DC2 Showcase Vol. II #5

"The Seven Soldiers of Victory are back."

This wasn't something I was expecting to hear. I'd become pretty adept at dealing with surprises over the years, but this...this was a decent curveball Jay threw at me. He'd been catching me up on who was still around from the old days, even though he knew I hadn't exactly been a social butterfly back then: I wasn't a member of the Justice Society, nor had I actively participated in the All-Star Squadron. Sure, I had some run-ins (pardon the pun) here and there with other heroes, but becoming part of a team? Not in that lifetime.

When he mentioned the Soldiers, however, he got my attention. Trying to sound nonchalant, I asked, "Do you mean all seven of them, or just a few?"

"All of them," Jay replied. "Unfortunately, Crimson Avenger died not long after they returned. The rest of them are okay, though." He paused, then said, "Did you know any of them back in the day?"

"Nodding acquaintance," I lied. "Why?"

"Just thought it might be good for you to get together with them, considering you both lost the same amount of time -- they've been gone since '48, if you recall. Unlike you, though, they got tossed backwards instead of forwards, and we had to go rescue them." He shrugged. "Anyways, I figured that, under the circumstances, you'd want to talk with them. You know, share some common ground."

"I'll think about it." At the time I said it, that was a lie as well...but then I did start to think about it, and an old feeling began to stir in my chest, one that I thought for sure I'd smothered decades ago:

Loneliness.

I did some checking around -- casually, quietly -- before finally working up the courage to go out and see him. It was hard for me to get past the knee-jerk mentality I'd developed about the old days, though after that incident with Jay and Barry and the others out in Echo Valley, I was becoming comfortable with at least thinking about those times again. But that was all personal struggle, internal, not out in plain sight where I could be picked apart and judged for the mistakes I'd made -- by going out to see him, I'd be exposing myself. But despite the fear, I took the timing of all this to be a good sign: him and I, arriving here from the past within weeks of each other...plus the fact that it was him, not one of the others. He knew what it was like to be lost, we'd had some good long talks on it before. I just hoped that, after everything that had happened, we could talk that easily with one another again.

I didn't bother with my costume when I ran out there -- I wanted this visit to be as casual as possible -- he very likely wouldn't have recognized it anyways, as I'd made a point of staying away from him during the '40s (the last thing I needed to do back then was create a paradox). So, dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt, I bolted out of Keystone and headed southwest. Three seconds later, I passed the Texas border and slowed down a little bit until I got my bearings, then ramped it back up as I made my way across the state, finally coming to a full stop beside the old-fashioned split-rail fence that marked the edge of his property. He'd picked out a nice spread, and I took a moment to admire the view before hopping the main gate -- a new sign hung from it, declaring the place to be "The Lazy S Ranch", and I chuckled when I read it, thinking, The man hasn't lost his sense of humor. I walked up the dirt road leading to the house, figuring that a leisurely pace was better than running up to his front door, plus it gave me a little more time to think about what the heck I was going to say when I saw him.

The main house was a simple one-story ranch style, with a long porch running the length of it. A pole barn and a small stable with a corral in between the two lay just beyond it. The whole setup had a timeless air to it, the only thing betraying that this was still the 21st Century being the very modern pickup truck parked just outside the barn. Then I spotted him at the far end of the corral, replacing part of the fence that made up the perimeter. A decent amount of gray hair was poking out just beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, and he'd gotten a bit thicker around the middle, but his face had barely changed over the years. He got up as I approached, flashing the same friendly smile that he always gave folks. "How-do, mister," he said. "Sorry for my appearance, I wasn't expectin' any visitors." He gestured to the mud-spattered clothes he was wearing, then peeled off his leather work gloves and offered his hand. "Maybe my mind's goin' in my old age, but y'all look familiar. Did we meet in town yesterday?"

I didn't take his hand. "No, Greg, it's...it's been a lot longer than that." I took a deep breath, then said, "The last time I saw you, it was 1885."

He tilted his head and stared at me, then the light of recognition came into his eyes. "You sonovabitch," he breathed. Needless to say, his response made me even tenser than I already was, and I took a step backward, ready to run. Then he said with a laugh, "They told me you was dead!" He came up and threw his arms around me, still laughing, and I returned the gesture, some of my nervousness evaporating as I did so. "Where the Hell have you been, Chris?" he asked me once he'd let go. "Did you get lost again like before? Is that what happened?"

