by marat
Chapter One
Outside the
Millard Fillmore Music Conservatory, a decrepit three-storey monstrosity that
had been unused for a decade or more, almost a dozen police cars sat on the wet
streets, their light flashing and radio calls echoing, muddled and indistinct,
through the cool night air. The crime scene was alive with officers,
specialists and paramedics swiftly moving about the dramatically lit location.
Officer Maria
Blakeman, who had called in the units for back up and rescue, watched, alone
and almost unobserved from inside the Conservatory, as the smoothly operating
machine went about its work. The Mitropoulos Police Department was uncovering
those behind a series of high profile robberies that had occurred over the last
week. They were also learning about the activities of a new gang that had only
recently emerged in these dilapidated sections of the city along the Hutson
River, activities that might have included drugs and large-scale weapons
purchases.
Maria was pleased
with her role in bringing this chapter in the city’s criminal history to an
end. In doing so, she had saved the life of Mitropoulos greatest heroine,
Crimson Flare, who had been captured by Ape Greystook and his gang; Crimson
Flare, who had been instrumental in Officer Blakeman’s own choice to enter the
Police Academy. Having graduated from the Academy less than a year earlier, the
policewoman had already shown her abilities and her intelligence in numerous
cases. Her doggedness in pursuing the innocence of Crimson Flare would gain her
another honour in what has thus far been a distinguished career. She smiled as
her heroine approached her to give the officer her thanks.
*****
Officer Tim
Westbrook angrily watched as his partner, Officer Maria Blakeman, and Crimson
Flare slowly walked together from the Millard Fillmore Conservatory, exiting
through the large double doors to the street below. Outside, the blinking
lights of nearly a dozen police cars tore at the darkness, red and white and
blue streaks crisscrossing the dimly lit crime scene. Walking slowly, they
seemed to be confiding in one another. Maria had given the heroine a bottle of
water, and Westbrook watched as Crimson Flare used it to clean the filth from
her face. They then walked out into the street, where the flashing lights of
back-up units, crime scene units, the ambulance, and even a police electronics
laboratory—to deal with that mass of computer and other equipment found tucked
away in a room in on the first floor—reflected off the brick fronts and wet
streets around the old music building. The policewoman took Crimson Flare’s
gloved hands in her own and spoke directly to the heroine.
Westbrook had
seen enough. The two police officers had come to this old, seemingly deserted
music education building when reports of noises there these past several nights
had led some to suspect that a band of Mitropoulos’ homeless had taken up
residence, and were using the site to stoke their alcohol or drug habits. What
the officers had discovered was much more.
Maria had
investigated upstairs; he had gone to the ground floor. He found a room filled
electronic surveillance gear, and he saw murky black-and-white images from
security cameras installed upstairs of a bound naked woman being tortured by a
group of people. Investigating further, he found three mini-DV cassettes lined
up neatly on a desktop in the same room; next to them was a professional video
unit, like the TV news crews would use. Assuming them to be evidence of the
crime, he pocketed the cassettes. They would be turned over to the detectives
in charge later.
But he quickly
forgot about them when Maria came racing into the electronics room. ‘I’ve
called for back-up. Get up to the entrance and wait for them. Get them upstairs
as soon as they arrive,’ she whispered harshly.
Just before she
returned to the upper floor, she said, ‘We’ve got to save her.’
*****
As the scope of
the criminal activity there became more evident, more and more units were
called: Back-up units for the two criminals had who wanted to fight it out,
though the gun battle was over before most of those units arrived; an ambulance
for Ape Greystook; a hearse for the dead redhead sprawled on the iron fence
outside the building; the police van for the electronics.
Police swarmed
through the building. Crime scene investigators followed gun-wielding officers
into each room and began their work once each had been cleared. Gradually
evidence was accumulated against the criminals regarding the series of crimes
that had swept Mitropoulos these last several days, crimes that had been laid
at the feet of Crimson Flare. Equipment that allowed for the projection of
images (not unlike what he had seen at the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland)
quickly cleared Mitropoulos’ Masked Maiden of the accusations. The loot from
these robberies was discovered in another of the rooms; a shopping list of
weapons and armaments was prominently posted over a desk that looked like it
belong to Ape Greystook; correspondence with Fareed Gouyannou, a name known to
the police as a leading drug supplier to the city, was also posted there, and
it indicated that Ape was in debt to him in the amount of several millions;
and, finally, there was Ape himself, his body broken in his fight with Crimson
Flare, mumbling incoherently as he was taken to the ambulance. The paramedics
had filled his arms with tubes in an effort to stabilise him, and the
murmurings ceased. The EMS vehicle raced from the scene, its siren blaring.
The other two
men, who had been killed in the shootout with police, as well as the tall
redhead impaled on the spiked iron fence outside the building, were examined by
the forensics staff and shortly removed to the top of the stairs in front of
the Conservatory. Identification showed that each had a long list of priors.
Maria stood
watching the police doing their work, admiring the smoothness and ease of the
process. Tim Westbrook sidled up to her and stood next to her.
‘I guess you’re
pretty satisfied,’ he said.
‘You bet.’
‘Got your girl
friend off the hook for all of those crimes, didn’t you?’
‘What do you
mean?’ Maria turned to face her partner.
‘Nothing,’
Westbrook said. ‘Only,’ he followed quickly, ‘only, thanks to you, Crimson
Flare gets away scot-free.’
