Crimson Flare: Ape’s Grab for Power
by marat
Chapter Two
Too dazed to fully grasp her desperate situation, Crimson Flare
hung from the guardrail, trying to gather her senses about her. Ape’s departing
blow had been awkward, but effective. She swooned in and out of consciousness,
partially aware of time passing, partially aware that she was losing precious
minutes to save herself before the TV crew would arrive to see who or what was
suspended from the metal railing. Through unfocused eyes, she looked down and
saw the polished black leather of her boots swinging freely in the space above
the shelf below her. Nearer, she saw the black leather of her belt resting on
top of her hips, and the holster holding her baton hanging from it, useless.
The heroine couldn’t feel her arms below her shoulders, the circulation to
those areas cut off by the weight of her suspended body. But she must—she should—be
able to free herself, to escape before her rescuers arrived.
Too late! Crimson Flare felt the ropes holding her wrists
loosen, first one, then the other. Lazily, she swung her head from one wrist to
the other, wishing through the fog of her semiconsciousness that it would all
go away. Her hands swung freely and she now hung only from the chains that
circled the rail and her shoulders; she felt hands grab at her from above,
pulling her unresisting body upward. She wanted to fight against her rescuers,
to save herself from the ignominy of having to be liberated. All the heroine
could do was feel the shame of being pulled upward as her shoulders were freed
from the chains. But the beating she had endured was too severe; the pain she
still felt would not allow for effective resistance. This was her moment of
greatest humiliation: Crimson Flare, America’s Darling, and the saviour of
Mitropoulos, rescued by TV newsmen.
Unceremoniously, her petite body was pulled over the metal
guardrail and dumped onto the gravel of the shoulder. She moaned softly as she
lay on her back.
‘Get up!
Come on!’ she heard a
woman’s voice cry out. ‘There’s no time! Follow me!’ A pair of hands
yanked her to her feet and pulled at the Champion as she clumsily ran across
the Parkway. She heard the leather soles of her boots clicking on the road
surface. Looking down, Crimson Flare saw highway passing beneath her feet. As
she looked up she saw the hazy form that was pulling at her arm.
A young woman,
with long, black hair tied into a ponytail, dressed in bright blue spandex
tights and a similar bright blue loose-fitting warm-up jacket, focused on a parking
lot on the far side of the roadway. Around her head was a similar bright blue
sweatband. Her peaches-and-cream complexion was flushed, but she seemed not to
be breathing hard as she pulled, tugged, and generally dragged Mitropoulos’
Champion after her.
There was no
traffic on the highway, so Crimson Flare’s stumbling steps were no impediment
to reaching the safety of the blue van parked under an overhead lamp. As the
two young women approached the vehicle, the blue-clad rescuer touched her
keyless remote and the side door of the van sprung free. With her left hand she
grabbed the door and pulled it open at the same time she pulled up to a sudden
stop next to the van; with her right hand, as Crimson Flare’s momentum took her
past the halted blue figure, the brunette pushed the masked beauty sprawling
onto the floor of the vehicle. The door slammed shut behind her.
Seconds later
the driver’s side door also slammed and the engine turned over.
*****
A short while
later the van entered a parking garage beneath one of Mitropoulos’ new
high-rise condominiums. At this hour there was still very little traffic moving
in and out of the garage and Crimson Flare’s rescuer was able to get the
still-dazed heroine to the elevator without encountering any other early
morning commuters.
The elevator
stopped at the twelfth floor. When the door opened, the brunette stepped to the
entry and looked carefully in both directions, up and down the short hallway.
Seeing no one on the floor, the girl in bright blue turned to face the
Champion. But by this time Crimson Flare had sunk to her knees on the floor of
the car. Her body was hunched over and threatening to collapse forward. Her
masked face was invisible; all that could be seen was the cowl at the top of
her head.
The girl took a
quick two steps to the fallen heroine and stooped beside her. She put her right
arm around her back and placed her hand underneath Crimson Flare’s shoulder.
She lifted from beneath, at the same time rising to a standing position
herself. As she did so, Crimson Flare
stumbled forward as her feet became unsteady under her. The girl’s left arm
reached out to brace the two of them against the front of the elevator. As she
shot a glance toward the heroine, the brunette for the first time saw the torn,
cracked, and crushed vinyl mask and cowl covering the face and head of
America’s Darling. She saw the rivulets of blood running down her face from the
cuts below the mask, the gashes made by the chains wielded against her. The
girl heard herself take a sharp intake of breath as the shock of the heroine’s
appearance registered on her. With that, she changed her position and with
surprising ease lifted the Champion onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
The girl in blue held the gloved wrists of the barely conscious avenger in her
own right hand, while with her left she fished out her apartment’s key from her
pocket. She moved quickly down the hall to the corner residence, pushed the key
into the lock, and stepped inside as she opened the door.
As the door
slammed behind them, the girl in blue plopped the sequined form of the heroine
on a large white sofa in the middle of the living room. Crimson Flare’s form sank deep into the
cushions and she moaned again. At last, safe but exhausted, she was unconscious.
The brunette in
blue stared at the glittering form resting on her sofa. It was entirely still,
except for the slow, even movement of her rising and falling chest. The rescuer
hastened to the bathroom, returning momentarily with a few small bottles and a
box of cotton balls. She placed these items on the end table near Crimson
Flare’s head, and then she gently turned the body of the unconscious heroine so
that she lay flat on her back.
Then she stood.
