Crimson Flare: Blackmail

by marat

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Fareed Gouyannou walked slowly across the foyer from the ballroom toward the library. From behind him on the right, the grand staircase, circled down to the marble floor facing the open door. When he had heard the flurry of gunshots coming from inside the house, he realised that Crimson Flare must have returned, and that his bodyguards were now in the process of recapturing her.

 

He changed his mind about that when he got into the foyer. A dozen of his Praetorian Guard lay scattered across the floor and stairs—either dead or unconscious!  He slowed his pace as he crossed the great hall, listening to the ongoing struggle, signaled by the sound of bodies crashing against the walls of the library.

 

The heroine had not yet been defeated.

 

The two gunmen who had been watching and waiting with him in the ballroom had disappeared into the library; the door stood ajar and the sounds of struggle still spilled from within.

 

Gouyannou decided to wait for the struggle to be ended.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Police Commissioner Jeri Warren sat in her car, watching. It had been several minutes since the last three figures had run from the McLeod-Slaughter mansion. The last she saw of them was in her rearview mirror; their pace had slowed, she saw, but they did not reverse their direction. They had put some distance between themselves and what had frightened them—but they didn’t yet feel completely safe. In a few minutes they had disappeared from the street.

 

She knew that the gunfire would eventually bring her police to the scene. This was an exclusive neighbourhood, filled with the crème de la crème of Mitropoulos society. Those people did not take kindly to shooting.

 

At most, Gouyannou had only a few minutes before the first police arrived. As Police Commissioner, she could delay that imperative, but not prevent it. Even the most corrupt cops on the force, who would not be likely to be responding to a call in this area (they liked to be assigned where the bribes were much more reliable), would quickly enter a house with an open front door where there had been a ‘shots fired’ distress call.

 

Besides, how would Mitropoulos’ Police Commissioner explain the fact that she was here at the time of the incident?

 

She turned the ignition and slowly, calmly, drove from the scene. No sense drawing attention to herself.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Vlad Blandescu squeezed, his arms drawing ever tighter around the petite form of Crimson Flare. He grunted his satisfaction knowing that the heroine had indeed been surprised by his attack. He twisted his body right and left, swinging the girl so that her head crashed once, twice, against the walls of the alcove.

 

Crimson Flare groaned. Her ribs ached as the Rumanian crime lord applied more and more pressure to her chest. Fingers of panic slipped into her mind as the recognition of Blandescu’s sheer physical strength crept over her. She tried to reach him, but her gloved hands simply flailed as she sought to strike at her assailant behind her. She grabbed at his head, but he kept dodging her grasp. And his short-cropped hair also didn’t offer any sort of grip.

 

She desperately tried to fill her lungs, but Blandescu kept up his pressure. She couldn’t breathe! Deprived of breath, her lungs ached! She tried to push his arms, and then tried to grab them. But the ache in her lungs sent her head spinning. Her vision became unfocused.

 

Pressed hard against Blandescu’s naked body, the champion heard him grunt as he strained to keep her under control. She could smell his expensive cologne as he clutched her close to him. Its sweetness only dizzied her even more. Again and again her head smashed against the bookshelves in the niche, as the muscular crime lord sought to inflict more pain on the girl he knew still to be dangerous. Crimson Flare’s strength might eventually free her, but would he have so weakened the heroine that her recapture was inevitable?

 

As the blows to her head multiplied, the champion’s struggles grew weaker and more desperate. Each time her head smashed against one of the walls, she slumped in his arms, only to revive and resume her struggles. Blandescu smiled, knowing his victory was only moments away.

 

The Rumanian imagined Gouyannou’s reward, and he imagined how his status would rise within the underworld empire. Would he rise far enough to overthrow that fat pretender? In the old days, in Bucharest, that fat man wouldn’t have lasted a week!