Maria, both
shocked and furious, turned to face him. ‘Do you have any idea what she went
through? And how important bringing down Ape and his gang is for the safety of
Mitropoulos?’
‘Yeah, well, you
only have her word for that, don’t you?’
*****
As Crimson Flare
walked slowly from the Conservatory, her first sensation was one of relief. The
parting words from Officer Blakeman still echoed in her ears.
‘Don’t stop,
Crimson Flare. We need you.’
She felt the
pain in her chest, where her broken ribs would need attention. The fracture was
as yet unhealed; she was surprised at that, because her body always healed any
kind of injury quickly. The ribs had been broken days ago.
But she also
felt the police watching her. Conscious of her glittering costume clinging
tightly to her petite form, she knew some, like Maria Blakeman, plainly admired
the heroine for her actions and the model she offered to the community. The
sequins catching and reflecting the flashing police lights drew the eyes of all
on the scene to the figure of America’s Darling as she walked away. The Maiden
of Mitropoulos wondered how many, like Maria Blakeman, were pleased about her
survival and vindication. She wondered how many others viewed her in a
different light.
*****
Her trip home
had been slowed by the ache in her ribcage. A few hours later, following a
lingering hot bath, Karen Perry, wearing her XXXL Penn State t-shirt and cotton
panties, stretched out on the sofa in the living room of her apartment. Lynn
Simms had arrived while she soaked and quietly let herself into the apartment.
Karen’s blonde friend prepared a breakfast for the two of them. Lynn had been
shocked when Karen showed her the bruise just below her left breast.
‘I didn’t think
Crimson Flare could be injured like that.’
Karen spoke
easily, though the pain would occasionally rise up in her chest, and she would
shudder. ‘Neither did I. I’d been hit with baseball bats, iron pipes,
everything… and I’d never had anything broken.
‘I guess Ape
must have done something right.’
‘Don’t joke,
Karen. You told me about how quickly you heal. What happens if those broken
ribs heal improperly? What if they’re already knitted? How will you correct
that?’
Karen had spent
so much time unconscious, thanks to the Nemissesitor, that she feared that her
remarkable body, whose workings, even at this late date, she didn’t completely
understand, might heal improperly. But, when she had departed the Conservatory
crime scene, her nurse’s hands had told her that the broken bones were still in
that condition.
‘The bruise is
starting to disappear. While I was soaking, I began the process of correctly
allowing the bones to heal. Broken ribs can’t be put in a cast, you know. It
simply takes time and the right conditions. Since they were broken, the
conditions didn’t allow for any sort of healing.’
‘Don’t lecture
me, Karen. If there were a problem, who would you go to? You can’t take your
condition to the hospital without risking your identity being discovered. You
need to have them treated.’
‘You’re right,
Lynn. You are the only one I can turn to. But I also know something
about treating these kinds of fractures, I know they haven’t healed, and I know
that they will now get a chance to heal.’
‘When did Ape
break them?’ Lynn’s concern sounded in her voice.
‘I think it was
the first night. I’m…’
‘THE FIRST
NIGHT!??! You’ve been
gone four days! And they’re not healed? What happened to you?’
There was a lot
implied in Lynn’s outburst. Karen tried to calm her friend while giving her the
answers as she knew them.
‘I don’t know
what happened during most of that time. I was unconscious, thanks to a weapon
that has been resurrected. A government project—an anti-personnel weapon—called
the Nemissesitor. It attacks the inner ear.
‘Anyway, Nancy
and her men used it to keep me unconscious most of the time. I don’t know what
happened during that time. But you’re right. I should have healed in the space
of four days. Why the ribs haven’t knitted, I don’t know. But, I think it’s a
good thing they haven’t. Here, with your help, they can heal properly.’
‘You don’t know
what happened during most of the time? What do you remember?’
‘When I returned
to consciousness, most of time they simply turned up the Nemissesitor and
knocked me out again. Other times…’ she paused, struggling to remember.
‘Other times?’
‘Other times, I
remember lights. They drugged me. They used some drug that Chan had developed
to control me. It kept me conscious but I couldn’t resist. I remember lights.
They tortured me, I think, humiliated me.’ She paused.
‘Raped me.’
Lynn rose and
walked toward her friend. Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he ran the backs of
her fingers through the short, dark brown hair.
‘How much of it
do you remember?’
‘Nothing. Only
that it happened. Exactly what they did to me is lost. I have no way of recovering
it.’
*****
Tim Westbrook
got home before he realised that the cassettes were still in his pocket. He
took off his uniform and, folding it neatly, placed it on top of the chair in
front of his computer terminal. Today’s work would mean it would have to be
dry-cleaned, an expense the department did not shoulder for officers. While his
dinner was in the microwave, he turned on his video player to see what exactly
it was that he had found.
This was not the
first time that Westbrook had brought home evidence in a case. On other
occasions, it had turned out to be nothing, the case made against the criminal
without what he had found.
When the signal
from the oven told him that his Lean Cuisine was ready, he set up a tray in the
living room, in front of the TV. He pulled a prepared salad from the
refrigerator and set it in front of his chair. Then he grabbed the dinner, a
bottle of beer, and settled in to see what these perps were entertaining
themselves with.
