Booster looked around. The movers had departed, taking the last of the furnishings with them. The once luxurious penthouse had been stripped to the bare walls. He trudged over toward the window and yanked it open. No point in sticking around, he thought. He didn't live here anymore.
"Whatever." He launched himself into the sky. Skeets tagged along after him. "As long as I can use whatever we find out to kick Supernova around the block."
“WE’LL TRY DUR BEST, SIR.”
SHIRUTA.
Angry at being embarrassed in front of Black Adam, the guards roughly returned Adrianna Tomaz to her quarters. An unnecessary shove sent her stumbling into the room, where she fell loudly to the floor. She grunted in pain as her body hit the stone tiles.
"We had better have no more trouble from you," a guard warned her. He sneered at the bedchamber's comfortable furnishings: curtains, cushions, potted plants, and such. "Believe me, there are a lot worse quarters in the palace than this room."
Black Adam viewed the scene with distaste. The bothersome young woman was a victim after all; some allowances needed to be made. Now that his temper had cooled somewhat, he was willing to forgive Adrianna her outburst at the reception. No doubt her emotions had been overwhelmed by all the hardships she had recently endured.
"Enough," he declared. His powerful hands fell upon the shoulders of the guards, who were surprised to find their immortal ruler behind them.
A guard swallowed nervously. "But, Mighty Adam ... ?"
"Leave us." He dismissed the men, who were only too eager to withdraw from the corridor. Adam paused outside the door, not entirely sure why he was here. By rights, he should be seeing to his guests, yet something about his earlier encounter with Adrianna troubled him. Why should the victimized young woman turn against one who rescued her from shameful bondage? And what could have compelled her to call him a terrorist?
I mean to rid the world of terror, he thought. Can she not see that?
Moonlight filtered through lattice windows as he entered the woman's room, which had once belonged to one of his predecessor's many concubines.
Elaborate arabesques ornamented the walls. Brightly colored tiles adorned the domed ceiling. He found Adrianna sprawled upon the floor, a few feet short of an antique Persian carpet. She looked up at him with suspicion. Her dark eyes narrowed.
Feeling awkward, he offered her his hand.
She hesitated, then chose to climb back onto her feet by herself. Rather than being annoyed, Adam found himself intrigued by her stubborn independence. Looking at her closely for the first time, he saw that she was indeed as beautiful as the American hoodlums had claimed. Lustrous brown hair framed a lovely face worthy of a bygone queen or goddess. Her bronze skin glowed in the moonlight. Her loose orange robe, tied at the waist by a blue satin sash, failed to disguise her lithesome figure. Large brown eyes reminded him uncomfortably of Shiruta, his long-lost bride. Perhaps that was why her unjust accusation had lingered in his mind.
"Why were you running?" he asked.
She faced him without fear. "I won't be made a prisoner."
"Prisoner? You are not a prisoner." He glanced around at the luxurious bedchamber, which bore little resemblance to the palace's underground dungeons and torture chambers. A canopy-covered divan provided the girl with a soft place to rest her head, should she feel so inclined. The tiled ceiling and ornamented walls were pleasing to the eye. "You are a refugee. After I slew your captors, I asked my aides to take you back home to Cairo. They informed me that your family had been slaughtered when you were taken away, and that your younger brother had been sold into slavery." He sympathized with the girl's loss, remembering the murder of his own family countless generations ago. "You had no one. That is why I offered you refuge in this palace."
She listened to him in silence, a wary expression upon her face. He tried to fathom what he might have done to make this woman distrust him so. Only one explanation came to mind.
"I apologize," he said sincerely, "for killing your captors and denying you your revenge."
She gazed at him in surprise. "You apologize for that?"
Clearly, that was not what had angered her. The Wisdom of Zehuti, the ancient Egyptian god of learning, was among the gifts bestowed upon him by the wizard Shazam. But perhaps not even Zehuti, for all his knowledge, had ever truly understood the mysterious workings of a woman's heart.
He stepped away from the door and gestured toward the open archway. "You are free to leave at any time."
