Mystery Men Part 2

There’s lots of us in this city.

The words kept running through his mind as he stood beneath the hot shower. He ran his hands over his face, brushing his hair back. The movement made him wince. He looked down at his left side and saw that the entire area was covered by a large purple bruise where one of the crooks had connected with a lucky shot with the butt of a tommy gun. It was pretty bad, but he’d had worse. He guessed that if he saw that bruise on some one else, they’d have it for at least two weeks.

He doubted that it would last two days on him.

He turned the shower off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and got out. His small bathroom was filled with steam, and he felt like the Fade again, standing amidst the swirling mist. But the mask was off now. He was just Andy Marovich again.

Andy wiped the steam from the mirror and took a long look at himself. It really did feel like he was somebody else when he was the Fade; he felt more...right, somehow. It was as if the person he was always meant to be was coming out for the first time. It was all very strange, but liberating as well.

What he really wanted to know was how he could do the things he could do. He was as strong as five men and could move like an Olympic athlete, fast and agile. He was tough as well; it took quite a bit to hurt him, and he didn’t stay that way long. By all rights, he should have a few busted ribs; instead, all he had was a bruise that would fade after a couple of days. Strangest of all was his ability to blend in with his surroundings. He still couldn’t quite get his head around it…running really fast or being really strong was easy to understand. Watching your skin and clothes change colors to fit your surroundings was something else entirely. He had no idea why he had these abilities, only that he had first discovered them at around the same time he first felt the Urge to be the Fade.

There are lots of us...

Apparently, there were other people like him; reports were far too numerous and varied in detail for him to be responsible for all of them. And he’d been very careful about being observed; the smoke capsules took care of that. The stranger from the rooftop only clinched it. There are lots of us in this city.

Andy suspected that some of his questions would soon be answered. He went to sleep wondering if that was a reassuring thought.

* * * * *

MARCH 16, 5:18 PM

“All right then,” Karl Rainey said into the phone. “I’ll see you tonight…Yeah, eleven o’clock…Okay, you too…Bye.”

He hung up the phone and looked at the various notes scattered around his desk, all of them consisting of secondhand reports of Mystery Men sightings. None of them were good enough to go to print; and Edward Jonah, his editor, wanted a good story on the topic for tomorrow morning’s edition. He hoped that the phone call he’d just received would bear some fruit, and he thought it might. Jimmy Coogan, a dispatch officer with the Century City PD, and one of his sources, had put him in touch with an officer who claimed to have had a run in with one of the Mystery Men.

He was going to meet the cop, a guy named Eddie Duke, at the Courage Café at eleven. The story would cost him a good twenty or thirty bucks, assuming of course that he could use it. That’s a pretty penny, he thought, especially these days. But it would be well worth it if he got a credible story out of it.

“For your sake,” a voice said from his right, “I hope that was a hot tip.”

Rainey turned to see Colby King standing at the entrance to the cubicle that served as his office, his right arm propped up on the cubicle wall and his left holding a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The young man smiled at his co-worker.

Rainey couldn’t help but return the smile; Colby King was one of the nicest guys he’d ever met. He was also one of the only staffers at the Chronicle who took Rainey’s stories seriously, which went a long way in Rainey’s eyes. “Colby!” Rainey said and clapped his hands. “I had no idea you were back.”

“I’m not,” the young reporter said, dropping his duffel bag to the floor and taking a seat in the chair in front of Rainey’s desk. “I’ve been home all week. On my way back tonight.”

“All week?” Rainey feigned anger. “And you’re just stopping by to see me now?” Colby chuckled. “Oh, stop it. I’ve been by at least two times this week. I can’t help it if you’re always out chasing Mystery Men.”

“Don’t remind me,” Rainey said. “I catch enough flak from everyone else about that…I don’t need to hear it from you.”

“Right, right,” Colby said, still laughing. “Sorry bout that.”

“No you’re not. You’re sorry that you’ve got to go back over to Europe.”

“No,” Colby said thoughtfully, no longer laughing. “I don’t mind being a war correspondent…It’s hard, but it’s something I feel needs to be done. If only I didn’t have to fly to get there.” He shook his head. “I just don’t think man was meant to fly.”

Rainey stopped laughing, too, a serious _expression settling onto his pudgy face. “You really think we ought to go to war, don’t you?” He stuck a cigarette into his mouth, lit it, and leaned back in his chair.

