Part Fifteen

Alvin woke slowly, feeling horrible. Even before he opened his eyes the smell told him there was something very wrong. As soon as he was able he made a thorough evaluation of his situation, including an inventory of what he was wearing. He was in a third-full dumpster, and as for what he had on...

"Buckles," said Alvin, sourly.

This was his name for a fetish outfit of his which had multiple buckles. As well as being more revealing than what he wanted to wear in public. He hadn't even brought it out of the special section of the closet since before the divorce, but somehow he was in it now. His psychiatrist thought his problem with occasionally waking in a strange place with no memory of how he got there was due to repressed guilt from the divorce. This was the first time, though, Alvin had woken in a strange place while also wearing something he wouldn't - these days, now that he was older and trying to present a serious image - be caught dead in. This was also the strangest place he had woken in! At least he hadn't been brought around by the dumpster being emptied...

A peek out of his improvised bedroom showed a familiar scene from his times of sneaking home the back way, during his more adventurous days. That was the good news; he wasn't far from his apartment and knew a covert route there. Even better, he didn't see anyone in this area of loading docks and parked, empty delivery trucks.

Torn between getting home quickly - he could tell the time was early morning - and not being seen, he carefully but quickly climbed out of the dumpster. He ran along the lane behind several business, his bare feet slipping occasionally on the slick pavement. He decided the dampness was from rain the night before. At least, Alvin hoped the dampness was from rain the night before.

He hurried through alleys and back ways, occasionally ducking out of sight until a garbage truck or delivery van had passed. Finally, he was at the rear of his building. Alvin looked up at rear of his fourth-floor apartment and sighed.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he jumped, and barely reached the railing on his balcony.

Alvin panted as much with relief as effort as he swung himself over, onto the balcony. He hadn't mentioned his powers to his psychiatrist; they were none of that man's business. Only his ex-wife knew about them, and she wasn't talking. As he reflexively wiped his feet on the doormat, he checked the sliding glass door; locked. Which he expected. Well, at least he didn't need to force his way in, and trigger the alarm. This wasn't the first time he'd needed to enter through this door without his usual set of keys. Smirking, he reached up, hopping a bit, to retrieve the small, magnetic key holder stuck out of sight to the steel of the supports for the balcony above his. That retrieved, he unlocked the door, replaced the key holder, and slipped inside.

"First thing," he muttered, locking the sliding balcony door behind him, "a shower. Then, lots and lots of ice cream. I need a treat."

Not to mention needing to replenish his energy after those superhuman exertions.

* * *

At the Bureau's Detroit office the next Monday the routine morning briefing was mostly about the cleanup involved with the theft and recovery of the Balance Blades.

"Here's the joint report on the swords," said Drake, handing each of the attendees a bound printout. "We all - local police, FBI, Marshals' service, the State Department and even our own head office - agree that while the theft of the swords has been solved - along with the branch bank robberies - and the criminals who performed the acts caught, and that we have a good lead on the guy who hired the team, that the ultimate customer is still unidentified."

"So we still need the guy behind the guy," said Cal, scowling.

"Probably some unethical collector," said Cindy, sourly. "Somebody with enough money to fund the initial bank robbery."

"Maybe. However, the super brains working for the Bureau of Special Resources say there is a larger pattern of thefts of powerful artifacts going back nearly three decades."

"The remaining machinations of the Five Great Powers?" said Cal.

"Maybe. They had a lot of irons in the fire, and their most recent incarnations stoked the fire as they grew old enough to take over such actions. However, the efforts are continuing. They're low-key, and usually attributed to or blamed on - as Cindy said - unethical collectors, but there's a subset of thefts which involve things suspected - or in some cases confirmed - to have some sort of power. A subset mostly involving very clever thefts made through intermediaries."

"Abraham Stone," said Vic, anger in her voice.

"He's one of those being looked at. However, some of the items don't fit his known predilections."

"I hope there's not some secret cabal of immortals - an actual Illuminati - gathering these items for their own individual or group power," said Cindy, looking like she didn't want to believe that but wasn't certain about the matter.

"There have always been people who thought they were in such a group," said Drake, with a shrug. "Some actually were or even still are. They've never been nearly as successful as they wanted to be or even thought they were. Partly because so many of these people will work against others who have similar ambitions. Like the Secrets Keeper."

"Well, no-one that we local feds have caught was actually in charge of the bank branch robberies or sword theft," said Cal, with a laugh. "No matter how convinced they were that they were."

The others weren't laughing, and he quickly became more serious.

