Book II Chapter 13

The Tenderloin of San Francisco consists of approximately fifty square blocks on the south side of Nob Hill, with some of the most heavily populated, ethnically diverse real estate in the entire city. A twisting, bewildering maze of buildings few of which were less than thirty years old and some closer to a hundred, for most of its history the Loin had been a natural magnet for both crime and the dispossessed. Tom was more than a little familiar with the area, as its streets and back alleys provided a large part of the area he patrolled at nights.

Tom knew the Tenderloin as a boiled down, condensed version of the rest of the city. It may have had the largest concentration of hookers, derelicts, drug dealers and thieves, but it also provided the city’s only source of low income housing. Which meant those fifty square blocks also hosted the largest concentration of families in the entire bay area? One of the few sights in the Tenderloin more common than a wino sleeping in his own vomit, where children on their way to middle school. Working class people, students, retirees, or those with no place else to go. They lived inside ancient hotels long since converted into shoebox sized apartments stacked one atop the other, overlooking narrow streets in a neighborhood with over sixty liquor stores and a Mom and Pop grocery on every block. In short, the Tenderloin was a maze. Even with the areas Penny had told him to exclude, Tom spent over an hour and a half searching the dark streets and the even darker alleyways, trying to find Marcus before he could kill again.

Tom hadn’t bought into Penny’s story, not completely. Although she had been incredibly convincing, he had still stopped at his truck and used his cell phone to call Pablo Murray and have him check it out. Police records did show a Marcus Bitterman, age thirty, wanted for the murder of one Leticia Benoit three days ago. All other particulars checked out, and a cross reference of Penny Girl’s police record showed she and Marcus both had mothers with the same surname. Not proof positive that she was telling the truth, she could still be pulling some sort of con, but it was close enough for now.

So he searched, flitting from building to building, scanning the narrow side streets and the dark dirty alleys below. Life moved and thrived there, skittering furtively in the garbage, life both human and not. Business transactions, cajolery, intimidation, and overall the heady smell of potential violence. Tom sifted through it all, using his ears more than his eyes, anxiously searching for any hint of the murder before it could happen.

Without his gear, though, Tom felt nearly naked. No infra red or night vision, no telescopic lenses, no high gain directional audio microphone. Without his equipment he couldn’t hover above the rooftops and the nimbus of city lights, and scan the alleys and byways below, he had to get down close or risk missing any sign of Marcus altogether. Since many of the tenement buildings here were ten stories or more tall, that meant almost anyone looking out a window could see his dark, man-shaped form hovering in mid-air, plainly hi-lighted against the buildings opposite. An impossible choice and the only solution Tom could come up with was to curl himself up into a tight ball so that hopefully the most anyone would see was a shapeless dark blot that came and passed in the dark. An hour and a half of that had left him not only half frozen, but so cramped that he wondered how well he’d be able to handle himself even if he did find Marcus.

As it was, only pure chance allowed Tom to find them. A stray breeze bouncing off of a wall carried the faint sound of a woman’s muffled scream, suddenly cut off. Tom stopped and twisted, turning in the direction of the cry, straining to hear more. He heard the deep voice of a man cursing in rage, and sped towards it. No longer concerned about being seen, he stretched out as he flew, trying to force warm blood back into cold and cramped muscles.

He finally spotted them in the back of a blind alley, half illuminated by a streetlamp on the corner. A hulking dark figure hunched over a much smaller form backed against a brick wall behind a dirty green dumpster. Even as he came into view he heard the woman sobbing, and saw the larger figure’s arm fall in another blow that silenced her.

Tom’s teeth clenched in anger as he descended to the alley, and felt his lips peel back in a snarl underneath the mask. His feet settled to the ground, barely touching. “Marcus Bitterman, you pathetic little punk!” he shouted, his voice loud and echoing inside the narrow alleyway. “Do you have the balls to play with the big boys? Hell, d’you have any balls at all? I heard they shrunk and fell off! Come out here, you ball-less bitch, so I can kick your punk ass.”