She looked down on the supine form of the saviour of Mitropoulos. Dried blood
streaked the exposed skin of Crimson Flare’s face below the shiny black vinyl
of her mask. Broken skin was likewise caked with ridges of blood. The vinyl
mask and cowl that covered her head was shattered in many places, broken, crushed,
torn. It was beyond the young woman, as she stared at this heroine whom, it
must now be admitted, she had admired for so long, how the petite woman could
have undergone the attack that created these results and still have survived.
She saw bruises around her upper arms and near her shoulders, where chains had
been wrapped around her, securing her to the roadside guardrail. The ends of
her gloves were ripped, exposing more tortured flesh. She saw gashes at the
wrists of both satin gloves, where the ropes had been viciously tied, holding
her securely in place, suspended, waiting for… for what?
The crimson and
gold costume shimmered in the early morning sun that shone in through the
window. It clung to the lithe form of its owner like a glittering second skin.
From her neck to her crotch, the uniform lay taut across her body. Her small
breasts made round and distinct mounds, each with a small knob at its peak,
rising and falling as her unconscious form began its recuperation. The tight
costume displayed her feminine form without apology. Around her waist, the
black leather belt holding her weapon emphasised her form. Below the high-cut
leotard she could see a dim luminescence reflecting from her tights; though
covered with dirt and dust, the well-rounded muscularity of the heroine’s
thighs was still clear. She had read, on the net and even in the newspapers,
that these legs drove men, particularly her enemies, mad with lust. Looking at
them now, she tended to agree. The shape, the muscle tone, their length, all
seemed to indicate a high level of physical conditioning. And a genuine hint of
sexiness.
She went to the
kitchen now to retrieve a small amount of water, to begin the process of
cleaning the face and the wounds of the Champion. As she rubbed the washcloth
against the dried blood on first one cheek, then the other, the smooth clarity
of the heroine’s skin shone forth. The streaks and specks of blood disappeared
and the young woman rinsed the cloth again and again, the water in the pan by
her side gradually reddening. When she ran the damp cloth around her patient’s
mouth, she saw that the lips were cracked and dry, the red lipstick that she
wore almost entirely gone.
Having refreshed
the water for a third time, she next turned to the source of the blood flow
that had marred Crimson Flare’s face. Using a cluster of cotton balls as a
swab, she pressed the alcohol-soaked material against the broken skin, gently
brushing away the clotted blood, revealing the savage tears in that soft,
smooth organ. As the alcohol-laced fumes tried to penetrate her
unconsciousness, the heroine reacted to the painful sensation of the alcohol
encountering the torn flesh, turning her face and groaning weakly in her
oblivion. The blue-clad girl, now perspiring heavily as she worked diligently
over her agonised charge, placed her left hand on the far side of Crimson
Flare’s face and gently tried to hold her head in place. She noticed that the
unconscious heroine squirmed, now drawing her knees up toward her stomach, and
sought escape from the pain inflicted. Crimson Flare’s hands raised toward her
face, but, instead of tugging at the young woman’s soothing, merciful effort,
the heroine held them crossways over her head, as if still trying to thwart the
attack that had ravaged her mask and cowl and had created such devastation on
her exposed flesh. In her agony, Crimson Flare grunted and moaned.
Having cleaned
the heroine’s face, the girl turned next to her arms. First, she determined
that there were no broken bones. Finding none, and knowing that there wasn’t
much she could do about the bruising around her shoulders, she began to pull
the torn and ripped satin gloves down her arms. What she saw beneath was the
greatest shock she had experienced. Not the contusions and cuts, which she had
expected, but the faded track marks at the veins at the crook in Crimson
Flare’s elbows.
So the rumours
were true! Crimson Flare had been hooked on drugs during her battle against the
Normans. The tracks were old and relatively few, but, distinctly, these were
the patterns she had seen on the arms of junkies. Impulsively, she rubbed the
cotton against the track, as if trying to rub them away. But, then, focusing
again on the project at hand, she turned to the cuts on her forearms, made by
the chains, and at her wrists, made by the binding ropes.
Having removed
the dried blood from all visible areas, the girl next looked to Crimson Flare’s
mask and cowl. For a long time she stared at the covered part of the Champion’s
face, as if wishing her back to consciousness, so that she could ask permission
to remove them. She knew that the heroine’s secret identity was a closely
guarded secret, but the condition of her body called out to take the healing to
the next level. Hoping that Crimson Flare would understand, the blue-clad young
woman pulled the black vinyl mask from the heroine’s face.
She was glad to
see no cuts, but rather only more bruises and abrasions around her eyes and
forehead. The vinyl mask had protected her against the beating that had been delivered.
She next opened
the black leather belt, pulling the two prongs from the double row of eyelets.
As she pulled the strap from beneath the back of the heroine, she though how
very light this weapon—what was it called? this baton—seemed to be. It
was almost weightless. Thinking now of the comfort of her charge, the young
woman moved to Crimson’s black leather boots. She stretched out the Champion’s
legs again, then pulled the zipper of the left boot toward the heroine’s ankle.
The rasping sounded loud in the closed living room, but finally the black
leather hung open around the Champion’s calf. Beneath the dirt and dust, she
saw that the leather was highly polished. She lifted the Champion’s left leg
and gently wriggled the leather boot from her foot. Crimson Flare’s left foot,
covered in her colourless tights, dropped soundlessly to the sofa. Then the
rescuer did the same with the right boot.
When the
relieved girl in blue turned back to the face of her patient, she saw that her
eyes were open and aware. Pleased to see the green eyes measuring her, she
sought to reassure the heroine of her safety. ‘Do you want some water?’ she
asked, knowing the answer and rising to her feet.
