Century #1

March 13, 1941

Eddie Duke was thrown into the door as the car screeched around the turn. He felt the car lurch dangerously to the right and for a panicked moment, he thought they were going to tip. A second later, though, they were through the turn and flying down the street, sirens blaring.

“God damn it, Duke,” Hogan said through his teeth, his cold blue eyes never leaving the road. “Would you shoot at them already?”

Eddie shakily drew his revolver, not wanting to anger his partner any more. He stuck his head and right arm out the window and tried to take aim at the car ahead of them.

They’d come across the four men in the shiny new Ford as they were doing their routine patrol. It was Hogan who’d noticed them as they exited a warehouse of some sort, carrying several boxes. He pulled up behind the Ford, intending to ask them what they were doing. Before he even got a chance, one of the men pulled a tommy gun from beneath his overcoat and opened fire, spraying the front of the patrol car. Hogan had grabbed Eddie by the head and pulled him down into the seat. Eddie had screamed as a shower of glass rained down on them as the windshield exploded inward.

The four men got into the Ford and sped off. Slowly, Eddie rose. Hogan took one look at him and said, “If you ever scream like that again, I’ll shoot you myself, rookie.” Then he slammed the car into gear, hit the sirens, and was off.

Eddie had been on the force for only a couple of months, and this was the first real action he’d seen. He tried to recall his training, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. The wind in his face as Maryland Avenue flashed by seemed to pull any coherent thought away with it.

“Shoot, Duke!” Hogan shouted. “SHOOT!”

Eddie squeezed his finger once, twice. Sparks flew off the rear hatch of the Ford as the bullets ricocheted harmlessly. Eddie focused, lowering his aim toward the tires.

The Ford’s rear window blew out as one of them returned fire. One of the patrol car’s headlights went out, and the hood began to leak smoke or steam; they were moving too fast to tell which. Both cars swerved and Eddie lost his balance, nearly falling and accidentally firing his pistol as he struggled to stay in the car.

The left rear tire of the Ford blew out as the stray shot tore through it. The car swerved again and the driver couldn’t recover. They spun out and crashed into a lamp post on the corner of Maryland and 18th Street.

“I did it!” Eddie said, more surprised than proud.

Hogan pulled the patrol car to a stop across the intersection. “Shut the fuck up,” the big man said as he drew his own gun. “This ain’t over.”

Eddie looked from his partner to the ruined Ford. Two men were already getting out. One was obviously injured and fell to the pavement. The other saw Hogan getting out of the patrol car and he raised his weapon toward them.

“Oh my God,” Eddie whispered to himself, still in the car.

The guy with the tommy gun had Hogan dead to rights, it was obvious. Eddie watched as Hogan unflinchingly raised his revolver, the same stoic expression on his stern face as always. I’m done for, Eddie realized in that moment. That guy’s going to cut Hogan down and without him I don’t stand a chance.

The crook with the tommy gun smiled as he took aim. He never fired, however. Something struck the Ford behind him and then the whole area was engulfed in thick gray smoke. Eddie saw the man look around in surprise and then begin to cough before he was obscured by the smoke.

“What the...?” Hogan muttered from beside the car. He showed no signs that he realized whatever had just happened had saved his life. He actually seemed even more angry, if that was possible.

Movement could be dimly seen in the coils of smoke, but no details could be made out. There was a loud crack and one of the perps came tumbling out of the cloud and to the pavement, unconscious. There was a brief burst from the tommy gun, but the shots were nowhere near Hogan or Eddie. Another crack and the gun skidded out of the smoke along the street. More sounds of fighting came from the thick cloud of smoke.

Eddie got out of the patrol car and headed forward with his weapon ready. Hogan took a few steps and bent to pick up the discarded tommy gun, his face a mixture of confusion and anger. It was the most emotion Eddie had ever seen his partner show. “What’s going on, Hogan?”

“I have no idea,” he replied.

Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. Eddie and Hogan watched warily as the smoke began to dissipate. Slowly, the area became clearer and clearer. The remaining perps were all out; two were sprawled on the concrete and the third was hanging limply from the window of the passenger side door. Some one else was there.

A man’s face hovered dreamily in the vanishing smoke. His eyes were concealed by a pair of red lensed goggles. He was dressed in the same gray hue as the smoke; in fact, it almost seemed like the long trench coat that billowed about him was made of the stuff. He raised a gloved hand to the brim of his fedora and gave them a small wave and flashed a smile. Then, like the smoke, he seemed to slowly dissipate. Finally, he was gone.