Tom watched, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his weight reduced to a bare fifty pounds. Waiting for Marcus to step out from behind the dumpster, and away from the girl, which was why he had tried so hard to enrage him in the first place.

But Marcus surprised him. Instead of stepping out into the alley he roared, and through himself against the dumpster. As shoulders bulged and monstrous legs pumped, the heavy metal box started moving with a squeal of rusty wheels. Startled, Tom barely leaped aside, as the dumpster came shooting down the alley like a runaway car, to crash against a brick wall twenty feet to his rear.

For a long second he stared at the big green box that had almost smashed him like a fly, then turned to look at the man who could have sent it careening like that. Marcus stepped out of the shadows, and Tom suddenly found himself wondering why the ground wasn’t shaking. Penny Girl’s cousin was huge, at least six foot nine inches tall, and sporting a seventies style Afro that probably brought the total to an even seven feet. Arms as thick as Tom’s thighs, legs like tree trunks. This was more than just body building, this was steroid abuse gone mad. Despite the cold he was wearing a wife-beater T-shirt that showed off his rock like muscles, and a pair of jeans that looked like they would burst at the seams any second now. Tom felt his confidence begin to falter.

“I know you,” Marcus said, looking him up and down. The monster’s voice didn’t exactly match his body. It should have rumbled like rocks in a cement mixer, but if anything it was a little high pitched.

“I don’t think so, asshole. We never met.”

“Yeah, I know you,” Marcus said, grinning, pointing a finger at Tom. “You the one ever’body talkin’ ‘bout. The Blacksuit Man. Looks like today’s my lucky day.” He raised two sledge hammer sized hands, starting forward. “Looks like I get to kill me a real live super hero.”

Tom didn’t bother to reply. Instead he took two quick running steps towards the other man and then left the ground in a high kick that crossed the twenty foot distance in an instant. He struck Marcus in the chest with both feet, with the force of all his two hundred plus pounds driven by gravity turned on its side. Tom rebounded off, dropping to the ground, momentarily shocked. The blow should have knocked the steroidal giant to the ground, but instead all it had done was to drive him backwards by a single step. He had only a second to realize this, before Marcus sprang forward and grabbed him by the throat, roaring like an enraged beast.

Tom fought with the hands around his throat, but it was like tearing at the arms of a marble statue. Marcus just shook him, the way a terrier shakes a rat. Tom struggled helplessly, choking, his vision beginning to darken. The big man made a mistake, though, when he let go with one hand to ball it into a fist. Before he could throw the punch Tom latched onto the remaining arm with both hands, then called on his power and spun his entire body through the air like the blade of a propeller, with Marcus’s arm as the pivot.

Marcus bellowed, as he found himself neatly flipped over and slammed face first into the alley. He never saw the figure of his opponent hover above his body in a prone position, but he felt it when Tom dropped on him from six feet up, felt also the elbow that rammed into the back of his head and made the world fade into a star speckled black.

Tom rose slowly, gasping, to stand on wobbly feet. He swayed, his breath raw in his bruised throat, as he warily watched the man laid out before him. Amazingly, Marcus was already beginning to feebly stir. Tom shook his head in wonder, then turned around and headed to the back of the alley. He had to get the girl out of there before the big man got up and the fight started all over again.

He found her still huddled in the corner where the dumpster had been, watching him fearfully from behind trembling fingers and blood dappled hair. What little clothing she wore was torn, the fishnet stocking on her right thigh ripped by a six inch gash that would require stitches. He vaguely recognized her as one of Penny’s girls alright, although he couldn’t remember her name, if he ever knew it. He held out his hand to help her up, but all she did was flinch away like a frightened, cornered animal.

“Sshhh, it’s okay,” he spoke gently, crouching down to be at her level. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright? I’m a friend. Uh, Penny Girl sent me. I’m not going to hurt you, but we have to get out of here before that guy wakes up. Alright?”