 

As these fantasies filled his head, they were suddenly interrupted by a sharp, hot pain that shot upward from his groin through Blandescu’s entire body. His arms relaxed, freeing Crimson Flare, and he dropped—hard—to his knees. His body slowly, involuntarily, curled into a fetal ball. The room had flashed yellow and red before his eyes. A brief, weak, high-pitched moan escaped his lips. He did not give in to unconsciousness… but with every fibre of his being, he wished he had.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Weakness had draped over the helpless girl as she was whipsawed in Blandescu’s grip, and she had seen that her attempts to grab her attacker had failed. She did not even have the leverage to push his arms from her.  In that moment, her mind flashed back to some of Stacy’s most sage advice, such as had frequently caused the friends much hilarity during their evenings together. With all her strength, the Darling of Mitropoulos had sent her heel back and up, up between Blandescu’s spread legs, up as far and as hard as she could muster.

 

He screeched and she was free.

 

As Blandescu dropped to the floor behind her, the disoriented Champion of Women slipped to one knee. She tried to simply breathe. But each breath was painful. Each time she filled her lungs, her ribs ached. But she knew that, unlike her combat with Ape Greystook, where she had suffered a broken rib, this was nowhere near so serious. If she just had a few moments, her remarkable body would heal itself.

 

She turned to look at Blandescu. Naked on the floor, his body was only making small moves as he writhed and whimpered. He was curled into a ball, his hands covering, and trying to comfort, his groin. He seemed oblivious to the masked Champion who slowly turned away from him.

 

As she stared at the floor, breathing deeper and deeper, the beautiful Avenger was shocked by a tiny, vague brush against her torso. Her body snapped to attention and she looked around the darkened area for the next threat.

 

‘Crimson… Crim-son Fl—!’ Behind her a weak voice was struggling to speak.

 

It was Maria.

 

The policewoman’s brown eyes were only open as slits, but to the heroine this evidence of her friend’s revival was a sign that Maria had emerged from the battering, mind and body, that she had suffered. While keeping an eye out for further attack, Mitropoulos’ dazzling Defender turned to face this woman who had so quickly become a friend. ‘Don’t say anything, Maria,’ she whispered.

 

But the girl tried to talk. ‘’Y-you… came… came back… for….’

 

Crimson Flare smiled. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

 

A small sound near the door cut this conversation short. Crimson Flare immediately stood, and quickly picked up the skulking forms of Gouyannou’s two bodyguards. Even though the walls of the library were shrouded by shadow, the light illuminating the centre table and that entering through the open door were more than sufficient to outline the slowly moving figures.

 

They were circling the room in opposite directions, seeking to arrive at the alcove from opposite sides.

 

They had divided their forces.

 

You don’t have to be a Napoleon to know how to deal with that.

 

The first police sirens could be heard as the heroine circled swiftly to the left and crashed into the body of the nearer gunman. He doubled over as her fist crashed into his abdomen, and then, in almost the same movement, she grabbed him by the throat. Wood splinters from the bookshelf scattered as she lifted him from the floor and smashed him against the wall. Then she dropped him to the floor.

 

The sirens were closer as the Defender of Mitropoulos raced to the opposite side of the room to fall upon the second bodyguard. Again, her gloved fist flashed out, connecting a powerful blow first to the gunman’s throat, followed by one to his temple.

 

The fight in the library was over.

 

Evidence of the flashing police lights was just now visible in the darkness near the mansion. The Champion of Women turned toward the alcove where Maria’s naked, abused body lay. As she crossed the floor, Vlad Blandescu opened his watering eyes. The pain he felt was present in his voice. ‘This… isn’t… over!’

 

Ignoring him, the heroine entered the niche and easily lifted her friend in her arms. Then she ran to the door.

 

She almost literally ran into Fareed Gouyannou.

 

The fat ganglord’s eyes flew wide open. ‘Wha—what? Crimson—Crimson Flare! How—how did you--?’

 

Her eyes alit with fury at this man whose ambitions had created all of the events of these past several days. ‘You’re coming with me!’ Mitropoulos’ dazzling Defender said simply. A powerful side kick drew a cry of pain from Gouyannou, as Crimson Flare drove him before her, back toward the ballroom and the French doors that led to the rear of the mansion. And home.

