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Message-ID: <47412asstr$1081739402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 32 {Imagineer} (M+F viol exhib ScFi)
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Date: Sun, 11 Apr 2004 23:10:02 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 32: Flanked


  Dawn. Exhaustion and two hours of nightmare-punctuated sleep clearly
overcame whatever recsussitative benefits the brief shower might have
offered. Shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed. Leaden limbs offered
neither assistance nor resistance as her newfound guardian dressed her.

  "Max, I'm tired. Please, just let me sleep for a while."

  The bleary-eyed girl's rational mind and tired body had conspired to
make her want to hide and wait and recover and plan. But underneath Max
felt her frustration and fury -- feelings he was about to unleash. 

  "We cannot stay here. It is not normal for a Cadillac to enter a
warehouse at 4 A.M. The streetdwellers surely noticed. We cannot afford
to wait for someone to elicit their story."

  Left out was the part about tipping the local street gang to her
whereabouts while she slept... and bending their minds to bolster their
confidence, greed, and lust in equal amounts.

  He let go of her arm, letting her fall back into the old couch. Her
small breasts moved only slightly in the tight cutoff baby-tee, nipples
still hard from the cold shower. Legs glistened with impossible
smoothness in the harsh flourescent light, bare up to tight cutoff
shorts made for a girl even slimmer than she; the beltline flopped over
in front where the waist snap had been removed. It had not been Max's
plan to dress her like tarty trailer trash, but everything she'd worn
before was destroyed, and few people left their wash hanging out
overnight...

  Max knew not why a pair of Candie's pink mules had been under the
seat of the mafia staff car, but slipped on her toes it seemed that
Fate itself had picked them.

  A part of him felt bad for unleashing bad men upon his unsuspecting
young companion...

  ...but a voice inside reminded him that it was really the Black Widow
who was being unleashed on unsuspecting bad men.

  And it was Max and his amulet who would ultimately reap the benefits.
With this beauty at his side.

  Besides, he could hardly afford to let her run and hide, any more
than he could let her mount another direct offensive against a waiting
well-funded crimelord. Putting her on the defensive was to her benefit,
even if she wouldn't see it that way.

  "You may sleep while I dispose of Bates' car, but then we must go."
  "Okay," she replied dreamily.

  Max retreated into an adjacent room, leaving his sleeping beauty to
be rudely awakened.

  Valerie's long lashes had just drawn closed when the office door
hammered open under the force of a stream of angry urban barbarians.

  Max closed his eyes, smiling as he saw her thoughts coalesce around
angry disdain. The sounds of confined combat shook his bones.

  "Fuck, the bitch fights dirty!"
  "Hold her down!"
  "Ow, she broke my nose!"
  "Got her! Raffy, watch out for her foot!"
  "I got it."

  Commotion quieted to controlled struggling.

  "Watch out for her foot, man."
  "I said I got it!"
  "Listen up, bitch, you're worth a lot of money."
  "Aww, sonofa- Jesus, Manny, she bit my hand! She bit my fuckin' hand!"
  "Lemme see it. --Be still, stretch, or I'll cut your pretty face!
--it's alright, just find somethin' to wrap it with."
  "Raffy, watch out for her foot!"
  "I *got* it! Fuck, you act like I never held down a whore before."
  "Well, she gonna fuck you up with that fuckin' spear on her shoe. You
should kick it off her."
  "I like her better with 'em on."
  "Now listen up, bitch, you're worth a lot of money."
  Valerie's voice contrasted sharply with her attackers. "You said that
already," she spat.
  Slap! "Shut up, bitch! You're worth a lot of money because of what
you did last night. Word on the street is Bates wants your ass, and
he's gonna put a price on your head."
  "Shouldn't he put the price on my ass if that's what he wants? Sounds
like you're getting your stories mixed up."
  Slap! "Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Don't make me hurt you
worse than I'm gonna already."
  "Is anybody even listening to him?" Valerie seemed to be addressing
the other toughs holding her down. "Is he your boss or something? How
can you work for such a fucking moron?"

  There was a thickening Thud! followed by sharp hissing breathing
sounds.

  "You okay, Manny?"
  The response was strained. "Fine. I just hit her wrong, stung my hand
for a sec."
  Valerie's voice was taunting. "Jesus, you can't even hit a girl
right. Loser."

  Renewed tussling.
  "Hey hey hey HEY! Back offa her! Just hold her down. We shouldn't
bust her up too bad anyway, we want Bates to reckonize her." Subdued
struggling.

  "What are you gonna do now, fuck me?"
  A belt buckle jingled. "That's the idea."
  "Hey, I wanna turn!" A voice from across the room.
  "You'll get a turn. Did you wrap up your hand? I don't want you
bleedin' all over her. --Raffy, watch out for her foot!"
  "I'm watchin' it, I'm watchin' it. Just hurry up, it's hard holdin'
her down from this angle."
  "Pussy."
  Val mocked them. "Yeah, pussy."
  Slap! "Shut up! Nobody asked you."
  "You should gag her with somethin'."
  "Remember what happened to Maria? I dunno if Bates'll pay if she's
dead."
  "Come on, Manny, fuck her already. I'm gettin' tired, too."
  "Well, pull her shorts down."
  "Quit kicking, bitch!"

  Manny paused to marvel at her beauty. He'd had plenty of girls with
pretty nice bodies, but this girl had a certain... glow that demanded
attention.

  "Don't just stand there, fuck her already." 
  "Yeah, come on, Manny, give it to me." The girl was taunting him. And
inviting him.

  Manny was too much man to let any bitch in heat go unsatisfied. Fly
opened, cock sprung free, and angry thrusting rapidly ensued.

  The others were surprised at her sudden cooperative nature. This
bitch wasn't normal. She wasn't supposed to just start enjoying it
right away. The thrill was in breaking her gradually, watching her
horror in spite of her body's responsiveness, not reveling in it. But
apparently it was just what Manny got off on, because he was already
getting that sweaty glazed look in his eyes...


  Val's attacker went stiff all over; then went slack. 

  "That all you got?" Val spat. She shoved him up off her; he barely
managed to stand, staggering backwards, his eyes looking hollow and
lifeless. No one else seemed to notice as they all jockeyed for their
turn at the trough.

  The little one jumped in, but he was so hyped-up and mad he couldn't
get it hard. The big one shoved him aside, whipping out his man-meat
and slamming it into her with a viscious intensity. Val grimaced as her
muscles adapted to the new shape and angle of attack. Within a few
strokes she was fucking him back, matching anger for anger. "That's
right, you'll show me how a real man fucks, won't you? Nnngggh! Give
me... More... More... More... More!" 


  Max steadied himself against the doorframe. He could feel Val in the
next room. Her almost-animal satisfaction. Her confidence. Superiority.
Invulnerability. Hunger . . .


  The brute's thrusts soon grew less animal, more mechanical. Val felt
a dizzying flood of energy, almost blinding in its intensity. Her
victim's legs gave out; he slid out and off, down between her legs to
crumple on the floor, holding his chest, his face screwed up in agony
that melted into lifeless softness.


  Raffy pulled his fallen comrade back, stepping up between the
reclined fuck-monster's splayed legs coated with sweat and sperm. "What
the fuck is wrong with you? Are you crazy, bitch? What'd you fucking do
to them?"

  "I'm just too much for them," she snarled. "What about you? Are you a
man or not?"

  But Raffy didn't bite.

  The sex-witch gave him a dismissive look, then closed her eyes as her
hand snaked down between her legs. It began moving furiously, quickly a
blur. Raffy leaned over her, raised his hand and slapped her hard
across the check. It was like hitting a steel column, but his
adrenaline wouldn't let him feel it. She ignored the blow. 


  If this little limp-dick wasn't going to fuck her like the rest of
them, at least he could leave her own to finish herself.