Adrianna marched boldly toward the door, then paused in her tracks. She turned back toward him, as though there was something she had to say before she left. Something that had been preying upon her mind for days.
"You're not going to save the world," she stated.
Once again, her impudence astounded him. What would a mere girl know of such matters? He wondered if he had heard her correctly. "Excuse me?"
"The last few weeks, I've seen and heard about this crusade of yours." She appeared to have given the topic much thought. Her confident voice did not mince words. "It borders on the psychotic."
"Really?" he said archly.
"You're gathering a coalition of other countries that will adopt your Freedom of Power Treaty," she said, accurately enough. Evidently, she was smarter and more observant than he had given her credit for; that much was certain. "Effectively enforcing lethal action against meta-human criminals."
"Some of them have the power to destroy a country," he pointed out firmly. Unaccustomed to being challenged in his own domain, he crossed his arms atop his chest and glared down at her. "If they have the inclination, they must be dismantled."
. I .
As I personally dismantled the despicable curs who tried to sell you into slavery.
"But you're targeting America," she protested, unintimidated by his superior strength and stature. "You're trying to build a power base to challenge theirs."
"I'm simply spreading a method of justice that will help protect the people," he insisted, "and ensure that no one will ever lose their family as you have yours." And if America and its overly idealistic heroes got in his way ... well, so be it. The safety of the world required a force strong enough to do what must be done.
She stepped forward, almost desperate to get through to him. "You're going to plunge the world into war," she warned. Laying an insistent hand upon his arm, she stared urgently into his eyes. "What happened to you? What happened that you have to take it out on the entire world?"
Unhappy with the turn of the discussion, he removed her hand from his person and stepped away from her. I grow weary of this debate, he thought irritably. He had not asked for her opinion, nor did he require it. He pointed toward the door.
"You are free to go," he reminded her.
But the infuriating woman seemed in no hurry to depart. "Your problem is that you don't listen to anyone except yourself."
"And your problem is that you are naive," he shot back.
She refused to give ground, even though he could obliterate her in a heartbeat. "Arrogant," she accused him.
"Disrespectful," he scolded.
"Alone."
Black Adam fell silent, unable to think of an immediate retort. He glumly pondered that final word. That last damning charge, at least, he could not deny.
Allies or no allies, he was indeed alone.
WEEK 11
GOTHAM CITY.
"You really should quit," he began.
Renee rolled her eyes as she reached for the cigarette. Here it comes, she thought. Just like a broken record. "Let me guess. You used to smoke."
It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon in Robinson Park. She and Vic sat across from each other at a wooden picnic table, while the rest of Gotham took advantage of the park all around them. Smiling couples strolled hand in hand, or pushed strollers. Teenagers played Frisbee on an open lawn. Lush green foliage and leafy trees provided shade from the sun. Pamela Isley, aka Poison Ivy, was known to frequent this park.
Renee had to admit that the crazy plant bitch did good work.
Now if she could just enjoy a smoke without her new friend talking her ear off.
"There's hydrogen cyanide in cigarette smoke, Renee. That's the stuff the Nazis used to murder the Jews in the gas chambers, except they called it Zyklon B." He leaned across the table toward her, intent on making his point. "That's just one of the chemicals. There's benzene. That's a solvent known to cause cancer, leukemia. There's lead, you know, the stuff that'll drive you insane...
"Charlie she interrupted him. He could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Her elbow itched beneath the sports brace that had filially replaced the plaster cast. She lit up the cigarette and blew smoke in his face.
"No," he persisted. "I'm not done yet. I've looked into this, okay? There's cadmium. That's a poisonous metal. It's used to make batteries, which is why they tell you to dispose of them properly. There's formaldehyde, there's acetone, there's..." »
Tuning him out, she looked past his shoulder. A snazzy silver convertible pulled up to the edge of the park, and she got to her feet, suddenly feeling more nervous than she wanted to admit. She hastily ran her hand through her hair, grooming it, and squashed the cigarette out beneath her heel.
"Here she comes/' she informed Vic. "Try not to embarrass me, okay?"