"That's part of it...and I'm going by Max now, if you don't mind. Max Crandall. I'd rather you not call me...by my old name."

He gave me a puzzled look, then said, "Whatever you want, friend. I'm just glad to see you're still alive." He shook his head, saying, "This is really something. Here I thought that I'd left that whole world behind, and then you show up on my doorstep like a day hasn't gone by. You look almost the same as I remember...except for this." He tousled my white hair, saying, "Finally startin' to show your age."

"Yeah, well..." I smoothed my hair back into place -- the color had nothing to do with age, but I decided not to tell Greg that -- then poked a finger at his gut. "You don't have much room to talk."

"So long as I can still buckle on my gunbelts, I'll manage." He hitched a thumb towards the house. "C'mon, let's go inside. I think a special occasion like this calls for a drink."

"Now, Greg, you know I don't really drink."

"I know...and the fact that you're gonna have a drink with me right now makes it all the more special." I followed him into the house, which appeared to furnished mainly with cardboard boxes. "Told you I wasn't expectin' visitors," he muttered as he pushed a few aside. "I'm still sortin' through all the things Stuff kept in storage. All these years I've been gone, and that boy didn't chuck out a damn thing...like this." He picked up a framed poster featuring a much younger Greg Saunders, a revolver in one hand and a buckskin-clad beauty in the other, the title "Sagebrush Serenade" arcing above their heads. "If I recall correctly, that gal couldn't ride a horse to save her soul. We had to damn-near tie her to the saddle."

"It must've been nice to have all this waiting for you when you got home," I said, trying not to sound as jealous about it as I felt -- every time I jumped forward, I'd been lucky to keep the clothes on my back. "You can sort of pick up where you left off."

"I suppose. But to be honest, I look at a lot of these things, and it's like they belong to somebody else." He propped the poster back up against the wall. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be back home, but it doesn't always feel like home, you know? For the last twenty years, I've been livin' and breathin' and eatin' and sleepin' in the 19th Century, and I can't up and switch that part of my brain off just 'cause I ain't there no more. Reckon that's why I snatched this place up: it's just far enough removed from all that modern hustle and bustle that I can pretend it don't exist if need be."

"It's a bad idea. Hiding, I mean. Trust me, it wears on you."

"I ain't hidin', I just need to ease myself into this century." Then he thought a little deeper about what I'd said, and asked, "Is that what you've been doin' all these years? Hidin' from the world?"

"No, not the world, just..." Just my friends, I thought. Just from everyone I cared about. I sat down on one of the boxes and hung my head, saying nothing for a good minute. Then I managed to get out, "I couldn't face you guys anymore, not after what I did. So I ran as far and as fast as I could, and I never stopped...not until a few weeks ago."

"You didn't have to run," Greg said quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was," I answered. "You were out cold, you didn't see me...you didn't see what he made me do." I looked at my hands, trembling before me, and said, "I wanted to stop, but I couldn't..."

"Chris...Max...whatever the Hell your name is now...will you look at me?" He took hold of my shoulders and gave me a good shake. "Reckon this is hard to accept after beatin' yourself up for God knows how long, but no one blamed you for what happened that day. Not Savage, not Johnny... Hell, even Hex never said anything bad about you, and he hated everybody. Point is, we all knew who was responsible for what happened...and accordin' to the other fellas, you're the one that stopped him. Don't rightly know how, but that's what they told me when I woke up."

I wanted so much to believe what Greg was saying, but the truth was I couldn't remember doing anything of the sort. Admittedly, my memories of the incident were foggy in parts, but I certainly couldn't recall any moment where I had control over my actions. "Maybe I did stop him," I said after a while, "but that still doesn't excuse what I did beforehand. People died because of me."

"Well, if one of those people forgave you outright, would that make you feel better?" I gave Greg a sour look, and he said, "I'm serious. You ain't gonna believe this, but... Hannibal's alive. Sort of. Turns out him and Kate got reincarnated back in the 1940s. And you want to know the real kick in the pants? They came back as my cousin Sheira and her husband Carter! 'Course, it's just my luck that Carter's memories of bein' Nighthawk weren't too sharp until recently, or else he could've saved me a whole mess of trouble." He gave me a lopsided grin. "So, you want me to call him up so's you can apologize to him on the phone, or should we arrange a face-to-face meetin'?"

