by
marat
Outside the Millard Fillmore
Music Conservatory, a decrepit three-storey monstrosity that had been unused
for a decade or more, almost a dozen police cars sat on the wet streets,
their light flashing and radio calls echoing, muddled and indistinct, through
the cool night air. The crime scene was alive with officers, specialists
and paramedics swiftly moving about the dramatically lit location.
Officer Maria Blakeman, who had
called in the units for back up and rescue, watched, alone and almost unobserved
from inside the Conservatory, as the smoothly operating machine went about
its work. The Mitropoulos Police Department was uncovering those behind a
series of high profile robberies that had occurred over the last week. They
were also learning about the activities of a new gang that had only recently
emerged in these dilapidated sections of the city along the Hutson River,
activities that might have included drugs and large-scale weapons
purchases.
Maria was pleased with her role
in bringing this chapter in the citys criminal history to an end. In
doing so, she had saved the life of Mitropoulos greatest heroine, Crimson
Flare, who had been captured by Ape Greystook and his gang; Crimson Flare,
who had been instrumental in Officer Blakemans own choice to enter
the Police Academy. Having graduated from the Academy less than a year earlier,
the policewoman had already shown her abilities and her intelligence in numerous
cases. Her doggedness in pursuing the innocence of Crimson Flare would gain
her another honour in what has thus far been a distinguished career. She
smiled as her heroine approached her to give the officer her
thanks.
*****
Officer Tim Westbrook angrily
watched as his partner, Officer Maria Blakeman, and Crimson Flare slowly
walked together from the Millard Fillmore Conservatory, exiting through the
large double doors to the street below. Outside, the blinking lights of nearly
a dozen police cars tore at the darkness, red and white and blue streaks
crisscrossing the dimly lit crime scene. Walking slowly, they seemed to be
confiding in one another. Maria had given the heroine a bottle of water,
and Westbrook watched as Crimson Flare used it to clean the filth from her
face. They then walked out into the street, where the flashing lights of
back-up units, crime scene units, the ambulance, and even a police electronics
laboratoryto deal with that mass of computer and other equipment found
tucked away in a room in on the first floorreflected off the brick
fronts and wet streets around the old music building. The policewoman took
Crimson Flares gloved hands in her own and spoke directly to the
heroine.
Westbrook had seen enough. The
two police officers had come to this old, seemingly deserted music education
building when reports of noises there these past several nights had led some
to suspect that a band of Mitropoulos homeless had taken up residence,
and were using the site to stoke their alcohol or drug habits. What the officers
had discovered was much more.
Maria had investigated upstairs;
he had gone to the ground floor. He found a room filled electronic surveillance
gear, and he saw murky black-and-white images from security cameras installed
upstairs of a bound naked woman being tortured by a group of people.
Investigating further, he found three mini-DV cassettes lined up neatly on
a desktop in the same room; next to them was a professional video unit, like
the TV news crews would use. Assuming them to be evidence of the crime, he
pocketed the cassettes. They would be turned over to the detectives in charge
later.
But he quickly forgot about them
when Maria came racing into the electronics room. Ive called
for back-up. Get up to the entrance and wait for them. Get them upstairs
as soon as they arrive, she whispered harshly.
Just before she returned to the
upper floor, she said, Weve got to save
her.
*****
As the scope of the criminal
activity there became more evident, more and more units were called: Back-up
units for the two criminals had who wanted to fight it out, though the gun
battle was over before most of those units arrived; an ambulance for Ape
Greystook; a hearse for the dead redhead sprawled on the iron fence outside
the building; the police van for the electronics.
Police swarmed through the building.
Crime scene investigators followed gun-wielding officers into each room and
began their work once each had been cleared. Gradually evidence was accumulated
against the criminals regarding the series of crimes that had swept Mitropoulos
these last several days, crimes that had been laid at the feet of Crimson
Flare. Equipment that allowed for the projection of images (not unlike what
he had seen at the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland) quickly cleared
Mitropoulos Masked Maiden of the accusations. The loot from these robberies
was discovered in another of the rooms; a shopping list of weapons and armaments
was prominently posted over a desk that looked like it belong to Ape Greystook;
correspondence with Fareed Gouyannou, a name known to the police as a leading
drug supplier to the city, was also posted there, and it indicated that Ape
was in debt to him in the amount of several millions; and, finally, there
was Ape himself, his body broken in his fight with Crimson Flare, mumbling
incoherently as he was taken to the ambulance. The paramedics had filled
his arms with tubes in an effort to stabilise him, and the murmurings ceased.
The EMS vehicle raced from the scene, its siren blaring.
The other two men, who had been
killed in the shootout with police, as well as the tall redhead impaled on
the spiked iron fence outside the building, were examined by the forensics
staff and shortly removed to the top of the stairs in front of the Conservatory.
Identification showed that each had a long list of
priors.
Maria stood watching the police
doing their work, admiring the smoothness and ease of the process. Tim Westbrook
sidled up to her and stood next to her.
I guess youre pretty
satisfied, he said.
You
bet.
Got your girl friend off
the hook for all of those crimes, didnt you?
