The cameras drifted closer and the Black Cat’s hackles rose. On the other end of those lenses, some of the world’s richest and most ruthless people had watched as she had done her level best to gut the man known as Iron Fist.
She glanced down at her hands, at the rusty stains that coated the Vibranium claws that tipped each finger. It wasn’t the first time she had used them on a man. It wasn’t even the first time she’d used them on someone she knew. Had known.
Her hands became fists and she looked back up at the cameras. “I’m done. I want to cash out.”
“That’s not the way it works and you know it, kitty-cat.”
Hardy spun, teeth bared, claws spread. The silenced barrel of a pistol tapped the end of her nose.
“Hush, kitten,” the Enforcer said.
The Black Cat flipped backwards, landing in a crouch. The Enforcer tracked her with the pistol, his dead-white face mask displaying no emotion. His blue and white bodysuit was hidden beneath a trench-coat and a battered trilby, an ensemble that would have looked laughable if she hadn’t had first-hand experience of how deadly the man wearing it really was.
She tensed, waiting. He cocked his head. “An extra hour on the clock, Ms. Hardy. Confirmation, or your marker is called in, I’m afraid.”
“I earned my marker back, you pasty-faced—” she began.
“Not according to the Referee,” the Enforcer said. “The Game is still going.”
“Screw Kingsley! I played his game! I earned my marker back!” She scraped her claws together.
“Indeed you have. Just as soon as Daniel Rand, AKA the IronFist, is confirmed dead.” The Enforcer used the barrel of his pistol to push the brim of the trilby back. His mask was motionless, but Hardy could tell that he was smiling behind it. “Think you can handle that, kitty-cat?”
|
#5
NOV 10 |
 |
“Diagnosis: Danger!”
Danny Rand was dying.
Not really, but figuratively he was experiencing something close to death. Blood pumped from the rents in his stomach and chest, his ribs poked the bags of soft tissue that hid his internal clockwork and his brain was a flat line doing an impression of a dial tone.
Anyone else would have been dead already. For the Iron Fist, it was simply a speed-bump on the road of life. Danny Rand was a Weapon and Weapons do not die. They can be destroyed. They can be broken. But they cannot die.
They can, however, hurt like a sonnuvagun.
Thus, Rand’s mind hovered in a sea of numbness, cushioned from the agonies of his mortal form by the waves of a healing coma. He wished that he could tell his friends that he was going to be fine, but, well…coma.
Instead, as brief flashes of the outside world intruded on his consciousness, Daniel Rand, the Immortal Iron Fist, sat and waited in a cave in the future. He sat in the lotus position, even as he had every day for the past five years, gathering what remained of his chi.
Danny had been to the future before, and the past, come to think of it, so he wasn’t surprised per se, merely curious. He was not truly here in any event. Or he was, but not him. Not the present him. The future him, within whom he was piggybacking.
Time was a blanket, with every thread weaving amongst a sea of similar threads, all tied off and connected back again. That was what he’d been taught in K’un L’un, which existed simultaneously with all times and places, creating its own history and future in the workshops of the Now.
Briefly, he wondered whether future-him was aware of present-him, or whether it made any sort of difference at all. He was who he was, who he was.
The question was discarded as he sensed the approach of familiar chi-glows through the stones that lined the path to his cave. Luke’s chi was as steady as ever, and Heather’s…Heather’s was like a firestorm. Powerful. A blazing sun, buried in shadow. Then, that was his fault, wasn’t it? In the end, it was all his fault.
Wait, who was Heather? Heather was his mother’s name. He glanced down at his body, seeing the old scars that crossed his weathered skin. He was older. Twenty years, perhaps, maybe more. Twenty years. He was no detective but there was only one reason that her chi would feel so familiar. He blinked.
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me she was pregnant!”
The unassuming brownstone-cum-medical clinic that crouched at the edge of the Village had been designed to look as innocuous as possible by the best architects and engineers money could buy. Funded by a consortium of interested parties, through a variety of shell corporations, it was one of the most efficiently designed buildings on the planet. Photonic shields, AI-controlled defensive emplacements and self-isolating ward sections also made it one of the safest. It had only one tenant, who was also its designer and its owner. Her name was Linda Carter and she knew everyone, except possibly Kevin Bacon.