Penny’s name seemed to do the trick. The girl was still trembling, but she swallowed and nodded her head, slowly reaching out to take Tom’s hand. He raised her up, then led her out of the corner she had huddled in. She limped, and was in obvious pain, but despite his instincts he didn’t try to touch her other than to hold her hand. When they passed by Marcus’s still form, she pressed back against the alley wall, keeping Tom between her and her tormentor.

They were almost to the bend in the alley that kept its recesses hidden from the street, when a scraping noise behind him caused Tom to spin around. Just in time to see a large object come flying straight at them.

Time slowed, came to a crawl, as Tom’s power shifted him into high gear. Instead of no time at all he now had a few precious seconds to see the danger and react. Marcus must have been faking when they passed him by, he now stood on his feet and had thrown a square wooden shipping pallet from the debris in the alley at them. As the pallet came towards him, Tom knew he could easily duck it, but the injured girl behind him would not be so lucky. The fifty pounds of heavy pine could crush her skull like an egg shell. Instead of ducking, Tom leapt straight for the wooden missile, catching it in mid air with his body and deflecting it from the girl.

The shipping pallet struck him in the stomach, thrown with all the awesome power of Marcus’s enormous arms. It slammed the wind out of, tumbling him to the ground. He lay there stunned, the darkened alley disappearing in a haze of whirling red that snapped him back into real time. Which was when the pain started.

The girl shrieking caused Tom’s eyes to snap back into focus. He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain, rolled over onto his side, pushing the pallet off of his legs. He looked up and watched as Marcus came towards him, moving more warily than he had before. Tom waited until he was closer, then suddenly kicked out with both legs and sent the pallet skidding into the big man’s ankles. Marcus cursed and stumbled, which gave Tom enough time to half climb, half levitate back to his feet. He turned to the blonde haired girl, and snapped, “Find Penny!”

The blonde needed no other encouragement, she stumbled as fast as she could around the corner and back towards the street. But the delay had cost; Marcus had leaped over the pallet and pounced on Tom, driving him back against a brick wall, bellowing with rage as he wrapped him in his huge arms and began to crush the life out of him.

Tom struggled with a concentrated desperation, shifting his weight wildly, trying to force Marcus to release him. But it was no use, the giant held on with a literal death grip, using his greater strength and weight to pin Tom down and slowly walk him across the alley. With one last lunge Marcus plunged them past the wall and into a darkened niche, an old recessed doorway that had been bricked up years ago.

The doorway was a trap, Tom’s ability to maneuver totally compromised by the close quarters. Brick walls on three sides of him, and a rampaging, seven foot giant who wanted to kill him on the other. Marcus shoved him up against the back wall hard enough to snap his head against the rough brick, bringing the stars back into his vision. He blinked, just in time to see the truck sized fist heading right for his face. Frantically Tom shifted to high gear, saw the huge fist slow down, slow enough for him to move his head to the side so that Marcus’s knuckles only grazed him just above the jaw. It still made his ears ring.

The beating began. Marcus grunted like an animal each time he struck, the sounds unnaturally loud in the tight space. The shots to the head were fairly easy to avoid, none of them did more than graze him, but the body blows were a different matter. Many of them got through his guard, and Tom could feel some of his ribs giving way under the onslaught. The only thing that really saved him was that the confined area kept Marcus from hitting with his full strength.

Tom fought back, but those monstrous arms were just too big, and too long, he just couldn’t get past them to anything vulnerable. In desperation he directed all of his weight backwards into the wall behind him. He brought his legs up, tight against his chest, and with every bit of strength he could muster in one kick he managed to push Marcus back a bare ten inches. The opening was enough, Tom quickly slid upwards as high as the niche would allow, until his head was bowed at the top. He was now able to reach above Marcus’s outstretched arms, and when the big man lunged at him again, Tom managed to jam one gloved finger as hard as he could into the giant’s eye.

