Private Eyeful
A Mercynaries Story from SinComics.com

I flipped through the case folder one more time, trying to wrap my head around this story. It had been years since I left the reporting beat for the detective game, but I'd never had a case like this. This was the big leagues. Leagues bigger than my rinky dink operation was used to, but this could be the break I was looking for. Last week, a dame came rambling into my shop. Looked no bigger than a kid right out of university but she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Said her roommate was missing and hadn't shown her face at home or work for days. I shrugged it off; kids these days are up to any number of things. Running from debts or just flying the coop with some beefcake from her school days, it happens. But the roomie said no. Our missing girl was the definition of clean living. Good kid, no vices, no boyfriend, no drinking, and probably helped old ladies cross the street. I checked back in at the restaurant she waited for and they corroborated the tale. Never late, picked up shifts for sick employees, a doll to talk to, and made a mean cup of joe. More than I could say for the lug working the grill, but now I was hooked. I may have quit the newspaper racket for this life, but that didn't mean I left it all behind.
I put the shoe leather to the streets and checked in with some old contacts at the paper. The ones that still returned my calls or didn't bring up poker night debts, that is. Our missing girl wasn't the only one of her kind. Across the last year, there had been at least sixteen missing girls dumped into the cold case files, not counted any unreported incidents or murders pinned on some other poor sap taking the blame. No suspects, no arrests for the sixteen. This was as good a place to start as any. I hit up the usual haunts like the gin joints or hideouts. I even returned to the girly shows a few extra times, just to be thorough, of course. Nobody was talking at the clubs, which either meant that they didn't know anything or they were sticking their heads in the sand. When even these lowlives are scared, that points to the big dogs. And nobody was bigger than the Old Man.
The Man was a member of the old crew. Old enough that nobody had their stories straight. He was either the first of the family to come over on the boats, was part of a crew that had been in the country from the start, or never had a homeland to call his own and moved to where the money and danger took him. The boss of bosses and I wanted to bend his ear. Truth be told, I wanted to jaw with him ever since I got my start on the local crime beat tucked away behind the funny pages, but the editors never bought it. Cowardice, corruption, or laziness were all believable reasons for those with the desk jobs to not get involved, but I'd been keeping notes all those years. Looking for the connections nobody else did and listening to the whispers anybody with sense would have walked away from. To get the guy at the top, sometimes you have to start with the goons at the bottom.

My investigation keyed me on to two grunts fresh out of a stay at Hotel Jail, and that's what led me to them. No matter what they got put away for, they were sprung a few days later and never saw a day in court. The fact that, despite their incompetence, nobody had put them in the ground made me think they had connections. I had been trailing them for a few days and they had some back alley meetings, but nothing incriminating. It was pretty easy for a guy like me to blend in. That's the benefit of being the little guy. Not famous enough for anybody to know my mug or to have somebody try to rearrange it.
I was beginning to doubt my hunches when there was finally some action in the slim hours of the morning. The goons headed for the docks, taking it nice and casual, but spending plenty of time looking over their shoulders. Something was going down and this was my best lead. The warehouses by the docks are an inviting scene to the scum of this city. With all the shipping activity, nobody would notice a few extra lights on or vans coming in and out at night. And that they did. Black, unmarked vans came in and out of the scene, never staying long, but they seemed to be dropping a lot off. I couldn't get a good look so I stayed hunkered down by the shipping crates, listening to the idle chatter of the criminal underground. Something about trying to pick code names. The big guy was talking animals and the scrawny one was shooting them down. They may be the dregs of the streets, but I had to give the little guy credit for his foresight. Nothing intimidating about a gangster named “Scorpion”.
The grunts were finally called away to help one of the drivers load up, so I snagged that opportunity to scope out the scene. It didn't take much effort to jimmy open one of the rusted windows and I was in. The warehouse was dark and a steady “hum” droned on from the back room. After making sure the coast was clear, I slipped around the corner and saw, well, I don't know WHAT I saw. Some kind of crazy contraption with lots of tubes, straight out of Frankenstein's fantasies. When I snapped to, I noticed the figure slumped over. I bolted over to it, but wish I hadn't. It almost looked human, but it was desiccated. Drained dry and turned to ash. Almost like the poor thing had its soul sucked out. While the figure was a mess, its clothing led me to the grim reality. A simple, pretty blue dress. It was a bit scuffed up, but I was sure I'd found one of the missing girls'. The odds weren't in my missing waitress's favor.