Crimson Flare
tried to speak but nothing emerged. She just nodded. Her rescuer left the room
and returned shortly bearing a large glass and a 2-litre plastic bottle of
water.
It was only
after Karen had taken a long drink that she saw her black vinyl mask lying next
to the sofa and realised that her identity had been revealed. A mild shock
spread over her face, but the calming look of this good Samaritan gave her to
know she need have no fears. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and laid her head back on
the plush cushion.
‘We should all
thank you,’ came the response. There was a moment of silence, but the
brunette ended it quickly. ‘I’m Lynn,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to tell me
your name…’
‘I’m Karen. You
saved my life. Why should I keep secrets?’
‘But don’t you
need to protect your secret identity?’
‘I won’t need it
any more. I failed tonight because I was too weak.’ She paused, resting. ‘When
I fought the Normans, they… they… did something… to me.’
‘I know,’ Susan
told her. She reached out and gently brushed the tracks on her near arm. ‘I’ve
heard the rumours. Do you… that is, uh, are you…?’
‘No. Thanks to
my physical strength I was able to fight off the need. But… tonight… Ape
said….’
‘Ape?!
Ape Greystook? He’s back? You fought Ape? No wonder you look like hell.’
Karen flushed
and smiled a little. ‘Ape didn’t do this to me. But he told me that I lost
because I’ve had lost my edge. He was right. The drugs did that.’
‘Lost your--…?
Wait a minute.’ Lynn stood and rushed to the kitchen. In a moment she was back
carrying the morning paper. ‘I thought there was something here.’ And
she handed Karen the news section of the Mitropoulos Daily Plaudit.
SHE’S BACK!!!
screamed the huge black headlines. AND
AS GOOD AS EVER, it said
beneath in smaller print. There were photos of the liquor store clerk talking
to police and separate coverage of the muggings and robberies Crimson Flare had
stopped earlier in the evening.
Lynn pushed the
editorial page at her next. Sure enough, they had obviously run an extra early
edition to include comments welcoming the return of Mitropoulos’ heroine. ‘Gone
for too long, missed by too many, needed by as many more, Crimson Flare has
become a necessary part of our city’s crime-fighting weaponry,’ it said. ‘We
hope that she will stay.’
‘They didn’t see
me get beat up by Ape Greystook’s girl friend,’ was all Karen could manage
after a moment.
‘There are not
many people that can be considered Needed, Karen. Maybe you can’t do
everything, all the time. But you do enough.’
‘But what good
can I do when I can’t count on my senses to protect me? If I’ve lost my edge, I
become a danger to myself and perhaps even to others.’
‘Last night you
saved at least three people from injury and danger. Obviously, the drugs that
were used against you didn’t hinder what you did then. Maybe you shouldn’t try
to do everything. Until you’re back at full strength…, well….’
‘Until I’m back
to full strength, I’m liable to get someone killed. Maybe even myself. What
happened tonight happened because I wasn’t fully aware of what was going on
around me. I was lucky Ape decided to try to embarrass me rather than kill me.
By all rights, I should be dead.’
‘Then you’ve got
a second chance. Hone your skills again. Sharpen your mind. So that the next
time you face him, there will be no chance for him to catch you off guard.’
Karen stared at
Lynn. She had to make sure she wasn’t listening to Stacy. Lynn was saying the
same things that Stacy had said time and again, every time doubts had been
raised about her mission. So often, Karen had found herself questioning not
whether Crimson Flare was necessary or doing the right thing—that much was
obvious—but the risk. Even with her strength, Karen regularly felt fear,
especially after the close calls with the Savoyards, and the Normans, and last
night, with Ape. And now, weren’t the odds stacked even higher against her,
given the effects of what the Normans had done?
Lynn continued,
‘Don’t you see that it’s not just what you do, Karen? You’re my hero.
You made me want to do something about the mess that’s out there, too. I went
back to school and got a degree, and now instead of simply sitting home,
watching, I’m setting up programs to help direct kids away from gangs and
drugs. You did that. You showed us that women can take the initiative. There
are many women who have followed your lead.’
As Karen reclined
on the sofa, listening to this strange voice saying such familiar words, tears
began to roll down the side of her face. Once again, she drifted back and saw
Stacy’s body lying on the subway platform. And once again she cursed herself
quietly for letting it happen.
*****
They spoke for
more than an hour. Each time Karen seemed to drift back in time to her
innumerable conversations with Stacy, recognising in Lynn’s comments and
support the same admonitions and encouragement she so long had heard from her
best friend, Lynn would surprise her, noting how her own life had been affected
by Crimson Flare, and recalling her to the here and now. The tête-à-tête
exhausted the recovering heroine, whose body sank deeper into the soft white
cushions as time passed. It seemed there was nothing more to be said. Karen
knew—she knew—she had found a friend who was worthy of succeeding Stacy;
someone she could talk to about anything. Then, just as she began to
relax, Lynn surprised her one final time.
‘What’s with the
sequins?’
‘Huh?’
‘Why do you have
those sequins on your costume? You know they make you look like a high school
majorette.’
‘Oh. It’s Freud.
Somebody explained that Freudian theory says that football is like a rite
dating back to precivilised times. The band provides the music or chanting, the
prayers. The majorettes are the priestesses and ritual virgins. Stacy and I
decided that criminals particularly have a need for virgins and virgin
sacrifice. We thought it appealed to something deeper than they could
understand. Stacy said that criminals’ brains are between their legs anyway.