  He hit her again, harder, demanding her recognition.
  "Who the fuck do you think you are? If you hurt any of them, I swear
to fucking God I'll gut you like a fucking fish!"


  Val's eyes opened, furious rage at the interruption. She brought her
knee up, then drove her leg down with a violent kick. Her stiletto heel
pierced his shin. It took a moment for the pain to register, his face
evolving from anger to surprise to agony. He fell backwards, screaming.

  Val heard distant shouting. Getting closer. Fuck. Roused from her
sex-fog, she looked over the chaos with a mix of hatred and
disappointment. This was a mess. And it was going to get worse.

  She was a mess too. Fuck. And she'd just had a shower. Val grabbed
the pitcher of icewater on the corner table, pouring it down over her.
Bending over, she ripped the wifebeater off the nearest victim and
wiped herself down.

  A bare foot tiptoed toward the door with its high-heeled mate,
chasing down her latest victim, who was dragging himself toward escape,
trailing a lame leg with a ladies' shoe grotesquely affixed and a thick
trail of dark red. A hand reached down and grabbed the shoe firmly.


  Raffy felt something twist the knife in his shin. Screams reached new
depths of agony. The shoe came out with a sick gushing sound.

  "There she is... oh, fuck! Jesus, fuck!"
  "Get her! Get that bitch!"

  Gunshots sparked an instinctual reaction in the Black Widow. She
ducked. Seeing a teeming mass of youthful fury crushing in through the
front door, she turned and ran. In three steps she was across the room.
Up on a chair.

  And through the window, ripping curtains, shattering glass,
splintering wood.

  The gang split, half rushing to follow the girl out the window, half
pushing to go back the way they came to give chase outside. Only one
stayed behind to help his fallen comrades.

  Raffy was screaming like an animal caught in a trap. Leo saw between
the fingers clutched to Raffy's shin blood poured forth. "Hang on,
Raffy, hang on. Hold down really tight." Disturbed by all the blood,
Leo turned to Manny, bending over to check the unmoving form. He felt a
hand on his shoulder.

  "Relax, boy, and I will do you no harm."

  Leo's body went limp and puddled to the floor.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Gladys Barrett straightened up the sugar packets for the third time.
The diner was deserted. Most weekdays there was at least one person in
for an early lunch, but this was the Friday before Labor Day, and
anybody who could take the day off did. Most of the companies in this
old industrial part of town just closed down and made it a four-day
weekend; nobody really worked the day before a long weekend anyway.

  The solitude left the woman to stew over the growing rift between her
and her daughter. As soon as she'd hung up the phone that morning, she
regretted what she'd said. No matter what happened, she couldn't kick
her baby out of the house. She always knew that one day Angela would
grow up and move out, but it wasn't right to push her out. Especially
not now when she was obviously troubled by something. Whatever it was,
they'd work it out when she got home. In fact, Gladys had half a mind
to tell Mel she had a family emergency and go home to patch things up
right now...

  The bell on the front door dinged its fairy-pitched announcement of a
customer. Oh well. Maybe she needed to give Angela a little time to
cool off anyway.

  Two men in dark suits walked into the diner. Gladys studied them
carefully through the corner of her eye, looking busy matching up
napkins and silverware in tidy bundles.

  Tall Gangly Late Twenties Man looked super-serious, like a dork
trying to be suave; Chunky Balding Late Thirties Man wore a harried
look of preemptive regret, scanning the empty diner and the empty
street outside before joining his partner at the corner booth.

  They were more conspicuous than supermodels in a hobby shop. 

  Gladys gave them a moment to settle in -- they exchanged too many
looks to be anything but trouble -- before approaching with menus.

  Tall spoke, a boyish thrill breaking through his serious demeanor.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions."
  "The special is meatloaf, the soups are split pea and chicken noodle,
and we're out of the chocolate cheesecake."
  "That's not what we meant," Chunky said with a frustrated look.

  "Look, your buddies were in here last month. If Mel had anything to
do with making batches of crystal meth, do you think he'd be working
sixteen hours behind a hot stove? If I had anything to do with it, do
you think I'd still be driving a busted brown Corolla?"
  "That's not what this is about, ma'am." Tall looked Gladys in the eye
with all the fake sincerity he could muster.

  Gladys' hard look melted in embarassment. "Oh. I'm *so* sorry... I
just thought that you... I mean, it's just that you government agent
types all look alike." Chunky raised an eyebrow. "No offense," she
added sheepishly.

  "None taken," Chunky said. He clearly didn't like the way this was
going. He couldn't have been more uncomfortable if he'd been wearing
burlap underwear.

  "So like I said, we'd like to ask you a few questions," Tall jumped
back in. The unruly mass of short brown curls erupting from his head
was a compelling distraction.

  "Where's the cook?" Chunky asked.
  "Is that one of the questions?" Gladys shot back. She generally
respected law enforcement officials, but she was in a foul mood and
wasn't going to put up with any cloak-and-dagger crap today. "He's out
back checking the produce." It was Mel's code for using the restroom --
nobody wanted to hear the cook say he was going to take a leak. He'd
been saying it for so many years that he used the code even when there
weren't any customers.

  The questions came rapid-fire:

  "Have you noticed your daughter acting strange lately?"
  "Does she spend a lot of time on the computer?"
  "Does she have a lot of friends?"
  "She go out on a lot of dates?"
  "Have you received any strange packages within the last three months?"
  "Has she been unusually withdrawn?"
  "Has there been any tension at home?"

  "Woah, hold on there. Angela is eighteen. She just graduated high
school. A few changes are to be expected." Only after defending her
daughter did Gladys realize she'd unwittingly answered their questions.
If this was going where she thought it was, she probably shouldn't be
sharing anything with these men. "I don't think I should be discussing
my daughter's behavior with you. What's this all about?"

  Chunky looked agitated. Tall took a deep breath and looked around, as
if someone might be listening. (As if anyone else was there...) His
eyes narrowed and voice lowered conspirationally. "Your daughter's been
involved with a dangerous international spy," he said, pausing to wait
for Gladys' reaction.

  The unflappable Gladys Barrett checked her emotions. "For how long?
Is she in danger?"
  "We should talk about this outside," Chunky said, nervous.
  "We don't know how long exactly. Months. He found her over the
computer. Some weeks ago he sent her a package. It was a... priceless
artifact he stole from the Chinese government. We believe she's holding
it for him."

  Gladys' heart pounded in her chest, but she did her best to show no
outward signs of distress. "I don't believe you." It was a lie. Her
mental gears spun furiously, adding up Angela's behavior... 

  "We should really talk about this outside," Chunky prompted his
oblivious partner, a look of frustration growing on his face.

  "I think you do believe me. I think you know your daughter's been up
to something. A mother always knows. You know what they say, you can
fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of
the time, but you can't fool Mom. Listen, your daughter probably
doesn't know who she's dealing with; he probably told her he's an
international broker or something, gained her confidence by pretending
not to believe she was just a teenager. Your daughter was probably be
thrilled to be treated like an adult. When you're that age it can be
very seductive to be treated like a woman by a charming, sophisticated,
successful businessman... She has no idea the kind of danger he's put
her in."

  "Danger? Where is she now? Why are you here? Why aren't you
protecting her?" Panic began to rise in Gladys' voice...

  "Calm down, Ms. Barrett. If you cooperate with us, if you help us
find the... artifact, I promise no one will hurt your daughter."

  At those last words, a chill ran up Gladys Barrett's spine. No one
will *hurt* your daughter, he'd said. That was a threat. It occurred to
her that these men hadn't shown her any identification. Whoever they
were, they weren't here to help her or Angela.

