Green Arrow #20: "Posthumously"

Editor's Note: This story takes place in the six month gap between Seven Soldiers of Victory #5 and #6

Houston was a recent memory as Green Arrow’s bike sped down the highway, his face tight, revealing a grim determination that continued to build inside of him. He had kept up with recent events in the Justice League, Justice Society, as well as his old team, the Outsiders; yet as he traveled down Highway 10, crossing the border into Louisiana, he couldn’t help but wonder if they all realized what was really happening to his country. As they fought their aliens, world conquerors, and super-villains, the people they fought so hard to protect were falling in the streets to drugs, poverty and the worse of the lot – politicians.

Oliver Queen had seen more in his life time than many of the heroes that soared through the air these days. He remembered the ideals behind the motto: “flower power”, and the war that had caused such a split between the people of the country. He had also seen it rebuild itself, but never truly heal. There were scars that always lay close to the surface for the people of his generation. Why then, did he wonder, had the parents and teachers of his era fail to teach the next generation the mistakes of the past? Because now he saw the country heading down the same road that had once been traversed.

A country that was allowing a small handful of men and women to dictate what was important to their lives; allowing the festering of drugs, hate and bigotry – To which he decided it was time to once again put a stop. Even if he had to do it one drug lord, one assassin, or one crooked politician at a time.

With those thoughts running through his head, he continued towards his destination – New Orleans.

* * * * * *

Rain drenched the alley. Fat gobbets of water spattered against everything in sight and made a small river run down the center of the trash-laden passage. It was the sort of rain that was so cold it stung when it hit bare skin. The rain was the least of his problems, though, and he paid it no mind as he stumbled into the alley, his shoes flooding with filthy water. This isn’t happening, he thought. This is a nightmare, it has to be. I’m back at the motel, laying in bed, and I’m having a nightmare. No matter how much he repeated this in his mind, however, he couldn’t seem to wake up.

Thunder cracked overhead, and he flinched, immediately feeling ashamed that he’d done so. He was better than this, he’d faced worse odds, more terrible threats, but this...this was different. He couldn’t bring himself to fight the man chasing him, no matter how desperate the situation had become. So he ran instead, hoping he could think of a way to stop this madness before it was too late.

He spotted a door on one side of the alley, and he trotted over to see if he could force it open -- he had no clue what was in the building, but it had to be a better hiding place than the alley itself. He banged his shoulder into it repeatedly, cursing, but it wouldn’t budge. If I had my tools, I could pick the lock, he thought. But he didn’t; he’d left all his gear in the car. God, he was such an idiot! He slammed a fist against the door in frustration, silently chiding himself for not preparing for this better. Dammit, he didn’t even tell anyone where he was going, and now he was in it deep.

Then he remembered something, and pulled open his jacket, doing his best to shield the inner pocket from the rain as he searched. When he found the object he was looking for, he took it out and stared at it for a minute, trying to recall just how it worked. He couldn’t be faulted for forgetting that he had the thing: the idea of a telephone you could carry in your pocket sounded like science-fiction, and he’d barely used the thing after it had been given to him. But now, it appeared that the tiny device might turn out to be a lifesaver. He punched a few buttons, unsure if he was even doing it, correctly, and eventually managed to make the thing dial one of the phone numbers pre-programmed into it. “Come on, please work,” he whispered as the device softly burred in his ear.

The burring stopped after a few seconds, and a tired voice came out of the receiver: “Hello?”

“Greg? Is that you, Greg?”

“Most of me, I reckon. The rest of me’s still asleep.” There was a fumbling sound. “Y’all know it’s two in the morning, Tom?”

“I know, I know. Listen...”

“Why in blazes are you callin’ so late? I ain’t exactly spry no more, son. I can’t stay up all damn night like we used to. This old body of mine gets tuckered out too easy.”

“Dammit, Greg, can you shut up for a minute? I’ve got a problem.”

Silence on the other end of the line, then, “What sort of problem?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Where should he start? How could he possibly explain this? “I...I’m sorry, Greg. I should’ve told you guys about this before, but...”

“Never you mind about ‘before’, we’re all long past that. Just tell me what’s goin’ on now, Tom. Where are you?”

“New Orleans...I found him in New Orleans.”

“Found who?”

Again, his need to speak and his inability to find the words collided. He leaned against the wall of the alley and let the rain soak him through as he struggled to get the information out. “I’m sorry...should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice sounding like he was on the verge of tears. “I messed this up so badly, and I don’t know how to...”