I gaped at him. How in blazes do you respond to news like that? "Don't...don't tell him," I said. "I can't face...I c-can't..." My voice failed me, and I sat there in silence, fighting the urge to fling myself into the Speed Force and pray that I never came out again.

Greg stood next to me quietly for a moment, then gently patted my shoulder. "I think it's time for them drinks," he said, then went off to the kitchen while I stayed put, feeling sick. I knew this was going to be hard, but I never could have imagined this sort of situation springing up -- if I had, I certainly wouldn't have come out here. I was tempted to get up and leave right then and there, just to avoid having to deal with this anymore, but I considered Greg too good a friend to do something like that to him. So instead of running, I merely began to pace around the room (at normal speed, not Mach 3 like my heart was beating). As I went around, I spied a picture frame sitting on the fireplace mantel, and when I got closer, I stopped dead and picked it up, surprised at what I saw.

It was a picture of us -- all of us -- standing in front of Hawk's cabin in Echo Valley. I traced my finger over the glass as I gazed at people I hadn't seen for over a century. Then I spotted myself, the image slightly blurred, standing between Johnny Thunder and Firehair. It was hard to think of that person as me anymore, but there he was, smiling and surrounded by friends. I envied him so much.

"Jeanne gave that to me years ago," I heard Greg say. He was stepping out of the kitchen, a tumbler of whiskey in either hand. "When Speed came to get me, I didn't have a lot of time to pack up, but I made damn sure to grab that."

"I'd forgotten all about this," I said, still looking at the picture.

"That's understandable. If I recall correctly, you were still a bit out-of-sorts from your little trip." He set the drinks on the mantle and took the picture from me, looking at it himself. "First time we met."

"First time I met most of you guys." I ran a hand over my eyes, saying, "God, that was so long ago...another life..." A shuddering sigh escaped me. "I miss it. I miss all of them."

"I know you do, friend. I've only been back for a little while, and I find myself missin' 'em already." He set the picture back in place, then said, "You sure you don't want me to call Carter?"

I shook my head. "Can't bear it yet. The man will probably want to kill me to get even."

"Trust me, he won't hold a grudge against you any more than I hold a grudge against Lazarus for this." Greg pulled his shirt collar open, revealing a deep red scar encircling his neck, just below his Adam's apple. "He would've choked me to death if you hadn't stopped him...which reminds me, I never got a chance to thank you for savin' my life." I turned away from him, embarrassed, but that didn't discourage him. "I mean it. You keep focusin' on what you did wrong that day, and I'm here to tell you that you did at least one damn thing right, 'cause I'm still alive and kickin'. Now maybe that ain't such a big deal to you, but it is to me...so thank you, Chris."

I opened my mouth to correct him, to tell him my name was Max now, but instead I heard myself say, "You're welcome." I could even feel a slight smile coming to my lips as I turned back towards him. He responded by picking up the drinks and handing me one. For a change, I actually wanted a drink, and I was about to take a sip when Greg stopped me.

"A toast," he said, tipping his drink towards the picture. "To those we left behind."

I echoed his gesture, adding, "And to those who went on ahead of us." We clinked glasses, then we both knocked back a mouthful of smooth Tennessee whiskey as sepia-toned ghosts watched us from the mantel.

THE END

The title of the thread glowed hot off the screen of his laptop: “JUSTICE LEAGUE OF… FAIRFAX?!?” Chris King glanced around the study hall: the substitute teacher had just walked out for a moment, and most kids were clumped in groups, talking and laughing, some had their heads on their desks, listening to their iPods, and some were actually studying--- but none of them (as per usual) were paying any attention to him. He was logged onto HEROES, the online community devoted to superhero fandom, which in recent weeks was all abuzz over--- of all things!--- him!

He scanned the posts excitedly.

Posted by wonderboy18: OMG, what the heck is going on in sleepy ol’ Fairfax, USA? Four new supes in the last two weeks alone… Must be something in the water there!

Posted by batlantern133: Gotta be a hoax, or a publicity stunt. Trust me, next week Hypnoman and Blisterfist will be on a billboard with Booster Gold hawking toothpaste or a new line of comic books.

