“I don’t even know what that is,” PA said.
“Something exotic for these parts.”
“Own a firearm yourself, dearie?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, it’s common knowledge the Big O was having it off with the Aerialist.”
“Is it now?”
“And seeing as how they’ve both kicked the bucket only a few weeks apart, one could get to wondering.”
“As one does,” the reporter mused. “Like why Sir Omphalos disbanded most of the Equalizers straight after the death of the Aerialist — yet kept within arm’s length the three members he trusted least.” She shook her head. “Anyway, enough recrimination. There’s a state funeral tomorrow. Are you going?”
“Haven’t been invited.”
“Funny, that.”
“Is she a Blando?” Jack quietly asked the Brick while the women traded barbs.
“What, Lois Lane here? No bloody way. This is her shtick — super snoop. A Cape without bein’ a Cape, so to speak.”
The reporter surveyed the carnage. “Back to the here and now, in case you’ve forgotten — there’s a crime to investigate. And I’d say, straight off the bat, this is the work of Iffy Bizness.”
“How do you figure that?” scoffed Pretty Amazonia.
“The high Blando death toll — plus he conveniently left his calling card over there.”
The woman pointed to a black, diagonal, oval-shaped sticker stuck on a street sign next to the crater. This sticker measured only a few centimetres across, with white writing, and was a fairly amateurish job.
“Could be old,” Pretty Amazonia feebly protested as she peered closer. “Huh.”
“Looks new to me — straight off the roll he carries with him.”
Some rotund city bureaucrat in a morning suit, spats, a pork pie hat and a plump red face waltzed over from the kerb, surrounded by an entourage of well-dressed cops. Their badges shone.
“Oh crap, it’s Big Bill,” observed Gypsie-Ann. “I’m out of here now. Service — tomorrow.”
As the reporter scuttled away on her heels, the fat man walked straight up to the Brick.
“Mayor Brown,” PA whispered to Jack.
“That’s his name?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose partly — the Brown bit — but he’s also the mayor of Heropa, dummy. Keep your ears open. You may learn something trivial.”
“He’s one of us?”
“Are you kidding? Blando-city. Shut up and watch.”
“Brick, Mister Brick,” Big Bill wailed like a Greek grandmother at a funeral. “The city needs you to bring to justice the fiend that did this!”
A swarm of cameramen had arrived and started taking pictures with large flashbulbs.
“In this moment of need,” the mayor now yodelled, holding two yellow-stained fingers heavenward, “we need the Equalizers!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the Brick muttered, unmoved, but then he rolled his baby blues once coerced into shaking the mayor’s hand before the press corps.
Mayor Brown edged closer still, and when he did Jack noticed the round, lightning bolt logo of the Equalizers on a small metal button affixed to his lapel. There were lots of small pinhole marks in the material around it, leading him to suspect the mayor frequently threw the badge on and off.
“Was that Miss Stellar I saw just now? Listen in…You couldn’t put in a good word with her, could you, on my behalf? She seems hell-bent on ruining my reputation. Some of the lies she prints — scandalous!”
“Same song and dance at every crime scene,” Pretty Amazonia was saying in a low voice. “Usually we let the Great White Hope handle Big Bill. Where is that loser, anyway?”
Jack wasn’t listening.
He was watching the so-called Blandos — police and ambulance staff — as they went about cleaning the surrounding mess. He’d seen something pass between these people, and could’ve sworn there was a scowl and a dark look or two thrown the Capes’ way.
Then he noticed it — a small black sphere, two-thirds the size of a soccer ball, on the ground a few yards away, with the same ‘if?’ from the sticker plastered on it. Jack went to pick up the ball, but recoiled before he touched its surface.
“Uh, guys…”
“What now?” PA complained when she, the Brick and the mayor looked his way.
Jack pointed out the object on the ground. “I think I found this Iffy Bizness.”
“Well, well,” the woman muttered, realization settling in. “Heads will roll…”
G0 WEST
#104