It had been a regular logistics meeting like any other Forsythe had
held in the past.

That is, of course, until the reporting commander fell facedown on the
floor in the middle of a speech, his blood pooling on the marble.

Remy sighed.  He was at the head of a long table lined on either side
by rows of empty seats.  At the opposite end of the table was an
expansive wall that was really only a composite of almost a thousand
display monitors.  They were currently dead, like the commander that
lay at the foot of the grid.

Remy turned his head towards one of the chairs.

"How was Japan, Akiko-san?"

"Disappointing," came the flippant female voice, and a woman slowly
appeared from behind the tall seat Remy had been looking at.  She had
an exotic face with no nationality, only deep, slightly pointed dark
eyes, short, unkempt black hair, and a haughty smile.  "Somewhat like
your friend on the floor.  How did you know I was over here?"

"There was a disturbance in the Force," Remy joked good-naturedly, eyes
downcast and dreary as always.  He raised a hand to indicate the many
ventilation grilles lining the corners of the walls where they met the
ceiling.  "The wind wasn't right.  I see you have a new toy."

"Huh.  Next time I'll be more careful," Akiko sniffed, somewhat
indignant she had been spotted so easily.  She ran a hand over her body
slowly to exhibit her sleek, streamlined blue-black bodysuit.  "The
very latest in variable refraction indices technology."  She grinned
ferally.  "Sakuraba Industries wasn't very happy about my shopping in
their labs.  Neither was their security, but most of them are too dead
to complain now."

"What's up, Akiko-san?  You rarely visit, even *before* I usurped the
venerable Mister Garrick Foster's little empire."

The strange woman smiled mysteriously, bending over and laying her
elbows on the conference table, arching her back like a lazing cat.
The suit she wore molded itself to her every movement and curve.

"I thought I'd be polite and tell you I've become interested in your
pet Demon before going to see him myself, that's all," she purred.  "If
you really wanted them dead, you'd just have to sent for me and the
others... but you didn't.  Why all the special attention?  They're
relics.  Obsolete."

"Not quite as obsolete as you may think," Remy laughed.  "It's just...
a habit of mine to utilize every opportunity I come across."

"So I've noticed," Akiko said uninterestedly, rolling onto the table to
lie on it face up, back still arched, knees bent.  She raised her head
to stare up at an upside down Remy.  "And what if I... made this little
opportunity my own?"

A hard glint flashed in Remy's sad eyes, though he was still smiling.

"That would be ill-advised, Akiko-san.  I don't take kindly to unwanted
interference in events I've carefully orchestrated... not even from old
friends."

The playfulness left Akiko's face, and her lips tightened.  She jerked
herself upwards and swung herself down onto the floor in a blindingly
fast movement.

"Don't worry," Akiko sneered from over her shoulder as she made her way
to the door, which automatically opened for her.  "I won't damage your
precious new playmates unless they get too close... either to me, or to
where they don't belong.  I'll just watch them.  See how good they
are."

"That would be much appreciated," Remy said, sadly smiling.  "Oh, and
Akiko-san... one more thing."

The woman tried to walk out but met resistance tugging at her arms and
legs.  She whirled her head and spotted-- too late-- the glinting,
eerily shining lengths that had wrapped themselves around her limbs and
neck, and the straight, shimmering lines that ran from where they bound
her body to Forsythe's hands across the room.  Her heart froze.  When
had he--?

"Give the commander some slack," Remy suggested amiably, cocking a head
at the body of his late trustee.  "Hogget's been a little under the
weather lately.  And, please refrain from repeating the performance--
it may be cliche, but it's the truth: good help is so VERY hard to find
these days."

Akiko felt the cords tighten...

And then the taut, glittering lines slackened and slid from the woman's
body to waft down onto the floor, limp and lifeless.  Akiko exhaled.
She hadn't even realized that she'd held her breath.  She stared up
with baleful eyes at Remy, rubbing at her arm.

"I'll... I'll keep that in mind, Remy-sempai."

"Goodbye, Akiko-san.  It was nice seeing you again."

"Same here," Akiko managed, swallowing a lump in her throat despite
herself.  She tapped something on her shoulder and vanished from sight.




 tHe bLacK pAcK 


 
  Part 6, Day 8:  White Lady, Dark Lady
 

 
  impro begun by MtB; 7/22/2-7/25/2
   herein continued by same; 2/6/3-0/14/0
    a special Valentine's Double Feature!!
 



It's all about who you can trust.

When you choose to surround yourselves with cutthroats, consort with
the unscrupulous, confide in the shady, and ally with the ruthless and
corrupt, you have to know who you can trust.  This was different from
knowing who you could count on, or who you could use.  This was about
not having a single doubt that a person would cover your ass in a
pinch, that a person would rather disembowel himself (or herself) than
spill his guts in a more... metaphorical sense.  This was about having
someone who could take the bullet for you if need be.

Well, if that was all it was about, then the Demon had done pretty well
up until now without ever having had anyone like that.  That is, he had
done well if you gauged things by how alive you were after the smoke
had cleared and the bodies had hit the ground.

Garrick Foster took in a deep breath and confirmed that he was, indeed,
still breathing.

Gerry's heart was arguably in the right place, and the Demon knew that
she would do anything to protect her elder brother in a heartbeat.. but
she was much too emotional, too impulsive to be really dependable.
That, and she didn't exactly have the aptitude for strategy and
tactical planning that the Demon had inherited from somewhere along the
Foster family line.

Richmond Gray was out by any stretch of the imagination-- not only had
he been directly responsible for the deaths of a few of the Demon's
original cohorts, but the smiling man was obviously a lunatic, mentally
unstable.  It wasn't even about the scars anymore.  It was about that
long ago plea for insanity which hadn't been as much a legal maneuver
to avoid New Alcatraz as it was the actual, God damned truth.

Garrick snorted.

Both he and Richmond were skilled with their weapons of choice to the
point that was almost superhuman.  They were both highly intelligent,
intuitive, insightful and quick to decide.  But the Demon was merely
lawless, not crazy.  The Silent Knife WAS.

It would take more than gentle smiles and courtesy to erase the mingled
images of white teeth, flashing steel and severed arteries.

What Garrick needed was a man smart enough to realize that no side that
was on the opposite end of a gun held by the Demon would ever be a wise
position to take.  What Garrick needed was someone who had the brains
enough to absorb the schemes he cooked up... along with all its more
subtle implications.  Someone who had the ability to come up with the
proper contingency plans that would augment the first master concept.
Someone who... someone who wouldn't annoy him so goddamn much.

Garrick never found anyone who fit the job description exactly, but
Alexander Brashier came pretty damn close.  The gigantic negro man and
the tall, sharp-eyed caucasian had had a mutual respect for each other
ever since the day they had first met.

