Unlike the room behind him, the tunnel ahead was pitch black, with absolutely no light to guide someone making their way through the passage. The best they could hope to do without a flashlight was to stumble forward on the path as it sloped upward. However, thanks to his night vision, he could see even better in the tunnel than he did in the room behind him.
He had a few dozen yards before he got to the end of the tunnel but he wasn’t in much of a hurry. He used the walk to the end of the passage to psych himself up, get his mind focused on the task at hand. It reminded him of every walk to the ring from the locker room. The only difference on nights like these as opposed to nights like those was that he wasn’t facing one man in the boxing ring; he was taking on the entire city.
The tunnel ended after about a minute and terminated in a door identical to the one at the entrance of his hideout. Once again punching in a code and shouldering the big metal door open, he found himself standing in a dark alley with his exit obscured by a pair of dumpsters and their overflowing detritus.
The city’s brisk night air wrapped around him and carried the smells of the city to his nose – garbage, stagnant water, fast food.
The distant sounds of Newtown Street welcomed him. Cars and buses mainly. It was still too early for the usual rabble to flood the street but there was a high possibility that a few early birds were out and about.
Night after night of starting his evening like this had drilled a number of healthy habits into the vigilante. He scanned the dark alley to make sure he was unobserved. He quieted his breathing to listen for anything amiss in the space around him. He made sure to not move the boxes, lengths of wood, and garbage too much so that he didn’t risk exposing the tunnel door.
Completing his “pre-fight” ritual, he reached into his utility belt to withdraw his grapple gun. He took aim at the edge of the building overhead and pulled the trigger.
Pfft.
The gun’s CO2 cartridge discharged and sent the sturdy hook and line flying toward the ledge.
Clink.
The hook seized the rooftop.
Whizz.
He hit the button to retract the line and felt the rush of having his two hundred and thirty pounds ripped off of the ground and pulled skyward.
A fraction of a second later and he was standing on the edge of the building, the alley below him, and the city stretching out for miles on end. He could see the Ring Leader a block and a half away from his perch. It was actually one of the shorter buildings in the neighborhood. Still, the bigger buildings that made up Bay City’s skyline were farther away from the inner city, titans made of metal and glass standing watch over the city’s commerce and tourism.
“Alright, let’s get this night started.”
Shadowboxer broke out into a run, heading full tilt for the opposite side of the building. Every patrol started like this: a lung full of air, a heart full of determination, and a leap of faith.
He bounded from the building and fired the grapple gun again.
The gun’s hook latched onto a fire escape across the street and he let his momentum carry him into a wild arc above the street below.
The black figure sailed upward, retracting the hook on his ascent, and fired again without missing a beat. The hook met his new target without trouble and he repeated the process until he had climbed over ten stories and come to rest on one of his favorite ledges overlooking the city.
Shadowboxer called all of Bay City his home but his neighborhood, the place where he laid his head, was his favorite part of the city. He was born and raised there. He went to school there. He fell in love for the first time in that neighborhood. He had his first heartbreak in that neighborhood. His patrols carried him all over the city, from Oxonburg to Rickettville to Crystal Heights, but he always made sure to focus his attention and energy on his little slice of the city before he pushed on to see what new danger the city had to throw at him.
He made up his mind to spiral outward tonight. That way, he’d get a chance to peer into every alley on his way out to the bigger city beyond.
Descending from the building toward the city below, he went to work.
The first forty-five minutes were quiet. Well, as quiet as you can expect swinging above a city by a cable eleven stories above the street.
He landed quietly on a roof to catch his breath and check the CO2 cartridge on the gun when he heard a noise below.
“Leave me alone,” came a woman’s voice.
“Why you gotta be like that, ma,” a man’s voice countered.
“Be like what?” she shot back. “I was minding my business. You fools came at me.”
“Fools?” a second man asked. “Haha. See? This is the problem with these females, Teddy. They got big mouths and nothing to back it up.”
“True, true. Haha.”
“I said, leave me alone!”
Shadowboxer approached the edge of the roof above the scene and peered down into the gloom of the alley. It was about what he expected. A pretty young woman, alone, being approached by a handful of guys that looked like they didn’t know how to speak to a woman, let alone show her a good time.
The crime fighter couldn’t stand a bully and he liked five of them even less. He fought the urge to descend on them immediately, but reminded himself that he hadn’t lasted this long by just jumping into a fight without sizing up the competition.
Five men: two heavily muscled and over six feet tall, one on the soft and pudgy side but even taller than the other two, and two shorter men, one with a runner’s physique and the other with the build of an amateur bodybuilder.
He didn’t anticipate any trouble but he knew he’d have to keep his eyes open for any weapons they might carry.
“C’mon girl. Be cool and hang with us,” a third man, the pudgy one pleaded.
“What part of ‘Leave me alone’ don’t you understand?”
The men broke out in laughter at her frustration.