  Alarms went off in Gladys' head. Angela's darkened mood. The fact
that she'd been out all night. Their morning conversation -- Angela
clearly struggling to deal with something in her life, and Gladys
making things worse by trying to strong-arm her own daughter with the
threat of kicking her out of the house. The fact that Angela was now
home alone. Or maybe she wasn't; maybe she'd left already. Maybe Gladys
had chased Angela right into the arms of a dangerous stranger.

  Gladys needed to talk to Angela. She needed to find her. Now.
Whatever Angela had gotten herself into, the arrival of these two
proved the teen was in over her head. Gladys needed to find her.

  Gladys needed to get away from these men.

  Her hand surreptitiously grabbed a silverware set, then started
backing away from the table.

  "God dammit," Chunky swore, as if he'd known all along she would end
up running.

  The waitress made it halfway across the room before they tackled her.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Gladys Barrett's first thought was that she'd been hit by a frying
pan. But as she grew more fully aware of her waking body, she realized
the dull ache and cottonmouth was not percussively-induced, but
chemical in nature.

  She was in a car. Laying on the back seat. Her arms and legs were
tied. Her captors had come prepared. The conversation at the diner had
probably been nothing more than an act.  But what did they want with a
waitress at a crusty old diner? Maybe her daughter really was in some
kind of trouble. Whatever it was, it had no doubt just gotten worse.

  Gladys heard voices; she lay still.

  "I told you we should have just used 'There's been an accident.'
Parents, spouses, 'There's been an accident' always works. But
nooooooo, *you* have to get creative! 'There's been an accident' isn't
good enough for you. You have to choose a story that's 'appropriate for
the situation.' You want to play the hardened government agent! It's
not my fault you can't separate fact from fiction. It's not my fault
you can't roll with the punches and make things up as you go along. You
have to start with the fucking truth because you're a *shitty* liar,
and you wind up telling her everything." Taggert pointed to the right;
the car nearly came unglued as Rosewood threw it around the corner.
"'Your daughter's been involved with a dangerous international spy,' he
says. 'He stole a priceless artifact from the Chinese government and
she's holding it for him,' he says. 'If you help us find it we promise
not to hurt her,' he says. 'Hurt her?' What the fuck, Doug? The
government doesn't hurt people!"

  "We work for the government," Taggert's younger partner pointed out.
  "That's not the point! The point is if you'd just said 'There's been
an accident' she would have jumped right in the car. Instead, you tell
her we're going to hurt her daughter and it takes the two of us to
wrestle her into the back seat."
  "You wouldn't think she was such a handful just by looking at her."
  "You threatened her daughter, what'd you expect, you idiot?"
  "Well we got her into the car, didn't we?"
  "Not before she stuck a fucking *fork* into me! Jesus, Doug, this was
a brand-new shirt."
  "I'm sorry, Todd, okay? Normally I have time to rehearse. The boss
didn't tell us anything until we landed."

  The Tall one -- Doug -- caught Gladys looking at him in the rear-view
mirror. He looked at his partner, jerking his thumb toward the back
seat.

  "Besides, Ms. Barrett still wouldn't know anything if you hadn't just
given it away."
  Taggert grunted, disgusted with himself as much as his partner.
They'd fucked up again. "Todd, remind me to kick your ass when we get
back to the office."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  To the members of her team, Ginger was controlled fury. She was
smart, cunning, ruthless -- and several other adjectives used only when
she wasn't in the room. She was good because she usually got what she
wanted. And when she didn't get what she wanted, she was even better.

  She certainly looked the part now. Calmly reclined on the couch in
the geeks' apartment / field datacenter, eyes closed, face serene.
Still smartly dressed in the same skirt and jacket ensemble in which
she'd arrived early that morning, only their impeccable fit and
expensive detailing putting them on the right side of the line between
fashionable businesswear and daring clubwear, and only by the slimmest
margin. Either she was coldly calculating with a feminine intuition and
instinct so precise it was scary, or she'd already determined what to
do and was now catching a catnap -- nobody could tell which, and they
weren't about to ask.

  Under the surface, Ginger was reeling.

  She felt her whole career, her whole life, slipping away.
Disintegrating, crumbling like a drying sandcastle in the afternoon
breeze.

  This was supposed to be easy. Eric did the heavy lifting abroad, she
did the scheming and framing stateside, and they got away clean,
leaving behind three unidentifiable bodies, trace amounts of sapphire,
and Andrew holding the bag.

  Now it was all fucked up.

  But in another sense the stakes were simply raised. The gems were
that much more extraordinary, that much more important.

  If anyone could make this work and come out smelling like a rose,
Ginger Hartwick could.

  Keyboards were clicking furiously. Everyone was keeping his head
down, afraid to be the one to elicit one of Director Hartwick's
legendary rants. For now, they were content to let her think.

  Her voice, barely above a whisper, still broke the silence like a
hammer on crystal. "Somebody tell me what we're dealing with here."

  As if on cue, the TV came to life, blaring with driving percussive
music that faded to the kind of giddy-serious voice that could only be
a local midday news anchor.

  "A daring escape by Oak Valley's mysterious Avenging Angel, also
known as Sapphire, left police headquarters smashed and police
officials scratching their heads. Sources inside the police department
have confirmed that the elusive woman had in fact been captured by
police following the shocking incident at GB's restaurant downtown last
night."

  "What shocking incident?" Ginger yelled at the plastic-haired anchor.
She turned around and repeated the question. "What shocking incident?"
Keyboards clattered and pages flipped frantically.

  "Although official police spokesmen have declined to issue a
definitive statement and refuse to answer questions about Sapphire's
involvement in last night's brutal attack against recent parolee and
well-known local businessman Gerald Bates, SpyChopper 7 footage clearly
shows what appears to be a gaping hole in the roof of police
headquarters, where unofficial witnesses claim Sapphire broke out of
her holding cell and disappeared some ten hours ago.

  "However, one man refuses to be silent about the mysterious young
woman: Gerald Bates himself held a press conference this morning,
issuing a statement exonerating Sapphire and condemning the actions of
the Black Widow, calling her a 'violent criminal' and 'cold-blooded
killer' who 'shows contempt for the lives of the citizens of Oak
Valley,' an 
  'agent of evil who must be stopped.' Bates then offered a stunning
$50,000 reward for her capture. Of Sapphire, Bates credits her with
saving his life, and stated that she was cooperating with police,
though this appears to conflict with a statement made by Detective
Miguel Rubio, lead investigator on the Sapphire and Black Widow cases,
who insists that Sapphire is wanted for destruction of property, public
endangerment, and attempted murder, and offered his own $5,000 reward
for information leading to her arrest.

  "Since the press conference Bates has been unavailable for comment,
saying only that for the safety of his fellow citizens he must remain
in his home until the Black Widow is, as he put it, 'neutralized.' No
word on whether this self-enforced exile extends to the Alluring
Enduring Party this weekend, where Bates has made an annual tradition
of appearing to personally thank union workers for another year of hard
work for his and other local companies. Party organizers were not
available for comment.

  "Is Sapphire friend or foe? And are police doing all they can to
protect the city against the recent wave of ultra-violent crime and
chaos instigated by mysterious individuals of supposed superhuman
abilities? We put these questions to the man on the street this
morning; when we come back, we'll see what people like you had to say
about it. Stay tuned."

  That was it. Ginger was up off the couch now, pacing the makeshift
datacenter, geeks and agents cowering. "I can't believe you didn't put
this together! Where was the fucking intel?" As if to answer her
question, a commercial for mobile computer processors pitched its
happy-worker technology. "You didn't know about this? I'm getting my
intel from from fucking... Shelly Shoulderpads on channel seven? Who's
this black widow? Somebody tell me something!" Ginger's voice
practically shook the walls. In frustration, she took off a high heel
and hurled it across the room, missing Andrew's head by inches and
embedding its sharp heel several inches into the sheetrock wall.