Come to think of it, Alexander was now the closest thing the Demon had
to something one could call a friend.

The Demon's 'friend' pushed the door to the basement open and stepped
in, ducking under the low frame and edging his way inside, where he
could stand up straight without risking his skull integrity.

"You'd think they'd've allowed for felluhs over ten feet tall
nowadays," the human tank rumbled wistfully, running a hand over his
cueball.  "Vertical clearance on them things is just CRIMINAL."

The Demon grunted once in response, seeming completely absorbed in
his present activity.  At the moment, he had his hands behind his neck,
naked upper body supine on an elevated plank, ankles secured by padded
braces at one end of the device.  Sweat was pouring off his body in
small, lazy streams, and the floor was spotted with the runoff.  He sat
up fast, touched his elbows to his knees, and then lowered himself
again, only letting his back briefly touch the plank before sitting up
again.  The process was repeated in rapid succession, and the Demon's
breathing was audible to his guest.

Regular, controlled, paced, efficient.

After watching the pattern for a few silent minutes, Alexander sighed.
"We can't stay in this place forever.  You decided yet, Demon?"

Three days had passed since the... 'incident' at the toy factory.  It
had been yet another sacrficial cow, that much was clear-- it took a
while for the Demon to decide that it had not only been that, but a
veiled insult from Forsythe himself as well.

He had been attacked by dolls that went 'MAMA', for God's sake.

While the Demon stewed, both Richmond and Geraldine had opted not to
cross him in any way and went out 'scouting'.  Alexander busied himself
with continuing his illicit excursions into the police net, learning as
much as he could about the recent disturbance involving the riots,
which were clearly instigated by Forsythe's men.  He'd learned about an
interesting character in the same way as well-- one Sean Willis, who
was apparently investigating them on the side.  It sometimes amazed
Alexander what he could uncover with but a few clicks of a button.
None of the others seemed very interested in that little detail, but
Alexander had thought it would be prudent to keep tabs on his new
little friend. 

As for Garrick himself, he fell into a routine of heavy exercise and
training that was partly to make up for time lost in New Alcatraz, and
partly his own unique way of clearing his mind.  He was meditating, in
a way.

The Demon finished his last meditative sit-up, swung himself off the
plank and walked towards a nearby elevated bar.  He grabbed the bar and
began to raise himself from the floor.  His chin touched the bar, and
he began to lower himself gradually.

Alexander opened a snack cake from behind him and began to eat as he
talked.  "You must've figgered this out yaself by now, but I'll talk
about it anyway, maybe just to see if *I* figgered right," Alexander
said, chewing thoughtfully.  "Forsythe ain't just any lucky punk, is
he?  He's smart, Demon-- smart enough to guess what we were goan do
about lookin' for him."

The Demon grunted in answer and raised himself for the umpteenth time.

"Now I ain't sayin' you had a bad plan or anythin'," Alexander began to
say, opening another piece of cake.  The things, which were designed to
be consumed within three or four bites, disappeared whole into the
hacker's mouth.  "Just sayin' that maybe it was just SO good and really
the only logical thing to do that it wouldn't be so hard for anyone
with the brains enough to ass his way through college to come up with
it himse--"

"I knew since the dock raid," Garrick said, speaking for the first time
since Alexander had walked in.  "I'm not dense."

Alexander paused, about to pop the seventh cake in, eyebrow raised.
"Then that thing with them bikers and the toy factory...?"

"... confirmed my suspicions," the Demon finished, dropping to the
floor from the bar.  He reached for a towel hanging on the wall and
wiped some of the sweat off his face and neck.  His eyes were far
away, calculating.  "Why do you think I went alone for the most part
that time?  The bastard's using us as a fucking garbage disposal."

"Shit, Demon, that can't be it.  It just ain't--"

"Efficient?  No, it isn't, not in the long run.  But it doesn't even
need to be for the long run.  It's already a damn good way to get his
message across.  I can hear what the Maccivelli's saying now-- 'mess up
and Forsythe'll send you to the Demon'."  Garrick let out a breath,
stopped in his toweling and simply stared at the floor.

Alexander swallowed, a disturbed look in his dark eyes.  Finally, he
made a disgusted face.  "SHIT, Demon."

"Shit is right," Garrick agreed, striding over and picking up two large
black dumbbells.  "Sure beats the old cement shoes gig, huh?"  Several
pounds for each arm.  The pumping motions made the Demon forget the
initial surge of anger he'd had at the remembrance of what Forsythe was
doing to them and he focused solely on his rhythm.

"So what do we do now?" Alexander demanded impatiently when he grew
tired of watching Garrick pump iron.  "Looks like the mutha's got us
all figgered out."

"He's thinking like me," the Demon seethed, voice heavy with something
other than physical exertion.  "He knows how I operated... the things I
prioritized.  If he guessed what my first move was going to be, he
already has my next move, and every other move after that already
neatly stacked in that punk mind of his."

"So... what now?" came the repeated question.

"I knock the stack down," Garrick snarled, dropping the weights.  They
hit the concrete with a thunking noise, chipping it.

Alexander remained motionless for a moment, peering reflectively at the
damaged floor, and then at the panting Demon, who was wiping more of
his sweat from his body.

"I've always wanted to ask you sumthin', Demon."

"What is it?"

Alexander cocked his head to the side, indicating the two black magnums
resting beside Garrick's shed shirt.

"Which un's Bonnie and which un's Clyde again?"

The Demon stopped cleaning up and turned to stare at Alexander with
narrowed eyes as if the computer expert had just asked something daft,
like how many bits were in a gram.  Seeing that his companion was
serious, Garrick sighed and rubbed his towel vigorously into his hair
before answering.

"The one with the male demon face is Clyde.  Bonnie's the female."

Alexander looked at the guns again.  The two golden demon faces on
either gun handle seemed identical in all respects.

He shrugged.  "If you say so, Demon," he said, chuckling and shaking
his head.  He navigated his bulk towards the door, ducked underneath
the low threshold and began to climb to the main house floor.  The
stairs could be heard loudly voicing their protest at the heavy giant's
ascent.

When the last of the noises faded from hearing, the Demon stood alone
in the basement, listening only to the sound of his breathing.

It was all about who you could trust.

To beat Forsythe, he now had to turn to the one he trusted the least.
The one he had every reason to distrust, to suspect, to put as far away
from him as possible.

The Demon smirked, genuine amusement in his piercing green eyes.

"Icy..." he breathed the name softly into the empty room.  "It looks
like we do the dance... again."



A small yellow ball bounced once on the pavement and then began a roll
towards the nearby yawing gutter.  Chesa mewled in dismay, knowing she
would never catch it before it plummeted into the drain.  She dove
after her lost toy in desperation, thoughtless of her surely getting
scrapes and bruises from the waiting asphalt.