The squeak of cheap rubber soles on cement snapped me out of my awe. I was so transfixed, I hadn't heard the van doors or the grunts get back. Only way out was the way in, but I'd have to get through them to be out of here. I pressed up against the wall and grabbed the pistol from my waistband. I wasn't the best fighter, but I'd have the element of surprise. As the goons were yammering away, I readied to strike, but a phrase knocked me off balance. “Alchemist”. THE Alchemist?! This was big, too big now. That's a name you don't want to hear. Guy's influential enough that even made men don't say his name. I'd barely heard the name back in my reporter days and only then as hushed tales of some kind of mad doctor or super scientist. It was hard not to write them off as the ramblings of the cornered rats caught up in a police strike. What are the Old Man and Alchemist doing together?! Case or no case, I had to get out.
But I was careless. I tried to muscle my way through them when the goons turned the corner. I was hoping to be able to shove the smaller guy down, but I instead landed smack dab in the beef of the big lug. Luckily, that did give the two a bit of a shock and gave me time to scramble up to my feet, but I could hear their shouts just seconds later. Shouts and the pangs of bullets whizzing around me. I blindly fired a few shots behind me, but kept for the exit. The smaller guy shouted something about not shooting, but neither I or the big guy paid him much attention. A few seconds later, I wish we had. I was about to squeeze between the warehouse doors and the delivery van parked next them, but I heard another shot zip past me, bounce off the van roof, and explode into a bag of whatever it was they were carrying. The scene became hazy with some kind of blue powder floating through the air, covering the van. And me. I hacked and wheezed as it burned down my throat and frantically waved my hands to clear the air, but only wound up kicking up more of the crud swirling around me. My eyes were watering and the last thing I saw before my vision kicked out was the two goons stepping out of the back room. The small guy was pointing at me and the big one was carrying the canister from the room with the gal. I knew I had one shot left in me and prayed that thing was explosive. The pistol shot echoed through the docks but instead of the satisfying thud of criminal scum hitting the dirt, I heard another metallic pang and the sound of pressurized gas blasting out.
The goons were in a panic from what I could hear through the dust clogging my ears. Something about the raw chemicals not lasting if they were exposed to the air without refrigeration. The Old Man's name got tossed around, so I fell to my knees and tried to crawl away. Blinded or not, distance from the scene was what I needed, but not what the Universe was going to give me. A meaty paw wrapped around my leg and dragged me back. The big guy wasn't even talking, just grunting in anger. The small one squawked something about the stuff no longer being any good but that he could think of a way to hide the evidence. Before I could come up with a disappearing act, the gorilla squeezed me tight and pinched my nose shut. I gasped for air but instead got a lung full of whatever goop was in that canister. I tried my best to spit it out but with each breath, they poured more of the stuff down my throat. I couldn't tell how long it lasted, but I knew there was no way I should have been able to drunk as much of that business as I did, and as a detective, I knew my drinking.
Even before they stopped pouring, I could tell something was wrong with me. My insides burned with a cold fire and everything grew tight, like I was itching to burst out of my own skin. My mind spun and it was hard to keep focus. One minute I felt like I was growing into a giant and the next shrinking into nothingness. My nose burned and the world turned to citrus. The bag of bones I'd been piloting through this world just stopped responding and I crumpled to the ground. The grunts' distorted laughter rang through my ears but I heard one of them warble something about docks and water. The last thing I felt before giving in to the Reaper was the shock of cold water wrapping around me and dragging me down.

I thought those had been my last moments but the world flooded back to me in a surge and flash of colors. My senses came back to me and hard. From the crash of the waves around me to the pungent smell of seaweed to the sting of salt water on my tongue, I wasn't leaving this world just yet. My vision slowly faded back in and I could see I was on the beach. It was dark but the sun was peeking over the water. Sunrise. No, no. Sunset. I must have been out for a whole day. At least a day for all I knew. My body felt like lead so I slumped back to the ground. The sand was soft and cushiony under me, but was pushing against my chest and hurt. I flopped onto back but know the feeling was pillowy at my thighs and hips. Propped up on my elbows, I tried to look down but got an eyeful of seaweed covering my face. I tried to yank it away and only got a sharp pain in my scalp in return. No, it wasn't strands of seaweed, it was wet mats of hair. I had to get home quickly. Home was safe, secure, and home had booze. I dragged myself to my feet and wobbled around. Everything felt wrong and heavy. Lurching forward, I made my way towards the boardwalk, toppling over and eating sand a few times along the way.