  "Geez, Ginger, calm down. The neighbors might hear."
  Mikey interjected. "Actually, the neighbors are at work."
  "Shut up, I'm talking here. And don't call me Ginger. It's Ms.
Hartwick."
  "I thought you said it was Director Hartwick."
  "It *is*. And don't correct me." Sometimes she felt like a
schoolteacher with these snot-nosed contrarians. Sometimes they
probably saw her as one. They probably fantasized about it. Ginger
hadn't gotten any real action in so long, she might start to.

  "Well, don't just sit there. Get me some god-damned intel. What do
the police know, what does the media know, who's done stories, who
takes it seriously, is there any agency attention, or FBI, or military.
-- Give me my shoe. And be careful, that's a $500 Italian pump. -- Does
anyone know her identity, or is that another bargaining chip? Where the
fuck is Eric? Find out if they found his body at the house. If not, we
have to assume he's still in play. And who's got the other stones?"

  Right on cue, the TV commercial faded to black and the talking heads
resumed their news report turned agency briefing.

  "We're back. In a moment, we'll hear from the man on the street about
the sudden explosion of violent crime in the Oak Valley area. But
first, reports of another Black Widow attack on several young men at
the former Cesar Chavez Fruit Juice Bottling Plant sent shockwaves
through the Alvarez Flats neighborhood this morning. At least three
confirmed dead and an unknown number injured as eyewitnesses say the
Black Widow unleashed a vicious and apparently unmotivated attack on a
group of local high school students who were on their way to Cesar
Chavez High School. The circumstances surrounding the attack and the
cause of death are consistent with earlier killings attributed to the
Black Widow, identified by police as Valerie Strain, bringing the total
number of deaths to as high as fourteen-"

  Ginger barked an order over the perky reporter's voice. "Valerie
Strain, get on that. I want her life story in five minutes. And her
nearest living relative in our custody within the hour."

  "... despite Bates' handsome reward, police still have no leads on
the current whereabouts of Ms. Strain, and warn that she is to be
considered armed and dangerous. Citizens are urged *not* to approach
the suspected killer, and to call the Black Widow Hotline with any
information." The number flashed onscreen. It looked suspiciously like
the station's own number.

  "'Consistent with other killings.' What does that mean?" Ginger's
impatience was showing.

  "That means they were fucked to death," Mikey explained drolly.
  "Excuse me?"
  "That's her MO. I don't have much yet, but apparently she hates all
men."
  Andrew cleared his throat. "Not *all* men."
  "Oh, shit, that's right... you had a run-in with the Indomitable Miss
Strain, didn't you?"
  "What?!?"
  "Couple weeks ago, I think, Andrew ran into the girl. At the time he
thought she was Eric's contact. Maybe he wasn't so far off after all."

  Motherfucker... Andrew wasn't quite the bumbling nincompoop Ginger
had pegged him for. Though for all his successful sleuthing he'd still
managed to let this operation get completely blindsided... you'd think
somebody would have picked up a fucking newspaper or something. Clearly
the story was huge. It was humiliating to think that nobody'd taken
their head out of their ass long enough to catch wind of it.

  "In a related story, more eyewitnesses are coming forward from last
night's brutal attack. Reports confirm that Black Widow, er, Strain was
shot several times by bodyguards, but the shots failed to have any
effect. Police say Strain was wearing protective body armor in the
failed assassination attempt, but witnesses refute the official
explanation, insisting that although the young woman was wearing
nothing more than a cocktail dress, bullets simply bounced off her.
This is in line with earlier reports of Black Widow attacks in which
victims and witnesses insisted that Black Widow was bulletproof.
Shelly?"

  "Thanks Bob. It sounds like Black Widow left her cape at the
cleaners." Only the bubbleheaded weathergirl failed to get the Superman
reference.
  "Either that or there really is a little something extra in the food
at GB's." Maybe the plug would be good for a free meal.
  "Ha-ha, Bob, weren't there early reports that the Avenging Angel was
also impervious to bullets?"
  "Yes, Shelly, there were. In fact, that's one of the similarities
between the two women that had some experts insisting early on that the
Avenging Angel and Black Widow were in fact the same person, and after
both appeared at GB's last night, experts are now saying that the two
are in fact working together, perhaps even financed by Bates himself.
Could the city be under seige by a twosome of terror? And can people
really be bulletproof? Mark McGinley asked the Institute for Firearm
Safety if there could be people who were born bulletproof -- the answer
may surprise you. More after this."

  Ginger had heard enough. She'd had a strong distaste for the
insipidness of television news reporters ever since an old boyfriend
had suggested she could one day become one if she worked really hard.
The television went dark and silent.

  "Tell me you've got something."
  "There's nothing to get," Andrew answered. "Not on Valerie Strain
anyway. No family, no friends, no connections, no leverage. Except her
apparent hatred of men, particularly those affiliated in one way or
another with the escort business."
  "Explain."
  Chuck piped in. "She bumps off pimps and johns and takes their
bankrolls. I wish I could tell you more, but there's almost nothing in
the online police file. Seems the two detectives on the case are either
old-fashioned or know they're being watched."
  "Would you put everything in the computer if you were chasing a pair
of supernatural teenagers? Bulletproof, able to leap tall buildings in
a single bound... if I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't believe it.
Shit, I'm still waiting to wake up."

  "Hold on, there's more. Apparently there's a third player. Some of
the victims don't fit Black Widow's core MO. High school jocks, couple
of guys at the airport that were friends of hers..."
  "Probably screwed her over and she took revenge," Ginger surmised.
  "No, none of them were money. Black Widow mostly rolls guys with
cash."
  "Got something on the third player. Reference to video surveillance
at a Quick Mart. Asian dude. Touched this kid, kid just fell over dead.
Turns out the kid claimed he had a run-in with Sapphire. Tomorrow's
World News Weekly is supposed to have the story. They don't put their
shit online till after the rag hits the streets, but there's a bunch of
newsgroup posts about it. Can't tell much yet, but this guy may be
working with Black Widow."

  Fuck. The Chinese were here. Well, she wasn't about to let those
fuckers get the sapphires back. "Find that video. Make sure everybody
gets a good look. If you see him, kill him."

  A chill went through the room. There was no doubting the depth of the
shit they were in now. But it was, after all, what they'd signed up for.

  "Keep working it. Let me think for a minute," Ginger remanded. She
sat on the arm of the couch, trying to regain a state of calm. It
wasn't coming easy. The more she knew, the more infuriated she became.
This could have been so simple. This *should* have been so simple...

  "I can't believe Eric gave such an amazing piece of technology to a
couple of teenage bimbos!" The outburst halted all activity in the room.
  "Jealous?" Andrew poked her.
  "Watch it, mister. You're in deep enough shit as it is."
  "I don't think he knew of the sapphires', um, capabilities," Andrew
pointed out.
  "Maybe he didn't. But once the stones got here, *you* should have."
The comment was directed at the whole room.
  "How the fuck were we supposed to know?" Mikey spoke before he
thought.
  "Watch a little TV. Read the paper. Jesus, just don't live in a
fucking cave when you go on assignment."
  Chuck was indignant. "Wait a minute. Last year you wrote me up when
you caught me reading magazines on the job. Now you're busting my balls
because I haven't been reading the World News Weekly?"

  "You were reading Maxim."

  "It was the Top 100 Bitchy Bosses of the Year. I had to see if you
made the list."

  Ginger didn't know where Chuck had managed to find a spine, but
through her bubbling rage she had to admit it suited him. She threw up
her hands and rolled her eyes in dismissal before falling back into the
couch's overstuffed cushions.