A strong arm caught her from around the waist, aborting her fall.

The little girl looked up with surprise and her large eyes beheld the
kindest looking smile she had ever seen.  She smiled back unsurely and
a little shyly at the handsome dark-haired man who held her and who was
now putting her down gently.  The stranger sat on his heels to put his
gaze at eye level with Chesa's.  Chesa reddened slightly and shuffled.

"Uhmm... thank you, mister," she mumbled under her breath.

"Take a little spill there, sweetie?" the smiling man asked.

"Uhmmm, no, sir," Chesa managed, blushing even stronger, forgetting her
mother's regular admonitions against speaking with random people on the
street.  Suddenly, she gasped, whirling towards the drain.  "My ball!"

It was gone.

The smiling man raised an eyebrow and turned in the direction of the
small girl's teary stare.  Chesa sniffled.  She didn't want the kind
stranger to see her crying, but she couldn't help it-- she loved that
ball.  She sniffled again.

"Hmmmn," the long-haired stranger murmured, looking thoughtful.  He
smiled at Chesa again.  "I want to show you something.  Here, look."
With a flourish, he moved his light gray cape aside to reveal two
graceful-looking hands gloved in purest white.

Chesa rubbed at her tears to see better.

"Watch," the stranger ordered, and he began to move his fingers about.
He moved his wrist so that his palm was downward, and then he rotated
it in the opposite direction again in a quick, spinning movement.  On
his open palm was a bright yellow ball.

Chesa squealed with delight and snatched the item from its perch on the
stranger's long, slender fingers.  After cuddling the toy for a moment,
the youth looked at the long-haired man with open awe.

"How did you DO that?  Magic?"

"That is... a secret," the gray-caped man said mischievously, putting a
finger to his lips.

Chesa opened her mouth to speak and then turned at a call from behind
her.  She looked apologetically at her new friend.  "I... I gotta go...
mom can get pretty mad if I stay out too long..."  She ran to the
sidewalk, stopped, and then turned.  "Thanks, mister!"

"You're welcome," the man said, getting up and watching the girl wave
at him from across the street before disappearing into a decent-looking
house most likely belonging to a regular, law-abiding family.  "You're
perfectly welcome..."

He felt slow, encircling arms from behind him, and then a face being
pressed to his back.

"You're a funny widdle huggybear, honey," came the crooning voice from
his companion.  "I didn't know you had such a soft spot for kids."

"It's... a recent development," Richmond smiled, softly caressing the
hands clasped on his stomach.

Geraldine giggled from behind him and skipped her way to stand before
her husband, looking up playfully at his eyes.  "What do you mean by
that?" she teased, and then blushed at what she was about to say next.
"Thinking about having kids?"

Richmond grinned even wider at this, making Geraldine blush even more.
He strode over to her and put a hand around her waist, starting to lead
her away from the neighborhood.

"Maybe," the assassin said, looking down at his wife, who pressed
closer and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked.

It was a perfectly sentimental moment that would have made any other
respectable outlaw retch.  However...

Geraldine hadn't noticed the way the Silent Knife had furtively glanced
at the alley just beyond the gutter that had almost eaten Chesa's ball.
She didn't notice how he was quickly scanning the dumpster there now,
even as they walked away...

Richmond turned away.  Just for a moment, he thought he had seen a
faint glimmer, a line where there shouldn't have been any.  Moreover,
he had heard it-- a soft, scraping something that seemed out of place
amid the din of flies, scampering rats, and the adjacent street's
traffic.

Maybe it wasn't anything.

Richmond narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on his spouse's body.

But maybe... just maybe...

"Maybe," he said again, though Geraldine's question was the furthest
thing from his mind.



"I was wondering when you'd come here."

The Demon only made a small irritated sound and closed the door behind
him with a soft *snikt*.  The room was dim.  And cold.  Garrick stepped
in cautiously, scanning the chambers with quick, sweeping gazes, taking
in the lone bed, the barren dresser by the wall, and the neatly piled
equipment and baggage by the foot of the window.

Icy smirked at him from her seat on the sill, already dressed in her
immaculate white dress, boots and gloves, platinum hair glinting.  She
looked like an apparition of some kind, a wispy ghost framed by the
faint white sunlight outside.

"You're not still sore about that .38, are you?" she laughed softly
when Garrick just stood there.

The Demon harrumphed and said nothing, staying where he was, hands in
his pockets.

Icy laughed again, eyes closed.  She seemed to be enjoying herself.  "I
had to see myself whether five years in the clink had dulled you."  She
stood up and leaned against the wall beside the window, mocking eyes
locked onto Garrick's face, arms folded across her chest.  "I don't
know what you're so worked up about... If I'd gotten you that night
with that quaint little trick, you *deserved* to die."

The Demon didn't answer, but Icy knew that he agreed.

Icy smiled.  "The gun wasn't loaded, Demon."

Garrick couldn't contain an ironic chortle, and he looked at Icy with
grim amusement.  "So you say NOW," Garrick noted sagely as he began to
make his way with short, slow strides to where Icy was leaning.  He
kept his hands in his pockets, not taking his eyes off the leaning
woman.  "Besides, it wasn't that hard to anticipate-- there was
precedent.  It didn't work for Nells.  What made you think that it'd
work for YOU?"

Icy shrugged.  "A classic's a classic."

The Demon reached her and slammed both palms on the wall on either side
of the standing woman's head, making the painted cement vibrate
slightly, fencing her in with his outretched arms.  Icy didn't even
flinch.  Garrick leaned over menacingly.

"Cray said you were never caught," Garrick whispered, almost close
enough to feel Icy's suddenly slightly faster breathing.  "He also said
that you know how Forsythe's little operation works, who the wheelers
and dealers are.  He said that you were supposed to be our intelligence
operative... the fossils' link to the new world."

Icy leaned forwards, bringing their faces closer.  "And it took you
just three days to remember all that?  You astound me sometimes, Demon.
Truly."

"Forsythe thinks he has me pegged, he thinks he knows what makes me
tick," Garrick murmured, taking a hand from the wall and then running
it along Icy's neck, making her shiver deliciously.  After all those
years, there was still electricity in his touch.  "Maybe he does.  But
he also thinks that after what you did to me... I could never bring
myself to put you in a position to do it again."

Icy raised an eyebrow.  "And now you're saying you will?"

Garrick grinned, a toothed, predator's grin.  "If I can make it seem
like I have, the effect will be the same."

"There's a *very* thin line between the two.  Think you can walk it?"
Alice chuckled softly, putting both hands on the Demon's chest, tilting
her head curiously, making some of her hair fall before her face,
brushing against her ruby lips, which were curled in a smile.  "The
dance again, Demon?" she asked softly, voice throaty.