The wet tatters of my clothing dried out as I slogged my way back to the office I called home, but the pounding in my temples wasn't getting any kinder. The streets were dead at night and I was thankful for that. Fewer questions about my sorry state and I wasn't sure if I was rambling just in my head or out loud too. Anger kept me going and I dragged my sorry self closer and closer to home. Anger and what happened to those poor girls and whatever they drugged me with. I had an advantage though. Those goons thought they drowned me, but I was going to make sure I proved them wrong.

When I finally shuffled my way up the apartment stairs, I patted my side for my keys. I wasn't sure why I did, the slacks were so tight I could feel the keys digging into my thigh. Force of habit, I guess. Inside, I headed immediately to my desk, opened the bottom drawer, and took the biggest swig of the bourbon I could stomach. It turned out you can't stomach that much bourbon after a run-in with super science and being left for dead. I barely had time to screw the cap back on the bottle before I passed out and spent the night resting on the not very comfortable rug.
The next morning found me fairing hardly better. I dragged my self into the shower and turned whatever knob I laid hands on first as far as it could go. The blast of cold water was enough to jolt me awake, but not enough to steel my resolve to take a gander at myself. The sting of the water against my new skin told me what I was now, but I couldn't bring myself to look, as if that would make everything real. When I couldn't take anymore, I shut the water off and leaned the wall as I dripped dry. I had to face the music and schlepped out of the stall and into the gaze of the mirror. Staring back at me was one heck of a dame.
A doll of a face but curves to there and back. Her lips, plump and inviting, but those long lashes only the most dangerous of dames possessed. The hair I'd kept neat and tight all these years now flowing down to my hips. Her body... No wonder my clothes were in tatters with those mounds bursting out. Whether it was the joy of facing death and coming out on top or residual effects of whatever I had been dosed with, I knew I should I have been furious, but the anger wouldn't boil up again. Now it was just resolve. Feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to fix this, I had to get the people responsible.
As I plopped onto the old couch and shuddered at the realization that I couldn't tell where the cushion ended and my own full backside began, I thought about calling someone. But who? The cops were too corrupt to report the case to. Probably being bankrolled by the very team that did this to me and that would kill my element of surprise. I hadn't been to the doctor since I worked at the paper and even if I did find one, nobody would believe my story any way. The only faithful companion I had to communicate with was the rest of that bourbon, but I'd had enough passing out for this week.
I opened up the closet to see if I had anything I could still squeeze into and something shoved in the back caught my eye. A long blue dress was hanging there and it got my mind churning again. It once belonged to a gorgeous doll I dated back in my paper days. Smart and beautiful, she was too good for me. The problem was, she wised up to that fact quickly. Dumped me, skipped town, and word among sources was that she found a plum gig at a fledgling news station. Never even bothered to pick up the stuff she left at my place. I should have tossed her junk like she tossed me, but I was a sentimental fool and held onto it. That could pay off for me now. All the families in town had their casinos, which not only served as good income, but safe places to meet. And those joints were always staffed by a bevy of dames that had free reign of the scene. What better way to go undercover and get some scoops and information not even the best reporters would have access to? This ridiculous body could be my ticket to getting justice and taking out the scum at the top. I threw on whatever I could make fit, grabbed whatever passed for petty cash from my desk, and headed out to the thrift stores to get what I needed to complete this ensemble and idiotic plan.

After returning home and my new getup was going on, I checked out the mirror. She was a looker all right. The dress was tight, too tight. Its former owner was no slouch in the curves department, but I was filling it out in ways that fabric was not meant to handle. It was for the mission though. I slathered on some makeup the best I could and puckered up. It wasn't the cleanest job, but it was good enough and I didn't figure too many people would be staring at my face tonight. Silk stockings covered up where that poor dress couldn't and the heels, well, they didn't look that high sitting on the shelf at the five and dime. I felt like I could pitch forward any second now and found myself sticking my rear out to compensate. I knew this was going to be a night that would take a lot of hard drinking to purge from my skull after all this was said and done.