This would give Crimson Flare an advantage by appealing to something they would
never be able to grasp.’
‘Did it work?’
‘Crimson Flare
would never have any trouble getting dates, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve
never seen so many men look at any woman like they look at her. I know that it
may make the situation more dangerous, whenever she falls into their hands. But
that really hasn’t happened much.’
‘Last night?’
Karen smiled.
‘Believe it or not, that was the result of a girlfriend’s jealousy. It’s the
other side of the coin, I guess.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Of course it
hurts. I was bleeding, and there was a danger of broken bones in my face. But I
seem to be able to handle it. It’s my constitution.’
How long before
you can go out again?’
‘Oh, a couple of
days.’
‘A couple of
days? You look like hell!’
‘I seem to heal
quickly.’
*****
Sure enough,
three nights later, Crimson Flare was again on patrol across the city of Mitropoulos.
Only a small touch of pancake makeup was necessary to cover the small remains
of the cuts that had marred her face and arms. And this time, when she went
out, she was in constant contact with Lynn Simms, who would monitor police
traffic and provide computer-based information on criminal activity. Crimson
Flare was not alone any longer.
The first night,
the new team worked well together. Crimson Flare stopped a burglary and two
muggings, as usual leaving each perpetrator bound and awaiting police. From the
heroine’s point of view, very little hand changed. She continued her activities
almost exactly as she had previously. But the occasional reassuring clicks in
her ear, provided by the mini-earpiece that served as a receiver, allowed her a
greater sense of security as she went into the dangerous areas of the city, as
it told her that Lynn was eavesdropping on her whereabouts and activities.
Occasionally, Lynn would alert the heroine to police calls and responses to
crimes in progress.
More important
than the crimes prevented, however, was the information she had picked up about
Ape’s doings: he was trying to gather the remnants of the Savoyards and the
Normans into a new gang, centered on himself. The whole enterprise was to be
financed by a drug deal taking place in a week. If it went through, rumour had
it, Ape would be the new gang kingpin. Crimson Flare decided that she had to
intercede.
When she
returned from her tour of the city, Karen called Lynn and told her that they
needed to make their plans to pre-empt Ape’s drug deal. As far as Crimson Flare
was concerned, a problem in communication existed. While Lynn could regularly
contact the heroine on patrol, and advise her of police responses or alarms,
there was no way that Lynn could be contacted by Crimson, short of carrying a
cell phone into combat.
Over the course
of the next week, the two women gathered information on the drug deal that hung
over the criminal and the law enforcement worlds of Mitropoulos like the Sword
of Damocles. The police kept trying to gather more information, but their
computers revealed one brick wall after another thrown up to block their
progress. Any time they got a lead on time, location, or the names of those
involved, the information proved wrong or a potential informant wound up dead.
The criminal
nets were no more help to the heroine and her new helpmate. Many sources that
had promised leads on the event suddenly went silent. When Crimson Flare
patrolled, seeking to eavesdrop on conversations, no one was talking; when she
investigated some of those who might be involved, or who might have
information, none were in town and no evidence was available. It was like the
earth had swallowed up both Ape and his conspiracy.
Then, a break in
the case. On Saturday afternoon, Lynn happened across a small story that
mentioned that an unknown buyer had just purchased the old McLeod-Slaughter
mansion on the edge of downtown. The place had been available for years, but
the location, right on the edge of the high-crime city center, and the
condition, ‘dilapidated’ would have been too kind, had precluded any interest.
Over the last few years, the place had become a haven for the homeless and for
the city’s drug users. Part of the first floor had been burned out in a fire
last winter.
But, within the
last two days, the Stubing Agency had reported that a large cash payment had
been made. It was the fact that the payment had been in cash and that the
actual buyer was ‘not named’ that raised Karen and Lynn’s suspicions. The
location was perfect for Ape’s meeting, and it could be used for storing or
distributing the drugs he would purchase that night.
Another story
indicated that unidentified toughs, hired by the new owner, had rousted the
homeless residents of the mansion out of their slumbers this morning and a new
high quality security gate had replaced the crumbling heavy metal gateway that
had done nothing to protect the house. Evidently, the new owner had reasons for
keeping the building secure for the immediate future. If Ape were indeed that
owner, and the drug deal were going down tonight, as the original information
had indicated, then the gate and the guards made perfect sense.
That night
Crimson Flare made her way toward the solitary house on the river, upstream
from the crime-ridden downtown. She approached the new gate from the cover of
the thick brushwood along the river’s edge. She knew immediately that she and
Lynn had guessed correctly. Standing both inside and outside the new heavy
metal structure were young men wearing the mixed gang colours of the Normans
and Savoyards. Evidently Ape had gained a measure of success in bringing
together these former rivals.
*****
Lynn Simms bent
her head over the keyboard as she entered more and more information into
Crimson Flare’s crimefighting program, the one that Stacy had had developed.
Although Karen had worked closely with her for the last two days, she was still
very slow at inputting data and getting the program to offer the alternative
courses of action at each moment. Right now, she was getting nothing from
Crimson Flare, who was, she suspected, at this moment, approaching the
McLeod-Slaughter mansion. The mansion was supposed to be the site of a major
drug deal. But according to current police reports, nothing was going on
anywhere near that site.
According to
those same reports, however, all hell had broken loose all across the city.
From the wealthy West End to the rural suburbs of the south, robberies,
break-ins, and disturbances rocked the city. But there was almost nothing from
the crime-ridden city center. The police strove mightily to deal with these
circumstances; their manpower was being stretched to its limit.