"The dance," Garrick confirmed, pulling away, sliding his hands over
Icy's bare shoulders as he did so.  He backpedaled two steps to sit on
Icy's bed-- untouched ever since they had moved in.

"Let's dance, Icy."

Icy stayed where she was, arms still folded, face impassive, but a tiny
gleam of her reserved admiration in her arctic-gray eyes.  She began.

"You don't need me to tell you that this city used to be one of your
main trading hubs for your weapons dealing."

This was true.  That was also probably why Forsythe had expected the
Black Pack's strikes on the juiciest areas of the city.

"Remy's turned it into a little more than that," Icy went on.  "He's
upgraded everything into a supplying stop for the operation strong
arm-- his shooters and stabbers.  For every shipment we intercepted, he
has six hidden caches of arms ready and waiting."

"Huh.  Crafty," the Demon growled softly.

Icy ran a hand through her hair idly, still smiling softly at Garrick.
"Forsythe seems to have a hobby of... collecting certain things.  The
special items he receives through here are stashed in a rather unlikely
locale... increasing its chance of being ignored by anyone looking..."



"You're not on the list."

The bouncer stationed at the portals into the Riot, one of the most
coveted night spots in the city, had been saying that particular line,
along with several more creative variations of it every evening for as
long as he had held the job.  He never would have imagined that those
same words of denial would also become the five most difficult words
he'd ever have to say to anyone.

"Y-you're not on the list."

"I know," the man at the head of the line said simply.  His green eyes
were half-lidded, and his mouth was an expressionless straight line.
The sharp cut of his short hair made him look perpetually angry,
though, and danger seemed to be oozing out of his every pore.  "But
that doesn't mean you can't step aside.  I won't ask nicely again."

The bouncer swallowed.  He'd always wondered what all that 'hazard pay'
stuff was for.  Perhaps tonight he'd find out.  He looked considerably
relieved when a woman dressed in glaring whites emerged from behind the
scowling man.

"ICY!" the bouncer exhaled, struggling to gain his composure.  "Boy, am
I glad to see YOU.  This guy's--"

"... with me," the seductress finished smoothly, gliding past the
baffled bouncer.  "We have business with the Grifter," she told him,
casually pushing the door open and walking in.

"Well, if it's like THAT!" the guard exclaimed, throwing a hand in the
air.  "Why didn't he say so in the first place?  You--"

The man in the jet black trenchcoat brushed past without waiting to
hear the rest, and the bouncer hastily kept well clear of the man and
the sweeping ends of his coat.  Something in those murderous green eyes
made him shudder.

The bouncer sighed as the door closed behind him while the rest of the
clamoring crowd outside resumed their demands and pleas to be let in.

And he used to feel so powerful being given this job...



Something stood on the rooftop of a neighboring skyscraper, but nothing
silhouetted against the bright moonlight or the glowing haze that hung
over the nighttime city skyline.

There was movement, and a faint shimmering could be seen reflecting the
evening's luminance, like an infinitely thin film of soap... and then
again, nothing.

A figure crouched, not even casting a shadow, as it watched with keen
interest the two who were entering the Riot.



"William Venkman is 'the Grifter', a European entrepreneur who owns the
the Riot.  He used to be an independent peddler of small arms and the
occasional submachine gun, but mostly he deals in the traffic of the...
more recreational medications.  Ecstasy, neural jacks, stuff like that.
These days, aside from harbouring some very, very special hardware for
the Maccivelli, he doubles as middleman whenever Remy takes an interest
in acquiring certain special items.  If anyone around here will have an
idea of Remy's whereabouts, it'll be him."

The silver-haired woman smoothed a crease on her skirt, making her
dress strain slightly against her heaving chest.  She ran a hand past
her ear to put a lock of hair aside and then went on.

"I dropped by for a courtesy call five days ago, and things are still
the same-- he's still a first-class kissass, and he's under the
impression that my most recent association with you could work to his
advantage when it comes to his standing under Forsythe's eyes... which,
of course, works to OUR advantage..."



He looked tall, lanky, dressed in vivid purples and greens that matched
his dyed hair.  The Grifter had purple contact lenses, and the interest
was clear in his eyes as he used them to track the lovely lady in the
tight white dress as she weaved through the gyrating crowd towards
where he was sitting.

The Demon watched with folded arms as Icy leaned over coyly to whisper
something into the Grifter's ear.  What exactly, it was impossible to
hear over the distance, and the music blaring from everywhere.  Garrick
noted the way the Grifter's eyes widened, how his hand had reflexively
slipped into his garish jacket.

Icy whispered some more and glanced once in Garrick's direction.  The
Grifter followed the quick look and finally spotted Garrick standing
motionless amid the flailing crowd, and after a few more moments of
whispering, the owner of the Riot appeared to relax.  His hand left
whatever it was that was under his jacket.  Theatrically, the Grifter
stood up and gestured for the Demon to join him at his private table.
The Demon remained where he was, arms still folded.

"He doesn't look very dangerous," someone said calmly from behind the
Demon, "but appearances can be deceiving."

"What's the situation?" Garrick asked without turning.

"Everything looks relatively clean," came the report.  "There're groups
of armed guards posted at every entrance and exit, but nothing new
since we came here last."

Garrick nodded.  "What about our escape route?  How're the lookouts
doing?"



"So... do you like rock?  Rap?  How about DMX?  Eminem?  They're pretty
cool."  The petite young woman held her closed fist to her mouth,
simulating a held microphone.  She started gesturing to an imaginary
crowd with her other hand, and her head bobbed to music only she could
hear, her brown pigtails bouncing in time to her head movements.

"I prefer a good love song myself," said the ambulatory mountain beside
her.  He bit into the submarine sandwich he held, halving it.

"That's no fun," the small woman pouted, halting her play-acting and
then returning to lean on the brick wall again.  Standing side-by-side
the negro giant, the young woman appeared even more childish than she
already seemed, more than considerably dwarfed by her companion.

Her companion, in turn, appeared almost normal beside the silent truck
that occupied the alley they were loitering close to.  Aside from the
large vehicle, the two were alone under the gloomy streetlight.

Suddenly, the girl began to stomp her foot on the ground, even further
enhancing the impression that she was a child.  Some would have found
it endearing-- her brother would have found it irritating beyond
expression.

"It's just not FAIR!  Why do THEY get to get in!?  Why should *I* be
stuck with Goliath here, guarding the getaway car!?" Geraldine loudly
protested to no one in particular and the world in general.  "I want to
go DANCE MY BRAINS OUT!  ARGH!!!"

Alexander swallowed his bite of sub.  He held the rest out to the
hissing and spitting Foster as he unfolded a laptop and jacked it into
the nearby jimmied phone line.