*****
Two officers met
outside Tim Westbrook’s apartment. Gary Paladine and Bruce Sealing had been
awakened from their sleep following their shifts. Both had known Westbrook for
many years, having gone through the Police Academy about the same time.
Paladine was in line to be a detective. He had recently taken the exam and the
reports had filtered back to him through unofficial channels that he had done
well and would see his promotion with the next vacancy. He was known to be one
of the smartest patrolmen currently on the force. And one of the most
ambitious.
Sealing was
nowhere near that level of accomplishment. Not much more than a common thug, he
was known around the Department not so much for his skills as for his ability
to survive. On two occasions, charges of brutality had been brought against
him, but, on both occasions, the plaintiff had decided to drop the complaint.
Word was, on at least one of those occasions, he had brought threats against
his accuser. He was currently working in administration while the latest
accusation was evaluated. In his time on the force, he had gone through a
partner at a rate of one every five months.
Both of the
officers knew Westbrook to be a solidly competent cop; level-headed and always
in control of every situation; so, when they had received his phone calls in
the early morning hours, and he was wildly excited about ‘something they
absolutely had to see’, and that he couldn’t tell them about it over the phone,
and that they needed to get over to his place as soon as they could… they
showed up almost simultaneously about fifteen minutes later.
Westbrook opened
the door almost before Paladine had finished knocking. The young officer had
been standing in the living room impatiently awaiting their arrival. What he
had was the opportunity of a lifetime.
*****
After viewing
most of the first tape, Paladine broke the silence. ‘Are the other tapes
copies?’
‘No!’ Westbrook
replied. ‘They’re a continuation. There’s almost five hours of it.’
Sealing looked
at Westbrook. ‘Five hours! You watched all of it before you called us?’
‘I
fast-forwarded through most of it. But there’s no copied material anywhere.’
‘And you’re sure
it’s Crimson Flare; the real Crimson Flare, not someone made to look like her.’
Paladine asked the question that Westbrook had also considered.
‘I found the
tapes at the Fillmore Conservatory this morning, sitting alongside a camera.
Crimson Flare was there herself. The other people on the tape are the people
who were killed at the Fillmore.
‘There’s no
question that it’s the real Crimson Flare.’
The silence in
the apartment became oppressive.
Again, Paladine
spoke first. ‘Well, what do we do with them?’
‘That’s why I
called you guys. We need to make a decision.’
Sealing’s
response was immediate. ‘Do you know how much we can get making copies and
selling them on the net? Do you have any idea how many guys whack off just
watching her? There’s even a fetish video about her available now.’
‘That’s one
option.’ Paladine’s face showed some concern.
‘What are the
others?’
‘As I see it, we
have several. One: we simply destroy the tapes and forget they ever existed….’
Sealing turned
bright red on hearing this. ‘Are you crazy? Do you know what they’re worth?
This is the real Crimson Flare! Not some actress in a costume.’
‘As I was
saying, we have several options. One is to destroy them. This would
protect Crimson Flare and allow her to continue to do her work.’
Both Sealing and
Westbrook were not pleased with that option. Neither
was known to be particularly friendly or supportive of the superheroine.
Sealing seemed to have an almost visceral dislike for her. He belittled her
efforts and accomplishments at every opportunity, he mocked her purported
strength, frequently declaring his intent to ‘show that bitch what a real man
could do to her.’ The possibilities of the video were only beginning to dawn on
him. His partners seemed to be aiming at frustrating these possibilities.
Westbrook’s
distaste for Crimson Flare was of more recent vintage and of completely unclear
origins. It was only in the last several weeks that he had begun to side with
Sealing on the matter of Mitropoulos’ Masked Maiden. Previously, he had almost
never spoken of her, for good or ill, and the little the policeman had said, in
fact, seemed to be admiring of the way in which she inspired everyday citizens
to help the police in their work.
Officer Paladine
continued. ‘Secondly, we can turn them over to the police lab and add them to
the evidence in this case.’
Westbrook’s eyes
shot wide open. ‘Wait a second, Gary. I removed them from a crime scene. True,
I was going to give them to the lab boys when they arrived, but between the
gunfight and everything else that happened there, I simply forgot about them. I
didn’t realise I had them until I got home and… well, by then it was probably
too late.’
Patrolman
Sealing supported his friend Tim, who had so recently become a convert to the
brotherhood of officers who condemned Crimson Flare. ‘Tim’s right, Gary. We
can’t turn them over to the lab with out running a risk for him. There has to
be some other way.’
Paladine didn’t
miss a beat in his examination of alternatives. ‘Third:’ he went on, ‘they can
make their way to the police lab by… shall we say, an unknown means? We
remove all evidence that Tim has had them, and we return them to the
Conservatory or place them in the evidence locker, and someone will shortly
discover them. It’s clean, no one suspects Tim’s role, and there’s no
illegality.’
Sealing and
Westbrook were quiet while Paladine offered this possibility. They didn’t like
it, but their friend’s use of the word ‘illegality’ gave them pause.
Blinded by having Crimson Flare in their grasp, they almost had not considered
what they were doing was illegal.
‘If we are going
to go down another road, fourth, we can contact Crimson Flare and let her know
that these videos exist, that we have them (of course, we’ll have to protect
our identities), and what it would cost to get them back.’
‘NO!!!’ Sealing was furious. ‘We can’t let
that bitch off so easy! We duplicate it, we sell it, we send photos to
the papers! We end that superbitch’s act once and for all.’