I shuffled my way over to one of the Old Man's known casinos, regretting I had spent the last of my funds on these damned heels so I couldn't take a cab. At the door, I flashed my new pearly whites and while the dunce would have preferred I flashed something else, he bought into my story about being a new hire reporting for duty and ready to make it big in a new city. I don't think he listened to more than five words I said, but I must have had a rack of keys because they opened the door. Inside, I was directed to back room with the rest of the show girls and cocktail gals. They gave me harder looks than the lookout at the entrance, probably weren't too keen on somebody new taking their tips. Suspicious or not, the head mistress pointed me in the direction of a tray and a drink menu and shoved me out on the floor.
The place was a who's who of criminal lowlives and goons I recognized from police reports and investigations. I could have collared any number of them and made enough bank to keep the liquor flowing, but I had bigger fish in mind. It was a long night full of whistles, pinches, and invitations to sit on laps, and the bills stuffed down the dress didn't make up for it. The joint stayed hopping through the night and nobody seemed to care I wasn't doing a good job of keeping track of tables and orders. I was more concerned with keeping an eye on the clientele that weren't keeping an eye on me.

It was either the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning, but an older fellow came rushing in through the side entrance and had an uncommon amount of protection. Clothes were too cheap to be one of the ranking thugs but he had too much muscle to be a minion. I'd gotten a little chummy with the other girls on the floor now that I'd shared in their struggle, so I started to ask around. The few that did know him had a flash of fear in their eyes and told me to steer clear. My hunch was right. The Alchemist was working for the Old Man and now I knew what he looked like and where he was stashed. I had to play it cool for the rest of the night, but before they sent me on my way, I managed to lift a key ring so I could sneak back in later. The dress didn't have any pockets so I had to store it in the Bank of the Twin Peaks and hoped a boozed up customer didn't go for a feel and discover them.
Closing time for the girls came and I was sent on my way and told to come back tonight. I planned to come back a lot sooner, but I had to stop by the office first. My haul for the night allowed me to grab a cab back home and would replenish petty cash for this costume. I was planning on ditching this ridiculous getup, grabbing my gun, and going out to set things right. I minced up the stairs as fast as I could in these stilts but stopped and spun back into the hall when I noticed the light on in my office. My gun was still inside and there was no way I could go a few rounds dressed like this. I had to go in hard, get to my desk, and plug the intruder before things got messy. The lock had been jimmied open. A real amateur job. Too sloppy to be the mob's grunts. A quick peak inside showed the entrance was clear. I dashed inside and slid to the desk. The gun was still in the drawer, but the monster took something even more important from me. The last of the bourbon had been drained away and the bottle was left out for all to witness the carnage. My plan for self-defense just turned into justifiable homicide. I kicked off the heels, checked the chamber, and rushed into the backroom, shouting. Couldn't quite pull off intimidating with the breathy lilt this cursed body left me with.
The intruders seemed to agree with that and the two broads barely gave me a nod when I threatened to blow their heads off. One was a chesty blonde filling out her blouse and vest in ways that got my motor running. She shifted her fedora back and finished off the last of my bourbon before smiling at me. The other dame was a redhead with gams up to here, a clunky green watch, and a devil may care attitude that I had a gun pointed in the middle of her glasses. She gave me a wink and commented on the lack of quality of my booze. They were getting personal.
The day had been too weird for me to put up a fight and they didn't appear to be looking for one, so I decided to hear them out. They had a crazy tale of belonging to some agency and hired out to help blokes like me. I could tell they were hiding something and they couldn't give me a straight dish on how they knew about my situation. I told them to hit the road, I had work to do. Scratch that, I told them to replace my liquor THEN hit the road. But that didn't stick with these dizzy dames. They said they could help me. Take me somewhere to get my insides cleaned up and get me back to normal. For a second, I thought about taking them up on it and blowing this scene, but the sap that I am told them no. I had a job to do and wrongs to right. It had to be tonight before my target moved to a new safehouse. I had to stop him from hurting any more girls and get to the bottom of this madness. Something about these two dames made want to open up to them. They sighed and grumbled, said they weren't going to leave my side until they could fix me up, and hemmed and hawed more, but I could see a spark in their eyes. The redhead was too chipper, thought this was a game. I told her that attitude would get her hurt, but she laughed me off. I was always a sucker a cute laugh, only before they usually wouldn't get me shot. I kicked them out of my room and gave them a run down of the plan while I squeezed back into my slacks and button-up. Felt sorry for those straining buttons, but if tonight went right, they'd have an easier job on my old frame. My crazy tale didn't shock these two at all and they trailed me down to the cab.
