Who is Killing the Great Capes of Heropa(11)
“Damn straight.”
“Like Christmas decorations,” Pretty Amazonia helped out.
“Now you’re losing me.”
“Well, this’s a huge city, right? Room enough fer millions of souls? Includin’ the Rotters, there’re about fifty o’ us,” advised the Brick. “It’d be pretty damned mundane an’ empty if the Capes were the only inhabitants.”
“And wouldn’t be so much fun without an audience?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“The Capes being people like us? Heroes.”
Pretty Amazonia went to the barrier and crouched there, looking out over the city. A late afternoon sun was creating big shadows thrown by nearby skyscrapers. “The villains are also Capes — it’s anyone endowed with a special gift.”
“A gift?”
“Power.”
“And these villains are members of the group you mentioned earlier — what was it, a League of Unrequited Rotters?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Unmitigated Rotters.”
“Unmitigated, yeah.”
“Think I prefer unrequited,” said the Brick. “Better bookend fer Equalizers.”
“So what’s the story with them?”
“The usual pleasantries — world domination, oppression o’ the innocent, an’ lust fer a bucketful o’ gold doubloons.”
“Led by Black Owl and his right-hand femme fatale Babushka, owner of outrageously bad Russian pronunciation.” Pretty Amazonia stood up straight and stretched her legs. “You think her accent’s real, Mister B? Sounds phony to me.”
“If it’s real, I’m Rock Hudson — boom-boom!”
The Brick laughed to himself, and then checked in the chuckles when he espied a blank expression apiece.
“Geddit? The actor? Rock Hudson? …Oh, come on! You peeps need t’brush up on yer old movies — Sheesh.”
“Don’t worry about Mister B,” PA confided. “His jokes are forever falling flat.”
“Right,” Jack said. “So let me get this straight — the Rotters are the bad guys? And our job is to stop them?”
“Mostly. Sometimes we play poker together when things get humdrum. Watch out fer Iffy Bizness — he’s a devil with a deck o’ cards. Cheats a lot.”
“Yep, the arsehole’s always trying to convince me to play strip-poker,” Pretty Amazonia threw their way. She was waltzing toward the building, hefting several empty jugs.
The Brick paid too much attention to the woman’s derrière, and then looked at Jack with what he took, amidst the rubble, to be a conspiratorial expression.
“She likes you, kid.”
Jack leaned forward on the seat, fingering his lower lip between thumb and forefinger as he thought. “Is that a good thing?”
“Why ask me? Ain’t nothin’ more than a rollin’ stone.”
Jack held his gaze. “I have a feeling you know a helluva lot more than you like to admit.”
“Awright, awright. Maybe yer onto somethin’, or mebbe I’m thick as a proverbial brick — you decide.” The man nodded in the direction of the open door while his voice dropped to a surprisingly soft level. “But be careful.”
“Dangerous?” Jack quizzed with equal subtlety.
“Very.”
“Neither of you boys knows how much.”
Jack leapt up just as the Brick very nearly toppled over — where an instant before there was open space and furtive camaraderie, Pretty Amazonia had placed herself between the two men, a hand on each of their faces.
“Fu—!”
Far quicker than a flash, the woman’s fingers covered Jack’s mouth.
“Hush. No swearing, darling, you know the rules. You’ll get kicked out of here.”
Those intensely purple eyes were close to his, wandering up and down. Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she also scared the willies out of him. This performance made Jack wonder if people had queued up to leave the Equalizers.
“Flippin’ heck!” the Brick grouched as he pulled himself together. “I hate it when you do that!”
“You’ll live,” Pretty Amazonia said, still staring at Jack. She carefully removed from his lips one finger at a time. “No cussing?”
“Zero.”
Jack backed away several inches, heart still racing.
“So, anyway,” he said, shakily at first, “the Big O disbanded the Equalizers, hanging on to a skeleton crew to keep up appearances. What happened to the others?”
Pretty Amazonia considered for a few seconds, and then sighed. “They’re still around, freelancing. Pop up now and then.”