What do you mean?
Maria turned to face her partner.
Nothing, Westbrook
said. Only, he followed quickly, only, thanks to you, Crimson
Flare gets away scot-free.
Maria, both shocked and furious,
turned to face him. Do you have any idea what she went through? And
how important bringing down Ape and his gang is for the safety of
Mitropoulos?
Yeah, well, you only have
her word for that, dont you?
*****
As Crimson Flare walked slowly
from the Conservatory, her first sensation was one of relief. The parting
words from Officer Blakeman still echoed in her
ears.
Dont stop, Crimson
Flare. We need you.
She felt the pain in her chest,
where her broken ribs would need attention. The fracture was as yet unhealed;
she was surprised at that, because her body always healed any kind of injury
quickly. The ribs had been broken days ago.
But she also felt the police
watching her. Conscious of her glittering costume clinging tightly to her
petite form, she knew some, like Maria Blakeman, plainly admired the heroine
for her actions and the model she offered to the community. The sequins catching
and reflecting the flashing police lights drew the eyes of all on the scene
to the figure of Americas Darling as she walked away. The Maiden of
Mitropoulos wondered how many, like Maria Blakeman, were pleased about her
survival and vindication. She wondered how many others viewed her in a different
light.
*****
Her trip home had been slowed
by the ache in her ribcage. A few hours later, following a lingering hot
bath, Karen Perry, wearing her XXXL Penn State t-shirt and cotton panties,
stretched out on the sofa in the living room of her apartment. Lynn Simms
had arrived while she soaked and quietly let herself into the apartment.
Karens blonde friend prepared a breakfast for the two of them. Lynn
had been shocked when Karen showed her the bruise just below her left
breast.
I didnt think Crimson
Flare could be injured like that.
Karen spoke easily, though the
pain would occasionally rise up in her chest, and she would shudder.
Neither did I. Id been hit with baseball bats, iron pipes,
everything
and Id never had anything broken.
I guess Ape must have done
something right.
Dont joke, Karen.
You told me about how quickly you heal. What happens if those broken ribs
heal improperly? What if theyre already knitted? How will you correct
that?
Karen had spent so much time
unconscious, thanks to the Nemissesitor, that she feared that her remarkable
body, whose workings, even at this late date, she didnt completely
understand, might heal improperly. But, when she had departed the Conservatory
crime scene, her nurses hands had told her that the broken bones were
still in that condition.
The bruise is starting
to disappear. While I was soaking, I began the process of correctly allowing
the bones to heal. Broken ribs cant be put in a cast, you know. It
simply takes time and the right conditions. Since they were broken, the
conditions didnt allow for any sort of
healing.
Dont lecture me,
Karen. If there were a problem, who would you go to? You cant take
your condition to the hospital without risking your identity being discovered.
You need to have them treated.
Youre right, Lynn.
You are the only one I can turn to. But I also know something about
treating these kinds of fractures, I know they havent healed, and I
know that they will now get a chance to heal.
When did Ape break them?
Lynns concern sounded in her voice.
I think it was the first
night. Im
THE FIRST
NIGHT!??! Youve
been gone four days! And theyre not healed? What happened to
you?
There was a lot implied in
Lynns outburst. Karen tried to calm her friend while giving her the
answers as she knew them.
I dont know what
happened during most of that time. I was unconscious, thanks to a weapon
that has been resurrected. A government projectan anti-personnel
weaponcalled the Nemissesitor. It attacks the inner
ear.
Anyway, Nancy and her men
used it to keep me unconscious most of the time. I dont know what happened
during that time. But youre right. I should have healed in the space
of four days. Why the ribs havent knitted, I dont know. But,
I think its a good thing they havent. Here, with your help, they
can heal properly.
You dont know what
happened during most of the time? What do you
remember?
When I returned to
consciousness, most of time they simply turned up the Nemissesitor and knocked
me out again. Other times
she paused, struggling to
remember.
Other
times?
Other times, I remember
lights. They drugged me. They used some drug that Chan had developed to control
me. It kept me conscious but I couldnt resist. I remember lights. They
tortured me, I think, humiliated me. She paused.
Raped
me.
Lynn rose and walked toward her
friend. Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he ran the backs of her fingers through
the short, dark brown hair.
How much of it do you
remember?
Nothing. Only that it happened.
Exactly what they did to me is lost. I have no way of recovering
it.
*****
Tim Westbrook got home before
he realised that the cassettes were still in his pocket. He took off his
uniform and, folding it neatly, placed it on top of the chair in front of
his computer terminal. Todays work would mean it would have to be
dry-cleaned, an expense the department did not shoulder for officers. While
his dinner was in the microwave, he turned on his video player to see what
exactly it was that he had found.
This was not the first time that
Westbrook had brought home evidence in a case. On other occasions, it had
turned out to be nothing, the case made against the criminal without what
he had found.
When the signal from the oven
told him that his Lean Cuisine was ready, he set up a tray in the living
room, in front of the TV. He pulled a prepared salad from the refrigerator
and set it in front of his chair. Then he grabbed the dinner, a bottle of
beer, and settled in to see what these perps were entertaining themselves
with.