I had the driver drop us off a few blocks away. Going in quiet was going to be key, we were in enemy territory. The casino was a lot quieter in the early hours. A few gents cleaning up the joint but the rest of the thugs and entertainers were either back home or sleeping off hangovers somewhere else. We made our way through the kitchen entrance and down the halls to the lower levels I saw the goons in earlier. Away from the lights and public spaces, the halls started to get weird. Lots of tubes and wires going this way and that. Heavy doors to keep things in or out too. I snuck a peak into some of the open rooms and saw a number of storage containers and medical supplies. This must be where they patched up their grunts after a busy night out. As we got deeper, I started to spy the heavier equipment and could hear the hum and murmur of activity down below. One room was filled top to bottom with those containers I saw the night this madness started. These ones were empty though and off in the corner was some kind of contraption to drain them. The tubes ran down and through the floor. I motioned to my new partners to keep going. We didn't have to say it, but I knew all of us agreed that this joint had to be taken out once my job was taken care of.

We reached the door the various hums and fluctuations were coming from. I got ready to signal the duo, but the second I turned around, they rolled though the shutter shouting their daffy brains out. The fools were treating this like some kind of happy fun times. I switched plans, slid in, and took out the two goons with two shots. In the corner, the nerd was shivering and looking around for some kind of weapon. A pistol pointed at the forehead and a few barked orders set him straight. I motioned to the dolts to bar the door and confronted my torturer. Without his guards, I got the answers out of him easily and he confirmed my suspicions. The fabled Alchemist indeed. We turned to what kind of operation was going on here and his knees got quivering again. I had to fill in most of the details myself but a few slaps and he was more willing to cooperate. He was working for the Old Man all right, some secret experiments. He was hired for some kind of special project and got free reign of the underground science racket and protection in return. The missing girls were wrapped up in this scheme and poor pawns in his experiments. When I finally got around to my own condition, he seemed genuinely shocked and changed his tone. The little freak whipped out a notebook and pen and started to get grabby. A backhand set him straight. Some words about the serums never meant to be taken straight, they had to be diluted and processed. Lots of words going above my head and not helping to sate my anger. I reached for the nearest vial of goop. A bright blue like the dust I was doused with but thicker like the sludge from the canister. I picked him by the neck and prepped to give him a dose of my medicine when a hand on my shoulder stopped me. The two dames gave me the runaround on not being allowed to let that happen. I could rough him up all I wanted but the super science was outside of the parameters. I threw down the canister and swallowed my hatred like a bad lemon.
If I couldn't have the Alchemist's head on a plate, I wanted to bring this whole operation down. I picked the scientist up by the collar again and demanded a cure. He squeaked out that there should be some way to neutralize the poison but it would take time. I trusted him as far I could throw him, but even though I felt like I could put him through the wall, I wanted eyes on him. The blonde said she'd stay behind and make sure he worked on the cure and then dismantled the scene. Red was running some samples through her crazy watch but said she'd be my shadow. I hardly looked threatening before and now that my hair and curves were flopping about I looked even meeker, but she let me feel like a big man.