 

*                       *                       *

 

The police arrived only moments after the trio had left the grounds of the McLeod-Slaughter Mansion. The heavy gates stood open in front of the entrance. The driveway was empty. Behind the gates and through the entranceway, the lighted foyer was visible from the street. Inside, there was no movement.

 

With guns drawn, the first officers on scene slowly entered the grounds. Inside the front door, they found evidence of the climactic battle that had taken place. A dozen or more bodies were strewn across the floor and on the stairs. The bloodied faces told them that most of these criminals had died in this battle. None of the bodies scattered about was moving.

 

‘They haven’t been shot! What happened to them?’ asked one.

 

The response was silence. His partner pointed to a single bullet hole in the wall.

 

Another patrol car pulled up on the street outside the gates. Those officers quickly joined their comrades in the foyer. Each moved to one of the doors off the entrance hall. The closed doors swung open in unison and the investigators stepped cautiously inside.

 

‘Clear!’ came the call from one.

 

Two more similar calls quickly followed. They waited for the fourth announcement. Instead, there was a brief delay before that remaining voice called out, ‘Help here! Call EMS!’

 

The officers moved toward the door of the library. Still on the lookout for any remaining danger in a mansion that had been filled with some of Mitropoulos’ most dangerous criminals, one by one, they entered.

 

They were not ready for the scene that greeted them. The room was mostly dark, with a heavy table placed in a spotlight in the centre of the library. Some light from the hallway spilled in through the open door. Scattered everywhere were unmoving bodies—unmoving, save for one!

 

A nude man rocked his body, curled in a ball, just outside the circle of light in the centre of the room. The policeman stooped over him and looked up at his buddies entering. He repeated, ‘Call EMS!’

 

A young man stepped outside the open door and made to do his partner’s bidding.

 

‘DON’T… call EMS, you bloody idiot!’ the croaking voice of the man on the floor said.

 

The officer looked into the library from the foyer. ‘Well?’ he asked his partner.

 

The nude man repeated, ‘Don’t!’ But he remained lying on the floor.

 

Still another police car rolled up in front of the mansion. The officer at the door walked to meet the new arrivals. He told them that they should call Forensics and the Coroner to try to figure out what went down here. It seemed that whatever had happened, it was now over.

 

Inside the library, two officers now hovered over Blandescu, offering to help him up. ‘I’ll get up on my own… when I’m ready!’

 

Other policemen now fanned out through the house, seeking any other bodies. It would be hours before they found Tim Westbrook, his body left in the stairwell leading to the cells in the basement. The cells would reveal their own surprises in the coming days.

 

It would be more than twenty-four hours before the police would realise that Fareed Gouyannou, reputed master of Mitropoulos’ Underworld and the owner of the McLeod-Slaughter Mansion, was missing.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Crimson Flare arrived back at the apartment building that served as her headquarters. She was still carrying Maria, who by this time had sufficiently recovered to realise that her ordeal was indeed over and held her arms wrapped around the shoulders of her costumed rescuer. Fareed Gouyannou, on the other hand, was sweating and breathing heavily after being chased, prodded and kicked across the length of Mitropoulos by the heroine. As they entered the building, the crime lord collapsed to the floor. The heroine grabbed him by the collar, lifted him to his feet and flung him across the room. Across the length of the Great City, the Champion of Women had kept after him, striking or kicking him, using her great strength and speed to drive him where she wished him to go. Finally arriving at the unobtrusive building owned by Stacy’s estate, the criminal chieftain had been driven so far and was so exhausted, that he had no idea where he was within the city limits of Mitropoulos.

 

Gouyannou dropped to his hands and knees as he realised that he had finally arrived at his destination. He had been quietly cursing the Champion of Women during their travels across town, but now the anger boiled to the surface. ‘How dare you treat me like this? ME!! Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do to you?’

 

The words sputtered out between gasps for breath and coughing spasms. About halfway through, Lynn appeared from her computer centre and smiled as she listened to the end of the crime lord’s invective.

 

Maria did not listen to him after the first few words. Crimson Flare delicately placed the battered girl on a sofa that lined the wall of the open space.

