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killer shrike
Thu Feb 19, 2004 at 10:29:43 pm EST
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Mr. Epitome #24
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Mr. Epitome #24


“You Can Fight City Hall if You Have Half the Power of Superman”


Previously: Mayor of Gothametropolis Mark Hopkins decided not to lease land to Aeolus Wind Farms, a company owned by Harry Flask, the Lynchpin of Crime. Flask decides to make the young hero pay, and demands the help of Mr. Epitome, who has ties to the man’s business empire.


Artemis knew they were planning an ambush, but even she had not expected the scope of the operation. Six men, all with shotguns, were waiting for her atop Clannard Realty, where her target was supposedly putting in a late night at the office.

Edgar Clannard was a front man for the Crushed Velvet gang. His job was to take the drug lord’s profits and funnel it into respectable enterprises: apartment buildings, Laundromats, video stores, all supposedly owned by Clannard’s clients but in fact were part of Velvet’s own portfolio.

The set up was simple: one of Artemis’s informants came to her with word that Edgar Clannard was meeting with a lieutenant in the crime ring, a particularly ruthless skel named Rodney Bowes. This was meant to pique the vigilante’s interest and get her out in the open, where the men with the shotguns (all out of towners, she realized as she viewed them through her vision-enhancing fiber-optic blindfold) could finish her.

The half dozen contract killers waited on the roof of Clannard, huddling low, hoping they would not be visible from adjacent rooftops. They underestimated the range of her sensory tech; she spotted them from a quarter-mile away.

The “meeting” was to be at 11:30. Artemis waited an extra 15 minutes out of hope Bowes would be stupid enough to put in an appearance. He wasn’t, and the archer made her move, swinging over to a closer building. Neither she nor the torpedoes could see one another, but Charlotte Ouk raised her bow at a high angle and lobbed six opaque broadhead arrows to where she last viewed the skulking men. She would have been happy to hit one, but she smiled at the trio of distinct cries as the arrows found their mark.

Three out of six: that’s batting .500. You got to the Hall of Fame with numbers like that.

The men kept screaming, which to Artemis was a good sign. It meant none of her strikes were kill shots. She cast another swingline arrow to connect to the building. The micro-motors in the shaft had enough torque to reel her in, but problems soon surfaced.

A thug popped up over the edge of the roof. He wasn’t looking her way yet. As the young woman rapidly winched into his gun’s range she let go of the cord and fired another round. The goon’s shoulder was perforated by the shaft, and he dropped. Artemis started to fall as well, her momentum carrying her slightly forward but not close enough to reach out and grab a handhold to the four story structure. She nocked an arrow to hit another building, hoping the swingline would prevent her from hitting the earth. As Charlotte swung away from the wall and the ground a blur of movement caught her eye. Something moving faster than her arrows stormed the roof. There were the sounds of a short, messy struggle.

Artemis yanked her swingline arrow from the brick and recast it towards the Clannard building. Soon she was on the roof, unhappy with what she saw.

“I didn’t need your help,” she told Glory, the Pooch of Power.

The dog loped after Charlotte as she walked about the roof, picking up her used arrows. Since leaving Arizona the young archer was operating on a limited budget. She noticed Glory had made sure all the men were disabled, their weapons destroyed.

“What are you doing here anyway? Is Epitome in town?” Artemis said over her shoulder.

The Border collie nodded, “He wants to speak with you.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand doggerel,” Artemis wiped down her arrows, “Tell your master Paradopolis is my home now. I’m not going back to the ranch and I sure as Hell have no use for him.”

Glory didn’t like being told she had a master. She liked the smell of blood and fear even less, and would have said something if she though it would have made a difference. With a flick of her tail she bounded off.

“Bitch,” Artemis muttered as she checked the severity of the men’s’ wounds. None were fatal, but she picked up her cell and dialed 911 anyway. She was curious to see how Edgar Clannard would explain six injured assasins on his property. Then she set off, her precision mind trying to hit on a way to deal with this new complication life threw at her.

*****


The threadbare staff for the Committee to Recall Mark Hopkins worked late as well. The young, fresh faced operatives were unpacking supplies and installing phone lines for their brand new office. Jay Aaron himself was sprawled on the floor putting together one of the group’s recently purchased modular desks when a visitor strode in.