"Hungry?"

"ARGH!"



"They're fine," Richmond grinned from behind the Demon.  "You going to
meet with Venkman?  Should I go with you?"

"No," Garrick said, beginning to walk towards the Grifter's table with
long, sure strides.  "You go back and watch out for Gerry."

There was a pause.

"If you say so, Demon, sir," the assassin replied.

Garrick didn't look, but he knew that the Silent Knife had vanished
into the crowd already.  He'd have bet that, though they were in the
middle of a club full of people, not one person would know where the
quiet man in grey had gone.

"AAAAHH!  Mister Foster!  Iz is SUCH a pleasure to finally be able to
meet you!" Venkman greeted heartily when Garrick reached his table.  "I
have heard so MANY things already!"

"People who hear many things often don't survive very long in this line
of work," the Demon pointed out.

The Grifter had almost a minute of stunned silence before he regained
his composure.  "AHAHAHAAA," he laughed, though it was clear that his
sincerity was elsewhere.  "Of course, of course!  Please, have a seat!
A drink?  I have something veeeery special just shipped in from--"

"If you don't mind," the Demon cut him off curtly, still standing where
he was.  "I would prefer it if we went straight to more... serious
matters."  He narrowed his eyes.  "If you don't mind."

The Grifter didn't miss a beat this time, and he stood up, the three
bodyguards beside him following suit, the hired guns eying the Demon
with a mixture of hostility and apprehension.

"Oh, I don't mind!  I don't mind at all!"  He laughed.  "Come, come--
let us go somewhere more suitable for the discussion.  Let us go up!"
He waved dramatically towards the high ceiling, where a large platform
was suspended over the club-- a second story within the building, held
above the crowd by cables and girders.  "Up!  To my special balcony!
We shall talk there!"

Garrick looked up at the hanging floor with some disdain for the man's
showiness.  He moved to follow the Grifter's lead when something caught
his eye from one of the structural beams that held the floor up.

A brief rainbow flash of light... a glint that the Demon was sure was
not part of the already complex light show that constantly bathed the
entirety of the club with ever-shifting patterns of strobe green, red,
purple, yellow and other members of the color spectrum.

He stayed fixed where he was, squinting up at the air above him,
waiting for the phenomena to repeat itself.

"You're on your own from here on in, tiger," Icy's voice invaded the
Demon's musings.  "He'll meet with you alone."

"And you?" Garrick prompted.

"I'll be around," Icy said mysteriously, raising herself on the tips of
her high heels to kiss Garrick lightly on the cheek.  At that, she
pulled away and was engulfed by the roiling dancers on the floor.

"I'm sure you will," Garrick murmured.  He glanced upwards for a final
look... and then turned to follow the Grifter's waiting bodyguard to
the caged lift.



"SO... Icy tells me you want to find Mr. Forsythe?  Why?"

The Grifter was reclining on an expensive-looking piece of furniture.
The rest of the elevated room's furnishings were pricey as well, but
the objects weren't really selected to match each other, only for their
monetary value.  Garrick felt like he just walked into a smuggler's
den, or an antique trader's.

There were no walls, only flimsy railings.  There was only one path off
the platform, and Garrick had his back to it, facing Venkman and two of
his bodyguards, who were on either of the Grifter's sides.  Behind the
Demon was the third bodyguard.  He had both Bonnie and Clyde inside his
coat pockets.  The din of the frenzy below floated up to them muted and
insignificant.

The Demon finished his visual perusal of the room and then finally
spared the Grifter a look.  He smirked.  "Isn't it obvious?  I'm
currently unemployed.  I want a job."

"You say you want to join Mr. Forsythe?" the Grifter chuckled.  "Why?
Didn't you use to OWN the Maccivelli?  Why settle for less?"

Garrick shrugged.  "Five years in solitary can change a man.  I'm tired
of being the revered leader.  I want things to be simple this time."

"How do you expect me to believe that?  Do you think we're idiots?"
The Grifter certainly seemed much more confident now.  "We know about
the guvs-- wasn't the deal to find and kill Forsythe in exchange for
your old empire?  Wasn't THAT why you were let out of New Alcatraz?"

"Mr. Venkman," Garrick smiled patiently.  "My lawyer, Mr. Cray, has
been exercising full power over my more than considerable legitimate
accounts during my time in incarceration.  It took five years, but a
lot of those funds have finally reached the right hands, it seems...
hence, my freedom."  He held his hands out in a pose of openness.
"Surely, you, of all people, can understand covert negotiations of that
nature??"

"And the raids on Forsythe's operations?"

Garrick shrugged again.  "Stretching my legs, that's all."

Venkman laughed.

"Very, very convincing, Mr. Foster," the club owner applauded, making
his lackeys smile around him.  "Or should I call you 'Demon'?  It
certainly looks like you've given this a lot of thought already.  Of
course I understand!  Almost ten percent of everything I make here goes
to those damnable inspectors and commitees."

The Grifter scratched at his nose, opening his vest with the other hand
as he did, revealing what looked like a vintage German Luger nestled in
a side holster.  The bodyguards beside him took their cue and got their
own pieces out.  A Glock, other small cals.

"But you see, Demon, even if all that bullshit you just fed me WAS
true," the Grifter began, slowly rising from his expensive couch, "it
really would not make much of a difference.  Lord Forsythe will look
VERY kindly indeed upon anyone who brings him your head."

The humoring smile left Garrick's face.

Venkman took his Luger from its holster and pointed it straight at his
guest.  "I believe Icy knew that all along."  He smirked contemptuously
at his prey.  "It looks like someone's been betrayed tonight."

"Yeah, and I think I know who it is," Garrick said, closing his eyes in
amusement.  He felt the third bodyguard's gun press at the base of his
skull.

"The time for talk is over, Mr. Foster," Venkman barked.  "Your death
shall be the coup de grace of my stageplay for Lord Forsythe.  CIAO."

Venkman knew on some level that Garrick Foster wouldn't take any of
what was happening without doing something about it, something heroic,
or even drastic.  There was, however, always a difference between
knowing what was going to happen and being able to do something about
it... or *anything* about it.

All the Grifter saw was a black blur spinning from where the Demon had
stood, and suddenly, the Demon was *behind* the man who had been
holding a gun to his head.  The Demon had his left arm wrapped around
the bodyguard's head, jerked it fast in that direction, twisting the
mercenary's neck and snapping it with a loud crack.  The Demon's right
hand was holding the dead man's gun arm up.

Without having to wrench the firearm from the corpse's grip, the Demon
proceeded to unload the Glock's clip into the two bodyguards on either
side of Venkman.  All the shots the pair managed to get off all missed
widely or flew into their dead colleague.