*****
Two officers met outside Tim
Westbrooks apartment. Gary Paladine and Bruce Sealing had been awakened
from their sleep following their shifts. Both had known Westbrook for many
years, having gone through the Police Academy about the same time. Paladine
was in line to be a detective. He had recently taken the exam and the reports
had filtered back to him through unofficial channels that he had done well
and would see his promotion with the next vacancy. He was known to be one
of the smartest patrolmen currently on the force. And one of the most
ambitious.
Sealing was nowhere near that
level of accomplishment. Not much more than a common thug, he was known around
the Department not so much for his skills as for his ability to survive.
On two occasions, charges of brutality had been brought against him, but,
on both occasions, the plaintiff had decided to drop the complaint. Word
was, on at least one of those occasions, he had brought threats against his
accuser. He was currently working in administration while the latest accusation
was evaluated. In his time on the force, he had gone through a partner at
a rate of one every five months.
Both of the officers knew Westbrook
to be a solidly competent cop; level-headed and always in control of every
situation; so, when they had received his phone calls in the early morning
hours, and he was wildly excited about something they absolutely had
to see, and that he couldnt tell them about it over the phone,
and that they needed to get over to his place as soon as they could
they showed up almost simultaneously about fifteen minutes
later.
Westbrook opened the door almost
before Paladine had finished knocking. The young officer had been standing
in the living room impatiently awaiting their arrival. What he had was the
opportunity of a lifetime.
*****
After viewing most of the first
tape, Paladine broke the silence. Are the other tapes
copies?
No! Westbrook replied.
Theyre a continuation. Theres almost five hours of
it.
Sealing looked at Westbrook.
Five hours! You watched all of it before you called
us?
I fast-forwarded through
most of it. But theres no copied material
anywhere.
And youre sure its
Crimson Flare; the real Crimson Flare, not someone made to look like her.
Paladine asked the question that Westbrook had also
considered.
I found the tapes at the
Fillmore Conservatory this morning, sitting alongside a camera. Crimson Flare
was there herself. The other people on the tape are the people who were killed
at the Fillmore.
Theres no question
that its the real Crimson Flare.
The silence in the apartment
became oppressive.
Again, Paladine spoke first.
Well, what do we do with them?
Thats why I called
you guys. We need to make a decision.
Sealings response was
immediate. Do you know how much we can get making copies and selling
them on the net? Do you have any idea how many guys whack off just watching
her? Theres even a fetish video about her available
now.
Thats one option.
Paladines face showed some concern.
What are the
others?
As I see it, we have several.
One: we simply destroy the tapes and forget they ever
existed
.
Sealing turned bright red on
hearing this. Are you crazy? Do you know what theyre worth? This
is the real Crimson Flare! Not some actress in a
costume.
As I was saying,
we have several options. One is to destroy them. This would protect
Crimson Flare and allow her to continue to do her
work.
Both Sealing and Westbrook were
not pleased with that option. Neither was
known to be particularly friendly or supportive of the superheroine. Sealing
seemed to have an almost visceral dislike for her. He belittled her efforts
and accomplishments at every opportunity, he mocked her purported strength,
frequently declaring his intent to show that bitch what a real man
could do to her. The possibilities of the video were only beginning
to dawn on him. His partners seemed to be aiming at frustrating these
possibilities.
Westbrooks distaste for
Crimson Flare was of more recent vintage and of completely unclear origins.
It was only in the last several weeks that he had begun to side with Sealing
on the matter of Mitropoulos Masked Maiden. Previously, he had almost
never spoken of her, for good or ill, and the little the policeman had said,
in fact, seemed to be admiring of the way in which she inspired everyday
citizens to help the police in their work.
Officer Paladine continued.
Secondly, we can turn them over to the police lab and add them to the
evidence in this case.
Westbrooks eyes shot wide
open. Wait a second, Gary. I removed them from a crime scene. True,
I was going to give them to the lab boys when they arrived, but between the
gunfight and everything else that happened there, I simply forgot about them.
I didnt realise I had them until I got home and
well, by then
it was probably too late.
Patrolman Sealing supported his
friend Tim, who had so recently become a convert to the brotherhood of officers
who condemned Crimson Flare. Tims right, Gary. We cant
turn them over to the lab with out running a risk for him. There has to be
some other way.
Paladine didnt miss a beat
in his examination of alternatives. Third: he went on, they
can make their way to the police lab by
shall we say, an unknown
means? We remove all evidence that Tim has had them, and we return them to
the Conservatory or place them in the evidence locker, and someone will shortly
discover them. Its clean, no one suspects Tims role, and
theres no illegality.
Sealing and Westbrook were quiet
while Paladine offered this possibility. They didnt like it, but their
friends use of the word illegality gave them pause.
Blinded by having Crimson Flare in their grasp, they almost had not considered
what they were doing was illegal.
If we are going to go down
another road, fourth, we can contact Crimson Flare and let her know that
these videos exist, that we have them (of course, well have to protect
our identities), and what it would cost to get them
back.