 

‘In a short while, you’ll be going to the police, Gouyannou,’ Crimson Flare intoned. ‘But until then, you’ll be questioned here. And you’ll provide enough evidence to send you to prison for the rest of your life.’

 

Still on his knees, Gouyannou looked up at the masked Maiden. Slowly a broad smile crept across his face. ‘You’re going to torture me? ‘You think I’ll just tell you where to find…?

 

The heroine cut him off. ‘No one said anything about torture. You’re going to offer the information that will send you away willingly.’

 

She looked across the lobby at Lynn. ‘Right?’

 

‘Right!’

 

Lynn crossed the antechamber and looked deeply into Maria’s face. ‘You need treatment,’ she said quickly and rushed through one of the doors. She returned shortly carrying a nurse’s tray. ‘Can you walk?’ she asked quietly.

 

Lynn slowly led Maria through a door into an apartment that was equipped for medical treatment.

 

*                       *                       *

 

It took Lynn twenty minutes to return. ‘She’s sleeping now. I’ve done the best I could for the worst of her ordeal. When she wakes, we’ll see what else is needed.’

 

What went on behind the doors of the apartments was something Stacy had always been very secretive about, so Karen had been unable to offer many details about the equipment. This equipment had been used to support Karen on her return from some disastrous escapades on the part of Crimson Flare, and the heroine was only aware of the beneficial effects of Stacy’s—and now Lynn’s—use of the technology. Lynn still did not understand all of it, but her intelligence was slowly and gradually making her more expert at the miracles Stacy had been able to accomplish.

 

She understood that the psychological trauma of rape was something that could never be measured, and that Maria’s ultimate recovery would depend on the girl’s mind as much as on overcoming the physical effects of her battery. The equipment Stacy had left behind would address both issues. Certainly the numerous sexual assaults Karen had experienced as Crimson Flare had already tested this equipment.

 

Gouyannou was still on the floor, but his breathing was now more regular and his body more relaxed. Lynn turned toward him and asked, ‘Are you ready?’

 

He looked up at her quizzically. He didn’t answer, but he watched through narrowed eyes as Lynn stepped toward the stairs.

 

‘Move,’ she ordered.

 

He remained still.

 

He almost expected it when Crimson Flare grabbed him by the collar and marched him toward the staircase.

 

‘You heard her!’ the masked Maiden whispered harshly.

 

Lynn smiled at the heroine as she marched the crime lord past her and up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Gouyannou sat facing a blank wall, painted a blah shade of beige. The room was closed off from the outside; where there had once been windows, when Stacy had purchased the building, they had been removed and the spaces sealed. The interior of the room gave no evidence of their ever having existed. Inside, the lights blazed brightly. Behind the gangland chieftain was the only entrance to this chamber, a connecting door to the apartment next door.

 

The chair was of a heavy metal, bolted to the floor. And the crime lord was secured to the chair, not unlike Malcolm MacDowell in A Clockwork Orange. Except that, in this case, he would not be forced to watch, but rather, his immobility was required so that Lynn could watch him.

 

‘If you think I’m going to give you anything, you’re crazy!’ he shouted to no one in particular. There was no one else in the room, and there was nothing like the one-way glass that was found in police interrogation rooms. Nothing but four bare—beige—walls. He could have been talking to himself.

 

Except that he was being observed. Stacy had placed four micro-sized camera lenses—one in each wall—around the room. The lenses were so small that evidence of their presence could only be detected by close examination of the surface of the wall; and even then, it would be hard to distinguish a lens unless you knew what you were looking for.

 

In her control room, Lynn flicked a toggle switch. Nothing seemed to happen.

 

But in fact, in Gouyannou’s room, subsonic waves began to play around and within the walls. Unheard, but destabilising, this ‘noise’ was the first step in bringing the gangland chieftain under control.

 

Gouyannou may not have heard the rumbling, but his mind certainly seemed aware of it. In a short time, the ‘noise’ would become a background against which Lynn’s carefully orchestrated steps would take control of their prisoner.