Posted by wonderboy18: LOL!

Posted by wingnut1: I doubt it’s a hoax. Gotham’s only a few hours away, I bet Batman goes up there to take a look.

Posted by batlantern133: Batman’s dead. Get over it.

Posted by arrowfan: No, he’s not. Now that’s a hoax…

Posted by wingnut1: I meant the new one running around.

Posted by batlantern133:

Posted by titans4eva: No, but seriously, this is some cool stuff. I saw the news footage of Silver Streak rescuing that family from the house fire. He was as fast as the Flash!

Posted by batlantern133: Maybe he was the Flash, moonlighting for some extra pay.

Posted by wonderboy18: ROTFLMAO!

Posted by wingnut1: That’s not how it works, and you know it. Heroes don’t do good and fight for justice for money. They all have secret identities, and work regular jobs. Well, except for Aquaman… And Superman (I can’t imagine Superman living in disguise among us)…

Posted by titans4eva: Hey, don’t we have a site member that lives in Fairfax…?

Posted by wonderboy18: Superfanboy. We haven’t talked in a while, but yeah, he lives there.

Posted by titans4eva: So what’s the scoop, superfanboy? What’s going on over there in Fairfax? Any close encounters of the spandex kind to report?[/color]

Chris stared at the screen for a long time, as the posts continued to pile up. Since that fateful night two weeks ago when he had gotten a strange message from the mysterious HEROES admin, the Monitor, and had dialed “H” to become Captain Zapp, master of the electro-magnetic spectrum, he had been at an utter loss to explain any of it. Despite Chris’ repeated messaging, the Monitor still hadn’t replied to his frantic queries, and Chris was no closer to understanding who (or what!) was creating these superheroic personas, or how he was able to transform into them.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true… He did know sort-of how to transform. He simply had to click on the link the Monitor had sent to him, where every day the archive of superhero personas got longer and longer, and then all he had to do was dial “H” and the appropriate activation code and--- Shazam! He was a superhero! Of course, the transformation only lasted an hour, and he could not activate the same persona again within one 24 hour period, but to this point he had not needed the powers for that long, anyway. As Captain Zapp, he had foiled a bank robbery. As Blisterfist, a whirling dervish of martial arts, he had saved an innocent jogger from being mugged. As Hypnoman, he convinced the town’s lone drug dealer to turn himself--- as well as his suppliers--- into the police. And as titans4eva had reported, the superspeed powers of the Silver Streak had allowed him to help the fire department rescue a family from a blaze without anyone getting hurt.

He was having the time of his life, and he was doing a lot of good--- but he was almost as in the dark as his fellow HEROESers! He had no idea why he was chosen, or how any of this was even possible. But he did know that if he didn’t post something, it might look suspicious (Ha! As if anyone could suspect him, mild-mannered Chris King, of having a superheroic alter-ego).

Posted by superfanboy: Exciting times here in Fairfax, you guys! Sure seems like a buncha new superheroes have made our sleepy little town their home… Weird that we haven’t seen any of them more than once, though, don’t you think? Hey! I just had a thought! What if this isn’t a group of new heroes, but one new hero, with multiple superpowers…?

Chris bit his lip after he posted the reply. It was risky, he knew, but he was fishing, hoping to lure out the Monitor and possibly get some answers. The post got some immediate responses.

Posted by wonderboy18: Yeahbuwha…?

Posted by arrowfan: You just blew my mind, superfanboy!

Posted by batlantern133: That’s stupid. It doesn’t make any sense at all: why would a multi-supe bother with a new name and costume change every time? And why wouldn’t he manifest the powers of Hypnoman, say, while running around as Blisterfist, to save himself the trouble of getting his hands dirty?

Posted by titans4eva: You could be onto something, superfanboy… Maybe his superpower is that he changes into a different superhero every time, kinda like how Beast Boy can transform from one animal to the next…

Posted by superfanboy: Makes sense to me, T4E. That does seem more likely than a buncha new superheroes springing up at the same time. [/color]

Chris waited while many more posts piled up, wondering if the Monitor was lurking on the boards, and if so how long before he (or she!) either replied to him, or closed down the thread, when an intense burst of light flooded the room, and every window in the room shattered inward at the same time.