Well, everyone with super-powers, at any rate. Case in point, a stressed out Misty Knight.
“Sit down, Ms. Knight,” Carter said, in her best authoritative voice.
“Not until I know that he’s okay!” Misty barked, her fists swinging uselessly at the air. Carter raised an eyebrow at the tone. The two women were a study in contrasts—Knight was tall and slim, with an athletic power to her movements, while Carter was shorter, with the thicker build of a professional nurse. With her pale skin and severe hair cut, Carter resembled nothing so much as a stereotypical medical professional.
“I give you my assurance that we’ve done everything that we can for him. Now, I need you to calm down,” Linda Carter said. “You’re scaring my staff.”
Misty looked around, catching sight of several members of Carter’s staff. The generic SHIELD-issue LMDs had the generic templates of those people who came with the photo frames, all Midwestern smiles and out-of-fashion haircuts. Around twenty of the artificial beings served as the staff for Carter’s clinic, courtesy of a donation from a one-eyed philanthropist who’d been the grateful recipient of an emergency tracheotomy during an unrecorded mission to an unspecified local a decade previous.
“But—”
“Calm down. Get a cup of coffee. Rest.” Carter crossed her arms and motioned towards a nearby waiting area with her chin. “I need you out of the way, and he’s going to need you when he wakes up.” She put a hand on Misty’s shoulder. “Misty. Sit down.”
Knight slumped. She smiled weakly a moment later. “All right Carter. But if anything changes—”
“I’ll holler. Go. Sit.” Carter watched Misty Knight take a seat and then turned to Luke Cage, who had been watching the altercation from where he leaned against the wall. “As for you, Mr. Cage—”
“Hey, whoa, I’m staying out of your way, Doc,” he interjected, raising his hands. “Or are you still going by Nurse?”
Carter frowned. “Linda will do. Or better yet, Ms. Carter. I need to ask you some questions about Danny’s injuries.”
“Oh, he’s Danny, but I’m Mr. Cage?”
“I like him,” Carter said blandly.
Cage snorted, then, abruptly, he leaned forward. “How’s he doing? Be straight with me.”
“I’ve got him stabilized and, if things follow true to form, he’ll do the rest himself.” She pulled a pen out of one pocket and a notepad out of the other. “What cut him open like that?”
“One dead cat, when I get hold of her,” Cage said, smacking a fist into his palm.
“I found Vibranium traces in the wounds, and false-Adamantium. I think I cleared them all out, but only time will tell how it affects him.” Carter gnawed briefly on the head of her pen. “What’s worrying me right now is his neck and back.”
“Broken?” Cage said, softly.
“Fractured,” Carter said. “Possibly, I’m not entirely sure. He’s in what he called a ‘healing coma’. Whether the spinal damage will even be an issue after he wakes up, I can’t say.” She looked hard at Cage. “Prepare for the worst, plan for the best, is my advice.”
“You don’t really think—” Cage began.
“Honestly? No. I’ve been in this game too long to take anything at face value,” Carter said. “My files on Danny are a foot thick at this point.”
Cage grinned. “He’s fragile like that.”
“Hardly,” Carter said, cracking a smile. “But whenever one of you super-types gets involved with unclassifiable energy sources—”
“Magic, you mean?”
“If you prefer. I like to keep it scientific, though.” Carter shook her head. “There’s no way to predict how the healing process will turn out. I’m only just now starting to reach the point where I can begin classifying such things.”
Cage nodded, looking around. The hospital was a work-in-progress for Carter. A one-stop shop for the superhuman community’s medical needs, and Carter had devoted her life to the study of such. Intelligent bacteria got you down? Call the Night Nurse. Pull a hammy kicking the Rhino in the face? Linda’s on speed-dial.
“Hey, Carter?” Cage said, as a thought occurred to him.
“Yes, Mr. Cage?”
“Have you ever considered corporate consultation?”
“If he dies, will I still get paid?” Paladin said, spinning his pistol by its trigger-guard. “Rand, I mean. Not that I want him dead, you understand.”