  Chuck thought it best to get back to business before Ginger had too
long to consider his insubordination. "Anyway, I don't think Eric knew
Valerie. I think he gave all the stones to Angela. Remember from the
audio feed this morning just before we got to Angela's house -- he was
surprised that she didn't have all of them."
  "So did Valerie steal them? Or did Angela just lose them and Valerie
found them? Are they childhood friends? Are they working together?"

  Ginger stared at the ceiling, one leg on the floor, one leg draped
over the arm of the couch, her Italian red pump dangling from her toes,
specks of sheetrock still dusting the heel. Her eyes closed, mental
gears whirring. Work it out... work it out...

  She opened her eyes to see Chuck standing by the side of the couch,
looking right up her skirt. She made no move to cover herself. That
would imply weakness, a loss of control. She let her shoe fall off her
foot as she raised it to hook her heel on the back of the couch,
spreading her legs wider; Chuck's mouth hung open in lustful disbelief.
Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, fully exposing both the lace
tops of her stay-up stockings and the matching lace of her panties.
Through the perforated material he could see the shadowy folds of her
sex, punctuated by a dark exclamation point of meticulously-groomed
pubic hair.

  "Pick that up for me," Ginger said, gesturing with her eyes to the
fallen high heel. Chuck blinked his eyes, freeing himself from his
trance with a jump, lunging down for the errant shoe. His fumbling
hands struggled to fit it to her graceful stocking-clad foot.

  Actually, the kid wasn't half bad looking. Maybe a little
under-muscled, but he still had nice tight abs hidden under that System
of a Down T-shirt. His ass was a little too flat, but his package
seemed adequate...

  God, now she was fantasizing about screwing the help.

  It'd been days since she'd had any. Weeks, not counting the tedious
leg-spreading she did for the Chairman. The bastard had had her under
24-hour surveillance while she was back at HQ, and while he knew they
weren't exclusive, now was not the time to be flaunting it.

  Maybe she should have given Andrew more than a quick cocktease before
she'd sent him on his way.

  Maybe she'd make use of Andrew now that she was here.

  Ginger found her fingers gently stroking her inner thigh. Dammit,
Ginger, get a hold of yourself. There'll be plenty of time for fucking
young studs later. She chastised herself for having let herself go this
long; it had been so long since she'd had to go without, she hadn't
realized what a horndog she'd become.

  But right now she had bigger problems. Much bigger problems.

  Work it out... work it out... 

  She'd had it all figured out. Eric would steal the stones, send them
to a girl stateside; Andrew would find the girl when Eric exposed her;
Ginger would order Andrew not to take action; Eric would call the girl
to meet him at a warehouse; Andrew would intercept the call and rush to
catch them before they fled the country; Ginger would already be on her
way to stop the newly-discovered rogue Andrew from getting away with
the stones himself, and rush directly to the scene; she would blow up
the warehouse with Andrew, the girl, eight ordinary sapphires, and two
corpse stand-ins for Ginger and Eric; and the two of them would slip
away with their retirement package, leaving a dead or (hopefully) alive
Andrew to take the blame for killing three people and destroying a
package of indeterminate value.

  How did things get so fucked up?

  Angela Barrett, that's how.

  Eric had to get all twitterpated. She wasn't even all that hot. Okay,
she *was* pretty hot, but in that innocent teenager who doesn't know
she's cute kind of way that would surely fizzle by the time she could
legally drink. She'd probably be barefoot and pregnant by some
underachieving class president future car salesman type by then.

  Bad enough that Ginger's once-hardened playboy assassin had gone soft
for such a suburban nothing -- the girl had lost half the fucking
stones! Fucking ditz! How do you do that? She probably thought they
were cheap trinkets. Typical teenager, no idea what anything's worth.

  What they're worth. Even Ginger had a hard time wrapping her mind
around that one.

  Dammit, why did things have to go to shit?

  Relax, girl. This isn't a problem, it's an opportunity. This started
as just a kick-ass early retirement plan based on some precious gems.
Now it's a chance for limitless possibilities of power and wealth based
on some *very* precious gems. Focus. You've still got a couple of days
to sort this out and make it happen. So start with what you know and go
from there.


  Andrew regarded his boss with detached amusement. He knew he was
fucked. However this shitstorm settled out, he knew he'd be starting
over somewhere else. If Ginger didn't get him thrown in prison. Or
killed.

  Still, it was entertaining to see the great manipulator, Ginger
Hartwick, brow furrowed on the couch, not unlike the Grinch trying to
understand Christmas.


  Ginger thought hard. Miss Angela Barrett was the heart of the
mystery. If the girl had discovered and tapped this impossible power,
what was she still doing living at home and working at a... 
  "Where does she work again?"
  "A fabric store."
  Jesus. What was she still doing living at home and working at a
fabric store?

  Was she so self-absorbed that she didn't see the stones'
significance? Was she content to just play lacy dress-up and flit
through life as a bejeweled butterfly, some kind of ultrafeminine local
do-gooder? 

  "Did she watch too much 'Buffy?'"
  "Excuse me?"
  "Come on, pay attention."
  "Kinda hard to do when you're thinking to yourself and just blurt out
random shit every couple of minutes."
  "Well, I don't hear anyone else trying to figure this out."
  "You told us to shut up. Chuck and I are just trying to dig up info
on this Avenging Angel."
  "You mean Sapphire," Mikey corrected.
  "Right," Chuck assented.

  Ginger ignored their tangent. "Did she watch too much 'Buffy the
Vampire Slayer.' The present-day Wonder Woman. You know, the 'kick some
ass but still be a girl' fantasy. You'd think with the kind of power
she displayed today she'd have higher aspirations."
  "Oh. We don't know what she watches. I don't think the Barretts are a
Nielson home."

  Ginger fell silent again; there wasn't much point in asking these
mimbos anything, they couldn't even recognize a rhetorical question.
They were probably just drooling over the surveillance video again,
anyway.

  She'd had the stones for weeks, and until a few days ago there were
only a couple of sightings; most of the activity was credited to this
Black Widow. Now *there* was a girl with ambition; it was only a matter
of time before...

  "Black Widow, what's her name again?"
  "Black Widow." Answered in a 'what, are you stupid?' tone of voice.
  "Her real name, you idiot."
  "Oh. Um... Valerie Strain."

  ...it was only a matter of time before Valerie Strain shed the
limitations of her streetlife perspective and moved up to some truly
big scores. Perhaps the incident with Bates had been just that. Though
even a bulletproof girl could stand a little better planning.

  But at least Valerie seemed to *have* ambition. Angela seemed stuck
in little-girl playtime. Maybe the Buffy comparison wasn't valid. The
boys were having trouble finding information attributed to her apparent
heroine persona Sapphire. Was this girl so sheltered that she didn't
know how to find trouble? More likely she just wasn't looking for it. 

  "Maybe this girl isn't even trying to play hero."
  "What, Valerie? Budding supervillain is more like it."
  "Jesus, you boys and your comic books. No, Angela. Maybe there's no
information on her Sapphire alter ego because she's not trying to be a
superheroine. Maybe the two or three encounters were just accidents.
Let's consider the prime source -- World News Weekly certainly isn't
above dramatic embellishment. I'm thinking Angela just wore out the
grooves on her Cyndi Lauper album."
  "Excuse me?"
  "You know, 'Girls just wanna have fun,'" Chuck explained to his
partner.
  "Damn, Cyndi Lauper? Isn't she, like, fifty? Eighties references...
You're dating yourself, Ginger."
  "That's Director Hartwick,"  Ginger snapped, again retreating to her
own thoughts.

  Did Angela just wanna have fun? Didn't she have any appreciation for
the sapphires' potential? Was this the female equivalent of male
ultimate-power fantasies that never progressed beyond nailing every hot
chick they could think of? Was anyone really that stupid? Could anyone
keep their sights set so low, when a little creativity could put almost
anything within reach?