The force of the blast sent him--- and every other kid in the study hall--- flying across the room, his laptop and book bag careening across the floor with dozens of others. Chris slammed into a jumble of bodies and overturned desks, and was in turn hit a glancing blow by someone’s elbow or knee. Somebody was screaming, and all around him there was a panicked scramble to flee the suddenly devastated room.

Shaking his head to clear it, Chris looked up, still partially blinded by the hot flash of white light, just in time to see a costumed figure climb through a broken window. He was a tall man, in black and white and a fin-topped skullcap, with a billy-goat beard and a smarmy look upon his leering face.

Holy Moley, that’s Doctor Light! He realized, shaking his head again, hoping he was seeing things. But there he was, meticulously picking specks of glass off the shoulders of his cape and costume, surveying the room with an air of satisfaction. A real-life supervillain--- in Fairfax!

Well, why not, he told himself bitterly. There’s a superhero hot-dogging it around here, and where there’s smoke, there’s… Doctor Light, apparently.

“Greetings, children, I’m Doctor Light!” he announced to his stunned audience with a falsely solicitous smile. “Allow me to say what a pleasant little town you have here. Well, until a group of capes came along and ruined things for you. But never fear, I am here to set the scales aright: for what better why to prove my worth and make a name for myself than to take out a few new superheroes? Should be easy, too, as they seem to be pretty new at the game. Too bad for them they drew me as their Welcome Wagon.” He sniggered at his unfunny quip. “To that end, I am therefore holding you little brats hostage until one or another of the sanctimonious do-gooders comes along, whereupon the world will witness my triumph over him!” He added as an aside: “I took the liberty of alerting the news media just before I made my entrance, so we’ll hav e the lights, the cameras--- and hang onto your hats for the action!”

Chris reached into his sweater pocket for his cell-phone; all he had to do was press redial, and Doctor Light would have all the action he could handle! Of course, he would blow his secret identity, transforming in a room full of people, but then maybe not: the kids were all terrified, and no one paid any attention whether he was there or not anyway… A wave of cold panic passed through him: his pocket was empty! He began frantically patting himself down, desperate to find his cell. The phone was not on him. It must have been knocked loose when he’d been thrown across the room. It could be anywhere in this mass of huddled bodies, broken furniture and strewn books…

If he couldn’t dial “H”, if Doctor Light was left frustrated and unchecked, there was no telling what kind of damage the supervillain would do! Chris scanned the floor around him--- he had to find it!

“Hey, kid!” Light had been glancing into a shard of glass for a mirror, stroking his beard into place. “What’re you, epileptic? Knock it off, I’m preparing for my close-up. Don’t make me---.”

Unbeknownst to him, Chris had provided a perfect diversion. As Light was distracted with him, two of the older kids--- Nick Stevens the school quarterback, and Donald “Daffy” Dagan, the school bully and Chris’ frequent nemesis--- sprang up together and rushed the preening supervillain! And they caught him unawares, tackling him like a practice dummy on the football field. They three of them went down hard, smashing into a table that held a Styrofoam model of the solar system. As one, the hostages surged up, and some cheered, but most headed for the exit, as Nick and Daffy pounded on Doctor Light.

Chris got to his feet and cast about desperately for his cell, but he was jostled and tossed about by the fleeing, frightened kids. There was another bright flash. Nick and Daffy were hurled from the villain, right at Chris! The three of them went down in a painful heap. Daffy moaned piteously and Nick grimaced in pain. Chris tried to push them off of him; the situation was spiraling out of control. Doctor Light was standing up, again, a vicious snarl twisting his face. Their only hope was for Chris to find his phone…

“Stay away from them, you creep!”

It was a new voice in the room, a high, clear female voice…

Doctor Light looked startled. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

In the middle of the room was a young woman, with vaguely familiar features, crouched in a fighting stance. Chris could hardly believe his eyes. She was dressed in the red and yellow tiger-striped spandex he himself had worn not very long ago…

“I guess you can call me Miss Blisterfist,” the young woman declared. “And I’m about to knock your lights out!”





Hey, folks, want to get in on the fun? In the tradition of Dial “H” For Hero, this is a call for you the fans and readers to submit your own original superhero designs! Simply tell me your hero’s name and powers (no matter how wild or silly), and whatever other details you’d like to add--- or if you’re artistically inclined, just send a sketch! Then sit back and watch, and maybe your character will appear in a future installment of Dial “H” (of course, the designer will be given full credit)!