The computer
program fed back its first conclusion on the basis of the data, and Lynn looked
at it for a long beat. The manpower necessary for this sort of concerted action
was greater than any single gang known to be present in Mitropoulos. So, either
this was a general riot, which was unlikely due to its dispersal, or this was a
new gang in action. But Crimson Flare had turned up no evidence of a new gang
in Mitropoulos.
She would have
to ask Karen about that after the night’s work was over. She set it aside for
the moment. Right now, she was looking for information that might be useful to
the heroine in what might become a dangerous situation.
Over her police
scanner, Lynn heard another police call. ‘Shots fired! Officer down!’ Lynn sat
up when she heard the next remark: ‘Where the hell is Crimson Flare?’
*****
Seeing no one,
Crimson Flare sprinted the last twenty feet to the patio. Her leather boots
click-clicked quietly across the stone floor and she headed for the French
doors to the inside. She continued to scan the area nearby as she tested the
doors. Not only locked, she could tell immediately, but reinforced. She pulled
her baton from its holster and whipped it out to its full two-and-a-half-foot
length. Now listening intently as well as searching the patio area for any
lookouts, Crimson Flare used her weapon to crack the augmented locks on the door.
It took only a relatively weak burst of power and one of the doors sprang open.
Inside, the room
was dim, lit only by lights from the interior of the building. As she pulled
the door shut, Crimson noted that the bolt from the baton had broken the lock and
the door could not now be secured. Tearing a length of cord from the curtain,
she pulled the French doors shut and tied the two handles together. In the dark
room a cursory glance would not reveal the cord. From the outside, the doors
appeared as secure as before. She hoped no one would make a closer
investigation.
*****
More and more
activity turned up on both the police scanner and the police computer, tapped
by Stacy’s program, revealing a hitherto unknown number of criminals at work in
Mitropoulos. Lynn was starting to panic, overwhelmed by the sheer number of
events. Karen and she had anticipated some small activity to indicate that
Ape’s drug deal was taking place, but if this was to provide cover for the
transaction, then it was certainly overkill.
And time and
again, a police voice would sound over the scanner, ‘Where is Crimson Flare?’
Sometimes it sounded panicked, sometimes exhausted. Lynn hadn’t realised how
integral the heroine had become to the police’s work. She wondered whether
Karen fully understood how even regular law enforcement had become dependent
upon her. She would have to let her know about this the next time doubts about
her role arose.
As she listened,
one policeman after another raised the question. Where is Crimson Flare?
*****
Crimson Flare
watched and waited, hidden in a shadowed corner of what had formerly been a
sitting room in the front of the house. The original rumours had said that the
deal was to go down after midnight. Midnight was less than an hour away. If her
information about Ape were correct, he would be running from pillar to post,
making sure that everyone was in place and doing his job: Appearances,
appearances for the sake of his contact. He might want to do business again,
and he wanted to make a good impression. Something outside of his plan might be
overlooked, simply because he didn’t expect to find it there.
Suddenly, she
heard the heavy footsteps of Ape come crashing down the staircase. Sure enough,
he was racing to ensure that everyone was doing what he was supposed to do.
Crimson Flare heard him stopping on the steps and speaking in low tones to the
person there. Then the two of them came downstairs together. As they separated
at the foot of the stairs, she heard Ape give the command, ‘Spread the word. Find
her!’
Did they know
she was here? The
sequined beauty tried to push herself deeper into the shadows as she heard the
footfalls of the other person rush down the hall, heading for the exit.
She heard the
familiar, reassuring click in her ear. Then came the whispered words, carrying
a certain complacency: ‘Outbreak of crimes all across the city. Police
everywhere calling for Crimson Flare. See, Karen, even the police need you.’
Lynn felt she had been proven right.
The news emptied
a giant hole in the pit of her stomach. If Lynn had a police scanner, why
wouldn’t Ape? If Crimson Flare wasn’t in any of those other places where
crimes were occurring, then where was she? Why, of course. She must be
where crime is not! Here! Ape had ordered a citywide crime spree to
track her location.
*****
Lynn smiled as
the many inquiries and demands for the aid of Crimson Flare were repeated over
the air. Surely, this would convince Karen that what she did was worth the
effort. Even the police relied upon her for help.
*****
As a large truck
moved slowly past the front of the house, the headlights flashed through the
windows of the sitting room. Crimson Flare was briefly illuminated, but then
darkness swallowed her up again.
The truck
stopped directly outside the door. The driver got out and waited as a dark car
pulled up behind it. Two men emerged from the Buick, and then the three of them
walked up onto the stoop. There they were met by three other men, obviously in
Ape’s pay, who accompanied them inside the foyer and up the stairs to the
second floor. No one spoke a word.
Four armed men
formed around the truck, left running in the driveway. This was what Crimson
Flare had been waiting for. Rather than take on both Ape’s men and those of the
drug suppliers, it would be easier and more direct to attack the drugs
themselves. Destroy the drugs, destroy the drug deal, and with them Ape’s grab
for power. She was across the room is four strides, surveying the layout of the
driveway. Aside from the four guards, there seemed no one else in the vicinity
of the truck. She saw shadows moving toward the hill, beyond which was the new
gate, so there was security there. She was sure that she would have control of
the truck before they could stop her. Now was the moment to attack!
At the same time
she smashed through the window and raced at the nearest guard, she saw more
security men rushing down the hill toward the truck. Evidently, the henchman,
who had been sent ‘round to warn the watch of Crimson Flare’s presence, had sent
sentries to augment those protecting the shipment.
