Chapter One
This is set in the world of DianeCastle's Secret Return of Alex Mack. I have gotten permission from Diane.
There is never a good day to get stabbed.
It had started out a typical sunny summer day in late August in Chicago. Sure the temp was in the high 90s but the Cubs were on a winning streak so that was good. I was sitting at my desk in the ‘City’ section of the Independent News Service trying as usual to figure out what deity I had pissed off, to have to work in a fourth string paper like this. One more rung down and I’d be writing copy for a suburban giveaway.
I’d had it all. Highly rated and respected column in the Trib, a couple of successful books, and peers that hated my guts because I broke the stories first. All part and parcel of being a successful investigative reporter.
My pop was a police officer back in the 60s and 70s. Sure he was corrupt, it was the Daley Dynasty running the show after all. He got his taste from the ward boss and all was right in the world until he decided one night to do his job.
Lonnie Dunham was Outfit through and through, also he was a mean and crazy bastard who had a habit of shooting whor*s when he was done with them. He wouldn’t kill them, just put a bullet in their leg or their arm to remind everybody what a crazy asshole he was. He also wouldn’t do this to everyone of them, once or twice a year was his normal bag limit.
Anyway I was ten when my dad drew down on Lonnie for having the gall to actually shoot a whor* in front of a cop. Honestly there were enough witnesses that pop was screwed no matter what he did. He draws down on Lonnie or he walks away and gets reported by a ton of citizens. He figured his time was up and at least he’d go out as a good guy.
He told Lonnie to drop his piece and Lonnie turns and pulls back the hammer on a single action snubby aiming it at my pop’s head. My pop shoots him between the eyes.
The next day, he’s suspended pending investigation and as he’s walking out of Central, a hit and run driver squashes him flat with a stolen bread truck.
Fortunately for me and my mom, the Outfit didn’t feel like taking it out on us. They knew Lonnie was a liability and if somebody had quietly killed him they’d have made a lot of noise and let the matter drop after a month or so. Unfortunately everybody knew who had shot Lonnie and intimidation has to be maintained so my dad had to go.
My mom had his pension and some insurance and I worked running bets for a couple of bookies, boosted cars, and did occasional second story work while mom was a secretary, so we got by. When I graduated from high school I got a scholarship to Northern Illinois for academic merit. Go figure. I got my BA in Journalism and wound up writing for a paper in Davenport Iowa. I still knew how crime worked so I wrote a piece on meth manufacture and distribution through a chain of crematoriums in Northern Iowa and Illinois and Southwestern Wisconsin. This got me noticed by the Trib.
With my old contacts in Chicago I went after the drug trade and was doing pretty well. Then there came the story that was too good to be true. I got set up and played brilliantly.
I freely admit it was my fault and I took the blame for the paper along with the ‘Don’t let the door hit you in the ass’ comments. The only work I could find was here at the INS, a wire service with a distribution in the high triple digits. So here I sat, handling human interest and lost pets.
“Ryder!” The dulcet tones of Tony Vincenzo, my editor, rang through the news room. Tony was big and loud and kind of crazy, but he was a hardcore newsman who’d seen everything. I actually liked him.
I got up and ambled over to his office. Ron Updike and his asskissing grin were already inside, “What’s up Tony?”
“You know anybody in Fuller Park?”
Fuller, or Ward 6, is the highest crime area in the city. “I used to. I haven’t been back there in years though. Why?”
“Devilboi Angel.”
Devon Angelo was a club owner in Fuller Park. His club did not provide all his cash flow however. It was pretty well known that he ran most of the dealers in the southwest side. The press knew, the cops knew. Sadly, getting evidence or witnesses seemed to be a lot harder than you might expect, what with explosions and random shootings slowing investigations down. I told Tony all this even though I was sure he already knew it. “And he also thinks he’s a decent rapper.”
He nodded, “There you go Ron. The background you needed.”
Updike looked pale, “I don’t think I want this story.” as he beat a hasty retreat.
“What’s going on Tony?” I asked.
“We got an anonymous tip that there’s going to be a big deal going down at Devilboi’s club tonight. He’s throwing a Masquerade Ball for his new album release as cover. Ron was first on the list so I handed it off to him.”
“They’d eat him alive Tony.”
“Yeah probably...You want it Jack?”
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
I was on the street looking for a costume shop. The party was masquerade which was good as I was fairly recognizable to some of the people I was sure would be attending. Also his parties were legendarily extreme. When I got to the shop it was closing for the day.
"Hey! I’m a customer!” I said as I pounded on the door
“Yeah well the register’s closed till tomorrow!”
“Look I’ll give you sixty bucks cash for a costume that will fit me. I’m not that picky!”
“Hang on…” a minute later the door opened a crack, “Sixty bucks right?”
I slipped it through he opened the door and handed me a box, “There ya go.”
“Aboriginal Wildman…” the box held furry boots and gloves, a large red fake fur cape like thing, a pair of green shorts, a green wig, and a bottle of yellow liquid makeup. I laughed, I had been ripped off, but with this stuff I doubted anybody would believe it was me.
Heading home, I painted myself with the body paint except for my face, and putting on everything but the wig and the cape I covered up with a trench coat and a baseball cap, Then carrying the other two parts and the rest of the body paint in a paper bag, I caught a cab to the edge of the neighborhood.
Having grown up here I knew how to walk like I belonged which meant soon I was in the alley around the corner from Seventh Circle of Heaven.
I pulled out the small mirror a sponge and the rest of the body paint and covered my face. Then it was time for the fur cape and the wig. I left the bag with solvent, a towel, jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt there along with my trenchcoat.