NO!!! Sealing was furious. We
cant let that bitch off so easy! We duplicate it, we sell it,
we send photos to the papers! We end that superbitchs act once and
for all.
Paladine remained unmoved.
Thats the fifth alternative, which youve already mentioned.
Im simply offering others for consideration. Of course, if thats
where you want to go with this, running the risk that she might want to hunt
down the people who destroyed her career, then that certainly must be
considered.
Im not afraid of
her, Sealing said flatly. You saw what they did to her in that
tape. I could handle her just as easy.
Tim suddenly wasnt so sure.
Any other possibilities?
I think thats it.
But whatever we do, we have to be in it together. We have to agree among
ourselves that this is what well do. No solos. He looked pointedly
at Sealing. And we cant tell anyone else. If theres profit
to be made, we only split it three ways. If theres risk to be run,
theres even more risk by bringing others in.
They were all three quiet for
a moment.
Sealing spoke first. You
know what I want. He sounded surly.
Tim looked at him for a moment.
I cant go for that. Its got too many risks. Lets
go for one single big payday. As a superheroine, she could steal a million
bucks to pay us off.
Paladine smiled. My thoughts
exactly.
*****
The three officers divided the
videos among themselves, each taking one of the tapes. Once Tim Westbrook
had seen what was on the first tape he had popped into his player, and had
watched until he had satisfied himself regarding the nature, the potency,
and the authenticity of the material, he failed to pay close attention to
what followed. As he told his comrades, he liberally used his equipments
fast-forward option to view the remainder of what was on the other tapes.
Fortunately for Crimson Flare, he had, significantly, begun with what was
chronologically the first tape. He had seen only the first ten minutes or
so of each of the other two, just enough to ensure that they were not simply
copies of the other videos. He had not seen the section of Crimson Flares
torture where her mask is removed and she was forced to reveal her
name.
Lacking this information, the
problem for the conspirators was how to get in touch with Crimson Flare in
order to make their demands. They considered using CRIMNET, but the last
thing they wanted was to alert the criminal underworld about their find.
Further, as police officers, they knew that Mitropoulos police and
civic administration did not have direct access to the heroine. There was
no BatPhone.
They considered arranging for
a crime that would attract the vigilante, but decided that that would not
be secretive enough. What could they
?
Ultimately, Tim Westbrook realised
that he had a pretty good idea of how to contact Crimson Flare. He simply
had to avoid exciting the curiosity of his partner.
Conversation with Maria had
significantly diminished since Tims verbal assault on the Champion
at the Conservatory the other night. As partners, he knew that eventually
they would have to reconcile. Uncharacteristically for them, he made the
first move.
Maria, listen. I think
I may have been a little out of line with that comment the other
night.
A
little?
Well, remember. Everybody
on the force was looking for her. She was at the top of the Search List.
You cut me off as I was reading her her rights. I lost my head because I
had lost the arrest.
Im really sorry.
She didnt handle sarcasm well.
Maria Blakeman sat quietly, looking
straight ahead as he piloted their cruiser down Mitropoulos dark
streets.
I know you really look
up to Crimson Flare. Why is that?
The policewoman was slow to answer,
still suspicious of Tims interest, but gradually she vented the full
significance of Crimson Flare in her life, in her outlook, in her
aspirations.
Tim didnt really listen
to most of what Maria said. He was waiting for an opportunity to raise a
question that he and Paladine had formulated. When the moment came, he
wasnt slow. You know, this whole series of events has been quite
a coincidence. First, we find her at Venables Furs. Then we go to the
Conservatory. He turned in his seat and smiled at his partner. It
wasnt entirely a coincidence that second time. Was
it?
Maria was slow to respond. Tim
was stepping on to some very touchy territory. No one was supposed to
know.
You have to
promise
.
Promise
what?
Promise you wont
tell anyone
and I mean anyone
about this. It could not
only put Crimson Flares life in danger, but others, as
well.
All
right.
Say
it!
Say
what?
That you
promise!!
Tim was chuckling. This
isnt junior high school, Maria.
Promise!
O.K., O.K. Ill
promise.
That youll never
tell
anyone!
That Ill never
tell anyone. Tim felt a little uncomfortable about
that.
Maria guided the car to the curb
of the brightly lit street. She turned to her partner, her eyes glistening.
She looked like she was about to cry.
She works with
someone.
Wait.
What?
Crimson Flare works with
someone. Someone whos on the net.
Who?
I dont know who, or anything
about them. Theyre just there, on the net. And they evidently help
Crimson Flare.
Theres someone
whos on the Internet. And this person works with Crimson
Flare.
Im not an idiot,
Tim. Ive managed to figure this out. This person puts out announcements,
questions, bulletins. There was announcement that Crimson Flare had been
gone for several days, and that her last known destination was the Conservatory.
Who do you think made complaints about noises in the Conservatory? Who the
hell lives in that neighbourhood?
Westbrook paused. No
one.
Thats right. The
people who frequent the site, they made the complaints. I knew about the
situation and responded.
How do you find this person,
this assistant?
