's cracked and out of commission. The markings are almost shot, but there is the radiation symbol,” he frowned, then turned to give the Neocat a look at it over his webcam.
“Kid, your resolution is crappy,” the Neocat said. “Wait, you said that the cavern auction was yesterday? Damn it, I missed it!” he snarled, ears flat back.
“Yeah, not much there. Some bits, but not a lot of good stuff. The usual crowd jumped over the other stuff. I snagged this with Connie. We pooled our money together to outbid anyone else. They were lowballing it.”
“I see. And you have no clue what it is?” Hank asked, frowning.
“Hang on,” Eric fumbled the container. “It's heavy and bulky. Doesn't slosh,” he grumbled, putting the cylinder down. He pulled out his camera and plugged it into a universal port. A couple clicks and the pictures were sent off to Hank. “Here, my still camera is better,” he admitted.
“The one I sold you? Course it is, kid, I just made it,” Hank said. He took out a pair of wire rim glasses and put them on. Then he took them off to clean them before putting them on again. “Hmm,” he frowned, rubbing his chin. “Odd. Cylinder. I'm hoping it's not a radioactive waste container. Did you check it with a Geiger counter?”
“Yeah. Not a blip,” Eric said.
“Well, that's odd. But …,” he frowned at the next photo, then his index finger stabbed out. His long claw tapped the screen where there was another symbol. “Get me another pick of the marking that looks like circles. Enhance it. Better light,” he ordered.
“Coming right up,” Eric said dutifully, with a nod.
A few minutes later he watched nervously as Hank finished his own enhancement, then ran a symbol search. He blinked, startled when Hank clapped his hands together and crowed a roar. “Got a hit! Damn, kid, you hit the jackpot!”
“What? What is it?”
“Wanna sell it?” Hank asked coyly.
“Depends on what the devil it is, and what it's worth.”
“That kid, is an antimatter container. You'll need someone with the right implants to access it, but it's worth its weight in precious material just empty. Filled up you could name your own price, within reason,” Hank said.
“Let me make some calls,” he said, frowning.
“That's okay, Hank, I promised Connie, I'd um, consult with her before doing anything.”
“Kid, you don't know what you've got. Seriously. Let me take it off your hands before you get in over your head,” Hank warned.
“I'll, um, have to get back to you on that. Thanks, Hank, I owe you one,” Eric said, cutting the channel.
---*---
“Hank,” Nohar sighed. “What do you want this time?”
“We've got a problem.”
“And …”
“I'm talking we as in the planet. A kid I know just bought a container of antimatter.”
“Antimatter,” the yellow Neotiger's eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Hank said. “I'm trying to call him back, but he's not answering.”
“Give me his number,” Nohar said.
“He's in Gotham.”
“That's fine. I'll have Gordon pick him up. He'll need to call in flatfoots he trusts though,” the Neotiger said then grimaced. “Damn it, Gotham's riddled with corruption. I'm not sure it's worth calling them in. How sure are you?” he demanded.
Hank silently pulled up the images he'd downloaded from Eric.
“Where did he get it again?”
“Gotham Utilities had an auction—that cavern they found. It had a lot of stuff inside, apparently stored during the war and sealed for some reason. It was forgotten until they dug it up.”
“Yeah, I remember Gordon bitching about it. I saw the news that some of the wine and crap sold for high prices. No one noticed this thing?”
“The markings are barely there. I had to piece them together. I ran a scan on the object's 3D footprint and it matches a civilian power plant antimatter pod.”
“Great,” Nohar sighed. “I'll make the calls. Good work calling me.”
“Nohar, this is a good kid. He should be compensated, not ripped off. I don't want to burn him,” Hank urged.
Nohar eyed him, then sighed. He shook his head. He could see Hank was serious, eyes wide and imploring, ears back. “Hank …”
“He's not a flake, Nohar; he's a good kid. Damn good kid. He's a street kid, but he's trying to do good by his community and himself. Give him that much. You screw him and people will see the government as the enemy.”
“Not my problem. My problem is getting a WMD out of the wrong hands and getting it secured, preferably before some idiot tries to open Pandora's box to see what's inside and blows up Gotham and half the eastern seaboard.”
“Shit,” Hank muttered.
“Keep trying to call the kid. I'll see what assets I've got in the area. Assets that are reliable and not in someone's pocket might be hard to come by though,” Nohar said in disgust.
“Right,” Hank said with a nod as the tiger hung up. “Frack,” he muttered, hitting the speed dial to call Eric back again. As usual no one answered.
---*---
“So, you are saying we didn't buy scrap metal? The cow you traded for beans amounted to something after all?” Connie asked dubiously. They'd met in the diner halfway between their homes as agreed. She didn't look at all happy at being there though.
“Huh?” Eric asked, thoroughly confused.
Connie snorted. “Never mind. Old story about a guy and a beanstalk. Though I think someone got it confused with that Lagroose guy or vice versa. What it means is, you bought something you were told was worth a lot, then thought it was worthless, then find out it is indeed worth a mint? You're not pulling my leg, are you?” she asked, very suspicious.