Paladine
remained unmoved. ‘That’s the fifth alternative, which you’ve already
mentioned. I’m simply offering others for consideration. Of course, if that’s
where you want to go with this, running the risk that she might want to hunt
down the people who destroyed her career, then that certainly must be
considered.’
‘I’m not afraid
of her,’ Sealing said flatly. ‘You saw what they did to her in that tape. I
could handle her just as easy.’
Tim suddenly
wasn’t so sure. ‘Any other possibilities?’
‘I think that’s
it. But whatever we do, we have to be in it together. We have to agree among
ourselves that this is what we’ll do. No solos.’ He looked pointedly at
Sealing. ‘ And we can’t tell anyone else. If there’s profit to be made, we only
split it three ways. If there’s risk to be run, there’s even more risk by
bringing others in.’
They were all
three quiet for a moment.
Sealing spoke
first. ‘You know what I want.’ He sounded surly.
Tim looked at
him for a moment. ‘I can’t go for that. It’s got too many risks. Let’s go for
one single big payday. As a superheroine, she could steal a million bucks to
pay us off.’
Paladine smiled.
‘My thoughts exactly.’
*****
The three
officers divided the videos among themselves, each taking one of the tapes.
Once Tim Westbrook had seen what was on the first tape he had popped into his
player, and had watched until he had satisfied himself regarding the nature,
the potency, and the authenticity of the material, he failed to pay close
attention to what followed. As he told his comrades, he liberally used his
equipment’s fast-forward option to view the remainder of what was on the other
tapes. Fortunately for Crimson Flare, he had, significantly, begun with what
was chronologically the first tape. He had seen only the first ten minutes or
so of each of the other two, just enough to ensure that they were not simply
copies of the other videos. He had not seen the section of Crimson Flare’s
torture where her mask is removed and she was forced to reveal her name.
Lacking this
information, the problem for the conspirators was how to get in touch with
Crimson Flare in order to make their demands. They considered using CRIMNET,
but the last thing they wanted was to alert the criminal underworld about their
find. Further, as police officers, they knew that Mitropoulos’ police and civic
administration did not have direct access to the heroine. There was no
BatPhone.
They considered
arranging for a crime that would attract the vigilante, but decided that that
would not be secretive enough. What could they…?
Ultimately, Tim
Westbrook realised that he had a pretty good idea of how to contact Crimson
Flare. He simply had to avoid exciting the curiosity of his partner.
Conversation
with Maria had significantly diminished since Tim’s verbal assault on the
Champion at the Conservatory the other night. As partners, he knew that
eventually they would have to reconcile. Uncharacteristically for them, he made
the first move.
‘Maria, listen.
I think… I may have been a little out of line with that comment the other
night.’
‘A little?’
‘Well, remember.
Everybody on the force was looking for her. She was at the top of the Search
List. You cut me off as I was reading her her rights. I lost my head because I
had lost the arrest.
‘I’m really
sorry.’ She didn’t handle sarcasm well.
Maria Blakeman
sat quietly, looking straight ahead as he piloted their cruiser down
Mitropoulos’ dark streets.
‘I know you
really look up to Crimson Flare. Why is that?’
The policewoman
was slow to answer, still suspicious of Tim’s interest, but gradually she
vented the full significance of Crimson Flare in her life, in her outlook, in
her aspirations.
Tim didn’t
really listen to most of what Maria said. He was waiting for an opportunity to
raise a question that he and Paladine had formulated. When the moment came, he
wasn’t slow. ‘You know, this whole series of events has been quite a
coincidence. First, we find her at Venable’s Furs. Then we go to the
Conservatory.’ He turned in his seat and smiled at his partner. ‘It wasn’t
entirely a coincidence that second time. Was it?’
Maria was slow
to respond. Tim was stepping on to some very touchy territory. No one was
supposed to know.
‘You have to promise….’
‘Promise what?’
‘Promise you
won’t tell anyone… and I mean anyone… about this. It could not only put
Crimson Flare’s life in danger, but others, as well.’
‘All right.’
‘Say it!’
‘Say what?’
‘That you promise!!’
Tim was
chuckling. ‘This isn’t junior high school, Maria.’
‘Promise!’
‘O.K., O.K. I’ll
promise.’
‘That you’ll
never tell anyone!’
‘That I’ll
never… tell anyone.’ Tim felt a little uncomfortable about that.
Maria guided the
car to the curb of the brightly lit street. She turned to her partner, her eyes
glistening. She looked like she was about to cry.
‘She works with
someone.’
‘Wait. What?’
‘Crimson Flare
works with someone. Someone who’s on the net.’
‘Who?’
I don’t know
who, or anything about them. They’re just there, on the net. And they evidently
help Crimson Flare.’
‘There’s someone
who’s on the Internet. And this person works with Crimson Flare.’
‘I’m not an
idiot, Tim. I’ve managed to figure this out. This person puts out
announcements, questions, bulletins. There was announcement that Crimson Flare
had been gone for several days, and that her last known destination was the
Conservatory. Who do you think made complaints about noises in the
Conservatory? Who the hell lives in that neighbourhood?’
Westbrook
paused. ‘No one.’
‘That’s right.
The people who frequent the site, they made the complaints. I knew about the
situation and responded.’
‘How do you find
this person, this assistant?’
