“Prob’ly helps havin’ Gypsie-Ann an’ the Patriot remind ’em in the mornin’ paper.”
“Maybe that’s the answer.”
Jack noted six sturdy police officers carrying the casket. A flag was draped across the top of this box, but not the Equalizers banner as he expected. Instead, he made out a navy blue number with a sailing ship dead centre inside a yellow rope, two crossed swords behind that, and several golden stars around the lot.
“What’s the flag?”
“Heropa City’s.”
“Why not the Equalizers’ one?”
“Dunno. Didn’t ask us t’be pallbearers, neither,” the Brick complained.
“Or choose the music. This dirge is killing me.”
While the others continued their complaints unabated, Jack focused on the ceremony unfolding below.
He could see anguish en masse, one very public display of emotion that affected him in ways he hadn’t expected. Pretty Amazonia was right. These people did adore the Big O.
“Will you guys shut up?” he muttered.
#106
Turned out the Equalizers had to pay their rent for the penthouse aerie on the second of every month. Given how mundane banking could be, and the fact that dealing with Blandos was boring at the best of times, they rotated the chore. Jack’s recent apprenticeship meant he jumped to the top of the short queue.
“The Blandos won’t remember whether or not we settled up last month,” Pretty Amazonia told him as she handed over an ox-leather, Dinah-brand Gladstone belted with lanyards, “but it’s our duty to be honest.”
When he opened the bag Jack spied stacks of one hundred dollar notes. There had to be thousands of bucks in there.
“Want to count?” the woman inquired, having taken stock of his observation.
“No, I trust you. Why d’you trust me?”
“Well, what are you going to do with money that’s only legal tender in Heropa? Skip out downtown? By the way, you might want to be more discreet.”
“Huh?” Jack thought she meant about theft.
“The costume.”
“What about it?”
“Usually we wear civvies out there on the streets when we’re not on active duty.”
“Why? The Blandos care?”
“I wouldn’t give a toss if they chucked a wobbly, but this is one of our customs. We play by old comicbook rules, secret identity and all, even if it’s a given the secret doesn’t matter. Brick’s suits will be ten times too big for you, but I’m sure we can nick one of the Big O’s outfits — he won’t need them again — just till we get a tailor in to cut something specific.”
“I don’t know if I dig the idea of wearing a dead-man’s duds.”
“You’ll live.”
Jack looked at the woman’s fine head of purple hair crowning her height. “I almost hate to ask, but given the colour and length of that mane, how d’you play it straight — and how do you hide seven feet?”
She gave him a lopsided smile — it could have meant anything from jest to warning. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
#107
Jack was in a line behind several grey-looking, inconsequential types. No wonder the Equalizers called them Blandos.
He yawned and stared instead at the architecture holding up the domed ceiling dozens of metres above. Now that was impressive. Not just the masonry, but also the sense of depth. So much space would never be found in Melbourne, not with its twenty million forlorn souls squeezed into every nook and cranny.
A row of six ceiling fans up there spiralled slowly, creating a pleasant draft, but the back of his neck ached from all the craning, so Jack looked down and straight ahead to see how much longer he would be stuck in this place.
The man in front of Jack peeled away in silence, not so much as a “thank you” to the girl behind the grille.
Which placed Jack at the front of the queue, one hand on the counter, gazing at the girl behind the grille as she gazed back at him.
He lost everything in mind — the banking, the building, other people, the money in the bag, how to breathe. Behind tortoiseshell cat’s eye spectacles all he saw were a pair of wonderful, emerald-green eyes, the most precious articles in the world. In any world.
“May I help you, sir?”
It took Jack a second to realize she’d asked this, and he prayed she hadn’t been forced to repeat the jingle while he was knocked out — in thrall to her peepers. The comment at least kick-started his diaphragm.
“Yeah. Sure. I — um — I’d like to make a deposit.”
Jack wished he’d worn only his costume so she might have enthused —“Oh, you’re one of those wonderful heroes, aren’t you, the Equalizers?” — but instead he had over the top a herringbone wool three-piece suit by Walter Plunkett that was too roomy and garnered no reaction whatsoever.