Marcus screamed, falling away from the opening and clutching at his eye. Tom wasn’t slow, he took immediate advantage of the opportunity and shot through the brief opening above Marcus’s head, ramming his knee viciously into the big man’s face as he did. His power seemed to give out as he did so, and he ended up tumbling down his enemy’s broad back. He scrambled across the dirty concrete, then lurched to his feet, swaying. Dizzy. He hadn’t been dizzy in months, ever since his powers kicked in, but he was dizzy now. Must have something to do with the sledgehammers that were still pounding against his brain.

Tom shook his head, then glanced over at Marcus, where the big man still howled and tore at his eye. Blood was seeping out between his fingers, and he was making sounds that were more animal than man. A rush of sudden anger swept through Tom, washing away the fatigue and pain, and made his lips twitch into a snarl beneath the mask. With a battle cry of his own, he launched himself at his enemy, with a side stamping kick that caught him right over the kidney. Marcus cried out in pain and stumbled, clutching at his side. Tom grinned wolfishly. Even as big as Marcus was, he’d still be pissing blood for a week.

Tom quickly backed off, knowing that even injured Marcus was still too dangerous to take on head to head, and with no weapons. He needed an equalizer. But this end of the alley was clear of debris and trash, the only thing there besides him and Marcus was… oh, yeah.

The dumpster Marcus has thrown at him had come to rest about ten feet away, with one corner wedged against a brick wall. Tom sprang into the air, then quickly lowered himself into the space between wall and trash bin. He crouched on the metal side, his knees up against his chin, peaking over the top at where Marcus stood. The black giant still had one hand over his eye, but was beginning to scan the alley with the other, looking for the one who was responsible for his pain. Tom grinned, then shifted his personal gravity fully sideways against the dumpster, at the same time pushing against it as hard as he could with all the power of his legs.

“Hey, asshole!” he shouted, breathing in the stench of garbage mixed with the coppery scent of his own blood. The dumpster was empty, which allowed it to pick up a great deal of speed in its short run. Marcus had just enough time to turn around and look surprised, before the heavy metal missile rammed into his massive body, driving him off his feet and backwards into the wall. Marcus hit first with a loud thump, followed by the corner of the dumpster, which struck with a crash that echoed in the alley.

Tom peeked over the top of the dumpster, and saw that Marcus was pinned with his back against the wall. The giant bellowed, trying to push his way free, but he had no leverage. It was a stalemate. As long as Tom kept his weight pushing against the dumpster Marcus was stuck, but then so was Tom. He couldn’t wait for the police to show up, if they ever did come. He had to finish this now, before he passed out from his own pounding.

“Fuck this,” he growled, grabbing the lid of the dumpster. “Hey, asshole! Catch!” With a heave of powerful shoulders he flipped the heavy metal lid up and over. It slammed down with a sound like a giant, out of tune bell, followed by Marcus’s curse of pain. Tom looked, then grunted in satisfaction. Apparently the idiot had tried to catch the lid, and now both arms were trapped underneath it, as he struggled to lever it back up. Tom put a quick stop to that when he suddenly vaulted over the top and slammed the lid back down with his full, two hundred plus pounds dropped from a height of five feet. This time, Marcus screamed.

Tom stood atop the lid and squatted down, so that his face was just above the giant black man’s, liking this new change in perspective. His heart was still pounding, loud in his ears. He cocked his head to the side, as if he was examining some sort of new bug. “You like to hurt little girls, don’t you, Marcus?” he asked, in a calm, conversational voice.

“Fu- fuh- gin’ kill you!” the trapped man managed to gasp out. Marcus Bitterman’s eyes glared at him, bright with both pain and a killing rage.

“Oh, I really doubt that’s gonna happen, Marcus. You’re not really in any position to carry out any threats at all, are you? And besides, I’m not some skinny little street walker like Martinique was, am I, Marcus? Remember her? You should, you beat her to death in an alley just like this one, three days ago. Do you remember her, Marcus?”