Something whizzed past his ear, and suddenly the phone exploded. He jerked his hand away from his head to find the shaft of an arrow neatly piercing his palm. He gritted his teeth and tried not to scream as he turned towards the mouth of the alley, blood running down the side of his face where the shattered bits of plastic had cut him. Even before he looked, he knew who would be standing there, silhouetted against the street lights, another arrow already nocked in his bow. “Don’t...don’t do this,” he pleaded to the man, holding his injured hand before him, as if showing how the man had wounded him would stop what was to come. “This isn’t what I wanted to happen, I swear. Please, you have to believe me...I just want a chance to make things right again.”

Without a word, the man raised the bow and let the arrow fly. He started to twist out of the way, but it did no good, and the arrow slammed into his left eye, the tip driving straight into his brain. The momentum was enough to knock him backwards, and he fell into the river of rainwater at his feet.

The man walked down the alley towards his target, then watched as Tom Hallaway twitched spasmodically for almost a minute before becoming quite still.



Eddie Fyers stood high above him, atop a church steeple, holding on for dear life. He had a sword in one hand while his other clung to the brass cross. Ollie was surprised to see how adept he was with the weapon.

There was someone else up there with him, someone he should know, the person looked familiar, but he couldn’t place the name with the face. They were battling for their lives while the rain poured down around them and the lightning flashed high in the sky. Ollie looked around to see the skyscrapers that surrounded him and the church. New York City, that’s where he was! But why?

He didn’t have time to figure it out before he saw Eddie slip on the wet sloped shingles he was desperately tried to keep his footing on. Ollie’s heart leaped into this throat and he reached behind him for an arrow, only to find that there were none in his quiver.

It felt as though he were running in molasses as he tried to get to the front of the church. For some reason his legs just didn’t seem to want to move. When he finally did reach the latch to the entrance he heard a sickening thud behind him. He knew what it was, even as he turned around he was had already expected to see what he did.

Eddie lay on the concrete, blood beginning to pour out of a gaping head wound. He was too late, he hadn’t made it. Laughter was coming from above him. Looking up he saw the figure with the other sword. The person was dressed in armor that he had never seen before; but the young man’s face... that he recognized... it was...

Oliver Queen woke up with a strangled cry of relief. It had been a dream; one that had been extremely vivid... except for that face... he had had it a second ago, but now he couldn’t remember who it was. But it was important, he knew that.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by his cell phone. Grabbing it, he saw a Nevada number. Only one of two people it could be, and at the moment he was hoping it was the red head, not the blond.

“Ollie, did I wake you?” He was relieved to hear that his wish had come true.

“Yeah, but it’s okay, you saved me from a nightmare. What’s up, Babs?” He felt awkward at the sound of Barbara Gordon’s voice. He hadn’t left the Outsiders on the best of terms and really hadn’t expected to hear from any of them.

“Thought you’d want to know; I just picked up a report from the New Orleans Police Department. There’s been a murder there, sounds pretty grim. The killer’s choice of weapon was a bow. I heard you were in the area from Connor, so I thought you might want to look into it.”

Ollie grumbled as he threw his bare feet onto the floor. “Great, just what I need. Alright, I’ll look into it. Thanks.” He hung up quick, before he could ask how Dinah was doing. It had been right on the tip of his tongue.

Instead he got up, donned his uniform, and headed out. It took him little time to find the crime scene; reporters and police swarmed the area. As soon as he was spotted the news people began to swarm him, but he ignored them, pushing his way past to get to the cordoned off area. The two officers standing guard watched as he reached for his Justice League ID, but waved it away, allowing him access.

The body was covered; the crime scene investigators had all but wrapped up this part of their investigation when he walked up. An older, strikingly handsome detective saw him heading his way and moved to intercept, his hand out in greeting. Green Arrow took it without hesitation.

“Heard there was something here that I might be interested in.”

The detective nodded. “Don’t know how you heard,” his accent was thick with the flavor of New Orleans; Ollie had always found the accent and dialogue around these parts to be enjoyable. “But we are glad to see you. Perhaps you can shed some light on this.”

Detective LaBeau showed him the crime scene, the body (which he didn’t recognize), and the arrows that were used. Ollie studied them for a while, noting that they were old in make – very old. Wooden shafts, unique in style; nearly out of date by his assumption.

“No wallet, car keys, or anything to identify him.” LaBeau said. “Some parts of a cell phone near the body, but it’s too smashed to be of any help. Only useful thing we did find was this card key for a hotel room; pretty generic. We’ll see what we can do with it.”

“I’ll check around about these arrows,” Ollie offered, “But just by the looks of them I’m a bit stumped. Since I got your attention, though, I want to shoot a name at ya, see if it rings any bells.”

“Alright...”

“Juan Sanchez.”