*****
Four days later,
Karen lay on the sofa. The pain in her chest had disappeared and the faint
outline of the bruise that had indicated the damage done to her was almost
gone. She was consistently more bewildered by her body and how it responded to
injury. It had been only four days since she had returned from her private hell
with Nancy and Ape. Four days! The same amount of time she had spent in that
hell, the same amount of time from Ape’s crushing blow to her ribcage to her
emancipation by Maria.
And the ribs
were healed.
‘I think I can
go out tonight, Lynn,’ she was saying to her friend bent over a computer in the
next room. Lynn had been extraordinarily quiet for the last quarter hour; Karen
wondered what could have focused her attention so completely. She hoped this
startling statement might jar her friend back to this world.
‘Karen, I think
we have a problem.’
‘What is it?’
She strolled toward the computer room, so much the product of Stacy’s money and
talent, an enclave that Lynn had taken to like a duck to water. ‘What did you
find?’
‘When you were
being held by Ape and Nancy, did you notice whether they were making a video of
you?’ The question got Karen’s attention.
‘I told you that
I was unconscious for much of the time, from the Nemissesitor. Then there was
Chan’s drug.’
‘Well, there’s a
message here, with video captures attached, showing you being tortured. I
recognise Nancy and one of the men from the Conservatory—their pictures were in
the paper—and they’re….’
‘What?’
‘Well, the
pictures look genuine.’
Karen looked at
the images that had been sent. She saw her naked body, the bruise below her
breast clearly evident; she saw herself collared, with nipple clamps and the
small dangling chain visible; there she was, writhing on the floor with Nancy
and the shaven-headed figure also visible. Crimson Flare, still masked in all
three images, looked devastated.
‘I think…’ Karen
was quiet for a long time.
‘I… I think
they’re… genuine. Why… were… they sent?’
‘Somebody wants
a million dollars for the videos.’
‘Wh-… wha-what?’
Karen was stunned.
‘The videos are
scattered in three places around Mitropoulos. When you deliver the money,
they’ll let you know where they are.’
Karen ran from
the room, sobbing.
*****
‘They have to be cops; they were the only
ones there.’ Karen’s reddened eyes blazed with fury.
‘We don’t know that.
It could have been the guy who shot the film. You said yourself that you were
unconscious and unaware almost all of the time you were in the Conservatory. We
don’t know how many people saw you there. With Nancy and two others dead, and
Ape in the hospital, he might be trying for a solo score.’
Karen paused.
‘You’re even starting to talk like a criminal.’
Lynn gave a
slight half-smile. ‘You know what I mean. It might be the police. But
it’s equally likely it’s someone else. It might just be someone who stumbled
across the videos and is trying to turn them into some money. They may not be
on anyone’s side except their own.’
‘How am I going
to get a million dollars?’
‘They offer some
suggestions. And they simply say don’t contact them until you have the money.
It’ll probably be a blank address with an automated response. Whoever did this
is no fool.’
‘I can’t steal a
million dollars, even to allow Crimson Flare to remain active.’
‘You said you
were going out tonight,’ Lynn said soothingly. ‘Why don’t you? Get back into
action. I might be able to figure something out.’
*****
That night
Crimson Flare returned to the streets. Even after she had stopped a robbery,
when she turned the burglar over to the police, her attitude toward the
officers was less friendly than it had been previously. Her discovery that many
of Mitropoulos’ Finest were among her enemies, who wished her ill, and the
suspicion that some may now be trying to blackmail her; all of this was
reflected in her distant and perfunctory dealings with them on this night.
Mitropoulos’
Champion was confused. How could she enforce the law if she distrusted, and was
distrusted by, the police? Trying to come to grips with the situation, not
wishing to let it interfere with her work, the heroine wished some time to
think, to find some time to be alone. She had to sort out all of the
conflicting ideas that had just become known to her. America’s Darling returned
the Millard Fillmore Conservatory, to the scene of her humiliation, looking
for…. Looking for what? A clue? Evidence that it was a dream? Or simply a
moment to ponder her future?
The two-inch
heels of her highly polished black boots echoed in the high-ceilinged halls of
the building. As she climbed the stairs to the top floor, she looked around at
the debris of years of neglect, remembering how she had arrived to rescue
Nancy, and how, instead, she had herself been captured. The photos that had
accompanied the ransom note filled in some of the gaps in her memory. She knew
now that it was no dream; in her mind she heard again Nancy’s vile words, words
that demeaned Crimson Flare, words that taunted and humiliated her. In one of
the pictures, she saw one of Nancy’s cohorts pressing himself against her face
as she took him full in the mouth, his manhood running down her jaw. In
another, Nancy was smiling as she held the small silver chain that was attached
to the nipple clamps that degraded the Champion of Women. In the third of the
three, a battered Crimson Flare stared vacantly outward from behind her glossy
black mask, while Nancy, her arm around the naked shoulder of the Masked
Maiden, smiled broadly, revealing her uneven, yellowed teeth. She seemed to be
saying something. It was clearly a capture from a video.
As the
superheroine arrived at the top floor, she slowly walked toward the large
choral auditorium where she had finally confronted Nancy. To the right was the
practice room where Ape had been discovered. The lights that had been set up
for the trap that ensnared her still lined the baseboards of the hallway.