*****
Four days later, Karen lay on
the sofa. The pain in her chest had disappeared and the faint outline of
the bruise that had indicated the damage done to her was almost gone. She
was consistently more bewildered by her body and how it responded to injury.
It had been only four days since she had returned from her private hell with
Nancy and Ape. Four days! The same amount of time she had spent in that hell,
the same amount of time from Apes crushing blow to her ribcage to her
emancipation by Maria.
And the ribs were
healed.
I think I can go out tonight,
Lynn, she was saying to her friend bent over a computer in the next
room. Lynn had been extraordinarily quiet for the last quarter hour; Karen
wondered what could have focused her attention so completely. She hoped this
startling statement might jar her friend back to this
world.
Karen, I think we have
a problem.
What is it? She strolled
toward the computer room, so much the product of Stacys money and talent,
an enclave that Lynn had taken to like a duck to water. What did you
find?
When you were being held
by Ape and Nancy, did you notice whether they were making a video of you?
The question got Karens attention.
I told you that I was
unconscious for much of the time, from the Nemissesitor. Then there was
Chans drug.
Well, theres a message
here, with video captures attached, showing you being tortured. I recognise
Nancy and one of the men from the Conservatorytheir pictures were in
the paperand theyre
.
What?
Well, the pictures look
genuine.
Karen looked at the images that
had been sent. She saw her naked body, the bruise below her breast clearly
evident; she saw herself collared, with nipple clamps and the small dangling
chain visible; there she was, writhing on the floor with Nancy and the
shaven-headed figure also visible. Crimson Flare, still masked in all three
images, looked devastated.
I think
Karen
was quiet for a long time.
I
I think
theyre
genuine. Why
were
they
sent?
Somebody wants a million
dollars for the videos.
Wh-
wha-what?
Karen was stunned.
The videos are scattered
in three places around Mitropoulos. When you deliver the money, theyll
let you know where they are.
Karen ran from the room,
sobbing.
*****
They
have to be cops; they were the only ones there. Karens reddened
eyes blazed with fury.
We dont know that.
It could have been the guy who shot the film. You said yourself that you
were unconscious and unaware almost all of the time you were in the Conservatory.
We dont know how many people saw you there. With Nancy and two others
dead, and Ape in the hospital, he might be trying for a solo
score.
Karen paused. Youre
even starting to talk like a criminal.
Lynn gave a slight half-smile.
You know what I mean. It might be the police. But its
equally likely its someone else. It might just be someone who stumbled
across the videos and is trying to turn them into some money. They may not
be on anyones side except their own.
How am I going to get a
million dollars?
They offer some suggestions.
And they simply say dont contact them until you have the money. Itll
probably be a blank address with an automated response. Whoever did this
is no fool.
I cant steal a million
dollars, even to allow Crimson Flare to remain
active.
You said you were going
out tonight, Lynn said soothingly. Why dont you? Get back
into action. I might be able to figure something
out.
*****
That night Crimson Flare returned
to the streets. Even after she had stopped a robbery, when she turned the
burglar over to the police, her attitude toward the officers was less friendly
than it had been previously. Her discovery that many of Mitropoulos
Finest were among her enemies, who wished her ill, and the suspicion that
some may now be trying to blackmail her; all of this was reflected in her
distant and perfunctory dealings with them on this night.
Mitropoulos Champion was
confused. How could she enforce the law if she distrusted, and was distrusted
by, the police? Trying to come to grips with the situation, not wishing to
let it interfere with her work, the heroine wished some time to think, to
find some time to be alone. She had to sort out all of the conflicting ideas
that had just become known to her. Americas Darling returned the Millard
Fillmore Conservatory, to the scene of her humiliation, looking for
.
Looking for what? A clue? Evidence that it was a dream? Or simply a moment
to ponder her future?
The two-inch heels of her highly
polished black boots echoed in the high-ceilinged halls of the building.
As she climbed the stairs to the top floor, she looked around at the debris
of years of neglect, remembering how she had arrived to rescue Nancy, and
how, instead, she had herself been captured. The photos that had accompanied
the ransom note filled in some of the gaps in her memory. She knew now that
it was no dream; in her mind she heard again Nancys vile words, words
that demeaned Crimson Flare, words that taunted and humiliated her. In one
of the pictures, she saw one of Nancys cohorts pressing himself against
her face as she took him full in the mouth, his manhood running down her
jaw. In another, Nancy was smiling as she held the small silver chain that
was attached to the nipple clamps that degraded the Champion of Women. In
the third of the three, a battered Crimson Flare stared vacantly outward
from behind her glossy black mask, while Nancy, her arm around the naked
shoulder of the Masked Maiden, smiled broadly, revealing her uneven, yellowed
teeth. She seemed to be saying something. It was clearly a capture from a
video.
As the superheroine arrived at
the top floor, she slowly walked toward the large choral auditorium where
she had finally confronted Nancy. To the right was the practice room where
Ape had been discovered. The lights that had been set up for the trap that
ensnared her still lined the baseboards of the hallway.