Detective LaBeau’s reaction was not one Green Arrow expected. His face drained of color; he looked around at his fellow officers who were in small groups as they discussed the murder. He grabbed the archer’s arm, leading him away from the other men.

“I wouldn’t say that name too loud, if I were you. That Cartel has ears everywhere, and there are not many who are as feared as Sanchez. Rumor did have it that he was in the neighborhood not too long ago. If you’d like, I can put some feelers out for you, but I hope you understand what you’re messing with.”

Green Arrow scoffed. “I dragged a hot blond out of the pits of Apokolips, I’m pretty sure I can handle a guy with an overinflated ego. I hate those kinds of guys. You do that for me and I’ll help ya get to the bottom of this. Deal?”

“You got it.” Detective LaBeau said as they shook hands and parted ways.

Ollie checked his watch; the sun would be going down soon. He’d grab some chow and then head back out. Rats always came out at night, so it was the best time for information gathering.



There were quite a few people on the streets of New Orleans as Green Arrow raced across the roof tops. He had only visited this particular city a couple of times; admitting to himself that it wasn’t really one of his favorites.

However, the city didn’t let him down when only twenty minutes into patrolling, he heard the muffled scream of a woman, coming from the alley down below. He looked over the side of the building to see that three men had an African American woman cornered in the alleyway. They were blocking the only exit, as the other end seemed to be piled two stories high with large wooden crates of some kind.

It was apparent by their attitudes that they were not wanting money from this woman as two of the men grabbed her and forced her down on the ground. The third one began to unbuckle his pants when an arrow with a blunted tip struck him right between the legs. He couldn’t even scream out in pain; there was just a sudden loss of breath before he fell over.

The other two guys looked up to see Green Arrow scratching his head, his bow held in his other hand.

“Damn, I could have sworn I was reaching for a regular tip. Maybe I am getting a bit older.”

Man number one grabbed his switchblade, placing it threateningly on the lady's throat while the other reached for his gun.

“We don’t want no trouble.” The one with the gun shouted. “You just leave us alone; walk away while you can.”

“Really? you think that's going to happen?” Ollie asked in actual shock. “You all know who I am, right? Hero with the arrows, knight to all damsels in distress. Scourge of the underworld. Neither of you are gonna be walking right for a couple of weeks if you don’t drop the weapons and just back away.”

Knife man grabbed the woman who was now crying softly, lifting her up and putting her between him and the archer. “I know who you are, but I also know I’m walking out of here.”

Ollie’s fingers twitched, ready for action, when they were all startled by the sudden appearance of an older man riding into the alleyway on a motorcycle. A cowboy hat and bandanna obscured most of his face, and he even had a pair of revolvers holstered on his hips. Something about him triggered a vague memory for Oliver, but he didn’t have time to try and retrieve it.

He watched as the cyclist went roaring past the gunman towards the other two. He swerved slightly as he passed the helpless woman, but grabbed the knife man by the back of the shirt, dragging him along until he was nearly on top of the towering crates. At the last second he turned the bike sharply to the right, throwing the man into the wooden boxes as the motorcycle slid sideways. Just as the thug hit the boxes, the back wheel of the bike slid into his legs. The man cried out in pain before toppling over.

Meanwhile the woman, still screaming, began to run as the confused gunman tried to decide which target to shoot at. Unfortunately he never got a chance as an arrow whizzed by him, a rather small bolo attached to the end of it. The bolo disconnected from the arrow as it went by, catching the man around the neck. He cried out in shock, but with lightning speed the weapon circled the man’s throat before both ends met and struck him in the face; he fell to the ground unconscious.

“You all right there, ma’am?” the cowboy asked as he got off his bike and helped the woman up.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “Who... who are you?”

“Good question, and one I’d like to know the answer to myself.” Green Arrow said as he swung down into the alley.

The man looked sidelong at Arrow, then tipped his hat in a salute. “They call me Vigilante.”

For a second the name made Ollie pause, the face of Adrian Chase suddenly appearing in the front of his mind. It wasn’t a name he was expecting to hear. Then another memory came flooding forward to wash the image of Adrian away.

“Oh yeah, Black Canary told me about you, said she met you at a mutual friend’s funeral. You’re one of those Seven Soldiers, huh? The ones that got lost in time for a while?”

“That I am.” He pointed his finger at Ollie, cocking his thumb forward like the hammer of a sixgun as he did so. “And you’re Green Arrow. I’ve read about you in the papers.”

“Well, don’t believe everything you read.”

“I don’t. If I did, you’d be lying in the gutter next to that jasper.”

Green Arrow was taken aback by the statement, but than a small little smile crept over the cowboy’s face. A joke. Ollie couldn’t help but find the guy charming in a somewhat old-fashioned way.