 

Karen entered Lynn’s control room, drying her hair with a towel. She was no longer costumed and masked and she had just refreshed herself with a leisurely shower. ‘Have you started?’ she asked.

 

‘Just now.’

 

She sat next to Lynn in front of the bank of monitors.

 

Gouyannou reacted to the destabilisation he felt around him, slowly, in a way that had become familiar to Lynn. First, he shook his head, as if trying to clear it.  Eventually he began to pull at his restraints. He looked around the room with increasing desperation, as if something he merely felt was attacking him.

 

At this point, Lynn introduced a small circle of light—with shifting colours—directly in front of their captive. It swung slowly, back and forth, across the wall in front of Gouyannou. The subsonic waves immediately ceased and the women saw his large frame visibly sink and relax. Soft, barely audible, music entered the room, adding to the relaxed atmosphere.

 

Karen and Lynn smiled as they noticed that Gouyannou began to rock back and forth. The light show on the wall stopped, but the crime lord was still, only barely perceptibly, rocking.

 

Lynn stood. ‘Time to go to work.’

 

*                       *                       *

 

Thanks to a mild sedative introduced during the time of high anxiety, as he was secured to the chair, the crime lord was now in a sort of hypnotic spell. Lynn would never use that term—nor would Stacy—but the result was the same. Gouyannou would answer the questions that would bring his criminal enterprise to an end.

 

It would be a simple matter for Crimson Flare, or Karen, for that matter, to gather up the evidence that Gouyannou would reveal. Then he would be given a suggestion to take an envelope containing information or directions where to locate evidence to the police and turn himself in.

 

Lynn had only recently mastered this technique based upon the technology that was available in the building. If it worked with Gouyannou, then it could be used in the future against many others.

 

*                       *                       *

 

It had been a hectic several days. Lynn and Karen sat in their apartment on the top floor of their command centre, the blinds pulled open to reveal the broad skyline of Mitropoulos in front of a streaked red sky.

 

Karen smiled and said, ‘Red sky at night, Sailor’s delight.’

 

The women had sat quietly for only a moment, when Maria appeared from the hallway to their left. She was wearing a translucent robe that fell to her mid-thighs. She had been sleeping the day through, and had risen with most of the memories of her recent experiences wiped away. As Karen had explained to Lynn, she could not have the entire encounter wiped from her mind, lest she fail to understand the dangers that were present working in her job in a big city. Stacy had explained this to Karen, knowing of the great dangers that faced Crimson Flare each time she went out into the city. Karen passed it along to her assistant.

 

Maria walked into the sitting room and smiled when she saw her friends. She knew that now she had been accepted into their company. She also knew that Crimson Flare had rescued her from a serious situation in which she had been sexually assaulted. She knew that Lynn Simms had aided her in her recovery.

 

‘You’re not watching TV, relishing the continuing celebration of Crimson Flare’s latest exploits?’ she asked.

 

‘That news cycle passed its peak a couple of days ago,’ Karen said gently, almost resignedly. But there are a lot of things about this latest exploit I’d rather forget.’

 

‘I didn’t mean—’ Maria quickly added, embarrassed.

 

‘I know,’ Karen replied. ‘We—know.

 

‘I was talking about what Crimson Flare had gone through.  I don’t want to minimize your trauma, Maria—I know exactly what you’ve gone through—and what you’re going through now—but I’m thinking of how Crimson Flare had been on the verge of becoming a criminal, working for that—that—dick!’

 

Lynn stared at Karen. ‘Fie for shame! How could such a filthy word come out of such a pretty mouth?’

 

‘It’s a good word to describe him,’ Maria added softly.

 

‘The evidence he provided will make it tough for his lawyers to help him much. Since he was the one who provided that material and no one knows about our little intervention, there’s no danger of Entrapment charges against the police. Even if he pleads guilty, he’s probably going to spend most of the rest of his life in prison,’ Lynn explained. ‘There’s a certain beauty in Stacy’s equipment.’