“Paladin—” Colleen Wing began, not looking at the mercenary. She sat on a crate, her chin resting on the hilt of her sword, watching as New York’s finest put power-restraining gauntlets onto Electro, Cottonmouth and Joystick. Lieutenant Stone, standing nearby, oversaw the operation, barking orders to his men.
Paladin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, it’s cool. No worries. I can wait. We’re friends, right?”
“No,” Wing said.
“Right,” Paladin went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Hey, she’s with us!” He said, flinging out a hand as one of the Code: BLUE officers hauled a bespectacled young woman towards the transport van.
Stone glanced at Wing. “Is she?”
Wing glanced at Paladin, who spread his hands. “Interns, right? What can you do?”
“I want a letter of recommendation for this, Mr. Paladin!” the young woman said, rubbing her wrists after the officer removed her cuffs.
“Sure, Eddie, anything,” Paladin said. “Did they confiscate the hardware?”
“Yes, we did. Evidence,” Stone said, smiling harshly. He used a finger to pull down his sunglasses and looked at Wing. “Any word?”
“He came out of surgery not too long ago,” Wing said, running a hand through her long hair. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
Stone nodded. “Anything we can do—” He stopped and shrugged, as if embarrassed. “Have Misty give me a call. Afterwards, I mean. The city agreed to her offer.”
“Guess your budget was big enough after all, hunh?” Wing asked.
Paladin cocked his head. “Budget?”
“Never mind,” Wing said. She looked at the young woman and smiled. “Colleen Wing,” she said, holding out a hand.
“Edwina Falco.” They shook hands. The young woman shot a glare at Paladin. “I’m his assistant.”
“So I gathered.”
“Best darn assistant I’ve ever had!” Paladin said, smiling broadly. “Worth every penny.”
“You don’t pay me!” Eddie said, whirling on him.
“Exactly,” Paladin said, grinning at Wing. “You and Misty should get one. They do everything.”
Wing watched Eddie bawl out Paladin for a moment, then turned back to Stone. “You’ll be taking our pals to the Block, right?” she asked, jerking her chin towards the restrained criminals.
“Yeah, right after we process them,” Stone said, crossing his arms. “Muscle?”
“Strangely enough, no,” Wing said. She hefted her sword onto her shoulder. “They just showed up spoiling for a fight.”
“Like Cyclone and Mongoose,” Stone said. He rubbed his chin. “You guys are getting popular.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Hobie Brown started up the steps of the brownstone. He’d called Danny’s cell, wanting to inform him about what he’d discovered upon dissecting the floating camera they’d captured during the attack by Cyclone and Flying Tiger.*
Instead of reaching his erstwhile employer, however, Brown had instead gotten an earful from Misty Knight.
He reached out and surreptitiously patted the gym bag he carried over his shoulder. He’d brought his Prowler costume, just in case. While he really preferred being Hobie Brown - technical advisor, to the Prowler - hero-for-hire…but when Misty Knight gave the order to jump, a wise man asked ‘how high?’. Knight and Cage wanted someone they could trust to watch over Rand while they went on the hunt for Hardy.
Brown shook his head, still unable to digest that bit of informative gristle. He didn’t know Felicia well, having only met her through Spider-Man, but he’d never pegged her as the murderous type. He pressed the buzzer and a panel on the doorframe slid open. “Please present retinal verification.”
“That’s new,” Brown said. He’d availed himself of the Night Nurse’s services once or twice in his—ha!—career as a vigilante, but her security had obviously had an overhaul since then. He leaned forward, letting the scanner get a good look at his eye.
“Retinal pattern verified. Hobie Brown, AKA the Prowler. Welcome back to the Night Clinic, Mr. Brown.”
“Thank you?” Brown said, smiling bemusedly.
“No, Hobie, thank YOU,” someone said behind him. Brown whirled, jerking up his gym bag to absorb the brunt of the blow that sent him flying through the now-open front door of the clinic. “I knew somebody would come along sooner or later to let the cat in,” the Black Cat said, landing in a crouch as the door slammed shut behind her. “Shame it had to be you, Hobie, but them’s the breaks when ya plays the game, am I right?”
“Felicia?” Brown rolled to his feet, his injuries from his battle with the Zzaxlings screaming.* “Game? As in the Great Game?”
“That’s right, you played once upon a time,” the Black Cat said, lunging smoothly forward, her claws shredding the gym bag as he shoved it at her. “You know the stakes!”