After they had helped the lady to a phone, they wandered down Bourbon Street, the cowboy walking his cycle along as onlookers gave the duo a wide berth.

“So what exactly are you doing in these parts?” Vigilante asked. “You’re based out of Star City, ain’tcha?”

I guess he’s been reading quite a bit about me, Ollie thought, then said aloud, “I’ve got some business to take care of around here. I was just taking in the sights when I saw some trouble.” He gestured around them. “Is this your home base now, Hopalong?”

“Call me Greg; Hopalong’s a whole ‘nother cowboy. And no, I’m just visitin’ myself. Got a funny call from a fellow Soldier last night.” The crow’s feet around the older man’s eyes deepened as his brow knitted together. “Tom dropped off the map not long after we got back, then he up and called me out of the blue, sayin’ he had a problem, but the phone went dead before he could get another word out. Lucky for him, Dos Rios ain’t too far from the Big Easy, so I jumped on the ol’ iron horse and headed out thisaway.” He patted the motorcycle affectionately.

“I take it you haven’t had any luck finding your friend yet.”

“Neither hide nor hair. Had a glimmer of hope when I spotted you up on that there roof. From street level, all’s these old eyes could make out was your bow, and I figured you was him. Tom’s an archer like yourself, y’see; goes by the Spider.”

Ollie stopped walking, his own brow becoming furrowed. What he’d seen earlier that day and what the cowboy was telling him now was slowly pulling together into a not-so-pretty picture. “Your friend Tom...what does he look like?” Greg told him, and the picture in Ollie’s head was complete. “I hate to tell you this, but I think I know where your friend is...”



“This is the last place I wanted to end up,” Vigilante said. He stood next to Green Arrow within the bowels of Tulane Medical Center...or more specifically, the morgue. Before them on the metal table lay Tom Hallaway: formerly the Spider, formerly alive. An autopsy had already been performed, and whomever did it had also given Tom some of his dignity back by cleaning up the damage done to him. It wasn’t perfect, of course -- that was a job for the funeral home -- but at least the blood had been wiped away from his face and his eyes (despite the wound to the left one) respectfully shut. It made the body easier to look at.

“You didn’t think to check here first?” Ollie asked.

Vig shook his head. “I just got used to the notion of all my old friends bein’ alive again, so I reckon I wasn’t willin’ to think that one of ‘em was dead already.” He gently lifted up Tom’s hand, examining the stigmata-like wound through the palm. “Where’s the arrows y’all said he was shot with?”

“Over there.” He gestured to another table nearby, where the arrows lay sealed up in a plastic evidence bag. Vig went over and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “Don’t open the bag,” Ollie told him.

“Son, I may be old, but I ain’t stupid.” He gave the arrows a close look, saying, “Yep, these are Spider’s all right. He always took pride in makin’ his own...said it made it easier for the bad guys to recognize his handiwork.” He put the bag down and looked over the other personal items on the table. “He was in his civvies when they found him? No costume under his clothes or nothin’?”

“Not a thing. Complete Joe-average, as far as the cops were concerned.”

“That don’t sound like him at all. Tom was a stickler for keepin’ his two lives as far from each other as possible, which means he wouldn’t be runnin’ around in civilian clothes with his quiver strapped on...but if he wasn’t doin’ that, then how in blazes did the killer get a hold of his stuff?”

“Maybe someone broke into his room, took his gear, then got the drop on him.”

Greg cocked an eyebrow. “What room?”

“Cops found a hotel card-key on the body. They’re searching right now to figure out what chain it came from, but it could take a while.”

“Reckon it could, if you ain’t got a name to go with the key.” Greg nodded towards his friend’s body. “But we ain’t got that problem, now do we?”

A grin broke out on Ollie’s face. “No, I suppose we don’t.”

“Okay then, let’s get a move-on.” He started walk towards the exit. “Reckon we’ll start ‘round the area where Tom was found, then...”

“Hold your horses, cowboy. We’ve got different ways of following a trail in the 21st Century.” Green Arrow pulled out a cell phone and punched a button. Seconds later, he said, “Hello, Babs? Sorry to call so late...yeah, I checked up on that bow-killer you told me about. Things got a little complicated from there.” He glanced briefly at Vig as he talked. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I need you to put on your computer-wizard hat for a minute. Sure, I can wait.” He put a hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and said to the cowboy, “You’ve got Seven Soldiers to call on; I’ve got about a half-dozen Outsiders.”

“That a fact?” Greg mused.

“Yeah, we...” He turned his attention back to the phone. “Ready? Okay, I need you to check the hotel databases around New Orleans for a Tom...what’s his last name?”