"That sort of manipulation is typical of mastermind schemes," said Vic, from bitter personal experience.

"Anyway, Brade, herself, contacted me about this," said Drake. "She doesn't think there's a secret cabal ruling the world, and neither do the Bureau's tame super brains. For one thing, anyone capable of that would also be capable of doing a better job of running things. However, there are, indeed, people known to be trying to rule the world, or some large portion of it. There are probably other individuals and groups we don't know about who actually are trying to rule the world or some large part of it. Gathering powerful magical talismans is one way many of them believe they can gain the power they think they need. Any of them - or even a powerful, unscrupulous collector with strange tastes - could be behind these thefts. So, watch for clues, but keep your priorities on the more immediate, more mundane, more local stuff."

He turned a page in his notes.

"There have been a couple of unconfirmed Dare sightings this weekend, despite Mrs. Courtner being dosed with Psianninul. More when we have more."

Another page.

"Finally, the 'You're Arrested' killings are continuing," said Drake.

"Oh, God..." said Vic, sourly.

"It's now thought that some criminal organization is using these assaults to test potential members. That is, after a certain number of points - and the more difficult the target is to kill, the more points - the person being tested passes and is admitted to the group. So, be on the lookout for those, too. Also, be aware that some of those could be copycat crimes."

* * *

The welcome Vic got from Michelle when she arrived at their apartment that afternoon more than made up for the bad news from the morning's briefing.

"Mmmmm, thank you," said Vic, as they finally broke their clench. "What's the occasion?"

"You sure you're off duty tonight?" said Michelle, coyly, not answering the question.

"As off duty as I ever get," said Vic, with a shrug.

"Good. We're going somewhere special. I've got your outfit laid out on the bed. Don't worry, I'll help you with the unfamiliar stuff."

"Another rave?" said Vic, puzzled.

"Nope. Something more elegant. You go and get cleaned up. We don't have a lot of time."

* * *

Even once they were in Vic's car and on the way, Michelle simply gave turn-by-turn directions.

"I look like a model from a fashion magazine," said Vic, tone carefully neutral. "So do you. Though it looks a lot better on you. So, where are we going?"

"We're going someplace special to celebrate," said Michelle. "You have to drive, since you have the car, but it's my treat."

"Celebrate what?" said Vic, at Michelle's direction turning onto a state route in a different state than the one where they lived.

"Several things. Including going out to eat."

"Makes sense to me," muttered Vic.

Following her directions, they drove for over half an hour along that road, before finally arriving at the turnoff for a hilltop inn and restaurant.

"The Four Queens," said Vic, reading the sign. "Hey, I've heard of this place! The owners are all cousins, and supers. They used money inherited from their reformed supervillain grandfather to open this place, about thirty years ago!"

"Yeah. He earned multiple fortunes in Las Vegas before retiring. When the cousins - then in their teens and early twenties - tried to become superheroes, they all wore costumes based on playing cards, to honor their grandfather. They were mediocre superheroes, though. When they decided to quit that and instead built the restaurant they gave it a playing card theme, too. They've had a lot more success running the restaurant and inn than they had as superheroes."

"Yeah," said Vic. "Diamond was supposed to be a martial artist. Wonder if she still practices..."

"Even is you see her, no talking chop."

"Ow..." said Vic, grinning.

Vic parked at the restaurant, and hesitated, as she looked at the eatery in the fading sunlight.

"This is a pretty expensive place," said Vic, quietly, appearing concerned. "You're the one who keeps saying we have to economize, after losing our deposit in that apartment scam."

"I came into some money," said Michelle, smirking as she undid her seat harness.

"Say what?"

"You remember my client who died, Mrs. Binder? She left me a quarter million in her will."

"A quarter million," said Vic, blankly. "Dollars?!"

"Yep." Michelle laughed. "Oh, she left far more to her children, and to several charities. I was pretty much an afterthought. It's still a nice piece of change for us."

They got out, Vic locked the Corolla wagon, and they started walking slowly towards the entrance.

"What are you going to do with that money?"

"That's what I love about you. Most people would have been all 'What are we going to do?' Anyway, I think I'll just pay off our debts and put the rest in savings. After a few minor splurges, like this."

"They're supposed to have a really good seafood selection," said Vic. "I just hope I can resist rescuing the lobsters this time."

"What?!" said Michelle, almost missing the top step on the entrance stairs.

Vic looked straight ahead, completely poker-faced. They were entering the front door by then, and Michelle had to switch her attention to the receptionist. The time was still a bit before the peak period for the restaurant.