PM ideas to Idlewilder. Have fun! And see you in Showcase #7!

“Claudia!”

Claudia Barker's face lit up when she opened the door to see her sister Charlotte standing there, arms out wide. They hugged each other tightly for a long moment, and then Claudia ushered the other woman into her apartment. “Good morning, Charlotte. You're looking great. Come in, come in, I've got water boiling for tea.”

“Thanks, Claudia. This is a lovely little place you have for yourself here,” Charlotte replied as she gracefully paced the living room of the modest dwelling. She looked over the assorted knick knacks of her older sister's life, picking up a framed picture on her mantle.

“It's fine for a single career woman,” Claudia called out from the kitchen as she poured two out two cups of tea and picked up a plate of cookies, bringing them back in with her. “I'm lucky, I've got a good job, let's me get a nicer place than some in my position.”

“Yes, dangling on a string,” Charlotte murmured before she turned around and sat on the couch next to her sister. “But what will you do now that this man's true colors have been revealed?” She picked up the cup and blew gently at the surface of the steaming liquid.

“What do you mean, Charlie?” Claudia looked legitimately confused.

“I'm not cloistered away in a convent, cut off from the real world,” Charlotte replied. Her face took on a serious, even disapproving cast. “I work out in that real world, helping the poor for the Sisters of Charity. I know all too well what lurks in the shadows of Man's cities. “Three of his doxies have been killed now. That's not alarming to you?”

Claudia's face went blank at her sister's accusation, and she nearly dropped her own cup. “Charlie! Le...Mr. Travis is not killing his ex-girlfriends! I can't believe you said that!” She snatched a cookie up and bit into it, for something to do, and then added, “And as tragic as this is, only two girls have been killed. And L...Mr. Travis hasn't been responsible for either of them.”

“A third has been found this morning,” Charlotte answered matter-of-factly, and then crossed herself quickly. “Poor child. And as this man keeps you on a string, he parades his floozies around you before you, making you look foolish and stupid. It hurts me, to see how he uses and abuses you, Claudia. I wish you'd leave his employ, look for work somewhere else.”

“A third?” Claudia went pale and slid the half-eaten cookie onto the coffee table. “You've heard about a third? Already?”

“Yes, I did.” Charlotte glanced oddly at Claudia. “Is there something you want to tell me, Claudia?”

“No. No, it's okay. Just...shocking. Enough talk of murders, and whether or not you approve of my boss,” Claudia said. “Let's catch up on other things. Have you heard from Mom lately? My mail hasn't caught up to me since the move.”

“You could call her, you know,” Charlotte teased her sister with a gentle smile. “She's well. She's very well. Misses you, of course. Maybe when this dreadful mess is over, you can get a vacation and visit her.”

Claudia nodded, a far-off look in her eyes as she sat before her sister's own judgmental gaze.



“Lisa.”

Lee Travis sank into the overstuffed chair and held his head in his hands as the news hit him. He'd turned the radio on as soon as Wing had told him about the news bulletin, and the noon-day report's words echoed in his head.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Wing How said softly as he stood nearby. His hands were clasped behind his back and he stared at his employer with sad eyes. “I hated to be the one to tell you about this.”

Lee glanced up and then stood, joints crackling as he stretched. He hurt from last night, but there was no serious damage, thankfully. “It's okay, Wing. Thanks for letting me know. This is getting worse and worse. How about my only lead?”

“I followed Victor Maxwell through his morning activities,” Wing reported. “He talked to some police about an attempted robbery on his small shop by a masked man in red. From what I can tell, he intends to keep his afternoon appointments.”

“Probably to keep the police from being suspicious about him, if he was as scant with details as you say,” Lee replied as he paced the room. “That's good. It gives us time to follow up on some things. I need you to get back to the paper, and get the crime beat reporters to look into Maxwell's background. He's hiding something,” he talked more quickly now as he scribbled something onto a piece of paper. “You and Claudia, figure out which ones we can trust, and get them this note, and let's see what we can dig up. Then you get back to trailing Maxwell. We can't lose him, and tonight, the Crimson needs to pay him another visit.” His face was grim and upset as he finished up the instructions.