“From what I’ve seen,” Colby said, a far off look in his eyes, “war’s pretty much inevitable. Better we enter it on our own terms, rather than some one else’s.”

Rainey exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “Not what I asked.”

The young war correspondent regarded the older reporter for a long moment. “I’ve seen what’s going on 'Over There’,” he said, his voice as close to anger as Rainey had ever heard it. “Some one has to stop it, Karl. Some one has to.”

“And it’s gotta be us, huh?”

Colby raised an eyebrow. “Who else is going to do it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m surprised you feel that way, Karl. You always struck me as an idealist…” Colby turned to the wall of the cubicle, where Rainey had pinned up his Mystery Men articles, and gestured toward the clippings. “…a dreamer.”

Rainey took another drag on his cigarette and coughed the smoke out. He gave a half smile. “I think you’ll find as you get older, practicality replaces optimism.” He leaned forward and placed a hand on Colby’s forearm, hoping to clam his young friend. “Don’t get all riled over what I’ve got to say, son. I question everything, that’s all. It’s why I do what I do.”

He abruptly took his hand back. “To find the truth,” he finished softly.

They were quiet for a long moment. Rainey stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.

The kid’s eyes lingered on the clippings. “Y’know, I’ve heard rumors of them over in Europe.”

“What’s that?”

“Your 'Mystery Men’. Stories of people with remarkable abilities, moving in the shadows.” Colby turned to look at Rainey, and the smile was back on his face. “What do you think about that, Karl?”

“I don’t know what to make of it anymore,” Rainey responded. “For every credible story I hear, I have to sit through twenty bogus ones. I’m beginning to doubt they really exist at all.” He snatched a report from his desk and then tossed it aside. “And still no photos or tangible evidence of any kind.”

“Well,” Colby said, standing and shouldering his duffel bag. “I’ll keep my camera handy in case I see one over there.”

“Off already? Let me buy you a drink, settle your nerves for the flight.”

“Wish I could, Karl,” Colby said. “I do hate to fly. But I’ve got to get to Fort Nick by six-thirty sharp. You know how those military types are.” He chuckled nervously.

“How long this time?” Rainey asked.

“Two months,” Colby King answered, his voice nearly a whisper. “Unless anything develops.”

Rainey stood and stuck his hand out. “You take care of yourself, kid. You hear me?”

Colby took his hand and shook it, his grip firm and confident. “I do, and I will.”

He smiled and then turned and headed down the halls toward the elevators. Rainey watched him go, then snatched his coat from the back of his chair. He didn’t have to meet this Duke fellow until eleven. That left him with over five hours to kill. He decided to go to the bar on his own; his nerves could use a little settling, too. God, he thought, let this one pan out.

* * * * *

Andy Marovich finished his work at nine-thirty that evening. It had been a long day and he’d gone through it constantly distracted. Being a research assistant for Morrison Engineering wasn’t as interesting as he’d imagined when he first got the job, but that wasn’t the problem today. Looking through the window at the moon in the night sky, he realized what the problem was.

The Urge was upon him.

He left the facility, raising his ID badge at the night watchman and murmuring a half-hearted goodnight. When he got outside into the night air, the feeling got stronger. It was almost a need.

He quickened his step, heading through the parking lot toward the bus stop on the corner.

He smiled. The Fade would be out tonight.

* * * * *

Rainey left Dillon’s Bar and Grill and headed up the street. It was three blocks up and two blocks over to the Courage Café and the air was cool but pleasant, so he decided to walk. There was activity in Century around the clock, people going to or coming from work. More and more of the plants and factories were operating during the night to accommodate the mobilization for war. It was very different from Boston, Rainey’s hometown, which pretty much shut down by midnight, but it was a difference Rainey enjoyed.

Another thing he liked was that everyone in Century was new to Century; the first homes had been occupied only six years before. And most people had come here for the same reason: the Depression had hit them hard and they needed to start over somewhere new. It created a very real sense of unity in the population, at least at first. Now, the city was growing so fast, there was too much chaos for that unity to show. It was still there, though, Rainey hoped.

“The City of the Future,” he said out loud as he approached the Courage Café.

He entered to find Vicki at her post behind the register at the counter, as usual. “Hey, doll-face,” he said. “My eleven o’clock here yet?”

She glanced up from her magazine, gave him a sharp look. “Y’know, you might think I’m your secretary, but I ain’t.” Still, she lifted a finger and pointed through the dining area to a booth in the back.