The chestnut-popping noises from the gunfire were drowned in the louder
din of music from below, alarming no one.

By the time the Demon had reclaimed Bonnie and Clyde from inside the
bodyguard's coat and had shoved the body aside, the Grifter had dropped
the Luger and was holding his hands up.  He had no choice-- Garrick was
standing in front of the only exit that didn't involve plunging into
the dance floor below.

"You win, Demon," the Grifter said, smiling but with teeth clenched.
"I thought this would happen.  I know when to quit.  Fine.  I'll talk.
But I have to warn you-- I don't know where Forsythe is, and that's the
honest truth."

"Too bad," the Demon replied, striding over and making Bonnie's muzzle
nuzzle Venkman's forehead, "that was the only thing keeping you alive."

"WAIT, you damned fool!" the European roared, the perspiration that had
broken over his brow now trickling freely over his face.  He licked his
lips.  "You think I'm idiot enough to believe that you'll let me go if
I don't have anything good enough to tell you?  I KNOW something."

"Talk," the Demon said, pulling back on Bonnie's hammer with a thumb.
'SCHLIKKT' went the mechanism.

Venkman swallowed, and a wry grin twisted his thin lips.  "You're never
going to find him, not if you go looking for any specific *place*.
Lord Forsythe's too smart for that.  He's a hopper, see--"  He broke
off as the Demon took a step forward, nudging the Grifter's forehead
with the gun.  The Grifter swallowed.  "A hopper-- he never... he never
stays in the same place for too long, GET IT!?  Goddamn you... he flies
all over.  He's on the move most of the time.  Bet you didn't know
THAT, did you?"

"You're right," the Demon said with some musing.  "That information was
*almost* worth your life.  Goodbye, Mr. Venkman. This visit has been
very edifying, not to mention entertaining."

Garrick lowered his gun.

"Now spill the rest of it."

The Grifter eyed him with some wonder and even some admiration.

"Christ... you ARE as smart as people say you are, aren't you?" he
cackled, somewhat crazed with relief.  He took a silk handkerchief from
his pocket and began to wipe his soaked brow.  He fell back heavily on
the couch behind him, spent and slightly shaking.  "Nobody knows where
Forsythe goes next after one place.  However, he DOES need people in
key positions to monitor the airspace for him, ready his accomodations,
other stuff.  You know-- grunts to do the legwork.  Jesus, it doesn't
matter that I tell you now anyway.  Forsythe'll kill me for not killing
you.  I--"

"You know of one such henchman," Garrick interrupted.

"Yeah, sure, sure I do.  He's--"  The man stopped abruptly, and then
his entire body went rigid, as if something had gripped him with fierce
intensity.  His eyes widened, and his mouth gaped as if to receive some
unseen communion.  He convulsed once, and then fell back limply on his
couch.  Flowers of blood red bloomed on the neon green shirt he was
wearing underneath his purple jacket.

The Demon spun at a sound, and then he felt gentle pattering pressure
on the shoulder of his trenchcoat, like falling rain.  He snarled up at
the darkness above him.

That gleam again.

Bonnie and Clyde exploded to life in both hands, the discharges
deafening from the balcony, but barely audible against the amplified
drum sounds below.  The glint had disappeared, but the Demon knew he
had hit nothing.

"I'm sorry, Demon, sir-- I should have spotted him sooner."

"Who was that?  WHAT was that?" the Demon demanded, not bothering to
ask Richmond how he had gotten up there without seeing the lift move.
He was simply too riled.  "How long has he been around!?"

"I've suspected we weren't alone for quite a while," Richmond admitted
apologetically as both men hurried from edge to edge of the elevated
flooring, searching for the mysterious light aberration.  "But I wasn't
too sure until he made a move.  Whoever it is is good.  Very good."

"And very invisible," Garrick spat.  The sound like a branch whipping
in the wind came again.  The Demon turned just in time to feel the same
soft smattering like a shower of gentle taps on his arm.  He spotted
the gleam again and again shot at it, again missing whatever it was it
had revealed briefly.

"SHIT-- Alex and Gerry," Garrick snarled, remembering his lookouts.  A
hand to his forearm made him pause.

"I'll handle him," Richmond said, indicating the girder complex that
spiderwebbed the entire area of open air above the club.  "You go warn
the others."

Command decisions had to be made fast or made for you.  As much as
Garrick hated to admit it, the Silent Knife had the better chance of
going after their ghostly guest, and not the Demon.

Garrick nodded, and then the two broke off into runs in opposite
directions, Richmond towards the ledge, Garrick towards the lift.  When
Garrick looked behind him, Richmond was gone. His eyes then went to his
trenchcoat shoulder, and his eyes narrowed at what he saw there.  Small
slivers of metal were embedded in the bulletproof pseudo-armour, only
shallowly impaled.  Silvery, cylindrical.

"Needles," the Demon murmured in wonder.

He returned his full attention to running.

"Where the HELL is Icy?"



The Grifter's special balcony was mainly supported by four diagonal
metal pillars that held it up by its four corners.  The rest of the
trappings running from end to end of the area above the club were
either extra supports, failsafes, or merely props to make the entire
affair fit in with the establishment's motif of disorder and anarchy.

Richmond looked around and saw nothing among the taut steel wires and
horizontal bars.  And then there it was; a silvery outline against a
particularly dark patch of space.

And then Richmond heard it-- a soft, feminine laugh that grew in both
volume and frequency coming from the spot he was locking his eyes on.
Slowly, an image resolved itself, almost as if pixel by pixel, particle
by particle of color, until Richmond saw standing on a thin iron beam
across him a slender figure clad in a black-blue bodysuit.  The figure
reached up to remove its mask and dark visors to reveal the startlingly
lovely face underneath.  It was female, a chillingly beautiful and
deadly female.

"Good evening," Richmond said first, "I believe we've met.  But I'm
afraid we haven't introduced ourselves to each other yet."  He held out
a hand over the chasm that separated them, an abyss that had a lining
of dancing people as its bottom.  "Richmond Gray at your service."

"I know who you are," the woman said, face full of open contempt.  "The
Silent Knife.  You know, I really don't think you're all that good at
all.  Only fools allow themselves to be seen enough to actually become
*legend*.  From what I've seen so far, you're highly overrated."  Short
lengths of silver shone in her hands.

Richmond smiled.  "Well, I have to advertise *some* way, yes?  And you
are...?"

"Akiko, the Empty," the woman answered, hooding her head with her mask
again.  She tapped a short sequence on her shoulder.  "It's alright for
me to tell you that-- for after all, you'll be dead within the next few
moments."  A rainbow film rippled over her form, and then she was gone.

"Well, I certainly hope not," Richmond said sincerely, still smiling as
he ducked and weaved, dodging the first volley of small, piercing
projectiles.  The needles clattered against metal girders or vanished
into the darkness.