“No, honest. May the spirits strike me down if I'm lying,” Eric said. He frowned when he realized the diner was rather quiet. There were a couple guys sitting at the bar with their backs to them but they were regulars. He didn't know their names, but figured since they wore suits, they were either business men or muscle.
“Look, can we, ah, talk, um, about this elsewhere?” he said nervously.
“Hang on, did he give you a price?”
“Mint. Big money. Jackpot,” Eric stage whispered. The girl blinked. “He said it's an antimatter container for criminy sake. Conniption! It's gotta be worth a ton!”
“I seriously doubt it,” she said.
He paid the tab then took her by the elbow and escorted her out the door. He didn't notice the two guys in suits turn, pay their tab, and follow.
---*---
“You go tell the boss. I'll tail ‘em,” Akeman said.
“Yeah. This better be worth somethin’, or he'll have our balls,” Ed said.
“Just do it. I'll take the heat. Better a false alarm then something like this landing in our lap and we don't do nuthin’ about it,” Akeman said.
“You got that right,” Ed said, taking off.
---*---
Ed got to his car, put the call in, and then hung up and raced after Ackerman. The big mook was too intent on the payday to keep his head he thought. He just hoped he could get to him in time; after all, he wanted his cut.
---*---
As they walked, Connie crossed her arms, walking slow as she processed the information.
“It's a lot I know,” Eric said, putting a hand over her shoulder. “But think about the payday!”
“I know,” Connie said slowly. She could move out of that run-down flat, get a decent place. To hell with Gotham, she could move to somewhere else. Definitely somewhere else, if she stuck around with any sort of cash she'd be a mark for anyone and everyone.
Metropolis she thought. Landing was too much li
ke Gotham with the corruption. If she had enough, she'd get a ticket to go off world. Epsilon Triangula might be her homeworld and it might be in the process of rebuilding, but she'd heard good things about some of the other worlds in the new Federation, or hell, even Pyrax. No, she frowned and then shook her head, not Pyrax. She didn't know anything about living in space, and the media said it was almost as corrupt as ET was.
“Thinking deep thoughts?” Eric asked. She looked at him. “You're kinda quiet. You know, you could put on your acting career, maybe a show …,” he said suggestively.
“I don't know. We don't have the money first, dummy,” she said. “Right now all we have is a big paperweight and pipe dreams,” she said.
They turned a corner, and Eric heard muttering and then people hustling to catch up. His hackles rose on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder as he directed her to the left instead of the right. They crossed the street and then waited in a small crowd.
When Eric realized they were being followed, he at first thought it was a mugger. But since it was a pair of guys, it had to be something else. And why chase a pair of kids? It didn't make sense.
He turned slightly, making light conversation about the weather with an old lady and noted two big thugs on the other side of the street. When he turned slightly to look casually their way, they immediately pretended to look elsewhere. That was the final tip-off.
Both men were big oxes, humans but with heavy worlder genes: bull necks, broad shoulders, built for fighting and brawling. They wore suits. One had an ill-fitting suit; the other was cleaner and had more flex. When the guy rolled his shoulders, he caught just the peak of a rig underneath.
“Crap,” he muttered.
“Well!” the old woman sniffed, turning away.
“Sorry, I wasn't, um …,” Eric shook his head. “Never mind,” he said. He danced away from the elder as she waved her walking stick at him. “Sorry, ma'am,” he said.
“Someone should teach you to mind your manners, sonny!” she growled.
“I said I was sorry; it wasn't about you,” he said, grabbing Connie by the hand. He guided her into the knot of people, then threw it.
“What's going on?”
“Don't look now, but we've got a tail, two bruisers. I thought they were cops, but they look more like Maroney's thugs to me. I think one of them was in the diner,” he said.
“You …,” she did the unthinkable, she looked over her shoulder then hissed at him. “You … what did you get me into?” she demanded.
“I told you not to look,” he urged as the thugs crossed the street at a trot. “Come on!” he urged, running. “Split up. I'll meet you …”
“Hell no!” Connie snarled. She clearly refused to split up, fearful of being kidnapped, raped, and sold off.
“Frack me,” Eric panted. He deliberately passed his block and kept going. Connie either was wise enough to follow his lead or didn't recognize it in her flight mindset. Either way it didn't matter.
He glanced over his shoulder a few times to realize the mobsters were still chasing them. They were a bit of a ways back, over a block. One had a pistol drawn so he pushed Connie around the corner before the mook could get a shot off and then dragged her by the hand to the nearest back alley where they would be safely out of sight.
“If we're lucky, they'll pass us by,” Eric panted when he realized the alley had no back exit. It was just a narrow driveway with a couple dumpsters and fire escapes. A place to come in to pick up the trash or make a delivery or have a smoke. “Shit,” he muttered, looking around.
“We're not so lucky, you idiot; we're trapped,” Connie panted fearfully. She looked over her shoulder, unsure of when the thugs would catch up with them. Chancing a run back into the street to find somewhere else to hide was tempting.