“Hallaway, with three ‘A’s.”

“You got that, Babs? Great, thanks.” Ollie leaned back against the wall, saying to Vig, “Sorry, it’s gonna take a minute.”

“You’re sorry? Hell, it sounds like you heroes these days have got it too easy. Push a button and save yourself a whole night or two of legwork.”

“It’s not always this easy. There are still a few places that don’t use computer check-ins or card-keys. If your friend had picked one of those...” He paused, a frown coming on his face. “Nothing? Hmph...Looks like I spoke too soon.”

“Ask them to look for a Rod Nimms, instead. Two ‘M’s on that.”

“‘Rod Nimms’? That an old alias or something?”

The cowboy nodded. “It’s a play on ‘Nimrod’.” Ollie gave him a blank look, and Vig said, “You know, the Biblical hunter? Don’t you folks read anymore?”

“Yeah, I read, I just...” He looked angrily at the phone. “Stop laughing! It’s been a long while since Sunday school, okay? Just look up the name.” A few seconds ticked by, then he said, “You got a hit? Where? Yeah, I should be able to find that easy. Thanks a lot...and stop laughing already. It’s not that funny.” He turned the phone off and glared at it, muttering, “Not everybody’s got a photographic memory, you know.”

“So, where we off to?”

“Rest-Rite Motel, on Third and Chevalier...which if I recall from the couple of jaunts I’ve already done today, is on the other side of town from where the body was found.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Greg said, then smiled beneath his bandanna. “Ever read that before?”

“Don’t push me, Hopalong.”



Twenty minutes later, the night manager of the Rest-Rite Motel escorted the two heroes across the parking lot -- it was a bungalow-style motel, with the door to each room leading right outside. “According to our records, he paid in advance for two weeks,” the manager said as they stopped outside Room 11. “He still had a couple days to go on that, so we wouldn’t have cleaned out the room until after his time was up.”

“You didn’t notice him not comin’ in last night?” Vig asked.

The manager shrugged. “We don’t keep tabs on what people do, just whether or not they pay.”

Green Arrow looked over the cars parked nearby as the manager unlocked the room, then said, “Do you happen to know if any of these cars are his?”

After a quick glance, then manager said, “Nope, he had a newer model Buick, a rental for sure. Had one of those advertising bumper stickers on it, you know?” He opened the door for them. “The plate number’s in the computer...motel policy.”

“Thanks. We’ll stop by the office later for it.” Ollie stepped into the room, where Greg was already opening the tiny closet, pulling out a small suitcase sitting within and laying it on the bed. “Your friend must’ve been pretty anal-retentive,” Ollie said. “You’d think that, after two weeks, this place would have looked lived-in to some degree.”

“That’s true...which makes me wonder what Tom’s hidin’.” He ran his hands around the suitcase’s lining. “Like I said, he always kept his two lives real far apart. Even though he checked into here under a false name, he never would’ve left anything in plain sight that could be traced back to either Tom Hallaway or the Spider.” The cowboy looked up at the archer. “You know it took us close to a year to wheedle his real name outta him? The rest of us opened up to each other fairly quick, but Tom...he was a closed book about everything. If it didn’t have to do with the Soldiers, he didn’t talk about it.”

“Which explains why he didn’t tell any of you where he was going.”

“Yep. Never mind that us Soldiers ain’t got much in this new world ‘cept each other.” He shook his head. “That jackass should’ve known better.”

“Old habits die hard,” Ollie replied, immediately regretting his choice of words.

Greg didn’t seem to notice as he went back to searching the suitcase. After a moment, he smiled and said, “Bingo,” then slipped his fingers into a crease in the bottom. “Got a pocket hidden in here...can feel something big and flat underneath.” He reached in and pulled out a sheaf of papers, all of them photocopies. “Looks like court documents...arrest records and such.” He gave them a quick flip-through, saying under his breath, “I found him in New Orleans.”

“What was that?”

“Something Tom said to me before the phone went dead...but he didn’t get a chance to say who it was that he found. Goin’ by these papers, though, this must be the fella in question. I reckon Tom was workin’ on a case and got in over his head.”

“Let me take a look.” Ollie took the papers and flipped through them. Indeed, the majority of the arrests had been made in New Orleans, and not exactly for tame stuff: assault, robbery, even murder, stretching back for years. Further down the pile were older ones from Los Angeles, and some juvenile-hall records from there as well. “This guy’s a career criminal, that’s for sure...which makes him our number-one suspect for your friend’s murder.”

“Do you recognize the name?” Greg asked, feeling around inside the pocket to see if he missed anything.