"After all, this is only our first date."



Needles flashed from the left, and Richmond tumbled upwards, feet
making contact with the ceiling ever so briefly before the assassin
launched himself from it, towards where the volley had come from.  The
knife lunged from his sleeve, and Richmond slashed sidewards at the
air.  He somersaulted once and landed gracefully on a girder.

>From behind him, a voice spoke, sounding somewhat irked.

"I will not underestimate you again, Knife," Akiko promised.  "Prepare
yourself--"

Richmond leapt from his perch before the sentence finished, plummeting
a few seconds before snaring a rigid metal cable and then swinging onto
the safety of another support beam.  From behind him, as he escaped, a
veritable wave of hurled needles sped after him, and all fell short of
sinking into Richmond's flesh.

Below them, among the club patrons, a few slumped forwards lifelessly,
or collapsed without warning.  The Riot's rhythm raged on, and those
unconscious on the floor were ignored-- this wasn't the first time
people passed out from the sheer excess of auditory, visual, tactile,
and even olfactory stimuli.  No one saw the blood.

Richmond kicked backwards in a reverse roundhouse, his heel meeting
something solid, though his eyes told him that nothing was there.  He
rode his blow's momentum to face in the direction of his opponent, and
once again swung his blade downwards in a murderous arc.  The knife bit
into nothing.

Akiko had thrown herself towards Richmond when he had swung from the
cable, hoping to catch him from behind.  The kick had caught her by
surprise, but she had been quick-witted enough to avoid the followup
that almost cost her a limb, or her life.

"Well, against all expectations, you're not just rolling over and
dying, are you?" Akiko asked, the belittling tone finally gone from her
voice.  This time, she sounded eager, as if she'd found food after a
long time starving.  "It looks like this is going to be fun after all."

Richmond homed in on the sound of the voice, swinging once, twice,
thrice-- all met nothing, except for the last attack, which screamed
along a steel support, making sparks fly.  He spun, raising his knife
like a shield to protect his chest area.

There was a merry tinkling sound as steel needles bounced off the cold,
tempered blade.

Exultant noise erupted from the chaos underneath them.

Richmond stood up straight, as if reconsidering his strategy of being
the primary aggressor.  He stepped backwards and fell from sight.

Alarmed, Akiko rushed to follow with the best and speediest of her
movements.  The Silent Knife was skilled-- several times, Akiko almost
lost him as he flitted and hopped and leapt and ran from beam to beam,
girder to girder, wire to wire.  Akiko knew a thing or two about
stealth as well, though, and how to counter it.  Finally, the chance
the woman had been waiting for came-- Richmond had pivoted and was
speeding back in her direction in an attempt to surprise her.

She stifled the urge to laugh.  The man was plunging into empty space,
when she was directly ABOVE him!

She swung both arms outwards, flinging into the grey mass below her a
downpour of deadly steel needles.  She rode gravity to deliver a final,
killing kick to the Silent Knife's spine.

The needles flew harmlessly through a grey cape with no one wearing it.
Akiko's heel plowed into it, and then onto a beam.  She regained her
balance a splitsecond before she whirled to see Richmond rushing at her
from the darkness, foot-long knife at the ready.  The cape had wrapped
itself around her leg, telling the Silent Knife where to strike.

For Akiko, the world stood still except for the two of them.

Richmond drew closer, his everpresent smile still plastered on his
face, truly chilling Akiko for the first time.  Reflex mingled with the
refusal to be defeated combined to allow the invisible woman to lean
backwards just enough to avoid Richmond's straight blade thrust.  The
knife scratched a deep groove into the metal girder that absorbed the
blow.

Richmond remained in his pose, right arm extended forwards, body bent
forwards as well from when he put his back into the thrust, right leg
pushing from behind, taking leverage from the beam he was on.  His left
arm was folded behind him, palm up.

Akiko was beside him, looking down at him, a triumphant expression on
her invisible face.  She readied the needles in her palms, and then
began the motions to bury them all inside the Silent Knife's vitals.

Richmond was staring right at her.

"Wha-!?"

Another knife, one identical to the one in Richmond's right hand in
every aspect, sprang from Richmond's left sleeve, stabbing Akiko deep
in her exposed side.

Reflexively, she drew away and tumbled backwards onto a faraway beam.
Akiko's figure flickered erratically around her wound, which bled from
the gaps in between the fingers of the hand she used to hold it closed.
She became visible again, and with her other hand, Akiko removed her
mask once more.  She looked both dumbstruck and outraged.

"You... you couldn't HELP it, could you?" Akiko hissed, face both angry
and incredulous.  "You couldn't HELP being known even if you WERE that
good at what you do.  You... you were quiet and unseen, and yet they
KNEW.  They just knew enough to know you were good."  She laughed and
straightened from her slouch.  She regarded Richmond haughtily.

"I will severely enjoy trying to destroy your legend, Richmond-san,"
Akiko told him, a grim smile on her lips.  She began the tapping
sequence on her shoulder that would render her unseeable again.  Her
body became halfway translucent--

"I don't think so," Richmond said, having stood up himself.  He was
wearing his damaged cape again, and as always, he was still smiling.

A peal of thunder filled the world, and Akiko felt lancing pain
overwhelm her senses as she tumbled backwards from the force.  She fell
into the panicking crowd below, a crowd agitated by the last noise that
had finally broken through the sonic haze that had protected them.

"Goodbye, Miss Akiko," Richmond said softly into the clamor below.  He
withdrew his knives and began his descent towards where Demon and Icy
were waiting by the lift.

Icy was rising from one knee, taking her face from behind nightvision
sights, and lowering her smoking sniper rifle.

"Hmmn... interesting," Richmond murmured, staring at the blood on his
hand coming from the knife resting inside its sleeve.  "I haven't used
both since... well, since eight years ago, at the warehouse.

"Interesting."



"Hey-- why aren't we going back to the house, bro?"

"It's most probably been discovered by now," Garrick explained as he
drove.  "It's not safe any longer."

"What!?  Then where do we go now!?"

"Remember my little friend, Harley?" the Demon asked with an amused
grin.  "I've asked him to purchase for me a few locations scattered
around the map.  We now have houses identical to the one we're leaving
all over the country."

"Hey, neat!" Geraldine opined.  "So we go to one of those?"

"Of course not," the Demon snorted.  "I wouldn't trust Harley with the
combination to a school locker.  No, we check in at convenient hotels
who can be paid to shut up..."

"... and observe from afar the property that WAS purchased," Icy was
murmuring from the passenger seat beside Garrick.  "I see..."

"Wow!  That's pretty smart thinking, bro."

"Thank you."

"But... uh... could we go back a bit?  No one told me the plan, and all
my stuff's back there..."

