“I’ll give you a lift,” the reporter said.
“Thanks, that’d be great. You coming, Brick?”
“Nah, not sure I could control meself. By the by, y’better change clothes, junior — much as you look dashin’ in them there hospital duds.”
“Suit?”
“Costume.”
“Fuck that.”
“Nada. Judge Fargo’s explicit orders, an’ even I don’t go up against that fella. He has a wrath that puts Khan’s t’shame.”
“Straight?”
“Fair dinkum.”
“All right, all right — now I’m on edge, but no mask. Everyone knows what I look like. Where the hell is the outfit, anyway?”
The Brick lobbed a plastic bag onto his lap.
“Thing was a torn-up mess after the accident, but PA got Phineas to fix a newbie fer ya. Looks better’n ever. He even added in the missing star.”
#155
They barrelled up at City Hall some time around seven-thirty and were thereafter escorted to the basement by two uniforms bearing bronze badges that read Sydney Nicholls and James Bancks. Otherwise, the duo aped mute or declined to speak.
Jack noticed the poster with its ‘Cape-Free Zone’ motif as they walked through cluttered space on the way to the holding cells. Captain Robert Kahn was awaiting them there, a warm expression planted on his face amidst the overall chill.
Nicholls and Bancks made themselves scarce, leaving the visitors with Kahn and Forbush.
“Stellar.” The police captain nodded at the woman.
“Kahn,” she said, returning the gesture, with a smile attached.
“Jack.”
“Bob.” The two men shook hands.
“Irv,” Jack added, but was greeted with silence.
Kahn moved straight on. “Thanks for coming.”
“Ta for the invite.”
“I’m his plus-one,” appended the reporter.
“Remarkably lively, for a corpse. Thought you would’ve been two feet under by now — you looked on death’s door yesterday, when the medics carted you out of that antique store.”
“I recover quick. Don’t sound so sad.”
“Freak,” Detective Forbush finally growled under the moustache, from his guard-position by a nearby metal door.
“Shut up, Irv.”
“Right you are, boss.”
“Anyway,” Kahn reflected, “one less case for us, and one less murder on the old man’s rap-sheet.”
Jack stopped before a large glass window — standard issue police interrogation room stuff, no doubt with a mirrored surface on the flipside — that looked onto a bland, Spartan room brightly lit with fluorescent globes. The only furniture there was a table, two chairs, and a pint-sized old man.
“Do you have some kind of bugging/intercom device for the room?” the Equalizer asked.
“We have this.”
Kahn opened a cupboard to reveal a batch of wires, a single speaker, and a German Magnetophon reel-to-reel that was already recording, spooling a 7-inch reel of1 ⁄ 4 -inch-wide Fe 2 O 3 tape.
“Switch it off.”
“What?”
“I said switch it off — or I’m out of here.”
Kahn studied the other man’s face for several seconds. “I could lose my job or my other eye if something untoward goes down in there. You’re not planning to do anything untoward, are you?”
“Trust me.”
“Not the easiest thing to do when it comes to your garden- variety Capes.”
Jack nodded. “I know — so let me take responsibility.” He reached over to rip out all the wiring. The speaker fell off the wall and the Magnetophon stopped rolling.
“Untoward,” said Gypsie-Ann from over his shoulder.
Kahn inspected the damage and tut-tutted. “Judge Fargo won’t be happy.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Think he’ll already have complaints about my choice of wardrobe — sorry.”
“Tell him that. He demanded something for the Grand Jury tomorrow.”
“I’ll get the Professor to talk to you. Let’s see what he wants with me first.” Jack went to the door but found Detective Forbush’s arm blocking his path.
“You hurt him, I hurt you,” again growled the officer. Jack wondered whether, were he to shave off the moustache, he’d still be able to do that.
“Shut up, Irv,” Kahn ordered.
“No,” the Equalizer responded as he looked at both men. “Irv’s right. I’m glad to see the Prof is being looked after. Thanks.”
With that, Jack opened up, strolled into the other room, and shut the door.
Gypsie-Ann flew straight to the looking glass, pressing her nose close.
“What’re you doing, Stellar?”