 

‘It’s a shame there was no evidence of his role in murders,’ Karen mused.

 

‘The only ones who could provide that evidence are not here,’ Lynn replied.

 

There was a long moment’s silence. Karen sipped her tea.

 

‘That smells delightful,’ Maria said, recognising the aroma of the Lapsang Souchong. ‘Is there some left?’

 

‘Of course.’ Lynn got up and walked slowly toward the kitchen. Her athlete’s body moved gracefully, even in bulky grey sweatpants and oversized t-shirt.

 

Maria stared at Karen.

 

‘What?’ the lithe brunette smiled.

 

‘I was just thinking, it’s strange how things work out.’

 

Maria sat next to Karen on the sofa.

 

‘You’d be surprised who Crimson Flare deals with on the police force,’ Lynn said, re-entering the room and handing Maria her tea.

 

‘The ranks are often the best sources of information,’ she went on, returning to her chair. ‘More often than not, they’re very grateful for her help.

 

Maria thought of her partner and the male officers he knew, who resented Crimson Flare; who were made furious that a Woman should be so successful. Did Karen and Lynn know this? Should she tell them?

 

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she began, ‘about… well, about what’s happening on the force.’

 

Her two friends turned in their seats.

 

‘In such a strongly… male… environment… when….’ Maria couldn’t figure how to go on.

 

Karen was very serious as she continued for her friend, ‘…when a Woman dares to fill the role traditionally played by Men…. Is that what you’re getting at?’

 

Maria was silent for a moment. ‘Do you understand how serious their resentment is?’

 

Lynn replied, ‘Yes. We think we do.’

 

Maria wanted to protect her department. ‘I don’t think it’s universal, nor that it goes very high up. It seems to be among many of the rank and file men…’ she spoke quickly, ‘in… the department.’

 

‘I think you’re right,’ Karen said.

 

Lynn agreed. ‘Everything we’ve seen tells us that it was isolated to a small group of disaffected policemen, Maria. It’s unfortunate that your old partner, Tim, was one of them.’

 

Maria took a sip of her tea. She sat back against the cushions in the sofa and curled her legs up under her. ‘You’re right,’ she said, looking at the skyline, ‘it is very pretty tonight.’ She reached her foot out and brushed against Karen’s thigh.

 

Karen smiled at her. The petite brunette reached out and stroked her friend’s calf.

 

‘Do you two want me to get the video camera again?’ Lynn asked.

 

Maria shifted to the cushion next to Karen and leaned her head on her shoulder. Karen looped her left arm around her new ally’s shoulders. ‘Maybe,’ they said in unison. Each took a sip of tea. Karen glanced over at her blonde friend and smiled.

 

Lynn returned the smile. Then she rose and moved toward the closet.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Police Commissioner Jeri Warren sat alone in her office, staring out at the same skyline enveloped by the same red-tinted dusk. With Fareed Gouyannou in jail awaiting trial, her last powerful ally among the city’s underworld was gone. Even the small cabal of officers who might have rid her of Crimson Flare had been shattered.

 

She felt alone.

 

She swallowed the scotch in the glass that sat in front of her, knowing that she could no longer resist the public praise that would be surrounding Crimson Flare. The superheroine’s renown would be irresistible following her latest victory. And after Gouyannou had promised her—promised her!—the end of that superslut’s interference!

 

The praise should be hers! She was the Woman who had risen through the department, who had overcome all the scoffs and doubts that had followed her! She had risen to Captain—the first female Captain in department history—and now to Commissioner! She should be the Woman reaping the honours!

 

She poured herself another drink. Here’s to dreams and dreams destroyed, she thought.

 

The phone rang.

 

No one knew she was here. From outside her office looked empty. Who--?

 

‘Hello. Commissioner Warren,’ she spoke into the receiver.

 

‘Commissioner Warren, you and I haven’t met, but we have a great many interests in common.’ The voice on the other end spoke quietly, confidently, and slowly, as if selecting words in an unfamiliar language. The accent sounded vaguely eastern European.

 

The End

 

Comments, questions, suggestions welcome: contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net