"Peltior, reservations for two," said Michelle.

If the receptionist had any personal reservations about two women dining together, she kept them personal. Without batting an eye she turned them over to another woman, who led the pair to their table. Both Michelle and Vic were impressed by the playing card themed decorations of the place. Including a portrait of the Four Aces in costume, from their superhero days. From the poses, Michelle could believe that Diamond had been - maybe still was - a martial artist. She had seen Vic take similar stances when practicing.

The food was good, the portions were generous and the service was prompt. Though there was the usual reaction to how much Vic ate. As they waited for desert the pair finally started talking about work. As was their custom, Michelle was more interested in Vic's work than vice-versa.

"I'm still amazed those thieves avoided all law enforcement for so many weeks, then just sort of gave themselves away," said Michelle.

"It's weird, all right," said Vic, nodding in agreement. "Those guys weren't stupid, yet those swords just had their way with them."

"So are you saying those guys weren't particularly..."

"Don't say it."

"Sharp?" said Michelle, smirking.

"You said it." Vic groaned. "How long have you been waiting to use that?"

"You'll never know."

* * *

Their meal was fantastic. Michelle didn't let Vic see the bill. After desert they perused the gift shop for a while, mainly to let Vic's system burn off the alcohol she had consumed with their meal before starting the drive home. Then they made a last pit stop.

"I hate having to use a public restroom as a woman," Vic muttered, as they left the Ladies room. Michelle had to stop her tugging at her dress. Together they looked around the gift shop again, though only briefly. "You find anything you wanted?"

"Not really. It's mostly snacks - which we already have plenty of - and tourist gewgaws."

"Yeah, that was my evaluation, too."

Soon they were back outside, in the cool, evening air. As the crossed the parking lot, heading for Vic's wagon, they saw that there were still people arriving.

"Say, does that guy look familiar?" said Michelle, as they neared the Corolla. She frowned and gestured, indicating a well-dressed man escorting a similarly elegant woman of about the same age.

"Yeah," said Vic, in a low voice. "That's the guy who was making the fuss at Wok on the Wild Side a couple of months back. The one who was so outraged he left without paying. That's not the same woman, though."

"Oh, my..." said Michelle, smirking.

Openly holding hands, the couple waved and smiled at the man as they reached Vic's wagon. He seemed quietly furious.

* * *

"Due to her continuing decline, we got the court order reversed and the doctors took Madeline Courtner off Psianninul last night," said Drake. "Unfortunately, it was too late. Her vitals were already very weak, and before the drug could wear off she went into cardiac arrest. She could not be resuscitated.

"Meanwhile, confirmed sightings of Dare continue."

"So she wasn't the source?" said Cindy, surprised.

"The thought now is that Courtner was the trigger, and that Dare is the product of a true Collective. In which case, giving everyone who is a member of the Collective a dose of Psianninul at the same time would break the link."

"If you could get all of the potential members to volunteer," said Cal, "or acquire an appropriate court order."

"Not very likely, I know," said Drake, sounding tired. "We're not even sure we have the names of all the members."

* * *

"Oh, great," said Vic, that evening.

"What's wrong?" said Michelle.

"The city hired Lady Green as their metro," said Vic, sourly.

"I remember you mentioning something about that," said Michelle. "Who's this Lady Green?"

"A mercenary super with a bad attitude," said Vic. "By which I don't mean she's a badass. I mean that she is egotistical, narrow-minded, overconfident, subjective and almost completely non-introspective. She's also an extrovert and on the surface charming and well spoken. Someone who isn't afraid to exaggerate her abilities and accomplishments. Not hugely different from Dare, in fact, except that Lady Green somehow manages to stay on the right side of the law. Oh, and she can fly."

"Of course the bitch can fly," said Michelle, rolling her eyes.

Vic sighed and shook her head.

"I've only had a couple of encounters with her, but what other people - supers and norms - say about her confirms my own evaluation. She's actually a cousin of Death Nell, whom I had trouble with during the war. Powers sometimes run in families. It seems attitudes may, as well."

"Yet the city hired her."

"Well, they're politicians - who are almost by definition more interested in image than substance - and she's a political creature."

"Well, hopefully you won't have to deal much with her."

"There's actually a pretty good chance we won't have a lot of interaction," said Vic, with a shrug. "The sorts of crimes she's likely to be involved with are high-profile, high-visibility and local. Which will likely mean there's less call for my help from the locals for such cases. Meanwhile, most of my cases aren't the kind people in the city government concern themselves with."