“She were a goddamned whore!” the giant spat. Tom’s hand was a blur, slapping his captive across the face hard. Cruelly hard. Marcus’s head whipped to the side, spittle tinged with red flying from his mouth.

“Watch your mouth, you stupid ape!” Tom growled, the calm demeanor gone in an instant. “She was a human being, which is more than an animal like you could ever be. And she sure as hell didn’t deserve what you did to her.”

He rose to his feet now, towering over the trapped monster beneath him, glaring down at the pitiful excuse for a man that Marcus Bitterman was. He allowed all that he was feeling to come into his eyes, and was rewarded by the sudden understanding he saw in the others. “You killed her, and you were going to kill that other girl tonight too. You’re nothing but crap, Bitterman. If there was any justice in this world, you’d be the one in the ground, instead of Martinique.”

He saw the fear now in Marcus’s eyes, saw the realization that he was going to die. Here, in this stinking San Francisco alley, trapped like an animal. The victim of a grim justice that he had more than earned, from a masked and implacable figure in black. The knowledge made its way through his drug damaged mind, and the big man started to shake with fear.

Tom saw the fear, and it enraged him. He found his hands clenching into fists. More than anything else he wanted to fix all of his pent up emotions on this murdering scum, and pound on him until there was nothing left to pound. To beat him for all of the helpless victims, for Ming Yu and Martinique, and that nameless hooker with the battered face. And then when he beat him he would also be beating all the damned evil that he’d been wading through these past months. Philip Hyster and David Bennett. The Union Square Psychos. Taktarov and Delger, Ricardo Wing and the Dark Wing Boyz. Walter Tibbs, and.. and…

And Thomas John Blackwood. The biggest devil of them all.

Tom stepped back, looked away and swore, the violent rage gone under in a wave of disgust. He almost did it, he was that close to actually killing this man! Dammit, was this what it was all about? Not justice, not saving lives, just him finding an excuse to vent his own self contempt? Then what would make him any better than they were?

Unh uh, no way. Tom was not a killer, and he wasn’t going to let the likes of Marcus Bitterman make him one. He looked down at the trapped monster at his feet. Marcus was moaning, his huge head drooping down, unable to meet Tom’s eyes. Time to end this thing, now.

Tom twisted, whirled, his foot snapping out in a vicious snapping kick that connected with Marcus’s jaw. Blood and part of a tooth flew, and the big man slumped unconscious. Tom stepped off and settled to the ground, then pulled the dumpster back from the wall, watched as Marcus’s body fell bonelessly to the concrete. Tom knelt, taking off one glove, and felt for a pulse. Strong, if a bit thready. He’d live. He rolled Marcus over onto his side with one arm tucked under his head so that he could breathe better, just like in the first aid books.

Tom studied his handiwork and then stood up, almost collapsing as a wave of lightheadedness and pain made him gasp. The adrenalin had finally worn off, and now he was paying for all of tonight’s insanity. Tom grit his teeth as he gently probed his injuries, doing an inventory. Bruises and contusions, lots of them, maybe even a cracked rib or two. No telling what his face looked like, and he might have a light concussion, although he wasn’t sure what the symptoms of that were. The good news was that he was almost sure nothing was broken or beyond repair.

A shiver passed through him, as a cold wind swept down the dark alley. He had to get out of here, get back to his truck and his cell phone, before he collapsed next to Bitterman. He moved stiffly to the center of the alley, raised his head skywards and with a thought rose shakily into the air. He stopped at about a hundred feet, turned and oriented himself, then disappeared into the darkness of the San Francisco night.

*****

In the shadows below, a figure stirred. It made its way to the front of the alley, turned a corner, then flattened itself against the nearest wall.

Penny Girl stared out into the street with unseeing eyes, her mouth hanging open and her eyes as wide as saucers. She leaned back against the wall and felt her body shake, more in reaction to what she had seen, then to the night time chill. Holy shit, she thought, no room for anything else in her mind. Holy SHIT!