Kate Kane strolled toward them, looking, as usual, like a billion bucks. Sunlight shone through the light red fabric of her designer dress, so that you could almost see right through it. Designer sunglasses perched upon her nose. She carried a stylish clutch that only a clueless plebe would describe as a purse. Golden earrings reflected the radiant sunshine. Renee tried not to stare, or at least not be too obvious about it.
Vic turned around to watch her approach. "Hubba hubba."
"Shut. Up," Renee whispered emphatically.
Kate joined them by the table. She didn't sit down.
"Thanks for coming, Kate."
"Renee," the woman said coldly. The shades concealed her eyes, but she didn't sound terribly happy to be here. She cocked her head toward Vic. "Who's your friend?"
"I'm her partner, Charlie." He leaned toward her, openly admiring her drop-dead gorgeousness. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Kane."
"Who's yours?" Renee asked. The fact that a sleek young blonde had remained behind in the convertible had not escaped her notice. She told herself it shouldn't bother her. •
It did anyway.
"Her name's Mallory. She's a doctor," Kate volunteered. "You don't know her."
Renee let it drop. That wasn't why she was here.
"What do you have for me?"
Kate sat down at the picnic table beside Vic. Reaching into her clutch, she extracted a sheet of paper. "You were correct. The family does own the property at 520 Kane Street. Like most of our holdings, it's controlled through one of several management companies. We have no direct involvement...
She started to hand the paper to Renee, only to have Vic pluck it from her fingers. "Thanks."
Kate looked annoyed, but said nothing.
"Is it currently being rented?" Renee asked while Vic examined the paper.
Kate shook her head. "No. At the moment, the property is empty. Up until six weeks ago, though, it was being leased to a company called Ridge-Ferrick Holding here in Gotham."
The name didn't mean anything to Renee, but something else did. "Six weeks," she pointed out to Vic.
"The timing's right," he confirmed. It had been about six weeks since they had nearly gotten their clocks cleaned down at the old warehouse. He got up to go, leaving Kate seated at the table by herself.
Renee turned to leave as well. "Thanks for this, Kate."
"No, wait a minute," she protested. Her tinted shades failed to conceal her confusion. She sprang to her feet. "What's this about? What's going on?"
Renee braced herself. This was going to be the hard part. "I told you, it's something we're looking into."
That wasn't good enough for Kate, who cut in front of Renee, blocking her path. "You're not a PI, Renee. You're not licensed, I checked!" Hands on her hips, she faced Renee defiantly. "And whoever your 'partner' is here, I don't think he's one either."
"Kate—"
"No!" she insisted passionately. "If this is something that concerns my family, I have a right to know! You don't come back into my life after ten years asking for favors without an explanation, Renee!" Her face flushed. Her voice grew more fervent. "You owe me that much!"
Vic studiously looked away, whistling, while the two women confronted each other. Their faces and bodies were only a few inches apart, just like during their encounter at the Kane family mansion a few weeks back. Renee felt her blood heating,up once more. Staring at her own reflection in Kate's sunglasses, she steeled herself to do what had to be done ... for Kate's sake.
"No, I don't," she said brusquely. "I don't owe you anything."
The words hit Kate like a slap across the face. All the fight went out of her as she watched Renee step past her and walk away. "How ... how can you say that?" She sounded genuinely stunned.
Don't look back, Renee thought as she strode away from the park. She couldn't risk Kate seeing the guilty expression on her face. Better to pretend she didn't care.
"Good-bye, Kate."
"No, that was really smooth," Vic said. "No wonder the women are falling all over themselves for you. We should double-date sometime."
The parking garage was located only a few blocks away from the park. Their footsteps echoed across an upper level of the garage as Renee and Vic headed toward a rundown 1980s VW Vanagon. Sunlight entered through gaps in the concrete pillars. Renee puffed on a cigarette as Vic gave her a hard time about Kate. She was starting to miss his usual antitobacco spiel.
"What was I supposed to do, huh?" she asked him. Frustration tinged her voice. "Bad enough what Intergang will do to us if they find out we're messing with their play. Maybe they'll let us off with being lightly murdered. That's fine. That's my risk. I'm willing to take it, but I sure as hell am not putting Kate in the crosshairs as well."