“I know it cost me almost a year of my life,” Brown said, jerking back from a kick that almost took his head off. Dropping his bag, he slapped his palms against her extended ankle, trying to pull her off balance. Instead, she spun, displaying all of the sinuous agility of her namesake, and caught him across the side of the head with her other foot.
Brown was slammed hard into the opposite wall and he slumped, dazed. The Black Cat hopped to her feet, smiling sadly. “Good effort slugger. But you’re just a gadget geek. And I’m—”
“Deader than disco, once I get my hand on you.”
The Black Cat crouched, eyes narrowing. Misty Knight held a pistol clutched in both hands, aimed at a point somewhere between Hardy’s eyes. Cage stood behind Knight, fists raised. “Give it up, girl,” he rumbled. “Make it easy on everyone.”
The timer on the Black Cat’s wrist beeped and she glanced at it, frowning. The countdown had begun. She looked up. “No can do guys. I’m playing for all the marbles here,” she said, springing towards them.
Knight’s pistol barked and Hardy twisted, the soles of her boots hitting the wall, then the ceiling and then down to the floor again as she cleared the ten feet between them in an eye-blink. Then she launched herself at the other woman, grabbing the barrel of the gun and driving her elbow into Misty’s gut. Knight staggered and the Black Cat twisted her wrists, forcing the gun in Cage’s direction. Misty fired reflexively and Cage staggered, unhurt but off-balance.
Knight’s cybernetic arm lashed out, metal fingers digging into the Black Cat’s silvery hair. Knight yanked backwards, dragging the Black Cat back and hurling towards the wall. As she went back, however, Hardy drove the tip of her boot into Misty’s jaw.
Cage slung an arm around her as she hit the wall, pinning her in place. “Just one question…why?” he asked. “Why did you do it?”
“I wasn’t given much choice, big guy,” Hardy said, slamming her claws into Cage’s solar plexus. He grunted, surprised by her strength. She wriggled out of his grip, sliding down and diving between his legs. He turned, grabbing for her.
Hardy hit the floor and rolled, firing her grapple-line. It looped around Cage’s wrist and she activated the built-in taser.
Cage yelped as electricity surged through him and fell back against the wall. Even as he toppled, Knight got to her feet and sprang at the Black Cat. A robotic fist punched a hole in the wall inches from the Black Cat’s head. “You almost killed him,” Knight hissed, jerking her hand free.
“Guess I’m going to have to rectify that,” the Black Cat replied, trying to sweep Knight’s legs out from under her. The former police-woman hopped back and brought her hands down on the Black Cat’s thigh. She dug her fingers in, eliciting a yowl of pain, and hauled backwards, sending her opponent sliding back down the corridor.
Before Hardy could get to her feet, Knight rushed her, forcing her forearm against the other woman’s windpipe and driving her to the floor. “I swear to God, if you even try to move, I will crush your throat,” Knight said hoarsely. As if for emphasis, she jabbed her knee into the Black Cat’s kidney. “Now, you better start singing, sister, or I’ll see if there really is more than one way to skin a cat!”
“Time?” Roderick Kingsley said, not looking up from the cards in his hand.
“It’s up,” the Enforcer said quietly. “The cameras saw her go in, but—”
“She failed,” one of Kingsley’s opponents said. Kingsley looked at the purple-haired woman and smiled slightly.
“Don’t sound so disappointed, my dear Ms. Trainer. You knew the odds when you bet on her.”
“Do we know that she failed, or is it merely supposition?” the third player at the table asked, tossing his cards down. “I’m out, by the by.” He was larger than Kingsley, with Latin good looks and hair the color of oil.
“Obviously, Carlos; you’re always out, just when it gets interesting,” Carolyn Trainer said, smirking at him. His dark eyes flashed, and he made to stand when Kingsley waved him back to his seat.
“Don’t bait Mr. Lobo, Carolyn. We’re all friends here, yes?” he said, tossing his own cards down. “But, I’m afraid I must agree with Ms. Trainer’s assessment. Our kitten has failed. Unfortunately, that leaves us in rather a sticky wicket.”
“Wicket?” Lobo said, raising an eyebrow.