And what
a shipment! The truck was a military ‘six-by’, large enough to carry as much as
a couple of tons of drugs. Ape was making a huge purchase, and he would be
flooding the market with his product. Not only was it necessary to block Ape’s
grab for power, but it was also necessary to eliminate these drugs from
Mitropoulos.
Her small form
bowled into the nearest armed man, who stood at one corner at the rear of the
truck, her shoulder taking him in the stomach, below the weapon he had raised
to protect himself. She heard the air whoosh! from him as she raised up
and he toppled over her shoulder to fall flat on his back, too dazed to do more
than merely lie there. In a second, she took more two steps and landed a sharp
jab to the face of the other man protecting the rear of the truck, her great
strength flattening him with no further ado.
A shot struck
the ground near her highly polished black boot as the approaching men, still
many yards away, opened fire on the heroine. She was less than ten feet from
the third of the four men guarding truck. She focused directly on him and ran
to face him. He raised his rifle only to have it slapped away by Crimson
Flare’s powerful forearm. It twirled in the air and crashed to the ground ten
yards away. He next took a swing at the Champion; she ducked and responded with
an uppercut that lifted him off the ground. The only remaining sentry was on
the other side of the truck, so Crimson climbed up into the driver’s seat and
put the vehicle in gear.
It jerked
forward, then smoothly accelerated. At the first jerky motion, the remaining
sentry, attempting to get out of the way of the large vehicle, was too slow,
and he disappeared from view. As soon as the vehicle had passed over him, he
jumped up, apparently unharmed. He immediately fired his weapon after the still
slowly accelerating behemoth. Crimson Flare heard the bullet crack!
through the cab and saw that a hole circled by what looked like cracked ice had
formed in the windscreen.
The sound of
that rifle report was swallowed up by the many other shots being fired toward
the truck. By now Crimson had the truck rolling at a speed that would outrun
any footbound pursuer. In the side mirror the avenger saw figures appear in the
door of the mansion, illuminated by the bright light from the hallway. As the
figures receded, round after round penetrated the cab—from the rear from the
side—as she made her way back down the driveway from where the truck had
originally appeared. Its headlamps illuminated the narrow roadway, but were too
dim to allow the heroine to see very far ahead.
She was not
looking to follow the drive, in any case. She was looking for a small
black-and-white shack about a quarter of a mile from the front of the house.
This was nearest the river came to this road, and would be perfect for the
disposal of the truck’s cargo.
The shed moved
by in the gloom and Crimson Flare smoothly downshifted and turned the large
vehicle onto a dirt path that ran beside it. The shooting had subsided, but the
slowing of the vehicle for the turn allowed some of those shadowing her to get
closer and draw a bead on the large target. Once again, the shots tore through
the truck. Miraculously, thus far, none had struck the Champion.
As she rumbled
along the road toward the river, the sounds of firing swelled. She felt the
drag of the vehicle increase, indicating that tires were punctured. She floored
the accelerator, hoping to put distance between the truck and her pursuers.
A chain link
fence appeared in front of her along the crest of the riverbank. Like the gate
it was new, and Crimson Flare had not anticipated it. She pushed the engine
higher, and smashed into the barrier. It broke but the truck’s front tire was
caught on the links. Crimson Flare felt the right front tire rise up and the
vehicle pulled sharply to the right, now out of control. When the wheel ripped
free, the driver’s side of the truck hung momentarily over the edge of the
bank. It was there for only an instant. Before Crimson Flare could draw a
breath, the large heavy ‘six-by’ tumbled head over teakettle down the slope.
Its weight crushed the small trees and large weeds that populated the bank.
However, when it struck a large tree trunk with its hood, the plummeting
vehicle spun violently clockwise while continuing its tumbling motion. The
drug-filled bed of the truck hit the river first. The weight in the rear of the
vehicle raised up the cab and engine compartment. It looked like an awkward Titanic,
just before she split in two. The truck teetered for a moment, but gravity won the battle and
the vehicle splashed fiercely into the deep, dark waters of the river. Some of
the packets had been torn open in the crash, only to be scattered on the river
and the freed white powder was swept away by the current. Other packages, still
intact, scattered like a deck of cards across the dark surface. Still other
packages, secure in their wrapping and on board the vehicle, were taken to the
bottom of the Hutson, still wrapped for delivery.
Crimson Flare
was thrown this way and that inside the cab. The wheel crashed against her
chest; her head was smashed against the roof, the door, even the front
windshield; her legs were wrenched from their place in the well below the steering
wheel and her body was slammed freely around the cab. Just before the truck hit
the river, the passenger side door sprung open and she was thrown to the rocky
shoreline. She flopped like a clumsy doll when she landed on her stomach, and
then she lay very still.
The high polish
of Crimson Flare’s black leather boots reflected the lights from the factory
area across the river. Her legs were straight, the smooth roundness of those
extremities highlighted in the faint glow that glimmered off of her colourless
tights. Her skin-tight leotard glittered in those same lights; the steady
breeze, blowing off the river and stirring the sequins of her costume, allowed
for the only movement. The battering her body had received in the truck’s cab
and the violence with which she had finally been thrown to the ground had
caused the crimson costume to be pulled up, so that its usual narrow covering
for her posterior, which always offered an enticing view of the muscular
curvature of her ass, now provided a truly tantalizing and beguiling vision.
She was almost fully face down on the rocky soil beneath her. Her arms, which
stretched up past her masked face, hid the new scratches inflicted by that
treacherous surface. One of her crimson satin gloves was pushed all the way to
her wrist, so that the smooth flesh of her forearm was exposed, along with the
diminishing remains of her bout with drug dependence inflicted by the Normans.