"Ah, right," Vic said. "I should have seen that. My bad."
Something about his tone bugged her. "What? Should have seen what?"
"That you still have a thing for her."
Arriving at the van, he dug around in his pocket until he located a compact car alarm controller that looked a whole lot newer and in better condition than the Vanagon itself. Rust crept like cancer across the van's dented exterior. Faded bumper stickers helped hold the fenders in place.
"The thing I had for her ended ten years ago," Renee insisted. "And she ended it." She sighed loudly, not wanting to talk about it. "I'm just tired of people I care about dying on me, okay? Better she stays far away from this."
He thumbed the remote and the van chirped in response. He slid open the side door and started to clamber inside. "You're packing a whole lot of guilt for someone so young."
"At least I come by it honestly," she said bitterly.
"Give me a break."
Renee couldn't believe her ears. "What did you say?" Her temper flared as she leaned into the van. Angry eyes looked ready to explode. "What did you just—"
"You heard me." He crouched inside the van, surrounded on all sides by books, magazines, and cardboard boxes stuffed with file folders. Printed labels identified the contents of each box: KENNEDY ASSASSINATION, FLORIDA 2000, LEXCORP, OHIO 2004, HUB CITY, BIG TOBACCO, WAYNE ENTERPRISES, PARADISE ISLAND, ELECTRIC CARS, QUANTUM UNIFICATION THEORY, etc. He leafed through a box labeled INTERGANG #52. "The thing with your partner. You've got to let that go. It'll eat you alive. Trust me, I've seen it before."
Renee clenched her fists. "You don't know anything about—"
"Detective second grade Crispus Allen, murdered three months ago." He reached behind him and snatched a bulging folder from on top of another box. He tossed the file over to Renee. "Corrigan, James, arrested for the killing, but released due to lack of evidence. Case is still open."
br /> Renee caught the folder. A quick glance at the contents confirmed that Vic knew what he was talking about. She snapped it shut before she had to look at the grisly crime scene photos all over again. An overwhelming wave of sorrow and guilt washed away her anger. She bit down on her lower lip.
"James Corrigan killed your partner and then walked." Vic stopped searching through his files long enough to give her a stern but sympathetic look. "Allen was your friend and your partner and it had to be answered. You owed him that much. So you hunted down Corrigan, intending to kill him. And you couldn't do it."
She slumped against the side of the van, clutching the file to her chest. For once, she didn't worry how Vic knew any of this; all that mattered was that it was true. In her mind's eye, she saw herself back in Corrigan's apartment, pressing the muzzle of her automatic against his skull. Down on his knees, the dirty cop had begged for his life. Corriganhad gunned down Cris in cold blood. Fie deserved to die. But, at the moment of truth, Renee hadn't been able to pull to the trigger. Instead she had just walked away, leaving her partner's murderer to live another day. Twenty-four hours later, she had turned in her badge.
"That's why you hate yourself, Renee Montoya," Vic said. "Because you did the right thing."
Did I? She wasn't so sure.
Lost in thought, she went through one cigarette, then six more, while Vic continued to poke through his overflowing boxes of conspiracy theories. Night had fallen, and the garage's overhead lights come on, by the time she finally heard him crow triumphantly from inside the van.
"Got it!"
He emerged holding aloft a stack of documents and photos. Renee roused herself in order to hear what he had to say. Whatever he had stumbled onto, it had to be better than thinking about Corrigan again.
"Ridge-Ferrick Holding is a subsidiary of HSC International Banking," he explained. "HSC International is Intergang's spearhead, one of the legit fronts they establish to move into new territory. Part R&D, part Human Resources."
Renee arched an eyebrow. "They have R&D?" .
"They have 401Ks, Renee." He started laying the documents out on the hood of the van. "This is the new Intergang. They're just as happy to kill you in the boardroom as in a back alley. HSC is run by a former agent of the late Ra's al Ghul." Renee recognized the name of an infamous terrorist leader once said to command a veritable League of Assassins. "This woman here, name of Whisper A'Daire, and, yes, it's obviously an alias." '