“Conundrum, then.” Kinsley waved a hand. A waitress approached and re-filled his drink. “Time to start a new round and bring in some fresh players. Who’s on the bracket?” he said, glancing at the Enforcer.
The Enforcer flipped open a small notebook and said, “Zabo and Voorhees.”
“Excellent. Inform them, then-ah-see to that other matter, please.”
The Enforcer snapped the notebook closed, then hesitated. “What about Hardy?”
“I assume she’ll be collateral damage,” Kingsley said, taking a sip of his drink. “If not, well, we can always add a new twist to things.” He paused, then said, “Say, bonus points for Ms. Hardy. That should do nicely…”
To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Heroes For Hire #6: The stakes get even higher as the Heroes for Hire face the original demonic duo-Mr. Hyde and King Cobra! Be here in thirty for “CAT, BAG, OUT”!
Previous Issue | Next Issue
Not really, but figuratively he was experiencing something close to death. Blood pumped from the rents in his stomach and chest, his ribs poked the bags of soft tissue that hid his internal clockwork and his brain was a flat line doing an impression of a dial tone.
Anyone else would have been dead already. For the Iron Fist, it was simply a speed-bump on the road of life. Danny Rand was a Weapon and Weapons do not die. They can be destroyed. They can be broken. But they cannot die.
They can, however, hurt like a sonnuvagun.
Thus, Rand’s mind hovered in a sea of numbness, cushioned from the agonies of his mortal form by the waves of a healing coma. He wished that he could tell his friends that he was going to be fine, but, well…coma.
Instead, as brief flashes of the outside world intruded on his consciousness, Daniel Rand, the Immortal Iron Fist, sat and waited in a cave in the future. He sat in the lotus position, even as he had every day for the past five years, gathering what remained of his chi.
Danny had been to the future before, and the past, come to think of it, so he wasn’t surprised per se, merely curious. He was not truly here in any event. Or he was, but not him. Not the present him. The future him, within whom he was piggybacking.
Time was a blanket, with every thread weaving amongst a sea of similar threads, all tied off and connected back again. That was what he’d been taught in K’un L’un, which existed simultaneously with all times and places, creating its own history and future in the workshops of the Now.
Briefly, he wondered whether future-him was aware of present-him, or whether it made any sort of difference at all. He was who he was, who he was.
The question was discarded as he sensed the approach of familiar chi-glows through the stones that lined the path to his cave. Luke’s chi was as steady as ever, and Heather’s…Heather’s was like a firestorm. Powerful. A blazing sun, buried in shadow. Then, that was his fault, wasn’t it? In the end, it was all his fault.
Wait, who was Heather? Heather was his mother’s name. He glanced down at his body, seeing the old scars that crossed his weathered skin. He was older. Twenty years, perhaps, maybe more. Twenty years. He was no detective but there was only one reason that her chi would feel so familiar. He blinked.
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me she was pregnant!”
The unassuming brownstone-cum-medical clinic that crouched at the edge of the Village had been designed to look as innocuous as possible by the best architects and engineers money could buy. Funded by a consortium of interested parties, through a variety of shell corporations, it was one of the most efficiently designed buildings on the planet. Photonic shields, AI-controlled defensive emplacements and self-isolating ward sections also made it one of the safest. It had only one tenant, who was also its designer and its owner. Her name was Linda Carter and she knew everyone, except possibly Kevin Bacon.
Well, everyone with super-powers, at any rate. Case in point, a stressed out Misty Knight.
“Sit down, Ms. Knight,” Carter said, in her best authoritative voice.
“Not until I know that he’s okay!” Misty barked, her fists swinging uselessly at the air. Carter raised an eyebrow at the tone. The two women were a study in contrasts—Knight was tall and slim, with an athletic power to her movements, while Carter was shorter, with the thicker build of a professional nurse. With her pale skin and severe hair cut, Carter resembled nothing so much as a stereotypical medical professional.
“I give you my assurance that we’ve done everything that we can for him. Now, I need you to calm down,” Linda Carter said. “You’re scaring my staff.”