She was runway model tall, with ink black hair that was braided down to her haunches. Her face had a slightly Asian cast, and she was dressed (for once) in conservative business attire. Aaron pretended not to recognize her.

“Mr. Aaron. I’m Ms. Gee. You were expecting me?”

Aaron stood and nodded, “Let’s talk in my office.”

Once the door was closed the woman began, “It is upsetting we meet under such pedestrian circumstances, Mr. Epitome.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Two warriors, forced to engage in such a ridiculous ruse-” she began to explain.

“Ms. Gee,” the man interrupted, “I am very busy. Do you want to know how the operation is progressing?”

The woman’s features hardened at being cut off so, but she nodded, “You may speak.”

“The recall petitions go out tomorrow. I anticipate we’ll get the 50,000 signatures required for a new election in four days.”

“That seems optimistic. Gothametropolis residents are blasé when it comes to politics. It’s how spiffy was elected in the first place.”

“Perhaps. We have contacts on WOLF Talk Radio to help promote the issue. Also, we’ll be giving out ‘walking around money’ to some local ministers and union reps to persuade their people to sign up. After that it’s thirty days until the election,” he handed Ms. Gee a folder, “This is the candidate I suggest we run against Mayor Hopkins: Sherman Shales. He’s a doctor, and a Gulf War vet. Shales never held office, but he’s a Deacon in his church and he’s part of the PTA for his children’s’ school. Married twenty three years, and an excellent public speaker. Probably too conservative to win in a regular election in the city but with something like this he’s got a real chance.”

“And he’s willing to work for Mr. Flask?” Ms. Gee got to the heart of the matter.

“He supports the Aeolus Wind Farm deal in principle,” Aaron said vaguely.

The woman was unimpressed, “We want someone in the office we can trust. Somebody who won’t try to interfere with who really controls this city.”

“Fine. Then run the Deputy Mayor or some other hack already in the Lynchpin’s pocket who doesn’t stand a chance of winning.”

“Or we could stop playing games and simply execute the little worm and be rid of spiffy once and for all.”

“Yes, because that plan has worked so well in the past,” Jay Aaron snapped, “This is a political problem and it requires a political solution. If you or your boss keeps thinking like super villains this will fail.”

There was a knock at the office door. One of the Committee “volunteers” poked his head in, “Boss, I need the car. Kinko’s called and said the flyers are ready.”

Jay Aaron, still watching the angry woman he just lambasted, fished a set of keys from his own pocket, “Take my rental. Zachary has the Navigator.”

“Where is he going?”

“The airport,” Jay replied before speaking to Ms. Gee one last time, “We’re done here. I’ll send you daily updates on our progress, but it would be best if you stayed out of my way until this is over.”

The statuesque brunette gave him a hard smile, “Until it’s over, then,” she said before leaving.

“Wow,” the smitten worker said in appreciation of her exit, “Is she joining the staff?”

“Not if I can help it,” Aaron muttered. He dismissed the agent, and then went to look at the map of Gothametropolis hanging on his office wall. The city was broken down into its political districts, with different color pushpins representing areas of strength and weakness. The one black pin, which represented the Gothametropolis Squire, concerned him. The paper was just one wild card that could keep him from bringing the city the government it deserved. Mayor Hopkins’s associates were another. Hopefully the “specialist” he was having flown in would be able to deal with such random elements.

*****


Nils Memorial Airport

Zachary waited at the baggage carousel for the man he was supposed to bring back to Gothametropolis. He had been told what to expect by Mr. Aaron but even forewarned the sight of the pot-bellied man in rhinestones and Stetson took him aback. The man moseyed up to the Swathmore grad as he held up the sign bearing the name “Mr. Eagleton.”

“Ah reckon you’re lookin’ for me,” the man said to Zach. His eyes were concealed by sunglasses, but there was no way to hide his good humor, “You Mr. Aaron?”

“Uh, no sir. He’s back in GMY. My name is Zach Wills.”

“Heh. Stands to reason the Big bug ain’t gonna drive such a fair way just to meet a four flusher like myself. Well, Zach Wills, let’s go hustle up my gear.”