She stood still,
looking upward at the starless sky through the dingy skylight. Crimson Flare
closed her eyes, and imagined what her life would be like if she didn’t fight
against the criminals who populated Mitropoulos’ Underworld. She gritted her
teeth and her shoulders shook as she tried to conceive it. Was that the only
way? Quietly, she said to herself, ‘Stacy, what do you want me to do?’
‘I’ve already
told you. I told you not to stop.’ The voice shook the heroine.
‘Wha--!??!’
‘I told you not
to stop. We need you.’ Maria Blakeman stepped out from the shadows next to the
auditorium entrance. ‘I’m not going to ask who you were actually talking to.
But I’m going to give you the only answer that’s possible. Crimson Flare must
continue to do her work, regardless of who her enemies might be.’
‘Do you know who
her enemies are?’ The heroine felt a little uncomfortable talking about herself
in the third person. ‘—My enemies?’
‘They’re
everywhere. In the darkest patches of the alleyways all across the city; in the
corporate boardrooms downtown.’
‘At Police
Headquarters?’
‘Yes, there,
too.’ Maria paused as she considered what to say next.
‘You were the
one who told me about the policemen who wished me ill. Are you going to protect
them now?’
‘I don’t know
what’s happening. I only found out that you were out and about on the police
scanner when you turned that burglar over to the patrolmen on Weston Avenue.
They said you were acting strangely.’
Crimson Flare
turned and walked away from her newly found friend. ‘I… I’m being… blackmailed.
Someone has videos that were made here, while I was a prisoner, here, in the
Conservatory. They emailed a few images to me and threatened to turn the tapes
over to the tabloids or make them available on the web, unless I gave them a
million dollars. Do you know anyone who would do that?’
‘I hope not.’
Maria considered, and then rejected, the possibility that a policeman,
particularly one she knew, would do such a thing. ‘What do you know about the
blackmailer?’
‘Nothing at all.
I don’t know if it’s just one person, or more than one. I don’t know whether
it’s a man or a woman. I have nothing to work with.
‘But I’m almost
certain it’s the police.’ Her jaw was set and she thought of Lynn’s admonitions
not to jump to conclusions.
‘I don’t…’ Maria
began, then thought better of defense of her fellow officers. ‘What can we do?’
‘I have a
friend,’ the Masked Maiden said softly. ‘She…
‘I know.
Somebody created the website and has to send out responses when you’re…
indisposed. It was the person who sent us here when you were being held’
‘She’s trying to
figure something out in order to learn anything about this person. Maybe you,
working inside the Police Department, can work from a new angle and help us.’
‘Can I contact
you—and her—in some way other than through the website?’
*****
Three days
later, the combined efforts of Lynn, Maria, and Crimson Flare, who, in her
nightly patrols had undertaken intensive interrogations of some contacts she
had made while in her pursuit of criminals, had got the trio of investigators
only small steps further. The one solid lead that had been uncovered was a
negative one; namely, that none of the survivors of Ape’s combined
Norman-Savoyard gang was currently involved in any kind of activity. The double
calamity of the destruction of the original gangs at the hands of Crimson
Flare, followed by the hospitalisation of Ape Greystook, again as a result of
tangling with the powerful champion, had disheartened and demoralised the entire
gang structure. Whoever was engaging in the blackmail, it was not coming from
this part of Mitropoulos’ battered underworld.
‘If I tell him
I’ve got the money, it’ll give us the one chance we need to perhaps flush him
out,’ Karen was telling Lynn.
‘It’s
dangerous,’ Lynn responded. ‘And what if you’re contact with the police finds
out that the blackmailer isn’t there. You’re out on the limb with your
perfectly formed ass hanging naked.’
Karen was
surprised by Lynn’s description.
‘Nevertheless,’
Karen continued without missing a beat, ‘the only other group that might have
had access to those videos are the police. I’ve determined it’s not someone
working with Ape and Nancy. Right now, Fareed Gouyannou is trying to pick up
those pieces, maybe to get some of his investment back. Certainly he has no
reason to love Crimson Flare: She cost him a multimillion-dollar drug shipment
at the McLeod-Slaughter Mansion only a couple of weeks ago. But he’s never been
able to keep a secret: his security is so lax, if he were involved in this
blackmail, there’d be several paths to confirm the story. There’s not even the
suspicion of his involvement.’ She smiled thinking about how it was Gouyannou’s
own people who had given her the lead on the drug drop those several weeks ago.
After a long
pause, Lynn nodded her head. ‘I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right.
And, what’s worse, I think you’re right about how to deal with it.
‘We have a
couple of hours to prepare. I’ll contact our friend with the police and make her
aware of tonight’s “drop”. It may be someone she knows, and she can be on the
watch for any tell-tale signals.’
‘Crimson Flare
will be ready, too.’
*****
Crimson Flare’s
glittering form crossed the large open space of Mitropoulos’ Centre Park, a
large green area in the heart of the city’s business district, carrying a large
briefcase. It was shortly before two A.M. and traffic had all but disappeared
on the city streets surrounding the grounds. The only sound was the distant
rattle and accompanying horse’s hooves of a single hansom cab carrying two
late-night lovers on a circuit of Mitropoulos’ only pastoral area. Before going
on her mission, the heroine had contacted Lynn, who found no untoward activity
either on her website or on the police scanner. While wishing her friend well
in the night’s risky undertaking, Lynn warned her about the dangers inherent in
the plan, of her grave misgivings about this escapade. Earlier, Crimson Flare
had contacted Maria, who had told her that no officers had given any indication
by word or action that tonight might be something special for them. Maria
heaved a sigh of relief, as she recognised that she would not be brought into a
confrontation with her partner, as she had feared. All of these reports gave
the Masked Maiden some cause for concern. What if Lynn were right, and it was
someone outside of the Police Department?