Misty looked around, catching sight of several members of Carter’s staff. The generic SHIELD-issue LMDs had the generic templates of those people who came with the photo frames, all Midwestern smiles and out-of-fashion haircuts. Around twenty of the artificial beings served as the staff for Carter’s clinic, courtesy of a donation from a one-eyed philanthropist who’d been the grateful recipient of an emergency tracheotomy during an unrecorded mission to an unspecified local a decade previous.
“But—”
“Calm down. Get a cup of coffee. Rest.” Carter crossed her arms and motioned towards a nearby waiting area with her chin. “I need you out of the way, and he’s going to need you when he wakes up.” She put a hand on Misty’s shoulder. “Misty. Sit down.”
Knight slumped. She smiled weakly a moment later. “All right Carter. But if anything changes—”
“I’ll holler. Go. Sit.” Carter watched Misty Knight take a seat and then turned to Luke Cage, who had been watching the altercation from where he leaned against the wall. “As for you, Mr. Cage—”
“Hey, whoa, I’m staying out of your way, Doc,” he interjected, raising his hands. “Or are you still going by Nurse?”
Carter frowned. “Linda will do. Or better yet, Ms. Carter. I need to ask you some questions about Danny’s injuries.”
“Oh, he’s Danny, but I’m Mr. Cage?”
“I like him,” Carter said blandly.
Cage snorted, then, abruptly, he leaned forward. “How’s he doing? Be straight with me.”
“I’ve got him stabilized and, if things follow true to form, he’ll do the rest himself.” She pulled a pen out of one pocket and a notepad out of the other. “What cut him open like that?”
“One dead cat, when I get hold of her,” Cage said, smacking a fist into his palm.
“I found Vibranium traces in the wounds, and false-Adamantium. I think I cleared them all out, but only time will tell how it affects him.” Carter gnawed briefly on the head of her pen. “What’s worrying me right now is his neck and back.”
“Broken?” Cage said, softly.
“Fractured,” Carter said. “Possibly, I’m not entirely sure. He’s in what he called a ‘healing coma’. Whether the spinal damage will even be an issue after he wakes up, I can’t say.” She looked hard at Cage. “Prepare for the worst, plan for the best, is my advice.”
“You don’t really think—” Cage began.
“Honestly? No. I’ve been in this game too long to take anything at face value,” Carter said. “My files on Danny are a foot thick at this point.”
Cage grinned. “He’s fragile like that.”
“Hardly,” Carter said, cracking a smile. “But whenever one of you super-types gets involved with unclassifiable energy sources—”
“Magic, you mean?”
“If you prefer. I like to keep it scientific, though.” Carter shook her head. “There’s no way to predict how the healing process will turn out. I’m only just now starting to reach the point where I can begin classifying such things.”
Cage nodded, looking around. The hospital was a work-in-progress for Carter. A one-stop shop for the superhuman community’s medical needs, and Carter had devoted her life to the study of such. Intelligent bacteria got you down? Call the Night Nurse. Pull a hammy kicking the Rhino in the face? Linda’s on speed-dial.
“Hey, Carter?” Cage said, as a thought occurred to him.
“Yes, Mr. Cage?”
“Have you ever considered corporate consultation?”
“If he dies, will I still get paid?” Paladin said, spinning his pistol by its trigger-guard. “Rand, I mean. Not that I want him dead, you understand.”
“Paladin—” Colleen Wing began, not looking at the mercenary. She sat on a crate, her chin resting on the hilt of her sword, watching as New York’s finest put power-restraining gauntlets onto Electro, Cottonmouth and Joystick. Lieutenant Stone, standing nearby, oversaw the operation, barking orders to his men.
Paladin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, it’s cool. No worries. I can wait. We’re friends, right?”
“No,” Wing said.
“Right,” Paladin went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Hey, she’s with us!” He said, flinging out a hand as one of the Code: BLUE officers hauled a bespectacled young woman towards the transport van.
Stone glanced at Wing. “Is she?”
Wing glanced at Paladin, who spread his hands. “Interns, right? What can you do?”
“I want a letter of recommendation for this, Mr. Paladin!” the young woman said, rubbing her wrists after the officer removed her cuffs.
“Sure, Eddie, anything,” Paladin said. “Did they confiscate the hardware?”
“Yes, we did. Evidence,” Stone said, smiling harshly. He used a finger to pull down his sunglasses and looked at Wing. “Any word?”