A group of men
stumbled toward her down the hill, led by the hulking figure of Ape Greystook. They
approached the still figure lying in the rock and silt next to the Hutson
River. The very stillness and the implicit helplessness of the figure only
added to the sensuality of her form. Ape’s immense figure drew up next to the
defenseless heroine; he stared down on the dimly glimmering body. The murmuring
subsided among the four men who accompanied him, as they watched him watching
her.
His gaze
switched back and forth from the unconscious Champion to the spot in the river
where the truck had disappeared. A few bubbles still drifted to the surface to
mark the point where a fortune in drugs had gone to the bottom. ‘You cost me a lot of money tonight,’ he
said to the unhearing Crimson Flare.
Then, the anger he felt was captured in a roar as he shouted, ‘You
cunt!!’ and he kicked the heroine sharply in the side. The force of the
blow rolled her over several times; the heroine wound up on her back and her
body now rested in the lapping waters of the river.
*****
As the police
calls began to diminish in number, Lynn got the computer program caught up with
events. She completed her in putting of data and waited for the conclusions to
be offered. As she stared at the computer screen, she felt good about making
her contribution to Crimson Flare’s role in the community. She basked a bit in
reflected glory and hoped that somehow, someone might know that what Crimson
Flare did was not by her own efforts alone.
The program spat
out a number of determinations, and Lynn pulled up the mike to pass these ideas
on to the heroine. She might find them useful in her fight against Ape
Greystook.
*****
The largest of
Ape’s henchmen, the one called Hagood, was nearly as big as the criminal who
sought to be master of Mitropoulos. He carried Crimson Flare’s body easily, tossed
over his shoulder like a bag of mulch. Her feet hung down his back, swinging
freely. Her chest was on top of his shoulder, with his right arm wrapped around
her body. Her head was next to his chest and his own head stared at the ground
as the large man made his way toward the mansion. In the dead of night, it was
almost completely silent as he walked down the driveway.
Ape had run on
ahead and was already at the mansion, apparently trying to smooth over the
difficulties that were now rising concerning the loss of the shipment. These
drug dealers were from out of town, and Ape had no reputation beyond being an
enforcer. They would expect to be paid.
As Hagood walked
along he heard a faint sound of a voice. It was not coming from the house; he
noticed that the caravan of cars had disappeared from the driveway—the dealers
must have completed their deal with Ape. He still heard a voice, though it was
much too weak to determine what was being said.
Hagood stopped and listened, looking for the source. It wasn’t one of the
communications devices used by Ape’s men: they would have provided a much
louder and clearer sound. Turning his head, seeking the sound, he realised it
was coming from Crimson Flare head, only a few inches from his own right ear.
He put the unconscious crimefighter down and then pulled her black vinyl cowl
away from the side of her head. It slipped up onto her short, dark brown hair,
and as it did so, a small piece of plastic dropped onto the blacktop of the
driveway. Hagood picked it up and heard the end of Lynn’s listing of options
that the computer program had provided. He put the receiver in his pocket,
hefted the tiny figure of the heroine back onto his shoulder, and continued
toward the now-brightly lit house.
*****
Ape was furious.
Fareed Gouyannou, the drug dealer from Alexandria, had just left, and had
refused to extend credit on the destroyed shipment of drugs. He had even
refused to send a second shipment until the destroyed shipment was paid for.
Ape owed that mixed Greek-Arab bastard millions of dollars for drugs he didn’t
have. His hopes for power in Mitropoulos were quickly evaporating.
And it was
all the fault of the super-cunt!
Ape watched as
Hagood approached the doorway. The large man moved with such fluidity that the
only disconcerting movement came from the vinyl-covered head of the
superheroine, slowly bouncing against the large chest of his henchman. That
small movement became the focus of all of his attention, of all his hatred.
As Hagood
entered the foyer, his chief snapped out an order, ‘Take that slut upstairs!
Have Nancy keep an eye on her.’
Hagood knew
better to mention the plastic piece he had found when Ape was in this mood. He
could bring it to his attention later.
*****
As Crimson Flare
struggled back to consciousness, she knew that her hands were tied. The
tautness of the ropes produced a pain at her wrists, coupled with the drained
feeling, a feeling she had come to recognise, the sense that her strength had
been drawn from her.
She tried to
move, but couldn’t. The heroine tried to assess her position. She lay flat on
her back. Her legs were separated and secured. There was a hard leather pad
beneath her. As she opened her eyes, the light in the room was almost
overwhelming. America’s masked Darling shut them tightly to allow for a period
of adjustment, squinting them open, little by little. Even before she was able
to begin looking around the room, she heard a feminine chuckle. She wasn’t
alone! Looking around cautiously, her eyes fell upon the tall redhead, still
wearing the denim uniform, and with a new chain accessory belt.
‘Poor baby,’ she
said softly. Nancy chuckled again.
Crimson Flare
took in more of her predicament. She was lying on her back with her arms
extended over her head. Her wrists were bound, eradicating her great strength.
She couldn’t move her arms and hands very far, so the rope at her wrists must
be secured at the wall that was just beyond them. Her legs were separated and
secured in place by her ankles tied to metal posts. She looked like an
upside-down ‘Y’. The heroine tried to move but she realised that her waist and
hips were also tied in place; a second rope circled her waist and still other
loops held her in place at the top of her thighs. Beneath her there was a break
between the leather pad that supported her upper torso and the one beneath her
lower body; in that space, the ropes from her waist and thighs were tied into a
series of eyelets. It was almost impossible for her to move her hips beyond a
small shift from side to side. She was helpless, powerless to move, and in the
power of her enemies.