We were deep enough underground that the shots wouldn't have made it far, but we ran to the elevators as fast these dainty feet and swishing rump would move me. The lab had a straight shot to the top and the suite of the Old Man himself. Red kicked in the door and whopped like a mad man. She may not have been all right upstairs but her antics were at least good for a few moments of surprise and panic. I took down the bodyguards that I could, but I was running out of bullets and breath. The dame rushed in, laughing like a kid playing jacks, and taking blows a lot harder than she was giving them out. I gave her credit though, she was back on her feet almost as soon as she was knocked down. I reloaded the last of my stash, but the goons were in full swing now and their aim was getting better. I tried to dodge left towards the bureau, but my short time in the new body hadn't left me the most agile thing around and I misjudged my center of gravity and leaping prowess. I barely made it halfway into cover and was too twisted around to act before the muscle took his shot. I grimaced and waited for the cold sting of lead, but got nothing. A solid thud propped me up and got me out of my cover. The crazy broad took a bullet for me! She was as dumb as she was brave. I plugged the trigger man between the eyes and crawled over to the sprawled out redhead. I was prepping my soliloquy for the ages when she sputtered and let out a string of curses that could make a sailor blush. I-I knew I she took that bullet but here she was getting back on her feet! These two were either angels or devils but they were on my side for now and I was grateful for it. She gave me some quick malarkey about being a fast healer and helped me up. We scanned the scene but things were quiet now and all that was left was the Old Man himself.
We pushed open the bedroom door and saw that the moniker was the most apt thing to ever come out any human's mouth. The boss was a frail husk slumped over in a wheelchair, more liver spots than man. He wheezed out breath when he saw us and I was surprised a cloud of dust didn't come with it. The living corpse was hooked up to some kind of machine, pumping that blue goop into his neck. We stood there gawking but something seemed to stir in him as the canister drained. The wrinkled flaps of skin on his neck tightened up and seemed to contract in while his skin flushed and some color spread through him. His wheezing gasps evened out into stable, rasping breathing. It all came together and hit me like a grand piano. The gang was kidnapping the pure, young girls to drain them of their essence and pump it back into this monster and keep him alive. As if his organization wasn't enough of a cancer on our city, he was taking others' lives just to prolong his.
My ally went to unplug him, but I stopped her. Both her and his eyes turned towards me in surprise. I didn't want him dead, I wanted his craggy face splashed over every front page this city would see for weeks. Take him out and some other thug would rise up in his place, but pull him out in the open and the sunshine could shed some light on this whole operation and the corruption it poisoned the world with. Sure some fancy lawyers could keep him out of the slammer but not even the cops in his pocket could keep his businesses open or save him from the bad publicity. And I had a hunch that without his lab, he wouldn't last much longer than it would take to drag him through the mud and hopefully get some names and businesses out of the joint and either shut them down or provide a stern lesson to those following in his footsteps.
We put the suite on lockdown while Red ran up and down to the basement as she prodded the lab man to hurry it up. They eventually handed me a syringe of a substance more yellow than Nature should allow for and tossed the Alchemist in the corner. I bit my tongue, injected myself in the arm, and was immediately wracked with more pain than I'd ever felt before. It only lasted a moment but I dropped to the ground and would have been screaming if I wasn't gasping for breath. With each gulp for air, I felt the fire burn in me again. It was like being sucked back into myself and with each shudder, my skin contracted and I could feel my bones shifting around. My insides were going through a blender. The floor under me was sticky and wet now. I couldn't tell if I was sweating out the old goop or I was sicking it out.
In minutes, I was wobbly but back on my feet. The slacks that moments ago straining against the push of my hips, now sat loose and had me wishing for a belt. The dames helped me back up and gave me a hearty slap on the back. I didn't want to admit it, but it hurt more than I let on. I asked them to help me gather the lab supplies so we could bring them to the press or law, but they stopped me. Their own gig dictated that they destroy the whole lot of morphing goo and machinery so it could never be used again. They let me take enough evidence to prove that the Alchemist and Old Man were connected to the missing girls and it turned out some break-ins at local labs and supply depots as well. I called in all the connections I could to get as many reporters and cops on the scene and fast. The casino was emptied out by the time they arrived, but we had our hands on the two important figures. In all the hubbub and chaos of the media frenzy, the girls gave me the slip and disappeared into the crowd. I never had a chance to thank them, or grill them for answers, but my lack of jiggling was proof that they did good work.

The circus around the case lasted for months and I was dragged through the mud and back in attempts to discredit me, but public opinion was on the right side and the cops were forced to shut down the Old Man's most known joints. The praise and fame were good for business, but having my face that out in the open for taking down a mob boss was a bigger problem. Any goon looking to make it big would be gunning for me to make a name for himself. I needed to make it to trial to ensure the Old Man was put away, so I put myself in the hands of the Feds for protection and relocation. I'd have to take on another identity for my own safety.

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