“He came out of surgery not too long ago,” Wing said, running a hand through her long hair. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
Stone nodded. “Anything we can do—” He stopped and shrugged, as if embarrassed. “Have Misty give me a call. Afterwards, I mean. The city agreed to her offer.”
“Guess your budget was big enough after all, hunh?” Wing asked.
Paladin cocked his head. “Budget?”
“Never mind,” Wing said. She looked at the young woman and smiled. “Colleen Wing,” she said, holding out a hand.
“Edwina Falco.” They shook hands. The young woman shot a glare at Paladin. “I’m his assistant.”
“So I gathered.”
“Best darn assistant I’ve ever had!” Paladin said, smiling broadly. “Worth every penny.”
“You don’t pay me!” Eddie said, whirling on him.
“Exactly,” Paladin said, grinning at Wing. “You and Misty should get one. They do everything.”
Wing watched Eddie bawl out Paladin for a moment, then turned back to Stone. “You’ll be taking our pals to the Block, right?” she asked, jerking her chin towards the restrained criminals.
“Yeah, right after we process them,” Stone said, crossing his arms. “Muscle?”
“Strangely enough, no,” Wing said. She hefted her sword onto her shoulder. “They just showed up spoiling for a fight.”
“Like Cyclone and Mongoose,” Stone said. He rubbed his chin. “You guys are getting popular.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Hobie Brown started up the steps of the brownstone. He’d called Danny’s cell, wanting to inform him about what he’d discovered upon dissecting the floating camera they’d captured during the attack by Cyclone and Flying Tiger.*
[*See issue 1!]
Instead of reaching his erstwhile employer, however, Brown had instead gotten an earful from Misty Knight.
He reached out and surreptitiously patted the gym bag he carried over his shoulder. He’d brought his Prowler costume, just in case. While he really preferred being Hobie Brown - technical advisor, to the Prowler - hero-for-hire…but when Misty Knight gave the order to jump, a wise man asked ‘how high?’. Knight and Cage wanted someone they could trust to watch over Rand while they went on the hunt for Hardy.
Brown shook his head, still unable to digest that bit of informative gristle. He didn’t know Felicia well, having only met her through Spider-Man, but he’d never pegged her as the murderous type. He pressed the buzzer and a panel on the doorframe slid open. “Please present retinal verification.”
“That’s new,” Brown said. He’d availed himself of the Night Nurse’s services once or twice in his—ha!—career as a vigilante, but her security had obviously had an overhaul since then. He leaned forward, letting the scanner get a good look at his eye.
“Retinal pattern verified. Hobie Brown, AKA the Prowler. Welcome back to the Night Clinic, Mr. Brown.”
“Thank you?” Brown said, smiling bemusedly.
“No, Hobie, thank YOU,” someone said behind him. Brown whirled, jerking up his gym bag to absorb the brunt of the blow that sent him flying through the now-open front door of the clinic. “I knew somebody would come along sooner or later to let the cat in,” the Black Cat said, landing in a crouch as the door slammed shut behind her. “Shame it had to be you, Hobie, but them’s the breaks when ya plays the game, am I right?”
“Felicia?” Brown rolled to his feet, his injuries from his battle with the Zzaxlings screaming.* “Game? As in the Great Game?”
[*See last issue!]
“That’s right, you played once upon a time,” the Black Cat said, lunging smoothly forward, her claws shredding the gym bag as he shoved it at her. “You know the stakes!”
“I know it cost me almost a year of my life,” Brown said, jerking back from a kick that almost took his head off. Dropping his bag, he slapped his palms against her extended ankle, trying to pull her off balance. Instead, she spun, displaying all of the sinuous agility of her namesake, and caught him across the side of the head with her other foot.
Brown was slammed hard into the opposite wall and he slumped, dazed. The Black Cat hopped to her feet, smiling sadly. “Good effort slugger. But you’re just a gadget geek. And I’m—”
“Deader than disco, once I get my hand on you.”
The Black Cat crouched, eyes narrowing. Misty Knight held a pistol clutched in both hands, aimed at a point somewhere between Hardy’s eyes. Cage stood behind Knight, fists raised. “Give it up, girl,” he rumbled. “Make it easy on everyone.”