Nancy moved to
the side of the defenseless Champion. As the tall redhead looked down on her
charge, her mouth turned up into a sort of a smile. ‘You know, Ape is very
upset with you. You destroyed his drug shipment and put him a great deal in
debt. I wouldn’t want to be in your tights.’ She laughed at her own joke.
Crimson
maneuvered her wrists, trying to get them into position so the claw could be
used in cutting her way out of her predicament. The ropes that circled her
wrists were well below the point where the claw could come into play, so she
tried to pull the bonds closer to the flats of her hands. But because of the
separate rope that secured her wrists to the wall, the loops would not budge.
She tried to wriggle the rope into position, squirming her hips and her chest
from side to side, pulling, tugging, moving her arms up and down. Disregarding
the presence of her guard, she tugged with more desperation and the pain she felt
told her that she was not succeeding. But the sensual movement of her hips
brought a light of desire to Nancy’s face.
Nancy continued
to smile down on the helpless heroine. ‘No, I wouldn’t want to be in your
tights.’ She placed her hand on Crimson Flare’s sequin-covered Mound of Venus
and began stroking, at first ever so gently. Nancy smiled again when the
heroine drew in a deep breath. The sensations of this stimulation and movement
began to register on the masked maiden’s consciousness. Her breathing became
shallower and she tried to focus on freeing herself. Crimson Flare tried to
elevate her hips, fighting against the ropes that held her in place. Nancy’s
expert fingers increased and decreased pressure on her sensitive areas, ever
circling, ever reaching toward the now-protruding organs, hidden beneath her
glittering uniform. In moments, the avenger groaned as she felt a thousand pins
pricking her vagina, inside and out, sending her ever upward into paroxysms of
bliss. The sensation was heavenly and she tried to sustain the feeling; she
pushed her thighs together, pressing them upward against the tingling areas. An
involuntary sigh escaped her ruby lips. At the same time, the heroine knew that
it was distracting her from her effort to escape. She didn’t care: the desire
that swelled within her was undeniable.
Nancy’s middle
and ring fingers moved in circles, increasing and decreasing in diameter,
increasing and decreasing the pressure on the costumed avenger’s most sensitive
area. She broadened the circle to bring her middle finger again and again
brushing against the heroine’s pudenda, occasionally even pressing under the
edge of her spandex costume to find the exposed organs, enlarging even now,
underneath her glistening tights.
‘I lied,’ Nancy
said softly. She leaned down toward the helpless heroine and with her free hand
lifted the edge of the vinyl cowl, so that it slipped from her head revealing
the short, dark brown hair beneath. Nancy’s face was next to Crimson’s ear, as
she began to breathe into the ear of the Champion. ‘I DO want to be in your
tights.’
She stuck out
her tongue and proceeded to lovingly lap first the earlobe and then the full
outer shape of the organ. She nibbled the long upper curve drawing it into her
mouth, feeling the bow and enjoying the hollow of that curvature. Then she
moved deeper into the orifice, her tongue exploring all the edges of the void,
mapping every nook and cranny leading into the heroine at this point. It took
full minutes to uncover and enjoy every cleft that was offered.
In the meantime,
Nancy provided no letup in her delicate and expert handling of the dampening
sex of America’s Darling. Ever more often, her fingers pulled the spandex away
from the angle that marked her victim’s sex. Nancy used her fingernail to
stimulate the vulva and other exposed parts of the heroine’s sex, encouraging
the jutting clitoris and labia to protrude even more markedly. As she brushed
her nail and then the full finger against the projecting organs, Nancy
responded as though she felt the sensation herself. She shuddered, though
Crimson Flare was relishing her own sexual ecstasy to notice. Nancy’s eyes fell
on the even more distinct mounds that were the heroine’s breasts, now swelled
to their fullness under her ministrations. The tiny knob at the top of each was
distinct and when Nancy reached her other hand toward them, she was rewarded by
a marble-hard nodule. ‘That’s it, my Darling,’ the denim-clad tormentor
whispered. ‘Give yourself to me.’
She returned her
primary attentions to the slowly undulating hips of the Champion. Through her
tights, Nancy felt the enlarging clitoris and she stimulated it further.
Underneath the familiar costume, the colorless tights showed the first signs of
staining, a result of the stimulation inflicted by Nancy’s deft manipulations.
Nancy moved her large and full lips to the avenger’s panting mouth and clamped
herself over those open, panting lips and drove her tongue almost to the
epiglottis.
With her
resistance failing, Crimson Flare absorbed the redhead’s treatment, responding
more and more frequently with a sigh, a moan, a groan. She pushed her head
forward to take more of Nancy tongue, also trying to raise up her hips to place
her more directly under the spell of the magical hands and digits she could no
longer defend against.
Crimson Flare
felt the heat rising in her. This was her most secret fantasy, perhaps
even the source of her loss of strength. Bound, helpless, the expert digits of
an enemy beginning the process of manipulating her beyond the bounds of her
most exquisite fantasy.
‘Aaaagghh!’ the
petite Champion moaned again, as Nancy released her lips.
‘AAAaaaggghhh!!’ This time America’s Darling tried to
lift herself fully from the pads beneath her and the cry of ecstasy was
full-throated and hoarse.
‘AAAAaaaagggghhhh!!!’
she screamed as she came for the first time. It would not be the last.
End of Chapter
Two
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome::
contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net