She walked
toward the copse of trees that the instructions at the website had directed her
to. This place was, she thought to herself, well selected. Even though there
were no obstructions between the thicket and the poured concrete barrier that
overlooked the park’s pathways, the city’s nearly empty streets were more than
a quarter mile distant from where she now made her way. Any activity would be almost
invisible at that distance to someone walking past at that hour. Furthermore,
it would be impossible to shadow someone to or from the site because of the
large stretch of open ground surrounding the trees.
A cool night
breeze blew across the park. To Crimson Flare, who stood in the open at the
edge of the coppice, its slight chill was refreshing. In this early morning
hour, it helped to awaken her senses as it brushed the exposed areas of her
face. The heroine stood still as she gazed off into the distance looking for
any evidence that she was being watched. The tight-fitting cowl that covered
her short-cropped hair pressed tightly against her ears and clung closely to
the shape of her face. As her face turned in the cool night air, the distant
streetlights reflected off the smooth, polished black surfaces that served to
hide her identity. She licked her ruby lips in anticipation of meeting those
who wanted to hurt her, and then swallowed hard, hoping that Lynn’s fears were
as groundless as she had assured her friend that they were. The darkness and
near silence reminded her how dangerous a game she was playing.
Her sequined crimson
uniform glittered as it hugged tightly against her body. As the Masked Maiden
turned, her renowned costume dimly reflected light from the far-off street
lamps. For a moment—just a moment—the Champion of Mitropoulos glanced downward
to admire the effect. Its taut lines hid nothing from any observer. The
crimson-and-gold sequins moved as she moved. Her small breasts seemed to be
perfectly shaped, symmetrical mounds, rising and falling as she breathed. They
were accented by her petite size, and the costume fell off to her narrow waist,
set off by the black belt and holster, which rested easily on top of her
flawless hips.
Crimson Flare thought back
on what Lynn had said only a few hours ago… ‘You’re out on the limb with your
perfectly formed ass hanging naked.’ She smiled to herself. The heroine was
well aware of how her body was perceived by Mitropoulos’ criminal element. The sexual
assaults, which had become so much a part of their dealings with Crimson Flare,
were merely a reflexion of this. And besides, she told herself, it also fit in
with the way she was objectified by everyone—the criminals and the
police. If they hated her for being a woman, not for doing what she was doing,
rape would become more and more a part of their anger. And the mode of their
revenge. Dr. Brayfield had said as much during their sessions.
Well, wasn’t that what
Stacy had also said? The costume would appeal to the male fantasy. And its
tightness—the fact that it left so little to the imagination—would work to
Crimson Flare’s advantage in confrontations with her enemies.
Even the gloves worked into
this fantasy. Stacy had seen them as further symbols of her virginity, her
frailty. As tight as other parts of her costume, they stretched to her elbows,
holding tightly to the curves and roundness of her hands and forearms.
Mystery, frailty,
virginity: these were the elements of Crimson Flare.
And just a little
sluttishness, she thought.
A freshening breeze caught
her, and she felt goose bumps rise on her bare neck and upper arms. As she
shifted position, she felt the coolness of the breeze through the satin of her
gloves against the skin of her arms. She heard fabric rubbing against fabric as
she brushed her fingers against her palm of her free left hand. The sound
reminded her of Crimson Flare’s mission.
The sheen of her tights
shifted as she turned, showing her perfectly round thighs to their best advantage.
The cut of her costume took the best advantage of her delicate form. Even her
highly polished back leather boots reflected that same faint, distant light
source. As she gazed down at her figure, she was reminded of just how much she
enjoyed putting on this costume, and how much it would mean to her to have to
give it up.
Behind her mask,
her green eyes peered into the dark distance. Nothing moved.
In Centre Park,
only the sounds of night creatures broke the stillness.
Crimson Flare
stepped into the trees. The directions indicated that the drop point was
approximately twenty-five yards inside the western perimeter, where a small
clearing with a single spruce would mark the spot. Once there, a note buried at
the foot of the tree would give further instructions.
She fought her
way through the forest, branches tearing at her in the darkness. Beneath the
foliage, the small amount of light from this night’s quarter moon was blocked,
and as she moved into the trees, even the faint illumination from the distant
street lamps was more and more shut out. Soon the Maiden of Mitropoulos was
moving in almost total darkness. She tripped her way forward, looking for the
clearing.
To her right she
saw moonlight spilling onto an open area. The Champion of Women moved in that
direction and soon stepped out into the glade. In almost the center of the
compact open space was the spruce.
She walked
swiftly toward the tree. About ten feet away, she suddenly stopped. There,
beneath the tree, Maria Blakeman lay unmoving, tied and gagged. Dropping the
attaché case, the avenger raced to the side of the policewoman who had become a
dear friend.
She knelt next
to the supine figure, gently lifting the head onto her lap. Crimson Flare
pressed her face closer to Maria’s as she tenderly patted her jaw with his
gloved hand, whispering her name, trying to restore life to the unmoving form.