Shadowboxer, having seen enough and not wanting to run the risk of it getting out of hand, hooked his grapple gun to the ledge at his feet and leapt outward and downward to the alley below.
“Look,” the short bodybuilder started, “We’ll overlook how rude you’re being if you just calm down and kick it with us. Damn, didn’t your momma ever…”
His words were cut short as the large, heavily muscled, black-clad shape of the Shadowboxer landed heavily between the group of men and the young woman.
“I believe,” Shadowboxer intoned in a voice that sounded like boiling gravel, “that the young lady here asked you to leave her alone.”
Silence.
The Shadowboxer’s reputation preceded him in Bay City. From one side of town to the other, folks had heard about the dark protector that wasn’t above laying hands on any criminal he came across.
Everyone knew he didn’t play around and he didn’t do second chances.
“Y-Y-You right,” the stout man replied.
“Yes, I am right,” Shadowboxer menaced.
The men moved as one to back out of the alley and leave the vigilante and the young woman in peace.
“Stop,” Shadowboxer said.
They stopped in unison, frozen in their tracks.
“I know your faces,” he continued, “I’ll know your names by the end of the night. I suggest you walk a tightrope from here on out. If you don’t…”
He punctuated his sentence by driving his gloved fist into the wall to his right, leaving a fist-shaped indentation in the brick and mortar.
The girl yelped in surprise and a little bit of fear.
Even in the darkness of the alley, his face completely covered by the black material of his mask, the five toughs could see the unmistakable smile of the vigilante. Every one of them knew he was hoping for an excuse.
Without ceremony, and with no care for their fellows, all five of them turned and ran as fast and as far away as they could.
Shadowboxer was satisfied with the result and grateful for the additi
onal protection his glove afforded his hand.
“Th-Thank you,” the young woman offered to the back of the man who had saved her.
She had a very hard time hiding her fear when the much larger masked man turned to regard her.
“Are you okay,” he asked, his voice much softer than it had been when he spoke to her assailants.
This had an obvious effect on her. She relaxed a bit.
“I think so, yeah.”
“Good. You know, things could’ve gone a lot differently if I hadn’t shown up when I had.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she replied.
With that she opened her purse and reached in.
Shadowboxer’s vision let him see much clearer than the streetlight overhead would have allowed. He made out the grip on what could only be a revolver, a .38 Special. He did his best to stifle a surprised look, not even sure his mask would hide it from the young woman.
“A girl has to take care of herself out here,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes, yes she does.”
“But still, thank you, for stepping in. Not a whole lot of men would do what you just did for me.”
“It was my pleasure. Are you going to be all right from here? Do you need me to escort you—”?
“No, I’m fine,” she interrupted.
“Good.”
“Charise.”
“Excuse me?”
“Charise, that’s my name.”
“Oh, okay.”
Shadowboxer hadn’t even thought to ask. He never really thought to ask anyone he saved, he realized.
“Nice to meet you, Charise. I’m…”
“You’re the Shadowboxer,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re the masked man that punches people in the dead of night.”
He nodded.
“Well, I appreciate everything you did tonight.”
“So you’ve said,” he retorted.
Charise closed her purse and slung it over her shoulder.
Shadowboxer stepped aside as she made her way past him toward the street beyond.
“You know, you might…” she started, but when she turned around the vigilante was gone.
“Damn.”
Shadowboxer cleared the roof and launched immediately into a run. Good deeds like that, where he didn’t have to throw a punch, were few and far between but he appreciated them. He didn’t put on the suit to punish the people of the city but to protect them. If those five idiots could be dissuaded with a threat or two he was more than happy to settle for that. But he hadn’t lied. He fully intended to look them up, learn their names, and even check out their criminal records. They got off easy tonight but he didn’t rule out having to hunt them down tomorrow evening.
He knew he still had another couple hours on his patrol and had no expectations for a night full of similar encounters. Bay City almost always found an opponent for him.
Much to his surprise, the remaining hours of his patrol were uneventful. He didn’t come across any scenes that needed his intervention and his mask’s police scanner/communicator didn’t yield any situations where the Shadowboxer’s unique brand of justice might apply.
Winding his way back home, he found himself swinging past a familiar apartment tenement building. It was Yellowbrook Apartments, the seven-floor building where Curtis lived with his mother, father, and two younger sisters.
Swinging by the building from five stories above, he had a clear view of the roof and could easily make out a small assemblage in the darkness.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was needed there.
“Let’s see what we have here.”
He adjusted his course and was soon swinging toward the roof of the apartment building. He made sure to approach unseen and landed on the roof with barely a sound. He tucked the grapple gun back into his belt and began the swift and stealthy approach to get within earshot of the group.
He could see them long before he could hear them and he made out a group of men and teenagers on the roof. There were twelve in total. They wore heavy coats and wool caps. Shadowboxer couldn’t help but be a little surprised. Sure, the air was cooler for that time of year but these guys were dressed for the dead of winter.