  Was the "I lost them" story just a cover? Was she working with
Valerie? Andrew had certainly pegged Angela for a cunning player.
Ginger's intuition said otherwise. In any case, taking the girl's mom
hostage was a good start on flushing out the truth.

  The problem was Valerie. Clearly the more ambitious of the two, and
with less to lose judging from her insane attack on Bates' restaurant.
Even if she and Angela were working together, Ginger doubted Angela
could convince the street girl to give up her newfound deity. And the
naive suburbanite certainly couldn't take it from her, no matter how
hard Ginger squeezed.

  The universal comics code dictated that she discover the sapphires'
weakness. But there was too little to go on, and there wasn't time to
engage in experimentation. No, she'd have to rely on universal human
frailty. Easy enough with the naive Angela -- the good girl would
surely give it up to save her own mother -- but from what her data
hounds were feeding her, Valerie Strain was the classic wild card. No
attachments. Totally self-absorbed. Her actions seemed to underline a
Fuck Everybody attitude. If she didn't care about anyone or anything,
there wouldn't be any buttons to push.

  Waitaminute. She did care about one thing. It wasn't love, but it was
just as powerful. Perhaps moreso. Valerie Strain -- Black Widow -- went
after Gerald Bates the first night he's out of the joint even though
he's under heavy guard in a public place. That wasn't a move upmarket,
that was revenge. If Ginger knew Bates, and she did... suddenly it made
sense. 

  "This is almost too easy. With a little nudge, our problems all take
care of themselves." Her eyes narrowed as she mentally tallied a
scorecard. "Maybe two nudges."

  Ginger Hartwick looked up from the couch, once again focused on her
immediate surroundings. "Gimme my phone."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  "You did *what*?" Ramirez was furious.
  Rubio tried to placate his captain. "Look, thanks to Bates' little
press conference this morning, the whole fucking city is out there
beating the bushes for the Black Widow. I figured the department would
be wise to ride on Bates' coattails, and give people a little incentive
to find Sapphire while they're out there anyway competing for the grand
prize."
  "You don't have the authority to offer a reward."
  "So you won't have to pay it." Rubio shrugged in a 'problem solved'
gesture.
  "You're risking the credibility of the department and encouraging
vigilantism. I should suspend you."
  "You already suspended Aquino for letting Sapphire go. I'm just
tryin' to get her back for ya. You can't suspend me or the whole
city'll think you're mishandling the case. Go ahead and kick my ass
down to traffic cop after this is over if it doesn't turn out the way I
say it will." Ramirez bristled at the suggestion that Rubio had any say
in the matter. "But right now I'm all you've got. If those bitches team
up again and we don't get 'em off the street, the governor'll be
sending in the god-damned Army Reserve."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  "Mel, where's my mom?"
  Mel was busy stacking glasses under the counter. "Your mom? Well, she
left a little while ago."
  "Did she say anything? Did you see who she left with?"
  "I don't know where she went. I didn't see nothin'."
  "I don't understand," Angela said, her voice cracking with emotion
and exhaustion. She felt dizzy. With the gems doing the work to get
here she hadn't exactly exerted herself, yet she felt strangely winded.


  Mel got up from behind the counter. He was not prepared for what he
saw.

  Mel always knew that Gladys Barrett's daughter was a looker -- her
mom was still quite the peach herself -- but he had no idea she was
so... hot.

  A transparent tube top, artfully shredded to expose most of the
curves of firm teenage breasts. A ripped-up flimsy sweater -- actually,
just the sleeves. Perfect tender flesh, interrupted only briefly by
skimpy lace bikini panties. Miles of legs, impossibly long for a girl
of, what was she, five-eight, five-nine? On those skyscraper shoes,
anyway.

  She was somebody's erotically sanitized vision of a street urchin.

  But the crowning touch -- literally -- was the shiny little tiara
peeking out from a teased mop of dark hair. Fitting, considering the
way this girl seemed to take her mom for granted. Quite the spoiled
princess, indeed.

  This explained a lot.

  His eyes moved freely up and down the girl's slender curves, brain
utterly failing to intercede on behalf of decency.


  Eventually, Angela realized why Mel hadn't answered her question, and
what he was staring at. She looked down and gasped in shock and
humiliation. What had she been thinking when she'd gotten dressed that
morning? Oh, right: "Bad men are coming to get me and I don't have a
thing to wear." Still, her outfit had merely been scandalous before;
now it bordered on obscene. Her hands and arms sought to cover as much
as they could. "M-Mel..." she stuttered, turning beet red.


  Eventually, Mel realized that he was staring. He looked away
sheepishly. "Oh, sorry." He took a moment to regain his composure.

  "I know this is none of my business, but I don't think your mom would
approve of that outfit."
  "About my mom..."
  "Come to think of it, I don't think the police would approve of that
outfit."

  "Mel, what happened to my mom?"

  "Oh, right. I went to the back to check the produce." Even with his
eyes averted, it was clear from Angela's expression that she wasn't
familiar with the euphemism. "I went to the can," Mel explained. "And
when I came out your mom was gone. After her conversation with you this
morning," Angela gasped at the thought that Mel was privy to her
affairs, "I figured somethin' maybe happened with you and she had to go
take care of it. I know Gladys wouldn'ta left like that without a good
reason."

  Mel found his eyes continuing to drift back toward the
stunningly-disheveled girl. How could anybody go out in public like
that? It was disrespectful to Gladys. The way she was standing there,
practically naked, with this goofy blank look on her face...


  Angela was in shock. She'd never flown so fast, but she was still too
late. They'd already gotten to her mom. But how? Unless they'd planned
to abduct her all along... Angela suddenly felt very exposed. Very
alone.

  "Come here," Mel said as he came around the counter to where she was
standing. Before she realized what was happening, he'd grabbed her by
the elbow and was dragging her toward the back of the diner. "Ow!" she
complained weakly, stumbling along behind the beefy man in her sky-high
heels.

  He tossed her past him into the small employee break room; she
tumbled right into the row of lockers along the opposite wall. Mel
grabbed a large box from underneath a shelf and thrust it at her. "This
is the lost and found box. *Lose* that miserable excuse for an outfit
and *find* something decent to wear. Then we'll talk about your mom."

  Tired and momentarily subdued by the intimidating nature of her mom's
boss, Angela moved to comply. As she dug through the box, she thought
to herself that it was probably a good idea to wear something that
wouldn't draw quite so much attention...


  Mel stood with his back turned in the doorway, arms crossed, mumbling
to himself. He turned to look over his shoulder, but his head snapped
back around to the front when he realized she was completely nude.

  "Hurry up," he chastised.


  Angela was doing her best, but the box was slim pickings. She pulled
out a black knit shawl, the only article big enough to wrap around her
waist and provide decent coverage -- if you didn't count the pattern of
holes in the loose-woven design. It would be obvious that she wasn't
wearing anything more than a tiny pair of panties underneath. On the
other hand, it was probably Sapphire-compatible... She knotted it on
one hip. It wasn't really very different from a swimsuit wrap. Except
of course for the fact that she wasn't wearing a swimsuit...

  Mel cleared his throat. Angela dove back into the box to pull out the
only other suitable item of clothing -- a bright blue small
short-sleeved sweater with buttons up the front to the neck. A *very*
small sweater, she found out as she pulled it on. Very short, too --
clearly not intended to keep the wearer warm, it barely reached her
midriff. She struggled with the tiny buttons, stretching the sweater
terribly to get the halves to meet. Had she checked the tag she would
have realized before putting it on that it was a garment designed for a
child, not a fully-developed young woman. Stuffing her
not-insubstantial curves into the garment opened the fabric's weave to
the point that it took on a translucent quality. Her smooth complexion
tinted the color of the sweater, moreso around her breasts, which
combined with the top's vertical brevity to make them look even bigger
than usual.