Ollie glanced at it. “Lucas Dalt...nope, sorry,” he said, then continued on through the papers. As he got near the bottom of the stack, he noticed a new name on some of them: Elizabeth Dalt. Then he found two documents of a different sort. He pulled them out and said, “You might want to look at these.”

“Hold on a sec, I’ve got something here.” Vig pulled a small square object out of the pocket. “What the...” the cowboy said, staring at a black-and-white photograph of Tom standing under a palm tree with his arms around a woman. “Who’s she?”

“Catherine Dalt, most likely.”

Now Vig was staring at Green Arrow, on the verge of asking who in blazes that was supposed to be, but then he saw the two documents Arrow was holding up: birth certificates. “From the looks of things,” Ollie said, “I think you and the other Soldiers should’ve have asked him about more than just his name.”

Greg was rather nonplussed by that, but after a moment or two, he took the papers from Ollie and, sitting down on the bed, looked them over. A good amount of silence lapsed as Greg read and reread those two pieces of paper, while Ollie gave the arrest records a closer look. Eventually, Greg laid the papers on the bed, then pulled the bandanna off his face and knotted it up in his fists. The man looked a bit older all of the sudden, as if the revelation had knocked a few more years out of him.

“You really had no idea?” Ollie asked after a time.

“Does it look like I had any idea?” Greg snapped, then squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to rein in his temper. “I know that his folks lived out in California,” he said finally, in a much quieter tone, “and that they died back in ‘47. That was one of the few times he opened up to us: he wanted to let us know that he’d be spending a while out here...funeral arrangements and all that. I suppose he must’ve met this gal around then.” The cowboy sighed and shook his head, saying, “I remember at Lee’s funeral that Tom said he wanted to get some things squared away. He didn’t say what, and none of us pressed him about it. We were all still adjustin’ to all the time we’d lost, so I don’t think any of us gave what he said a second thought. It was just Tom bein’ Tom, like always.”

Ollie picked up the birth certificates again. One was for Lucas Dalt, born in 1973 to Elizabeth Dalt and “Unknown Father”. The other was for Elizabeth Dalt herself, born in 1949 to Catherine Dalt and Thomas Hallaway. “Do you think he knew at the time that he had a daughter?”

“Slim chance. If I recall correctly, our little scuffle with the Nebula Man happened about eight months before that baby was born. I’d like to think that, if he knew in ‘48 that he was gonna be a father, he would’ve been in California with that Dalt woman and not running around the East Coast bagging crooks.” Greg shrugged. “Kind of a moot point now.”

“I suppose.” This situation was beginning to hit close to home for Green Arrow, in more ways than one: like Tom, Ollie had missed out on the majority of his child’s life. But Conner had turned out better than Ollie could have ever hoped, while Tom had to deal with the sudden revelation of having both a daughter and a grandson whose lives had apparently taken the worst possible turns.

Greg let out a heavy sigh, then tied his bandanna back in place. “Well, I hate to think this way, but you’re right: this Dalt fella is our main suspect. Reckon that means I’ve gotta track him down and settle this.”

“Mind if I join you? I hate to leave in the middle of a story, no matter how sad.”

“That’d be real kind of ya, son.”

As tragic as the situation was, Ollie couldn’t help but burst out laughing. When he noticed the inquiring look he was being given he waved his hand in the air. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just, these days, I don’t get many people calling me son.”

Vigilante slapped him on the knee as he rose from the bed. “Take it from somebody who’s been ‘round the block more times than he can count: You’re only as old as you feel. Now...let’s get this over with.”



Another call to Barbara and they had an address. The two men drove down the dirt road outside of town on the motorcycles, both in uniform, parallel with each other. Both were lost in their own thoughts; though both thoughts were on the same subject – family.

When they pulled up to the old shack, they saw a light quickly go out. Vigilante motioned to Green Arrow who nodded and drove around back. Empty beer bottles littered the unkempt yard, and the back end of a car was partially visible inside the dilapidated garage, along with the rental sticker plastered on its bumper; Lucas hadn’t even bothered to ditch the vehicle yet. When he shut the cycle’s engine down, he could hear Greg shouting out Lucas’ name. To his surprise, he heard Lucas shout back.

“Yeah, it’s me. Figured it was just a matter of time before your kind found me. Doesn’t surprise me that it was you.”

“Nice to know Tom filled you in on the rest of us before you did him in,” Greg shouted back. “Why don’t you step on out here, so’s we can have a proper talk, man to man.”

“Yer gonna have to come in and get me, old man, if you and your buddy think you can. It’s pretty damn easy to take out yer kind; I already done it once.”

“Why’d you do it, boy?” Ollie heard Greg ask. Just keep him talking, Ollie thought as he crouched low, working his way up the back stairs.