"We'll buy you new ones when we get where we're going."

>From inside the truck's spacious cargo compartment, Alexander sat on
the floor, laptop on his... well, *lap*, dextrous fingers flying over
the keys.  The wireless connection beeped... and in moments, he was
transferring money the Grifter was laundering for Remy to protected
accounts accessible only to Brashier.

'TRANSACTION COMPLETE.'

He grinned.

A night's work well done.

The virus he'd deployed that completely wiped everything in the
Grifter's systems had been for fun.



Author Speaketh...

ARGH.  I couldn't have this preread EITHER, seeing as I'm chasing the
deadline as it were already.  GARH.  I certainly hope this doesn't mark
the beginning of a new trend for me and my impro parts.  That would
suck.  Especially when you consider how strongly I stress the
impro-tance of prereading in the Imprology guide comic. ^_^;;;

ANYWAY-- I just MAY have made too many things happen in this part, but
hey.  *shrug*  Inspiration struck, whatcha goan do?  In any case, I
really don't think I've seriously derailed anything here-- just upped
the ante a bit, and brought a biiiiit of focus back to Icy.  Also,
gave the BP their very first non-moron adversary, or what most would
probably prefer to refer to as a Boss Battle. ^_^

I will mention here that the previous parts were a total blast.  This
impro's going much, MUCH better than I had intially expected, and I
certainly hope it keeps up.  I WILL be signing up again. ^_^

Questions, of course, be directed to madsthebeast@yahoo.com.

Don't be afraid t bash inconsistencies on my head-- I'm not afraid of a
rewrite if it's good for this part.  After all, it hasn't had any
prereaders. =p

Hmn... I've been tempted to write a character guide for the omake
section.  Maybe I'll give it a shot soon.

Laderz all.  Hope you like this latest installment. :)

Oh, and, I hope Geraldine will be brought into focus soon, too. :3

Godspeed, all.

-MtB



Sean Willis was one tired mutha.

Three days ago, he had been caught in one of the biggest firefights in
the city's recent history, and he wasn't eager to remember it.  The
clean up afterwards hadn't exactly been a dream either.  It looked like
a twin case of that thing that happened way over east a while ago--
a wholoe bunch of smalltime hoods getting their grubby paws on some
bigtime firepower, getting organized, and getting nasty downtown.  This
time, the military had been readier, of course, but it was still an
ugly, ugly brawl all the way.

And now he had the owner of the Riot dead, along with three of his
personal bodyguards, and a few of the customers below.  It wasn't quite
clear what had killed Venkman and the civs, but that was what autopsies
were for.

Bless us, o Lord, for this taxpayer's money we are about to receive,
amen.

Willis sighed.  Looks like he wasn't going to have the time to handle
his little unofficial investigation.  He plucked the smouldering butt
from his mouth and flicked it away.  It bounced on something.

The detective blinked, perring closer.

"Well I'll be damned," he breathed.  "Could've sworn there wasn't
anything there..."  He drew closer.

It was human, dressed in the weirdest-ass outfit he'd ever seen.  There
were needles held in the hands and slipped inside neat little pockets
along the suit.  Acupuncturist from hell?

He removed the mask.  Congratulations, we have a looker...

Sean Willis jumped when the woman suddenly opened her eyes and grabbed
at his collar.  It wasn't an attack-- it was a spasm of some kind.  Her
dark eyes looked kinda crazed, and her face was pale, though not in a
way that was its natural skin color.

"I'm... I'm still alive," the woman managed to croak weakly at Willis,
still clutching with a strong grip at his collar.

"Yeah, yeah, you are," Sean said soothingly.  "The ambulance'll get
here any moment now.  Just relax and--"

"NOOOO!" the woman screamed, suddenly hysterical.  She fought to get
away from Sean, who held her by the shoulders to keep her from hurting
herself, mostly.  "I should have died!  He should have killed me!  NO!
You can't let me live!  KILL ME!  LET ME DIE!"

"Sorry, babe," Willis grunted, struggling to keep the woman from
hurling herself around.  She was weakened, but it was still a pain.
"I can't let you do that.  I'm afraid I've got a few questions for--"

"NOOO!  NO QUESTIONS!" she shrieked, fighting harder, almost able to
pull away.  "KILL ME NOW!  LORD FORSYTHE WILL NEVER FORGIVE ME!  KILL-"

She fell into a dead faint in the officer's arms.

Sean sighed as the paramedics finally arrived to take the injured body
from him.  He watched as they carted her away.  She'd live.  He rubbed
his chin in contemplation.

"Lord Forsythe?"



Alice Rogers had been the wild card.

She was the X factor, the unknown element in his careful equations.
Tonight, it had factored itself into his calculations, leading the
Demon and his gang prematurely into the hands of the Riot when the next
projected move Garrick should have taken was to bypass the steady flow
of expendable manpower Remy was providing him to strike at all the old
syndicate nerve centers and paralyze the hand that gripped the city.

Instead, Icy had brought them to the Riot.

Did that mean that Garrick was trusting his old ally again?  Remy
couldn't be sure, and until he could, any and all kind of planning
would be exercises in futility.  By seeming to put his life in the
hands of his Judas again, the Demon had made himself unpredictable.

And what had Icy brought them to the Riot for?

To betray them?  Apparently not, at least, not this time.  The Grifter
had almost talked, and now he lay cold among his smuggled antiques,
thanks to Akiko's timely intervention.  Her presence had been lucky
after all, and she had been successful in that regard.

In THAT regard.

Remy really thought that she'd put at least one of them out of
commission and then leave.  At the very LEAST, injure one of them
seriously, remind them who they were tangling with.  It wouldn't matter
if she was temporarily defeated in the process, as long as she got the
message across.

And what had happened?  She was reported dead by his informants, her
body and stolen techsuit claimed by the police.  She hadn't even been
able to *scratch* any of the Black Pack, not even that helpless Foster
girl.

Remy's face darkened.

It looked like it was HIS turn to be insulted.

He walked slowly over to where a very strange arrangement was resting.
It appeared to be a vast network of squares, alternately black and
white.  There appeared to be thousands more squares than any normal
board would have.  On most of the squares there were chess pieces lined
up, mostly pawns... rows upon rows of pawns.

Remy removed one of the white pawns and looked across the board at the
black pieces.

There were only five.  Carved from ebony, and polished to a reflective
sheen, they stood proud, defiant in the face of their owner.

Remy turned back towards his own side, and he regarded the crystalline
queen in the midst of the sea of pawns.  He took it by the head with
two fingers, admired its make.  It was worth a fortune by itself.

"Damn you, Foster," he whispered after a moment.

He let the piece drop to the floor, where the fragile crystal shattered
into a million fragments on the hard marble.