  Mel turned around, eyes flashing as big as saucers before narrowing
in disapproval. He remembered finding the things she was now wearing.
But he hadn't remembered thinking lurid thoughts when he'd put them in
the box. Somehow, this girl made everything she wore look provocative.

  "Your mom's purse is up there," Mel pointed up in the corner behind
the tawdry teen. She saw her mom's bedraggled purse atop
industrial-size cans of fruit salad. "I found it out front after she
was gone. I hope nothin's missing." 

  "What? Oh..." the teen said softly, turning her head in slow motion
to where he'd indicated. She seemed to be caught in a fog; was she on
drugs?

  He watched with mixed distaste and lust as she turned around and
r-r-reached up to get the bag; Mel briefly wondered if he hadn't gotten
it for her on purpose, just to watch her give him a little show. The
big man shook his head clear; this was his best employee's daughter.
And the way she flaunted her body was a disgrace. It angered him.

  "Are you in some kinda trouble?" he asked in an accusatory tone.


  Angela turned around, surprised at the hostility. She didn't dare
answer.

  "You know, you don't see your mom as much as I do. She busts her butt
every day at a shitty job dealing with some real losers. You know why?
She does it to make sure that you don't have it as hard as she did.
She's sacrificed her life for yours, trying to bring you up right, and
you don't seem to appreciate it." He looked her up and down, shaking
his head. "It's bad enough you dressing up like a hussy and staying out
until God-knows-when and worrying your mother sick, and generally
throwing your life away. But when your foolish choices start to hurt
her, that's not just disrespectful, that's downright hateful." He took
a step toward her, his massive frame looming in the doorway. "I swear
to God, Angela, the only reason I don't tell your mom about some of the
things I've seen and heard you do behind her back is because I couldn't
stand to see her get crushed by the truth. So whatever this mess is
you've gotten yourself into, you just leave your mom out of it, you
hear me? She's too good a person to be brought down by her own child,
the only thing in this world she seems to care about. I won't let you
hurt her, get me? She... she means too much to me." The diner's
proprieter seemed overwhelmed at the sudden wellspring of emotion; he'd
never articulated his feelings before. He took a step back, surprised
at himself, then turned to go before the young woman could see him so
vulnerable.

  "I'll call you a cab," he said over his shoulder. "Your mom went to
run an errand this morning and the Corolla wouldn't start." He paused a
moment, the weight of his speech still heavy on his mind. "Your mom
deserves better, you know." Another heartbeat and he was gone.


  Angela knew Mel was right. Her mom *did* deserve better. But Angela
was all she had. Angela, and Sapphire.

  Angela looked worriedly at the feebly-glowing gems on her wrists,
trying through her weariness to make some calculation of how much she'd
used them... the gunfight, the explosion, the high-speed trip here...
and had they fully recovered from last night's ordeal, and the
early-morning escape from the police? She looked inward. She felt
tired, but she also felt... sweet. No. She couldn't let that happen.
Not now. Any time but now. Her mom had been captured. She had to find
her. She had to save her. And she had no idea where to start. Who she
was up against. The only thing she thought she knew was what they
wanted. And for all the trouble the sapphires had caused, she'd gladly
give them up if these people asked her to, if only they'd leave her
alone, leave her family and friends alone. But how could she trust
people who'd already tried to kill her?

  And what if they weren't satisfied with just the four stones she had
left? She'd stupidly lost the others, and Black Widow had found them.
And was using them for her own dark purposes. What would an evil person
like that care about some stranger? A waitress? Especially Sapphire's
mom? For all Angela knew, Black Widow was a part of it. And if she
wasn't, she probably approved. Maybe she was laughing at Angela right
now.

  The embattled young woman needed rest. She couldn't think. Helpless
despair overwhelmed any attempt to figure out what to do, where to
look, who to ask. And those strange feelings she sometimes got kept
trying to distract her. Her sapphires were almost certainly tapped out.
She couldn't trust them until they had a chance to recuperate. She
couldn't trust herself.

  Sapphire couldn't do this alone. She needed help.

  Someone she could trust.


  A familiar-yet-strange sound broke her train of thought. Her mom's
purse was ringing. But her mom didn't have a cellphone...

  ...or maybe she did, because there was one in her purse.

  She answered. "H-hello?"

  "Angela honey, I'm okay, don't worry, everything will be okay, just-"
  "Mom? Mom!"
  "Shush. Listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once."
  Angela was silent.

  "You were just supposed to hold the package. You weren't supposed to
use it. That little show that you two have been putting on, especially
last night, has made things... difficult. I hope you had fun. Playtime
is over. Bring the package to the convention center tomorrow. Ten P.M.
We'll find you once you're inside. Bring the *whole* package."
  "The convention center? That's the Enduring Alluring Party."
  "Consider it your retirement party."
  "I don't have all the stones; I can only bring four of them."
  "But you know who has the rest. So go get them."
  "I can't! Please! I tried my hardest, but she... she has help."
  "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Is that any way for a superheroine to talk?" The
voice mocked her. "You have... just under 34 hours." Click.


  Angela walked out of the diner in a fog, ignoring the hard stare of
the man behind the counter. She was in shock. This couldn't be
happening. It was everything she could do to keep from collapsing in a
quivering heap. Somehow she had to find the Black Widow. She had to
defeat her -- the Hunter be damned -- and she had to take the evil
woman's gemstones.


  Angela looked to her own sapphires. With all they'd been through they
were close to finished, she was sure of it. And she was helpless
without them. How would she know when she could wear them again? She
knew it had something to do with keeping them away from light, but for
how long? Why couldn't the stones have some kind of readout or energy
meter? 

  They do, a voice inside her cautioned; you're the meter. Your...
"feelings." 

  Of course; it was obvious, wasn't it? She wasn't normally the kind of
girl to lose all control. Sure, she'd been, well, *horny* before, but
ever since she started using the sapphires she seemed to get the most
powerful urges at the most inappropriate times. It had to be the
stones. They did it to her. It was how they told her they were running
out of gas. Her "feelings."

  But her "feelings" were hard to read. The more she thought about her
present condition the less certain she became. Was that buzzing on-edge
feeling really the signs of sapphire arousal, or was it just
adrenaline? Or anxiety over her mom's kidnapping? Or anxiety over her
own condition? Or simply exhaustion? 

  Dammit, Angela, you're not helping yourself with all this
overanalyzing, you're just running in circles and working yourself up.
You don't even know the sapphires are what cause you to lose control of
yourself. Maybe they just unlocked something that was inside you all
along. Or maybe they just gave you an excuse to lose your inhibitions.
Maybe it's all you. Maybe you're just some kind of freak. Did the Black
Widow get all weak and syrupy when you fought her? No. It's just you. 

  You're just a... a slut. 

  You must get a thrill out of being powerful -- and an even bigger
thrill out of being helpless. 

  You say you don't like to dress up in skimpy little outfits, but you
must secretly enjoy it -- especially when those outfits start to come
undone. 

  You must like getting bad men all hot and bothered. Almost as much as
you like it when those bad men do bad things to you...

  Angela's head fell into her hands in shame. What have I become? 

  She'd messed everything up. She was foolish. Stupid. Irresponsible. 

  I don't deserve the sapphires.

  Her own weakness made them a burden, a threat. 

  It's all your fault. The Black Widow wouldn't even exist if it wasn't
for you. 

  All that destruction and chaos. And her mom. Angela was such a
screwup she was going to get her mom killed. The woman who'd sacrificed
so much to give Angela the best she could, and this was how her
daughter repaid her? Angela never should have worn the sapphires. She
never should have accepted them. Her mom warned her about strangers on
the Internet, she told Angela to be careful, but did Miss Know It All
listen? No. Mom was just being silly, treating her like a little child,
being overprotective. What could happen over the computer? 