“—said you were on the level,” came the first voice to hit his ears. It belonged to an older man, likely one with at least a decade on Shadowboxer himself. He was large, with a bigger and even more muscular frame than even Shadowboxer’s. He looked like he knew his way around a brawl and it was easy to see how most people would be intimidated by him.
Most people.
“Yeah.” The voice was several years younger and sounded very familiar to the hero’s ears, “I’m on the level. I mean, I’m down.”
If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn it was Curtis, his student from the Ring Leader Gym. But, since he had super night vision and not super hearing, he figured he’d give himself room to doubt.
Shadowboxer continued to draw nearer, taking position behind an HVAC unit about four yards away from the group. His black costume helped him blend with the shadows and he was absolutely sure that no one in attendance would see him unless he wanted them to.
“Good, good,” the older man said.
“Yeah, Big G,” another young voice chimed in. “My boy Curt is down for whatever. He can help us move this weight.”
That clenched it. Curtis, a good kid, was on this rooftop in the dead of night with a bunch of men who didn’t sound like they had anything good planned for this, or any other, evening. He searched his memory for the name “Big G,” trying to figure out if it was one he had come across while reading police reports or shaking down criminal informants over the last couple of years. He came up with nothing.
“You keep telling me that, Omar, but I need proof your boy is with it. I mean, anybody can say they’ll do that dirt but I gotta check under the fingernails. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“I got it,” Curtis, instead of his friend, answered flatly.
Shadowboxer felt his stomach lurch at what he heard.
“Oh, alright. Big man here thinks he’s ready to be a God of War, huh?”
“Hell yeah he is,” Omar, a boy that only looked slightly older than Curtis, shot at the man.
“Alright, alright,” Big G wore a wry smile on his face, “Let me confer with my associates here. See what they think of this.”
With that Big G turned away from the two teens and he and his nine cohorts huddled up a couple of yards away.
Their low murmurs and ironic chuckles were all the boys could make out. Shadowboxer could hear even less from his position.
The men, all ranging from late teens to however old Big G was, kept this up for about five minutes. They’d take the time to turn and regard the boys, some pointing and laughing, others looking incredibly stern and serious.
Shadowboxer kept fighting the sinking feeling in his gut. He was immediately glad that he followed his intuition and made the detour to the roof. Now, he just had to be patient to see what he, and Curtis, was up against.
The huddle dispersed and Big G turned to regard the teenagers. His posse stood at his back, looking grim and determined and waited for their leader to speak.
“Okay, so this is how it’s gonna go,” he started, his crooked smile betraying him, “We’re the Gods of War, right?”
He waited for the teens to answer.
“Yeah,” Omar said confidently.
“Right,” Curtis answered.
“Well,” Big G continued, “Gods demand sacrifices. You know that much, right?”
“Y-Yeah,” Curtis answered, confused.
“Damn straight,” Omar retorted.
“Good, good. Since you know that, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.”
He held out both of his hands to his sides. Two of his men stepped forward, reached into their out of season coats, and produced a pawn shop nine-millimeter each. They placed the guns in Big G’s hands and stepped back, all without saying a wor
d and without even a change of their facial expression.
Big G stepped toward the boys and offered each of them a gun.
Omar didn’t hesitate.
Curtis, to his credit, looked very unsure and tentatively reached out toward the firearm.
“Don’t do it, Curt,” Shadowboxer found himself muttering under his breath.
“Go on, kid, take it,” Big G egged on as he gestured the gun toward Curtis.
Curtis took the gun but a look of regret immediately settled on his young features.
Dammit, Shadowboxer thought.
“Good man. Now, since gods demand a sacrifice and, well, the Gods of War aren’t looking to open up a damn intern program…”
A bout of raucous laughter exploded behind Big G, his men dropping their stern facades in order to enjoy a good laugh at the boys’ expense.
“Since we’re not looking to have a bunch of kids weighing us down here in the BC,” the gang leader continued after his companions’ managed to rein in their laughter. “We’re gonna need you boys to prove who’s the most down; who’s the most ready to bring war to this city.”
“You don’t mean,” Curtis’ voiced trailed off as the realization washed over him.
“Damn straight,” Big G fired back.
“But, but, Omar is my friend,” Curtis spoke up weakly.
“Yeah, he is,” Big G offered in a voice as cold and as hard as ice. “Yeah, he is.”
The two boys turned to regard one another. Curtis’ face was a mask of fear, apprehension, pain, all of the emotions you’d expect to see on a fourteen year old’s face when you tell him you want him to kill his friend.
Omar’s expression, however, was one of grim determination, like that of an executioner who just got today’s assignment. He was ready to do what he had to do.
“Omar,” Curtis said weakly, afraid to look his friend in the eye.
“It’s nothing personal, Curt,” was all Omar bothered to say.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Big G said with a broad grin, “Boys, we’re looking at some real Gods of War material here. Pop him, Omar!”
Black Power- The Superhero Anthology Page 24