“What about Miss Barker, sir?” Wing asked as he took the note and read over it.

“What about her?”

“She's clearly in danger, sir. What are we going to do to protect her?”

“Why should she be in danger?” Lee looked confused now. “She has no connection to this coin, or the other women. Clearly, whatever that symbol is, it's a group symbol I'm thinking. And she's got nothing like that. I think it's safe to say that after all the time we've spent with Claudia, she's beyond reproach.”

Wing sighed and shook his head. “You miss my point, sir. All these women are former...acquaintances. Of yours. Clearly, Miss Barker has to be on the killer's list.”

Lee pursed his lips in thought and turned away. He leaned on his desk and mused on Wing's suspicions. “She's not a former...acquaintance though.”

“No. I believe it is because there is too much respect for her somewhere deep in there, sir.” Wing scored a vicious hit in his respectful way and he knew it. Lee tensed and then turned, face angry. “You care for her, sir. And don't want to make her another of your...” he paused, trying to find a better word than the one that came to mind. He failed. “...conquests. She might actually matter to you. She does matter to you. Of course, if you gave her the respect she deserved, you'd not be so flagrant in your--”

“That's enough, Wing!” Lee roared and slammed his fist into the desk. “Enough. How long have you been bottling that up? Huh?” He stomped up close to his chauffeur and stared him straight in the eyes. “I'm not the only one who cares for her, am I?”

“No, sir.” Wing sighed again, but didn't wilt or recoil from his employer. “I'm sorry, sir. I was a bit too blunt this time. But the situation you're in, we're in, it doesn't really leave us time for subtleties, does it?”

“She's safe. At least for now. There's at least one more woman likely on the killer's list before Claudia anyway. We have to save her,” Lee said through clenched teeth, Wing's words haunting him. “We'll keep them both safe. Claudia...nothing's going to happen to Claudia, understood?”

“Of course, sir,” Wing answered.

“I'll pay a visit on Maxwell tonight, and get to the bottom of this at last. You should watch over Carol.”

“Miss Blakely. You're right, I forgot about her.”

“In your concern for Claudia. I understand that. Too well.” Lee walked over to a small table and poured out two glasses of Scotch and handed one to Wing, insisting. “Don't worry about being blunt, Wing. I may not like it from time to time, but I appreciate it. Puts things in perspective.” He held his glass out.

Wing clinked the heavy glass and sipped at the smooth liquor. “If anything happens to Claudia, Lee...” he whispered softly, his stiff persona slipped for just a moment.

“Nothing will. Not while Crimson and Wing are on the job.”



“Well, this puts a new twist onto things, Denny,” Detective Art Rohmer said as he and his partner examined the scene of Lisa Mathers' murder closely.

“It does?” Denny Smith asked as he glanced through assorted objects on Lisa's night-stand, hoping for a clue of some kind. “I'm seeing nothing new here. Travis is a slippery bastard, that's for sure.”

“Not so sure it's Travis,” Rohmer answered as he caught his partner's attention and pointed to the pictures on Lisa's bureau. “I'm wondering if Travis is the killer, or the target. Why is his the only picture broken?”

Denny stepped up next to the other cop and shrugged. “Throw us off, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Art turned around slowly. He pulled out his notebook and flipped open several pages, at last stopping at one. “According to the names his secretary gave us, we got one more person in the city to keep an eye on. Blakely. If the killer stays true to form, we need to convince her to let us give her police protection.”

“Well, let's get on it then.” Denny started to head out of the room, and then stopped by the front door. He noticed the mail again, and flipped through the envelopes one more time. “You know,” he said as he passed by two utility bills, a donation plea from the Foundling Hospital, a letter from her cousin upstate, and stopped at an envelope embossed with the return address of the Globe-Leader. “You know, thinking about what you said, Art. What if you're right? What if it's not Travis, but someone real close to him? He's a good looking guy. Big businessman. Lots of cash, lots of influence.”

“Where are you going with this?” Art looked at the letter from the envelope, a typed letter arranging a charity luncheon appearance with Lee.

“He doesn't type his own letters up,” Denny said. “That's secretary work. Ain't it?”

“The woman scorned?” Art rubbed the back of his neck. “Or ignored, in this case?”



“Walden Manheimer.”