I had the look but I didn’t have an invite so I had gotten this outfit so I could move around after I got inside. Getting inside took some of my old tricks to climb the old wall and slip in through a third floor window.
The place was jumping. I had timed my arrival to be after eleven so I was pretty sure that it was packed down by the dance floors and the bar. As all the activity was downstairs I was sniffing around upstairs while carrying a drink and trying not stumble into any of the ‘private’ party rooms.
“You were right it’s a party crasher! Let’s carve this punk up!” and then the Ryder luck kicked back in. Two thugs in pirate costumes came at me with blades. I ducked Smee’s first slash and kneed him in the groin before smashing his face into the wall. While I was doing that his pal Billy Blood caught me along the ribs and the forearm, and I could feel blood leaking out pretty quick. I dropped and got a shoulder under his chin slamming him into a wall. There was a click and a hidden panel slid open.
After bashing the guy who knifed me’s head into the floor a couple of times, I went through the now open panel and slid it shut behind me.
“What’s going on out there?" A voice came out of the gloomy passage. It looked like a it was built between Devilboi’s club and the building next door. I moved down as quietly as I could until I got to a bend in the passage . There was a flashlight beam bouncing towards me from around the corner. I waited then choked the flashlight wielder out as he turned the corner. Dragging him with me I staggered in, finally ending up outside a barred door.
"Nothing ventured…” I muttered as I flipped through the ring of keys the guy had. Once inside, I saw it could be relocked so I did that. Turning, I found I was in a brightly lit modern laboratory with a bed against one of the walls.
There was an older guy lying on it but he woke up when I groaned from the knife wound. My vision was starting to gray out.
”Who are you?” I gasped.
“Doctor Ezekiel Yatz.”
“Come on, I’m getting you out of here.” I didn’t know what was going on here, but anybody Devilboi had locked up deserved to be not locked up.
“But you’re hurt!”
“I’ll worry about that later, this place is swarming with hoods!” I gasped. It was getting harder to think.
Yatz went to the door and slid a bar across, “We’re sealed in now. They’ll probably kill you for trying to help me, but I just can’t let you bleed to death…” he headed over to the lab bench and rummaged underneath the top.
“Here we go!” pulling a syringe from a sterile packet he filled it with a glowing green liquid.
“What’s that?” I gasped.
“I was a researcher for an exceptionally dangerous organization called the Collective. Part of my work was reverse engineering the substance created in Paradise Valley California.”
“The GC-161 scandal?”
“The very same. I noticed certain properties about the solution and was able to refine them so I could bind specific alterations to the subject’s genome. An increase of twitch muscle capability of about 400%, lower fatigue poison production, augmented acetylcholine production. and accelerated cellular regeneration. Also factoring in another substance that I was hired to refine here..Rush.”
“I heard that stuff was lethal.”
“Well you are going to die anyway…”
I nodded, “And what’s that gizmo Doc,” I pointed at a small cylinder in his hand.
“My insurance policy borrowed from a rather esoteric physics researcher and ex-co-worker,” he slipped it into the cut in my side and injected me. There was an intense burning pain and I saw the knife wound start healing like there was a cosmic zipper on it.
“Ah! I forgot to attach the controller for the implant!” he handed me a small disk, about the size of a quarter. I flipped it over and saw a small sliding switch I pressed it and found myself standing nude in the room. All traces of the makeup and costume had vanished.
“What’s going on?”
“If perfected, this device will revolutionize mass transportation. It shunts the molecular structure of matter into a temporal pocket, making it weightless and invisible. Whole armies could be sent into foreign countries as refugees or tourists with their intangible equipment. Then, at the right moment this device could be activated, and the hidden forces could be assembled for acts of terror. That is why my co-worker created it. Now i must destroy all the notes and equipment!”
I retriggered the implant and felt slightly lightheaded. I then helped Yatz start burning his lab. Suddenly there was a gunshot. The guard I had choked out in the hall and dragged in here had come around and started shooting blindly. I leaped the length of the lab in one bound. Whatever was in that shot sure was doing something to me. One punch sent the gunman skidding across the floor and crashing into a stack of carboys.
I quickly got back over to the Doc and checked his pulse. It was gone. The old guy had saved my life though. I heard pounding on the lab door. Lifting the bar Yatz had slid into place I took a running start and a flying kick exploding it out into the hallway. I felt lightheaded again, giddy even and began to laugh as I pounded Devilboi’s thugs into paste.
Then it was a run back up the secret passage and out through the sliding panel.
“Stop that fool ! He robbed my safe!” Devilboi yelled as I jumped across and down on to the dance floor. I hit and rolled easily to my feet. It was like the world was moving in slow motion and I could see the the paths that the thugs trying to intercept me would be taking. It was easy enough not to be where they were and I sidestepped their punches, kicks, and stabs as I made my way to the exit.
Outside I leaped to the awning and scrambled up the side of the building before dropping down into the alley next to my clothes bag. I click of the activator and my costume was gone and I could pull on my jeans and shirt and slip on the sneakers. I then huddled up under my trenchcoat after smearing some dirt on my face. A few seconds later a cop came flying around the corner. Obviously on Devilboi’s payroll.
“Look at me punk!” he yelled. “Nah it’s not him. No signs of make up on him!” he called over his shoulder. Then he turned back to me, “Beat it punk!”
I nodded, got to my feet, and shuffled away with my bag.
Jack Ryder the Creeper Property DC. Maggie Walsh and BtVS Property Mutant Enemy, The Collective Property DianeCastle. Rush Property EdBecerra. Kolchak and Crew Property Dan Curtis
Yes this is a SRoAM fanfic. Thank you Diane! Thank you Ed!