The intersection was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the faint grunting of one of the crooks. Eddie at last found his voice and spoke up. “Who was that?”

“The fuck should I know?” Hogan grumbled as he made his way over to one of the fallen perps, the one who was moaning. The big man reached behind his belt, and produced a pair of handcuffs.

Eddie stepped quickly to his partner’s side. “It was one of those mystery men, wasn’t it?” he asked, hopping from foot to foot. “I thought they were just a rumor...”

Hogan gave the guy on the ground a quick boot to the ribs; the man’s groans cut off with a gasp of pain. “They are,” he said through his teeth. He bent down, yanked the perp’s arm behind his back, and snapped on the cuff.

“Then who the hell was that?”

Hogan finished cuffing the man and then let out a deep sigh. “I didn’t see anybody, Duke,” he said evenly. “And neither did you. These fucks crashed, knocked themselves out, and we cuffed ’em. Got it?”

In the distance, sirens could be heard; their backup finally making their way to the scene.

Hogan’s cold blue eyes locked onto Eddie. “You got it, Duke?”

“I guess,” he responded with a shrug.

“No, you don’t ’guess’,” Hogan said. “You either got it or you don’t.”

Hogan stood, still glaring. Eddie folded under the weight of that stare.

“Alright,” the young cop said. “I got it.”

Hogan’s eyes narrowed. “Good,” he said finally and turned to the next downed man. “Now gimme a fuckin’ hand.”

*****

It only took about five more minutes for the cops’ backup to arrive. He stayed and watched from atop the corner store until all four of the criminals had been safely loaded into the squad cars. He had to duck down every so often as the smaller of the first two cops kept looking around curiously. His appearance had made an impression on the young man, it was obvious.

He’ll talk, that one, he thought. Another story of the Mystery Men of Century City.

The man who called himself the Fade smiled, thinking of the stories that had been in all the papers over the past few years. Most were almost too wild to be believed, reports of masked men and hideous creatures, all manner of things. Only one reporter approached the topic with any kind of sincerity, Karl Rainey of the Chronicle. The man didn’t editorialize like most of the papers did, and claimed to only rely on respectable eyewitnesses for his articles.

For the most part, though, people didn’t believe any of it. Even he had a hard time buying most of it, and here he was, wearing infrared lenses and a trench coat and calling himself the Fade. He’d been doing this for just about a year and he’d never run into any of the other so-called mystery men. You’d think he’d have had to come across one of them by now, if there was as many as the news would have you believe.

The police cars pulled away from the crime scene, making their way back up Maryland Avenue. The Fade nodded in satisfaction and turned to leave. He was startled to find a man standing before him, watching him silently.

The man was dressed strangely; a loose fitting black jumpsuit with many pockets, complimented by dark red leather boots and gloves. There was a tear in the fabric of his jumpsuit, just over his heart, that left a fist sized hole. The man was young; his early twenties, Fade guessed, and had light brown hair and gray eyes. There was something about the youth’s eyes... something calm... that made the Fade’s uneasiness nearly vanish. The stranger made a small smile. “Hello,” he said, his voice quiet but clear in the night air.

“Who the hell are you?” Fade asked, apprehensive despite the calming effect of the young man’s eyes.

“A friend,” he replied.

The Fade eyed him through the red lenses of his goggles. “I don’t know you, pal,” he said.

The young man’s smile widened a bit. “But I know you, Fade,” he said calmly. “And I know about the things you can do. The special things.”

With that, his uneasiness returned; no one knew about his double life or about the things he could do. No one. He took a few steps back from the young man.

“Who are you?” he asked again. How can he know? the Fade wondered.

The stranger stepped to the roof wall and took a quick glance down. He turned to the Fade. “Meet me on top of the Spire, a week from tonight at midnight. I’ll answer your questions then.” He swung one leg over and sat straddling the wall.

“Why not just tell me now?”

The stranger’s smile returned. “Not yet,” he said, swinging his other leg over the wall into the open air, turning his back to the Fade. He looked back over his shoulder. “One week from tonight,” he repeated. “And until then...be careful. I’m not the only one who’s been watching you. There’s lots of us in this city.”

And with that, the man shoved himself off the roof and dropped quickly out of sight.

“Wait!” the Fade shouted and ran up to the wall. He bent over it and looked down four stories to the street below. Of the stranger, there was no sign. It was as if he’d just vanished into thin air.

“Hey,” the Fade said to the empty air, “that’s my trick.”