She stood still, looking upward
at the starless sky through the dingy skylight. Crimson Flare closed her
eyes, and imagined what her life would be like if she didnt fight against
the criminals who populated Mitropoulos Underworld. She gritted her
teeth and her shoulders shook as she tried to conceive it. Was that the only
way? Quietly, she said to herself, Stacy, what do you want me to
do?
Ive already told
you. I told you not to stop. The voice shook the
heroine.
Wha--!??!
I told you not to stop.
We need you. Maria Blakeman stepped out from the shadows next to the
auditorium entrance. Im not going to ask who you were actually
talking to. But Im going to give you the only answer thats possible.
Crimson Flare must continue to do her work, regardless of who her enemies
might be.
Do you know who her enemies
are? The heroine felt a little uncomfortable talking about herself
in the third person. My enemies?
Theyre everywhere.
In the darkest patches of the alleyways all across the city; in the corporate
boardrooms downtown.
At Police
Headquarters?
Yes, there, too.
Maria paused as she considered what to say next.
You were the one who told
me about the policemen who wished me ill. Are you going to protect them
now?
I dont know whats
happening. I only found out that you were out and about on the police scanner
when you turned that burglar over to the patrolmen on Weston Avenue. They
said you were acting strangely.
Crimson Flare turned and walked
away from her newly found friend. I
Im being
blackmailed.
Someone has videos that were made here, while I was a prisoner, here, in
the Conservatory. They emailed a few images to me and threatened to turn
the tapes over to the tabloids or make them available on the web, unless
I gave them a million dollars. Do you know anyone who would do
that?
I hope not. Maria
considered, and then rejected, the possibility that a policeman, particularly
one she knew, would do such a thing. What do you know about the
blackmailer?
Nothing at all. I dont
know if its just one person, or more than one. I dont know whether
its a man or a woman. I have nothing to work with.
But Im almost certain
its the police. Her jaw was set and she thought of Lynns
admonitions not to jump to conclusions.
I dont
Maria began, then thought better of defense of her fellow officers. What
can we do?
I have a friend,
the Masked Maiden said softly. She
I know. Somebody created
the website and has to send out responses when youre
indisposed.
It was the person who sent us here when you were being
held
Shes trying to figure
something out in order to learn anything about this person. Maybe you, working
inside the Police Department, can work from a new angle and help
us.
Can I contact youand
herin some way other than through the
website?
*****
Three days later, the combined
efforts of Lynn, Maria, and Crimson Flare, who, in her nightly patrols had
undertaken intensive interrogations of some contacts she had made while in
her pursuit of criminals, had got the trio of investigators only small steps
further. The one solid lead that had been uncovered was a negative one; namely,
that none of the survivors of Apes combined Norman-Savoyard gang was
currently involved in any kind of activity. The double calamity of the
destruction of the original gangs at the hands of Crimson Flare, followed
by the hospitalisation of Ape Greystook, again as a result of tangling with
the powerful champion, had disheartened and demoralised the entire gang
structure. Whoever was engaging in the blackmail, it was not coming from
this part of Mitropoulos battered underworld.
If I tell him Ive
got the money, itll give us the one chance we need to perhaps flush
him out, Karen was telling Lynn.
Its dangerous,
Lynn responded. And what if youre contact with the police finds
out that the blackmailer isnt there. Youre out on the limb with
your perfectly formed ass hanging naked.
Karen was surprised by Lynns
description.
Nevertheless, Karen
continued without missing a beat, the only other group that might have
had access to those videos are the police. Ive determined its
not someone working with Ape and Nancy. Right now, Fareed Gouyannou is trying
to pick up those pieces, maybe to get some of his investment back. Certainly
he has no reason to love Crimson Flare: She cost him a multimillion-dollar
drug shipment at the McLeod-Slaughter Mansion only a couple of weeks ago.
But hes never been able to keep a secret: his security is so lax, if
he were involved in this blackmail, thered be several paths to confirm
the story. Theres not even the suspicion of his involvement.
She smiled thinking about how it was Gouyannous own people who had
given her the lead on the drug drop those several weeks
ago.
After a long pause, Lynn nodded
her head. I hate to admit it, but I think youre right. And,
whats worse, I think youre right about how to deal with it.
We have a couple of hours
to prepare. Ill contact our friend with the police and make her aware
of tonights drop. It may be someone she knows, and she
can be on the watch for any tell-tale signals.
Crimson Flare will be ready,
too.
*****
Crimson Flares glittering
form crossed the large open space of Mitropoulos Centre Park, a large
green area in the heart of the citys business district, carrying a
large briefcase. It was shortly before two A.M. and traffic had all but
disappeared on the city streets surrounding the grounds. The only sound was
the distant rattle and accompanying horses hooves of a single hansom
cab carrying two late-night lovers on a circuit of Mitropoulos only
pastoral area. Before going on her mission, the heroine had contacted Lynn,
who found no untoward activity either on her website or on the police scanner.
While wishing her friend well in the nights risky undertaking, Lynn
warned her about the dangers inherent in the plan, of her grave misgivings
about this escapade. Earlier, Crimson Flare had contacted Maria, who had
told her that no officers had given any indication by word or action that
tonight might be something special for them. Maria heaved a sigh of relief,
as she recognised that she would not be brought into a confrontation with
her partner, as she had feared. All of these reports gave the Masked Maiden
some cause for concern. What if Lynn were right, and it was someone
outside of the Police Department?