“Thanks, Vick,” he said, dropping a five onto the counter. “Just a cup of coffee when you get the chance.”

He made his way to the back of the café, passing the few people in the place; factory workers on their break, from the look of them. In the booth that Vicki had pointed out sat a young man. He can’t be a cop, Rainey thought. Kid looks like he’s still in grade school. His heart sank as he realized this was probably just another bust.

“Mr. Rainey?” the kid asked, his eyes wide.

Rainey sighed, pushed the brim of his hat up. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re Duke, huh?”

The young man nodded as he stood and extended a hand. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Eddie Duke.”

Rainey took his hand and shook it, then sat down across from him. “So what’ve you got for me, Duke?”

The young man told Rainey his story. Before he was really even into it, Rainey knew this kid was telling the truth; it was a knack he had, like a built in B.S. detector. He took out his pocket notepad and began jotting notes on the details as Eddie Duke breathlessly related them. The kid was excited and jumped around a bit with the story, but Rainey managed to get him back on track with a few well placed questions.

“And then he just vanished into the smoke,” Eddie finished. “But he’d been there. He smiled at us and waved…I seen him.”

Rainey chuckled. “I believe you, kid,” he said. “But do you think I could talk to your partner…”

“No!” Duke cut him off. “He’d kill me if he knew I talked to anyone outside the department about this.”

“Okay, Eddie, okay,” Rainey said trying to calm the young man down. Still, he underlined the name Anthony Hogan. “You know I’ll keep your identity confidential, right?”

Duke nodded slowly. “It’s just, I’m so new to the force, I don’t want to mess it up.”

Rainey rummaged through his pocket for a twenty; if there was one thing that could calm some one down, it was the sight of money. He placed the bill on the table and slid it toward the kid.

Duke looked away. “C’mon, kid,” Rainey said, thinking the young officer’s conscience was getting to him. “There’s nothing wrong with…” He stopped, realizing that Duke hadn’t looked away in shame; something had caught the cop’s eye. Rainey turned to follow Duke’s gaze.

Standing in the doorway to the Courage Café was a masked man clad all in black. The mask had two small holes for his dark eyes, which narrowed when he saw them. Vicki was shouting at the guy, but for some reason, Rainey couldn’t hear her. Of the other diners, only one seemed to have noticed the masked man’s entrance.

“What the hell?” It was Duke’s voice, but it sounded far off, as if the young man was calling to him from another room.

Before Rainey could figure out what was going on, the masked man raised a pistol to the waitress and pulled the trigger.

Noiselessly, Vicki’s head disappeared in a red mist. Her body flew back, struck the double doors that led to the kitchen, and didn’t stop. The doors swung back violently.

Rainey realized he was screaming, but could hear nothing. For a moment, he thought that he’d somehow gone deaf, but he saw that beside himself, only Duke and one other diner even knew what was going on. The rest of the people in the café had confused expressions on their faces. One guy put a finger in his ear and wiggled it, as if trying to get some water out.

There’s no sound, Rainey thought. He just killed Vicki and there’s no sound. My God, what’s going on?

The gunman barely paused before continuing into the café. He turned his pistol on the diner that had seen him and fired. Again, the discharge didn’t make a sound. The man tumbled back into the table at which he’d been eating and brought it crashing to the floor with him. The other patrons finally realized what was happening. Seeing the gunman sent them all scrambling for cover. All of it happened with no noise, as if Rainey was watching a silent movie like he had as a kid.

Beside him, Duke drew his revolver from a holster at the back of his belt and raised it shakily at the masked man.

Too quick to see, the killer aimed and fired. Duke was knocked back into the booth. His head struck the window and sent cracks spider webbing up its surface.

Rainey couldn’t move, his body wouldn’t respond to his disoriented mind. Horrified, he watched as the gunman shot one of the remaining patrons, spraying the black and white tile floor with blood.

Something inside him snapped and before he knew what he was doing, he hurled himself at the cracked window, shattering it as he sailed through.

He struck the pavement in a silent shower of glass. He started to rise, but his left ankle gave way with a bolt of pain and he tumbled back to the sidewalk.

He looked up as he tried to rise again and saw the masked man leaning out the broken window. His pistol was aimed right at Rainey.

My God, Rainey thought, I’m going to get killed by a Mystery Man.