The timer on the Black Cat’s wrist beeped and she glanced at it, frowning. The countdown had begun. She looked up. “No can do guys. I’m playing for all the marbles here,” she said, springing towards them.
Knight’s pistol barked and Hardy twisted, the soles of her boots hitting the wall, then the ceiling and then down to the floor again as she cleared the ten feet between them in an eye-blink. Then she launched herself at the other woman, grabbing the barrel of the gun and driving her elbow into Misty’s gut. Knight staggered and the Black Cat twisted her wrists, forcing the gun in Cage’s direction. Misty fired reflexively and Cage staggered, unhurt but off-balance.
Knight’s cybernetic arm lashed out, metal fingers digging into the Black Cat’s silvery hair. Knight yanked backwards, dragging the Black Cat back and hurling towards the wall. As she went back, however, Hardy drove the tip of her boot into Misty’s jaw.
Cage slung an arm around her as she hit the wall, pinning her in place. “Just one question…why?” he asked. “Why did you do it?”
“I wasn’t given much choice, big guy,” Hardy said, slamming her claws into Cage’s solar plexus. He grunted, surprised by her strength. She wriggled out of his grip, sliding down and diving between his legs. He turned, grabbing for her.
Hardy hit the floor and rolled, firing her grapple-line. It looped around Cage’s wrist and she activated the built-in taser.
Cage yelped as electricity surged through him and fell back against the wall. Even as he toppled, Knight got to her feet and sprang at the Black Cat. A robotic fist punched a hole in the wall inches from the Black Cat’s head. “You almost killed him,” Knight hissed, jerking her hand free.
“Guess I’m going to have to rectify that,” the Black Cat replied, trying to sweep Knight’s legs out from under her. The former police-woman hopped back and brought her hands down on the Black Cat’s thigh. She dug her fingers in, eliciting a yowl of pain, and hauled backwards, sending her opponent sliding back down the corridor.
Before Hardy could get to her feet, Knight rushed her, forcing her forearm against the other woman’s windpipe and driving her to the floor. “I swear to God, if you even try to move, I will crush your throat,” Knight said hoarsely. As if for emphasis, she jabbed her knee into the Black Cat’s kidney. “Now, you better start singing, sister, or I’ll see if there really is more than one way to skin a cat!”
“Time?” Roderick Kingsley said, not looking up from the cards in his hand.
“It’s up,” the Enforcer said quietly. “The cameras saw her go in, but—”
“She failed,” one of Kingsley’s opponents said. Kingsley looked at the purple-haired woman and smiled slightly.
“Don’t sound so disappointed, my dear Ms. Trainer. You knew the odds when you bet on her.”
“Do we know that she failed, or is it merely supposition?” the third player at the table asked, tossing his cards down. “I’m out, by the by.” He was larger than Kingsley, with Latin good looks and hair the color of oil.
“Obviously, Carlos; you’re always out, just when it gets interesting,” Carolyn Trainer said, smirking at him. His dark eyes flashed, and he made to stand when Kingsley waved him back to his seat.
“Don’t bait Mr. Lobo, Carolyn. We’re all friends here, yes?” he said, tossing his own cards down. “But, I’m afraid I must agree with Ms. Trainer’s assessment. Our kitten has failed. Unfortunately, that leaves us in rather a sticky wicket.”
“Wicket?” Lobo said, raising an eyebrow.
“Conundrum, then.” Kinsley waved a hand. A waitress approached and re-filled his drink. “Time to start a new round and bring in some fresh players. Who’s on the bracket?” he said, glancing at the Enforcer.
The Enforcer flipped open a small notebook and said, “Zabo and Voorhees.”
“Excellent. Inform them, then-ah-see to that other matter, please.”
The Enforcer snapped the notebook closed, then hesitated. “What about Hardy?”
“I assume she’ll be collateral damage,” Kingsley said, taking a sip of his drink. “If not, well, we can always add a new twist to things.” He paused, then said, “Say, bonus points for Ms. Hardy. That should do nicely…”
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To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Heroes For Hire #6: The stakes get even higher as the Heroes for Hire face the original demonic duo-Mr. Hyde and King Cobra! Be here in thirty for “CAT, BAG, OUT”!
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