She walked toward the copse of
trees that the instructions at the website had directed her to. This place
was, she thought to herself, well selected. Even though there were no
obstructions between the thicket and the poured concrete barrier that overlooked
the parks pathways, the citys nearly empty streets were more
than a quarter mile distant from where she now made her way. Any activity
would be almost invisible at that distance to someone walking past at that
hour. Furthermore, it would be impossible to shadow someone to or from the
site because of the large stretch of open ground surrounding the
trees.
A cool night breeze blew across
the park. To Crimson Flare, who stood in the open at the edge of the coppice,
its slight chill was refreshing. In this early morning hour, it helped to
awaken her senses as it brushed the exposed areas of her face. The heroine
stood still as she gazed off into the distance looking for any evidence that
she was being watched. The tight-fitting cowl that covered her short-cropped
hair pressed tightly against her ears and clung closely to the shape of her
face. As her face turned in the cool night air, the distant streetlights
reflected off the smooth, polished black surfaces that served to hide her
identity. She licked her ruby lips in anticipation of meeting those who wanted
to hurt her, and then swallowed hard, hoping that Lynns fears were
as groundless as she had assured her friend that they were. The darkness
and near silence reminded her how dangerous a game she was
playing.
Her sequined crimson uniform glittered as
it hugged tightly against her body. As the Masked Maiden turned, her renowned
costume dimly reflected light from the far-off street lamps. For a
momentjust a momentthe Champion of Mitropoulos glanced downward
to admire the effect. Its taut lines hid nothing from any observer. The
crimson-and-gold sequins moved as she moved. Her small breasts seemed to
be perfectly shaped, symmetrical mounds, rising and falling as she breathed.
They were accented by her petite size, and the costume fell off to her narrow
waist, set off by the black belt and holster, which rested easily on top
of her flawless hips.
Crimson Flare thought back on what Lynn had
said only a few hours ago
Youre out on the limb with your
perfectly formed ass hanging naked. She smiled to herself. The heroine
was well aware of how her body was perceived by Mitropoulos criminal
element. The sexual assaults, which had become so much a part of their dealings
with Crimson Flare, were merely a reflexion of this. And besides, she told
herself, it also fit in with the way she was objectified by everyonethe
criminals and the police. If they hated her for being a woman, not
for doing what she was doing, rape would become more and more a part of their
anger. And the mode of their revenge. Dr. Brayfield had said as much during
their sessions.
Well, wasnt that what Stacy had also
said? The costume would appeal to the male fantasy. And its tightnessthe
fact that it left so little to the imaginationwould work to Crimson
Flares advantage in confrontations with her
enemies.
Even the gloves worked into this fantasy.
Stacy had seen them as further symbols of her virginity, her frailty. As
tight as other parts of her costume, they stretched to her elbows, holding
tightly to the curves and roundness of her hands and
forearms.
Mystery, frailty, virginity: these were the
elements of Crimson Flare.
And just a little sluttishness, she
thought.
A freshening breeze caught her, and she felt
goose bumps rise on her bare neck and upper arms. As she shifted position,
she felt the coolness of the breeze through the satin of her gloves against
the skin of her arms. She heard fabric rubbing against fabric as she brushed
her fingers against her palm of her free left hand. The sound reminded her
of Crimson Flares mission.
The sheen of her tights shifted as she turned,
showing her perfectly round thighs to their best advantage. The cut of her
costume took the best advantage of her delicate form. Even her highly polished
back leather boots reflected that same faint, distant light source. As she
gazed down at her figure, she was reminded of just how much she enjoyed putting
on this costume, and how much it would mean to her to have to give it
up.
Behind her mask, her green eyes
peered into the dark distance. Nothing moved.
In Centre Park, only the sounds
of night creatures broke the stillness.
Crimson Flare stepped into the
trees. The directions indicated that the drop point was approximately twenty-five
yards inside the western perimeter, where a small clearing with a single
spruce would mark the spot. Once there, a note buried at the foot of the
tree would give further instructions.
She fought her way through the
forest, branches tearing at her in the darkness. Beneath the foliage, the
small amount of light from this nights quarter moon was blocked, and
as she moved into the trees, even the faint illumination from the distant
street lamps was more and more shut out. Soon the Maiden of Mitropoulos was
moving in almost total darkness. She tripped her way forward, looking for
the clearing.
To her right she saw moonlight
spilling onto an open area. The Champion of Women moved in that direction
and soon stepped out into the glade. In almost the center of the compact
open space was the spruce.
She walked swiftly toward the
tree. About ten feet away, she suddenly stopped. There, beneath the tree,
Maria Blakeman lay unmoving, tied and gagged. Dropping the attaché
case, the avenger raced to the side of the policewoman who had become a dear
friend.
She knelt next to the supine
figure, gently lifting the head onto her lap. Crimson Flare pressed her face
closer to Marias as she tenderly patted her jaw with his gloved hand,
whispering her name, trying to restore life to the unmoving
form.