Victor Maxwell jumped at the sound of his true name, and spun quickly. His eyes widened when he saw crimson smoke pour out from around the corner of the train depot, some of that deep red solidifying into a cloaked form. “You again!”

“Yes. And this time, no goons and no surprise attacks to distract us from talking, Manheimer,” the Crimson declared as he stepped out from the clinging red smoke and swept up to the older man. “So talk!”

“Why do you keep calling me by that--”

“Don't play me for the fool a second time, Manheimer!” Crimson grabbed the old man's lapels and hefted him off his feet. “I've learned about you. Your entrance into the country, a name change, like is so common with immigrants coming through Ellis Island. Except that, there's no good reason to change a strong German name with a respected family lineage, so I say again, talk!”

“About what?” the coin dealer snapped back, no more pretense in his voice, shaken but more defiant now. “What do you want to know about, masked man?”

“That coin. The one with the markings on it. The one dropped off the other day.”

“Miss Barker's coin?” he asked, eyes narrowed now.

Lee struggled to keep his sudden flare of concern for Claudia hidden. “That coin.”

“I have nothing to say. It's just a rare specimen of a secret society marker, maybe from late 17th century, and an oddity.”

Crimson didn't believe the old man and dragged him over to the edge of the rail depot. “I put a lot of effort into learning about you, Manheimer. And finding you here, running out of town, like a rat from a sinking ship, so if you're waiting for a train, let's wait!” Lee held the man off the edge of the platform, strong hands dangling the coin dealer over the rails below. “Shouldn't take too long, should it?”

“You're mad!”

“Yes. Very mad. So spill!”

“It's the membership token of the Dark Cross!” The former Victor Maxwell did indeed start to spill now. “It doesn't matter now anyway! Every thing's in place, Naylor's daughter in the city means that Ernest has everything sent, you can't stop it!”

“Stop what?” A low rumbling emphasized Lee's frustration and anger, rattling the two men, and Manheimer looked down the track, to a distant, tiny light in the darkness. “Don't think for a moment I won't drop you! I have three more goons to work over for this information, and do you think for a moment they won't talk when they find out what I did to you?”

“I talk more, and I'm dead anyway, masked man, so to hell with you!” Manheimer spat into the Crimson's face and pulled himself from his grip. He fell to the rails below and then ran toward the oncoming train.

“Christ!” Lee cursed as he stared in shock at what was about to happen. The train's whistle blew desperately but it didn't matter. Lee turned his head sharply, not wanting to see what happened next, but the sounds drew some of the stragglers in the area. A policeman was among them and he blew his whistle, nearly silent against the louder train, and the screeching metal of its brakes.

“Stop! You there, stop!” he cried out at the Crimson, but Lee ignored him, and instead grabbed up Manheimer's valise, there on the platform where its owner once stood.

“Sorry, officer, but the Crimson bids you adieu.” He bowed low, and doffed his fedora, and let a small round object fall from the hat-band. It crashed into the platform and exploded into more of the red smoke, obscuring his escape as the horrifying sounds of a man being mangled by thousands of pounds of metal sliced through the night air.



“Claudia.”

Wing whispered the name as he pulled the car up in front of her building. He stepped out onto the running board, and leaned on the roof of the limousine, eyes focused on the third floor,up to her apartment. He stepped down from the car, slammed the door and made a slow circuit around the vehicle. There had been a strong police detail at Carol Blakely's home, so he decided to do something he'd never done before: he ignored his employer's orders, and came here, to guard Claudia Barker, to watch over her.

She's the one in real danger, anyway, he thought as he stopped at the sidewalk, still gazing up. She's too important. To Lee, to me. Even if I can't get closer to her, she's my friend, and Lee...Lee will come to love her, I know it, and that's fine too. His fists clenched in frustration, but he shook it off.

No! None of that! She's your friend, and she's your friend's close confidant, and I will not lose another family, and that's why you're here, so focus! Claudia is in danger.

He noticed a silhouette move across the window of her apartment. He held his breath, realizing the moment of his suspicions had arrived. Claudia's in need of help.

He then saw the window slide open slowly, and a strange, lithe form dressed in dark leather, in an obscuring hood, stepped onto the ledge. With the skillful use of a whip, this person slipped quickly up the side of the building the last two floors to the roof and vanish from the view of a stunned Wing.

Claudia's the killer?