“No, damn it, yes,” Eric muttered, realizing she was right in a flash of insight. He looked around, eyes darting to various potential hiding spots. If he saw them though, they'd look in them. The only cover was the trash bin. He checked under it, but there was no way they'd fit. The manhole was too heavy to lift without the right tools; he knew that from experience. There were no storm drains in the alley to slip into. That meant up he thought. The fire escape was exposed, and there was no way they could reach the bottom rung. Climbing the drain pipe wouldn't get them to where they needed to go, and besides, once they were on the fire escape, they'd be exposed to the thugs.
The doors leading into the alley had security locks and metal doors behind them. There was no time to pick the locks to get within and no knowing what was on the other side. Bluffing their way past someone who came out for a smoke or something might work, but he doubted they'd be that lucky.
He looked around, desperation clouding his thoughts. The bin was too obvious. “Go up,” Eric urged, pointing to the trash chute attached to the side of the building. It was set up right over the big bin.
She looked up at the box-like chute on the side of the building. “You can't …,” she sighed when she saw his set expression. “Give me a boost and be quick about it,” she grimaced. She shook her hand as she grabbed the lip of the trash bin, but then climbed in and started to climb the side to get into the chute.
“Use your elbows and knees and don't make so much noise,” he urged quietly. He got in with a bit of leg kicking, then got up a bit before he braced himself to hold himself within the chute.
“Think it'll work?” she whispered.
“It will if you … shh …,” he urged, looking down and listening as best he could.
She fought a whimper as they hid inside the trash chute above the thug's heads. The thugs poked at the trash bin, banging it, then rooted around inside with the tips of their pistols. One even looked under it, then looked around. They could just make them out from their viewpoint.
“They may have slipped past us back there. Check the storm drain and that corner. Find that homeless guy who lives near and kick his ass. Shake him down to find out where the kids went.”
“You recognize them?” Ackerman demanded, panting. It had been a long time since he'd pushed his large frame that fast for that long. The kids could run; he'd give them that. But they couldn't run forever. Eventually he'd catch up to them. And when he did …
“Two small times,” Ed replied. “I don't know their names, but I've seen them around for years. The girl works at the diner I think. We can shake down the owner for a name.”
“Did they say antimatter? What do you think it's worth?”
“How should I know?” Ed demanded. “Do I look like an expert or sumthin’?” he demanded.
“Okay, okay. I'll call the big boss. See what he says. They said it's worth a lot.”
“Right,” Ed replied. “It'd better be. Boss wants a score, and it'll be our ass if this comes apart.”
“Then we better not let it,” Akeman growled.
Connie bit her lip as they overheard the thugs tell their boss about what it was. They heard the two thugs arguing and swearing as their voices faded with distance. Eventually they were gone.
“Good thing they didn't bother to look up in the chute,” Eric said softly. He looked up to Connie. His feline eyes could see very well in the dark. The girl was barely keeping it together. “They are trying to steal it,” Eric snarled, indignant once the coast was clear.
He looked over to Connie who was sobbing softly. “Look, it'll be all right,” he urged.
She brushed his arm off angrily. “No, it won't! You heard them! They'll shake down Tony to get my name. They'll ask around for where I live. It's only a matter of time before they show up knocking on my door!”
Eric grimaced as he pulled a hat out of his pocket. The hat had a black wig attached under it. He hadn't thought of that. He ran a hand through his hair before he put his hat back on. “Then you can't go back there. So it's a good thing you said you're moving in with me,” Eric said, only half joking. He took his coat off, turned it inside out, then put it on. He'd learned quite a few trick
s evading the cops over the years. A simple quick change of his looks threw off any pursuer if he could do it unobserved.
“Oh, gods of space, Wu!” Connie wailed, eyes wide.
“Wu?” he asked dubiously.
“The little Asian chick! She crashes at my pad on the weekends! She … they'll …”
“We can't worry about her. We have to worry about our own necks. She doesn't know anything, and she'll get off lightly.” He saw her bite her lip again. “Quit doing that, you'll bruise it or make it bleed.”
“Stuff it,” Connie snarled, fists clenched. She wrapped her arms around herself.
She kept looking over her shoulder as they exited the alley. Fortunately, it was near dark and quitting time. A lot of people were out and about. Kids were playing hopscotch; others were doing side deals or talking in knots. Eric made a show of exchanging brief hellos with a couple of them.
Eric took them on a roundabout route to his building. He even took her to the wrong one, climbed the stairs, and then they went through the hallway on the third floor. She frowned when he opened a window, looked around, then climbed out onto the fire escape.
“Wanna tell me what the …,” he shushed her.
“Right,” she sighed. She followed along as he led her across a narrow gang plank between buildings. He stopped and helped her across, then opened the window. Once inside he shut it behind him and then climbed the stairs.
She realized he was taking a long route to keep others from knowing which building that they were going to. Strangely that caution comforted her. She was still unsure about what to do, but his knowledge made her feel better, less alone, even if she still blamed him for getting her into the mess in the first place. “I wish I'd never gone to that damn auction,” she muttered before he shushed her.
---*---
“What do we do?” Ackerman demanded as they walked to the car. They'd lingered, staking the street out but it had been quitting time. Too many people had been out and about. There were too many brats out playing. A good airing out with his tommy gun he kept in Ed's trunk would clear the streets, but their prey would run with the rest of the rabbits.