Maria! Maria! Can
you hear me?
She wont hear you
for awhile, superbitch. The voice came from the darkness on the edge
of the trees behind the heroine.
Americas Darling quickly
rose to her feet. Who are you? Where are
you?
A second voice at another part
of the perimeter answered. Were the people you tried to cheat,
Crimson Flare. And if you dont co-operate now, your friend is in great
danger.
What do you
mean?
A third voice answered from still
another part of the periphery. We mean that your friend there has been
injected with something that could endanger her life if you dont raise
your hands and walk over toward the trees to your
left.
How do I know youre
telling me the truth?
All we have to do is
wait, the third voice replied.
There was silence for about ten
seconds, as the Maid of Mitropoulos tried to consider her options. She stared
at the still form of Maria lying before her.
All right. She lifted
her hands, turned, and moved slowly toward the trees that were about fifteen
yards from her. Please, dont hurt her.
Well give directions
here, the first speaker told her in a harsh tone.
All right, stop right
there, the third voice told her. She was standing next to the tall
trees on the edge of the glade. Now, dont move. Or your
little friend there will never wake up.
Please, dont let
anything happen to her. Ill do as you ask.
Yes, you will, said
the third speaker. He was directly behind her. Crimson Flare could hear his
breathing.
Trapped, unable to resist, Crimson
Flares wrists were seized roughly and pulled down in front of her,
where they were quickly tied. N-, no. Already the heroine began
to feel the helplessness creep over her.
In a few moments youll
leave with us. Well let whoever your friend is on the Net know where
to come find little Maria and what antidote to
apply.
She was rushed into the back
seat of a car waiting, hidden, just inside the arboreal perimeter. It raced
out of the park and headed uptown, towards the McLeod-Slaughter
Mansion.
*****
Fareed Gouyannou watched as Crimson
Flare was taken, unresisting, from the automobile.
First, she must learn the
cost of intruding on my business. Take her inside.
Startled by the sight of the
drug lord, Crimson Flare, stuttered, What have you done with Maria?
You promised.
I have kept my word, Crimson
Flare, he interrupted, his accent clearly evident. That is more
than you can say in regard to the money you promised me this
evening.
By now your friend on the
Internet has been informed of where to find your policewoman friend and the
nature of the antidote to give to her. And right now, you should be much
more concerned about your own safety.
Two large men pulled the petite
Champion toward the mansion. Their large hands gripped her bare upper arms
tightly, forcing her wrists against her glittering torso. This position allowed
the claw to find a position along the rope that was looped around her gloved
arms.
Now that Maria was apparently
safe, Crimson Flare could begin to free herself from her
bonds.
*****
Moments later, Crimson Flare
stood in the center of the mansions ballroom. Her ankles had also been
bound now, and her arms were stretched above her head, secured by a thick
wire to an eyelet in the high ceiling. She stood on her toes, trying to relieve
some of the pressure on her arms and shoulders, at the same time also diligently
working the claw to free herself.
She had barely begun the process
when Gouyannou entered the room, followed by three men. A small black leather
parcel was clearly visible in the hand of one of them. Crimson feared what
it might contain.
Crimson Flare, the
drug lord said softly, you are a great deal of trouble for
me.
The Champion of Mitropoulos stared
silently at him, defiant.
But I am going to change
that. Shortly you will begin to work for me.
Not possible. I have dedicated
myself to fighting for law and justice.
Oh, it most certainly is
possible. Just as you once worked for the Normans.
Gentlemen!
Five more men entered the room.
Each of them carried a length of pipe.
Cut her down, and teach
the heroine the cost of interfering with my
business.
Even before the taut wire was
severed, the first blow landed against the Maid of Mitropoulos upper
back. The force and the pain took her breath away. Her vision became hazy
as she tried to catch her breath.
Another attacker almost simultaneous
swung a four-foot piece of lead like a baseball bat, sending it crashing
against the shoulders of the avenger, just below her chin She fell noisily
onto her back in the centre of the hardwood floor. Her bound wrists and ankles
did not allow her to get to her feet. The pain shooting through her body
slowed her effort to sit up. She felt the huge hand of one of the men grab
her at the back of the neck and easily lift the crimefighter from the floor.
The large size of her attackers amplified the heroines diminutive
proportions.
Do you know how many enemies
you have made? Gouyannou
said, smiling. Each of these men has lost a friend, a relative, someone
close to him because of your interference.
Thats right,
bitch. A third criminal swung the pipe viciously, striking across Crimson
Flares petite breasts.
AAAAaaaaaaagggghhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkklllllmmmmmmmm!!!
Weakened, bound, and in the power
of her enemies, Crimson Flares cry filled the room.
The gangster whose hand gripped
her neck tossed her body aside. She landed on her back several yards away.
Her vision reduced to pinpoint by the pain, she looked up at the band of
men whose purpose now seemed to be nothing mare than to inflict pain on the
heroine.
End of Chapter
One
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome:
contact the author at
marat1793@comcast.net