“It’s what that son of a bitch deserved!” The young man shouted back. “He abandoned my grandma and ma all those years ago; they never did fully get over it. You ‘heroes’ parade around in your little costumes and make everybody think that you’re better than them, but it’s all just an act. You don’t care about nobody but yourselves. Least the people I’ve always hung with have been honest about who and what they are.”

“Ain’t nothing honest in what you and your type do, boy.” Greg answered. He opened his mouth to say something when he heard glass shatter from inside the cabin. Then there was a cry of pain. It was Green Arrow.

“You little...” Vigilante mumbled as he tore off towards the front door, guns drawn. There was the shattering of wood now as he reached the front door. He never hesitated, just put his shoulder forward and slammed into the front door as hard as he could. It gave way with ease.

He felt an arrow whiz by him, coming from the far corner of the great room. The question was, was it Lucas’ or Green Arrow’s? He could see two bow-wielding figures in the room, but it was hard to discern friend from foe in the dim light. Then one figure struck the other in the face with his bow, knocking him to the floor, then turned towards Greg and took aim with a freshly-drawn arrow. Reckon that narrows it down, Vigilante thought. There was just enough moonlight coming from the large picture window that it reflected onto a piece of hanging metal above the figure’s head, and Greg fired at it as he dove towards the floor. The bullet hit its mark, the metal snapped, and a small chandelier came crashing down.

Vigilante rolled when he hit the ground, but the impact jarred one of his guns out of his hand. He cursed under his breath as he felt another arrow hit the dirt right next to him. This kid’s got all of Tom’s talent, and a good amount of his guts, Greg thought as he looked at the arrowhead pinning his shirtsleeve to the floor. Before he could pull away from it, he felt another one strike his pant leg, doing exact same thing. In the position he was in, he was unable to swing his other arm around with the gun he held in his hand. He heard the kid’s heaving breath directly behind and above him.

“You’re just as pathetic as the rest of them.” Lucas said as he drew back on the bow string, the arrow pointed right at Vigilante’s head.

Greg heard the release, but the arrow went wide, missing his head by several feet. It was enough time for him to yank his shirt away, tearing it from the embedded arrow. He rolled over onto his back, his gun aiming towards where he had heard Lucas, but just as he was about to pull the trigger he heard Ollie give out a shout.

“Whoa pardner, don’t be shootin’ your sidekick.”

Greg looked to see that Green Arrow was sporting a torn shirt now, his shoulder bleeding. At his feet was the unconscious body of Lucas Dalt.

“What can I say; the kid has a glass jaw. You get that a lot with archers... except me, of course.”

“Good thing for you. With that goofy beard of yours, reckon that makes it an invitin’ target,” Greg said, taking the hand that was offered to him and allowing himself to be pulled up.

They both looked down at the very young and very troubled man at their feet. Their eyes were adjusting to the gloom, making it easy for them to see how much Lucas Dalt resembled his grandfather. It just added to the tragedy of the whole situation.

“I don’t envy what your friend Tom went through; he died knowing his grandson was a sociopath.” Green Arrow murmured.

“Reckon I don’t know what that means, but if you’re sayin’ the kid’s got some serious bats in the belfry, I ain’t arguin’ with ya.” Greg regarded Ollie, saying, “You know, you ain’t half bad with that bow. The Soldiers could use a guy like you on their side. I think Tom woulda liked that.”

“Are you kidding me? I already belong to the Justice League and kinda sort of The Outsiders. I’m not sure it would be physically logical for one man to be on three different teams and try and have his own life.”

“Well, think about it, will ya?”

“Sure, ain’t no harm in thinking about it.”



They watched the police cart Lucas off as the morning sun broke over the horizon. Their cycles were sitting side-by-side now, and the two men were seated upon them, Vigilante resting his forearms on the handlebars and looking tired. Ollie supposed it was the man’s age catching up with him, after the long ride to New Orleans and all the running around town, but then Greg straightened up, and most of that tiredness seemed to disappear, replaced by a rather serious look as he pulled his bandanna off his face once more.

“You know, I’d told you before that I’d been readin’ about ya, but I didn’t say why.” Greg began. “Reckon Tom ain’t the only Soldier to be keepin’ secrets. Y’see, not long after me and the others got brought back to this time, I’ve been tryin’ to get caught up on what I missed. Been playin’ with that Interwhatsits.” He mimed typing keys. “And right off, this one fella kept croppin’ up every time I went diggin’ around under the name ‘Vigilante’.” He glanced at the archer. “You know who I mean, right?”

Ollie was silent. There was no need for the cowboy to say who he was referring to, and Greg knew it.