Zach helped the man with his guitar case and luggage, then the two headed to the garage.

“You’ll be staying at the Gothametropolis Marriot. Everything is paid for,” Zach handed Eagleton a pager, “Just make sure you keep this with you at all times. In case you’re needed.”

“That sounds as fine as cream gravy. Stayed in a Marriot when ah helped you boys with the shindy in Broward County back in ‘ought ought. That was a hog-killin’ time, Ah tell you what.”

“Uh, right,” Zach nodded, “You might, um, want to keep a low profile while in town. We don’t want to draw too much attention to what we’re up to.”

Carlsbad Carl, the Albino Probability Cowboy, laughed, “Shoot, son, you been listenin’? This ain’t the first time Ah seen the elephant. Everything in this chisel will be according to Hoyle.”

Unless I get bored, he concluded to himself.

*****


“You rang?” Messenger asked the Dark Knight after he let himself in to the vacant apartment. The soundproofed room was one of the postman’s places he brought uncooperative witnesses.

The cowled vigilante nodded brusquely, “I think the Lynchpin is going to try and make a move on Hopkins as payback for refusing to sign off on the Aeolus lease.”

Messenger smiled, “I didn’t think you gave two shits about spiffy, DK.”

“I don’t. But if Flask slips up and leaves any fingerprints on his play then we’re one step closer to bringing him down.”

“Right,” the postman adjusted his satchel, “You gonna contact our partner about this?”

Messenger was referring to the third member of their little Trifecta, a mysterious armored stranger who shared similar goals.

“I already have,” DK replied. The man claimed he would be examining the case from a different track

“Did you convince him to give in and choose a code name yet? I mean, it’s only fair. You fight crime, you wear a costume, you need a goofy nickname.”

“Give me a list of suggestions and I’ll pass it on,” the Dark Knight headed for the fire escape, “Oh, by the way, did you hear about the brawl across the river? Artemis took out six of Velvet’s goons.”

“Nicely done. Everything I’ve heard about her I like. Maybe we should see if she’s interested in teaming up.”

The Dark Knight growled, “I don’t do kid sidekicks. Especially those connected with OPS.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her police file has been tagged as Confidential by the Office of Paranormal Security. The Paradopolis PD has been told to stay clear of her. She has powerful friends,” the shadowy figure leapt off.

Elsewhere, others were discussing the young archer, in terms that were not quite as flattering.

“The broad’s dicked me over for the last time!” Crushed Velvet ranted from his recliner. Of the twin cities’ collection of colorful mobsters, Velvet was one of the more grotesque. Born Rudy Valvette, the young wise guy ran afoul of Harry Flask back when the Lynchpin took a more active role in his criminal empire. The big man personally broke every bone in the criminal’s body, before spending a small fortune to make sure he lived in order to better appreciate the lesson taught him. Velvet’s last eight years have been one of bed sores and thorazine drips. Still, his canny mind made him one of the Big Banana’s more successful crime lords.

He flailed his mangled arm impatiently, “I try to avoid the superheroes. Usually, if you stay out of their sandbox, they ignore you. So we keep things simple. No power grabs. No gang wars. No costumes.”

The visitor shifted in his seat, “Until now.”

“Right. The boys from Chicago got their asses handed to them. Turns out Artemis can do more than shoot her little arrows. She can turn into some kind of wolf too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, what the hell did I do to deserve this? I got some psycho archer werewolf chick trying to shut me down. For what? Don’t she know what happens if I get got? A half a dozen mooks will think it’s their turn at the top spot, guys like Davy Thumbless or the Asiago Brothers. Then the shooting starts, and things get bad for everyone,” Velvet waited as one of his nurses wiped his dented face clean of the spittle accumulated from his tirade, then he continued, “So I’m hiring you to stop her. Whack this broad before she does any more damage.”

“Sure,” Killer Shrike smiled as he sharpened his talons, “I’ll consider it my civic duty.”

Next time: The mudslinging starts. Epitome gives Artemis an offer she can’t refuse. The cowboy throws his hat into the ring. And Killer Shrike tries to live up to his name. Coming next week.




Post script: If you need a translation for some of Carl’s idioms, try here:

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