‘Maria! Maria!
Can you hear me?’
‘She won’t hear
you for awhile, superbitch.’ The voice came from the darkness on the edge of
the trees behind the heroine.
America’s
Darling quickly rose to her feet. ‘Who are you? Where are you?’
A second voice
at another part of the perimeter answered. ‘We’re the people you tried to
cheat, Crimson Flare. And if you don’t co-operate now, your friend is in great danger.’
‘What do you
mean?’
A third voice
answered from still another part of the periphery. ‘We mean that your friend
there has been injected with something that could endanger her life if you
don’t raise your hands and walk over toward the trees to your left.’
‘How do I know
you’re telling me the truth?’
‘All we have to
do is wait,’ the third voice replied.
There was
silence for about ten seconds, as the Maid of Mitropoulos tried to consider her
options. She stared at the still form of Maria lying before her.
‘All right.’ She
lifted her hands, turned, and moved slowly toward the trees that were about
fifteen yards from her. ‘Please, don’t hurt her.’
‘We’ll give
directions here,’ the first speaker told her in a harsh tone.
‘All right, stop
right there,’ the third voice told her. She was standing next to the tall trees
on the edge of the glade. ‘Now, don’t move. Or your little friend there
will never wake up.’
‘Please, don’t
let anything happen to her. I’ll do as you ask.’
‘Yes, you will,’
said the third speaker. He was directly behind her. Crimson Flare could hear
his breathing.
Trapped, unable
to resist, Crimson Flare’s wrists were seized roughly and pulled down in front
of her, where they were quickly tied. ‘N-, no.’ Already the heroine began to
feel the helplessness creep over her.
‘In a few
moments you’ll leave with us. We’ll let whoever your friend is on the Net know
where to come find little Maria and what antidote to apply.’
She was rushed
into the back seat of a car waiting, hidden, just inside the arboreal
perimeter. It raced out of the park and headed uptown, towards the
McLeod-Slaughter Mansion.
*****
Fareed Gouyannou
watched as Crimson Flare was taken, unresisting, from the automobile.
‘First, she must
learn the cost of intruding on my business. Take her inside.’
Startled by the
sight of the drug lord, Crimson Flare, stuttered, ‘What have you done with
Maria? You promised—.’
‘I have kept my
word, Crimson Flare,’ he interrupted, his accent clearly evident. ‘That is more
than you can say in regard to the money you promised me this evening.
‘By now your
friend on the Internet has been informed of where to find your policewoman
friend and the nature of the antidote to give to her. And right now, you should
be much more concerned about your own safety.’
Two large men
pulled the petite Champion toward the mansion. Their large hands gripped her
bare upper arms tightly, forcing her wrists against her glittering torso. This
position allowed the claw to find a position along the rope that was looped
around her gloved arms.
Now that Maria
was apparently safe, Crimson Flare could begin to free herself from her bonds.
*****
Moments later,
Crimson Flare stood in the center of the mansion’s ballroom. Her ankles had
also been bound now, and her arms were stretched above her head, secured by a
thick wire to an eyelet in the high ceiling. She stood on her toes, trying to
relieve some of the pressure on her arms and shoulders, at the same time also
diligently working the claw to free herself.
She had barely
begun the process when Gouyannou entered the room, followed by three men. A
small black leather parcel was clearly visible in the hand of one of them.
Crimson feared what it might contain.
‘Crimson Flare,’
the drug lord said softly, ‘you are a great deal of trouble for me.’
The Champion of
Mitropoulos stared silently at him, defiant.
‘But I am going
to change that. Shortly you will begin to work for me.’
‘Not possible. I
have dedicated myself to fighting for law and justice.’
‘Oh, it most certainly
is possible. Just as you once worked for the Normans. Gentlemen!’
Five more men
entered the room. Each of them carried a length of pipe.
‘Cut her down,
and teach the heroine the cost of interfering with my business.’
Even before the
taut wire was severed, the first blow landed against the Maid of Mitropoulos’
upper back. The force and the pain took her breath away. Her vision became hazy
as she tried to catch her breath.
Another attacker
almost simultaneous swung a four-foot piece of lead like a baseball bat,
sending it crashing against the shoulders of the avenger, just below her chin
She fell noisily onto her back in the centre of the hardwood floor. Her bound
wrists and ankles did not allow her to get to her feet. The pain shooting
through her body slowed her effort to sit up. She felt the huge hand of one of
the men grab her at the back of the neck and easily lift the crimefighter from
the floor. The large size of her attackers amplified the heroine’s diminutive
proportions.
‘Do you know how
many enemies you have made?’ Gouyannou
said, smiling. ‘Each of these men has lost a friend, a relative, someone close
to him because of your interference.’
‘That’s right,
bitch.’ A third criminal swung the pipe viciously, striking across Crimson
Flare’s petite breasts.
‘AAAAaaaaaaagggghhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkklllllmmmmmmmm!!!’
Weakened, bound,
and in the power of her enemies, Crimson Flare’s cry filled the room.
The gangster
whose hand gripped her neck tossed her body aside. She landed on her back
several yards away. Her vision reduced to pinpoint by the pain, she looked up
at the band of men whose purpose now seemed to be nothing mare than to inflict
pain on the heroine.
End of Chapter
One
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome:
contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net