“Anyhow, I keep findin’ this fella’s name connection to mine, and after doin’ a bit more diggin’ on him, I ain’t rightly sure how to feel ‘bout it. Now I know ‘Vigilante’ ain’t the most original name, but that’s what I chose, and this other fella chose the same... and as far as the public’s concerned, that means we’re related. Not like Tom and Lucas, of course, but like the way some of the older fellas share their names with some of you younger fellas, and what they do sort of reflects back on the ones that came before ‘em. So when I hear-tell that another guy started callin’ himself Vigilante while I was gone, and that he later went crazy and killed a couple folks... well, I get to thinkin’ that maybe I should find out a bit more about him, maybe have a sit-down with him and figure out what his beef is. Only problem is, he’s dead, so all I can do now is talk to those that knew him and hope they’ll be straight with me.” Greg turned to look at Ollie straight-on, then said, “You were in charge of that little group out in Las Vegas while he was alive, so I reckon you’d be the best person to ask: did Adrian Chase do right by my name, or did he drag it through the mud?”

They sat there for several minutes, not a word passing between them. Ollie was conflicted. He and Adrian had never gotten along, even before the circumstances and events that preceded his death; so how fair could he really be on the subject? Still, Greg deserved an answer... the truth, actually.

“Well, Adrian was a pretty tragic guy. His wife and unborn baby were killed right in front of him. He, himself, was shot and left for dead, so you gotta understand that the man was driven from the start. Still, when it all came out in the wash, he died a hero, worthy of the name Vigilante.”

Greg knew there was more to the story, he sensed it, but could tell Ollie was telling the truth as well. Perhaps later, he could get more of the truth out of the man, but for now, what he’d said was good enough. “Okay then,” the cowboy said, nodding slightly. “Reckon I should let you get back to whatever business brought you to New Orleans in the first place.”

They said their goodbyes, and Ollie promised to get back to him about becoming an honorary Soldier. Judging by the way Greg described how some of the members (including Greg himself) would drift in and out of the group, Ollie supposed accepting the invitation wouldn’t be as big a commitment as joining the League or the Outsiders had been. Maybe hooking up with them wouldn’t take up more of my time after all, he thought.

As he watched Vigilante drive off, he dialed the number of Detective LaBeau, hoping he had some word on Sanchez. Greg was right: it was time Ollie got back to his own quest. A woman answered the phone.

“Yeah, I’m looking for Detective LaBeau.” Ollie asked. “I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me, this is Green Arrow.”

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” the woman cut him off, her voice cracking. “The detective was found in his home this morning, shot in the back of the head.”

Ollie hung up the phone without saying another word. His fist clenched his phone to the point where it was shaking. “Son of a bitch...”



Lucas Dalt sat in his cell awaiting his arraignment. He didn’t care much about that, though, as he knew he was going to find a way out. Then it was all up to him to take care of the rest of the Soldiers. Maybe even every living legacy that was walking the Earth. It was time somebody took them all down. The rotten stinking piles of flesh.

A guard appeared in front of the bars, behind him was a woman in what appeared to be a nun’s uniform. It was not black and white, however, but red. The guard, his eyes seemingly glazed, unlocked the cell without saying a single word, then turned and walked away.

Lucas watched as the nun entered his cell, sitting on the cot next to him. “Hello, Mr. Dalt. Or may I call you Lucas?”

“What do you want, lady?” he asked with a mix of euphoria and terror. He knew he had a chance, but there was something about this woman that made even his blood run cold.

“My Master has been made aware of your unfortunate circumstances. He feels that you and he may be able to help one another. If you come with me, I can promise you the power that you seek. He can make you the next, the last, Spider. Your wish would be fulfilled and you will be given the opportunity to wipe away every legacy that walks on this planet.”

“What do I gotta do first?”

“Help my Master in his search for two very powerful items... that is all. You help him find them, and he will allow you to keep the power that he will bestow upon you.”

Lucas Dalt considered it. Real power. Power to take down all those that thought they were better than him. To watch the faces of those old coots as he slaughtered their legacies, one after the other; doing it all in the name of the Spider.

“Yeah, alright, I’m in.”

“Good.” She smiled. Then she turned her back, reached behind her and suddenly the bow and quiver of arrows that he had used to murder his grandfather were in her hands. “I am assuming that you will want these back?”

He took them with hesitation, examining them closely. “They look the same to me. Ain’t nuthin’ powerful ‘bout ‘em.”

She smiled a cold smile. “The power is not going to be in your weapons, child, but within you. Now come, it is time to be washed in the blood of my Master.”

Lucas grinned back. “You got it, Sister.”

“Mother,” she corrected him. “You may call me Mother Mayhem.”

The End... for now...