Who is Killing the Great Capes of Heropa(98)
Pretty Amazonia downed half her own glass, and then pulled a face. “You make me feel like that survivor of the three hundred Spartans.”
“Aristodemus? He actually skipped out on the final battle — eye infection. That’s how he lived.”
“Figures. Maybe that’ll be my excuse. When the system is Reset and we can get out of here,” Jack looked at the reporter over his glass, “are you staying?”
“Bet your life I am. Someone has to tell the stories, and thereby keep the perverse spirit of heroism alive.”
“This wasn’t heroism. It was madness.”
“Precisely — aside from the actions of three people I know right here, Jack. Cheers. Which brings me to my real reason for popping in to hound you all.”
“What, I thought hounding us was your hobby,” her sister responded.
“True, but I also spoke to Kahn.”
Jack flinched. “Has he seen Louise?”
“I mentioned her — but, no, he hasn’t. The man is understandably spitting chips and his officers have their hands full, but he still found time to mention something he found out before the riot. They have a lead on this man we’re after.”
Now Jack shot his head back up. “What? Where?”
“Entering a building downtown, in South Erebus — I have the address here.” Gypsie-Ann placed a piece of paper on the table, expression thoughtful. “I double-checked. There are no Capes we know of — alive, dead or M.I.A. — residing in the area, though I can’t account for secret IDs. This may, and I stress may, be the guy’s base of operations.”
Sweeping up the paper, Jack read an address he didn’t know, and then showed it to his two teammates. “Kahn is sure?”
“The Stetson. Red rag to a bull.”
“PA?”
“On it, sahib.”
A second later, the other woman’s chair was empty, gently rocking back and forth a few times until Gypsie-Ann reached over to stabilize it.
“Haste, less speed,” she muttered.
“Dollface can handle ‘erself,” said the Brick.
“Oh, I know that — I’m more concerned about our suspect.”
“Yeah, come to think o’ it, I don’t want her t’get first dibs. Garçon!” The man snapped his fingers in the air, very nearly deafening the two others at the table. “Where’s our blamed bill?”
#163
While Stellar bee-lined back to the Patriot building —“Vital stuff to catch up on,” she claimed — Jack hopped into the Brick’s Delahaye, and they drove at speed.
“Yer with us, kid?” asked the roughly sculpted chauffeur.
Tightening his seatbelt, Jack produced a slight shrug. “Yeah, just thinking. I should’ve tried calling Louise again.”
“I’m not stoppin’ yer.”
“But you don’t have a telephone in this crate — do you?”
“Only what’cha see. PA says I’m a skinflint, but why on this earth would I need a natty phone?”
Jack glanced at his driver. “How soon till we get to South Erebus?”
“Few minutes. We’re on Iger Street now. Hang tight.”
“The bastard is mine.”
“Join our extended queue, junior. I’ll leave yer the crumbs.”
Ten minutes later, they pulled up at a kerb — the Brick turned the corner far too quickly, took out a road sign, and lodged a back wheel up on the gutter. Outside stood an unremarkable redbrick block of flats with the words Randall Arms in fading print above the entrance.
“344 Yancy?” the Brick wondered, as he looked about.
“Maybe you need spectacles — says so right there, on the sign you knocked over.”
“Let it ride, huh?”
“Nice choice in comebacks, B.”
The streets were empty, to be expected this time of night, riot or no riot. The Brick locked up his car and the two Equalizers walked over to the flats, where they met Pretty Amazonia by a broken postbox. Sporting the beginnings of a nasty black eye, the woman toyed with sheepish.
“This bastard had some fight in him,” she muttered, “even while I was moving at 299,792,458 metres-per-second.”
“I give up. Can’t begin to get me head round how fast that is,” the Brick confessed.
“It’s fast. But he still hit my face, and the idiotic mojo works against me in that situation.” The woman smiled anyway. “Don’t worry, speed does have its advantage. The loser is trussed up like a Christmas turkey in apartment 3-D — all yours, boys.”
Jack glanced at her. “Where’re you going?”
“Home to bed. I’d prefer not to witness what happens next.” She was off like a shot.