  And when Angela found out that the sapphires were "special" what did
she do? She kept it a secret. She should have told her mom. Mom would
have freaked out big-time, and 18 or not Angela would have been in big
trouble, but in the end Gladys Barrett would have known what to do. She
always did.

  Mom could fix anything.

  If only Angela could ask her mom what to do now. But it was too late.
She could have said something this morning -- her mom had come right
out and *asked* her -- but she didn't. She'd missed her chance. It was
her own fault that her mom was kidnapped and she was left to figure
this out by herself. It was her *choice*.

  If only Angela could be the one who was kidnapped. If only Gladys
Barrett was Sapphire. Her mom would make a great superheroine. Smart,
capable, confident, wise, always in control, always doing the right
thing, always making the best of whatever life threw at her. Gladys
Barrett was already a real-life hero. Angela was just a foolish girl
who squandered everything she was given.

  Why couldn't Angela be more like her mother?

  Well, she had to try.

  But how was she supposed to find the Black Widow and take the stones
from her in one day? Didn't these people know how powerful the
sapphires were? Didn't they know how long the Black Widow had been on
the loose, stealing and killing at will, with the entire Oak Valley
police force unable to *find* her, much less stop her? What could one
teenage girl from the suburbs possibly do? The genie was out of the
bottle, there was no putting it back. Was there?

  If only she could think clearly. If only she wasn't so tired. If only
she hadn't burned up so much of her sapphire energy.

  If only it wasn't so hopeless.

  If only she wasn't so alone. Her mom had been the only one she could
possibly talk to about this. The only one she could trust with her
secret. The only person who wouldn't judge her. Who'd help her. Who'd
just hold her for a while and tell her everything would be all right .
. .

  No, there was someone else. Someone who knew her secret, who'd
already helped her. Who could help her now. 

  Mr. Aquino. 
  Noel.

  Trembling fingers poked at an unfamiliar cell phone.


  "Aquino residence."
  The sound of Mr. Aquino's voice made Angela hesitate. Should she even
be talking to him? What if They found out? Her mind was a whirl...
  "Angela? Is that you?"
  ...but even superheroines know when to ask for help.
  "Y-yes, Mr. Aquino."
  "Are you all right?"
  "Yes. No." It was all too much for the sleep-deprived girl to bear.
She began to break down. "I don't know, I'm really confused right now.
I need your help. They took my mom, and-" she began sobbing
incoherently.
  "Angela, Angela, dear, slow down. Take a deep breath. I can't help
you if I can't understand you. Now who took your mom?"


  Noel could hear the girl gasping and sniffling, fighting to calm
down. "Take it slow, honey."
  She began, her voice uneven, stumbling, forcing her way through each
phrase. "I don't kn-know, these people, they came to my [sniff] my
house, they tried to kill me, only th-they couldn't because- [gasp]
because of my power, a-and so I fought them all off an' they ran away,
but then they-" 
  "Who's they? Black Widow? The other man? Who?"
  "No, n-not them, I don't know exactly who, they think I- [sniff] have
something of theirs and- and- an' they want it back, only I don't have
all of it, I lost it, and now Black Widow has it, only these people
they don't care, [gasp] they want it back and they took my mom aan'
they said iff II ddoon't give itt too them by tommorrow nnight they
were gonna... gonna kill her, oohh..." Angela trailed off into
blubbering hysterics again.

  "Listen, shhh, Angela, it's all right. We'll get through this. I'll
call the FBI, there's a guy I know there, I've worked with him before,
this is his field, he can-"
  "No!" Angela sobbed, laboring to get her breathing under control.
"You can't call the FBI. These people, they're spies or something, they
work for the government, they'll find out, they'll kill her."
  "Angela, their security is very tight-"
  "No! You can't tell anyone about this."
  "That's going to make it very difficult to help."
  "You're the only one I can trust, Mr. Aquino."
  "I'll try, Angela, but I don't know how much I can do. There are
certain people in the department, people I trust, they know how to keep
secrets, they can help." Not so many these days, since Rubio had wormed
his way into so many things, but there were still a few friends Noel
could count on. "But you've gotta trust me."
  "No!" she shrieked.

  "Angela... you called me for help. I'm trying to help. We don't want
anything bad to happen to your mom, do we?"
  "Just help me find Black Widow."
  "The whole department has been trying for weeks. She's got no
connections, she's lived on the streets her whole life. We're turning
the city upside down but she knows how to stay hidden. Anyway, if we
did find her I can't just turn her over to you. She's wanted for
murder. You both are, until this is all sorted out, no matter what I
have to say about it."
  "But my mmom..."
  "Angela, you have to trust me. I'm a police officer. I know how these
things work. Just let me work on this, we'll see if we can't find out
who these people are, maybe see how we can deal with them. Maybe we can
reason with them. Maybe if you just give them what you have they'll let
your mom go and they can get the rest on their own. If a whole police
department combing the streets can't find the Black Widow, they can
hardly expect you to do it."

  Angela's voice was suddenly very determined. "Mr. Aquino, they're
making me do it for a reason. You've seen what Black Widow can do. They
can't... I might be the only one who can stop her."
  "This thing that they want, it's what makes you and her... special,
isn't it?"
  "Yes."
  "Well, let's say you do get it all back and you give it to them; what
do you think they're going to do with it?"
  "I don't know. I haven't gotten that far. I'm just trying to save my
mom. She doesn't have anything to do with this."
  "I know, Angela, I know. Let's take this one step at a time, okay?"
  "Okay."
  "So where and when are you supposed to contact them?"
  "Tomorrow at Ten P.M. at the big Labor Day party."
  "The Enduring Alluring Party, or something like that, right? Where
exactly?"
  "They didn't say, just that they'd find me."
  "Okay. I'm gonna go see what I can dig up on these guys, and talk to
some friends who can help; I promise no one else will find out. When
and where did they take her?"
  "From work; Mel said she just left while he was in the bathroom. Her
purse was still here; they called me on a cell phone I found inside it."

  Darn it, Noel cursed silently; if they'd left any prints on the phone
they'd probably be obliterated by now. Not that they sounded like the
type to leave prints. 

  Maybe they weren't the type to *have* prints.

  "You're still there now?"
  "Yeah."
  "Stay there, I'll come get you."
  "Okay." She sounded a little more calm. Probably from emotional
exhaustion. She'd been beaten, incarcerated, attacked in her home, and
had her mom abducted, all in twenty-four hours.
  "I'll be there in... ten minutes."

  Angela sighed. Her voice took on a cautious tone. "Mr. Aquino?"
  "Yes?"
  "Have you told Ricky about me?"
  "No; I told you I wouldn't."
  "Good. I don't want him to get involved."

  Noel felt a chill run up his spine.

  "Angela?"
  "Yeah?" She sounded far away.
  "Fifteen. Fifteen minutes. Wait for me."


  Wait. Wait? There wasn't time. Through confused exhaustion Angela's
mind reeled off all the times she'd already gone looking for Black
Widow. All the time she'd wasted wandering the rooftops at night,
looking for nothing more than a cheap thrill. All the time she'd
frittered away doing nothing remarkable at all. Now, every minute that
went by brought her mom closer to... Anxiety squeezed her chest like a
vice. She couldn't wait. Sapphires or not, Angela had to find the Black
Widow. And that meant going to Twisted Oaks.

  A cab bounded into the diner's parking lot and screeched to a stop in
front of her. The driver beckoned.

  "I can't, Mr. Aquino. I have to find Black Widow." Her voice had a
hushed bedroom quality about it that Noel found disturbing.
  "Angela," Noel started, but she'd already hung up.





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