Authors: Robert T. Jeschonek
"You will have your
justicia
, señor. You and your brother both."
Â
*****
The early morning sun flashed over the horizon of office building rooftops, splashing the Washington Monument with rosy light.
Brakes screeching, an olive-green cargo truck rolled to a stop at a curb near the monument. The passenger side door swung open, and Sister Mayhem--still disguised as Leonard--stepped out onto the grass, dressed in gray coveralls and black work boots.
Sheila Venus followed, dressed in the same work clothes. Her face was free of makeup, and her hair was pulled into a tight bun.
Slamming the door shut, Sheila marched around to the back of the truck with Kay and unlocked the rear door. Marty, also in gray coveralls, slid out of the driver's side and joined them.
Sheila hoisted up the rear door, and Kay helped Marty pull out a ramp and drop the end in the street. Marty and Kay walked up the ramp into the truck, then came back out pushing a cart.
The cart was square, six feet on a side, and four feet high. Its cargo was covered by white bedsheets, held in place by big buckets of paint and two stepladders.
As Marty and Kay pushed the cart up the street after Sheila, heading toward the monument, a bright blue milk delivery truck rolled up alongside them.
The driver, a pretty young woman, waved from the open side door. "'Morning!" She raised her white cap in greeting, then returned it to her smooth wave of glossy blonde hair. "Could you tell me the way to Pennsylvania Avenue, Ma'am?"
Kay smiled to herself, immediately recognizing the driver as Lillian. She and Max, who had been following the homing beacon in Kay's belt, must have gotten out ahead of her and set a trap for Sheila.
Once again, Sister Mayhem's agents had proven their reliable excellence. Kay took a breath and prepared for the action that she knew would erupt at any moment.
Sheila sighed impatiently. "Two rights, two lefts, go straight."
"And do you have the time, Ma'am?" said the driver.
"Wait a minute." Sheila frowned suspiciously. "Since when does a girl drive a milk delivery truck?"
Lillian grinned. "I'm just filling in. It's my daddy's dairy."
Suddenly, Sheila lunged at Lillian and grabbed her by the arms. With a loud grunt, Sheila pulled Lillian from the truck and pitched her to the pavement.
That was when a roar of pure rage exploded from inside the milk truck. Max burst from the back doors, wearing a milkman's uniform and a white cap that perched on his huge skull like a sugar cube on the head of an elephant.
Max's face was pinched and flushed beet red with mindless fury. He bellowed and charged toward Sheila with his sledgehammer fists clenched and raised before him.
Sheila backed away with a startled look on her face. "Easy does it, big boy."
Marty turned to Kay and punched her arm. "What're you waiting for? Get over there and stop that big ape!"
"Are you kidding?" Kay shook her head. "I'll stay right here, thanks."
Marty glared with disgust and let go of the cart. He ran over to Max, drawing a revolver from a pocket of his coveralls.
"Max!" said Kay. "Behind you! Gun!"
Marty got off one shot, which missed, before Max whirled and grabbed his gun arm. Another shot fired in the air as Max hauled up Marty by his arm and flung him across the street. Marty let go of the revolver as he flew, and it clattered to the pavement near Sheila.
Without hesitation, Sheila scooped up the revolver and swung it around to fire at Kay. The first shot winged Kay in the shoulder, and she spun and dropped to the street.
"Kay!" Before Lillian could get to her feet, Sheila had darted over to the cart.
Yanking up the bedsheets, Sheila revealed the cart's cargo--a gray metal sphere the size of a large pumpkin, studded with nodes and wires and blinking multicolored lights. The sphere rested on stubby silver legs, and a black device the size of a matchbox hung from a nub on its face, connected to the sphere by a coil of red wire.
Sheila snapped up the black box from the cart. There were three buttons on the box--green, yellow, and red--and she pressed the green one with her thumb.
The sphere started to buzz, and the lights on its surface blinked faster.
Meanwhile, Lillian got to her feet and sprinted toward the cart, her pretty face set in fierce determination. Max stomped in the same direction, snarling and flexing his enormous muscles.
Neither of them got very far.
"Back off!" Sheila moved her thumb to the yellow button. "One step closer, and I'll destroy Washington, D.C."
Lillian stopped in her tracks. "What is that thing?"
"It's a new kind of
bomb
," said Sheila. "A
uranium
bomb. It's powerful enough to blow up this whole
city
."
"If that
is
a city-destroying bomb," said Lillian, "why use it?"
"Revenge," said Sheila. "This city killed everyone I ever cared about."
"It did?" said Lillian.
Sheila's smile shifted to a glare of pure hatred. "My husband was
black
," she said. "My two little boys were mixed. This city couldn't
tolerate
a family like ours.
"One night, when I was singing at a club, someone firebombed our house." Sheila sniffed. A single tear slid down her cheek. "My husband, my little boys--the fire killed them all."
"And that's why you're doing this?" said Max.
Sheila nodded and pressed the yellow button on the control box. The bomb buzzed louder, and the blinking lights accelerated. "One more button, and this miserable place will be wiped from the face of the earth."
Max shook his head and sighed. "Too bad, Sheila," he said. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Really?" Sheila laughed. "And why is that?"
"What happened to your family was a terrible thing," said Max. "It would've been a perfect case for the Order."
Suddenly, Sheila heard a noise behind her. She turned to see Sister Mayhem leap at her.
Grabbing the wrist of the hand that held the control box, Sister Mayhem cranked it back hard, and Sheila cried out in pain. She tried to wrench away, but Kay held her tight.
Before Sheila could press the final button, Sister Mayhem twisted her wrist with a sharp clockwise movement. The control box fell free, and Kay caught in in her free hand.
"Take this, would you?" Kay shoved Sheila toward Max, who caught her in his massive paws. "And somebody get me the President. I think he'll want to know that we found his stolen secret weapon."
Â
*****
One week later, Sister Mayhem's team sat around a table in a Manhattan jazz club, talking and laughing as a singer performed in the spotlight onstage.
"Here's to another job well done." Gus raised his glass, and the rest of the team did the same. "
Que bueno
."
"I'll drink to that." As Kay lifted her own glass, her shoulder ached where Sheila had shot her. It would take some time for the wound to heal.
"How many losses does this make?" said Max.
"Zero!" Lillian banged her glass into his.
"Not a one!" Jack tapped his glass against Lillian's and flashed her a brilliant smile. He ended up with soda spilled down his sleeve when Max bashed his drink away from Lillian's with a heave of his big mug of beer.
"No
perro
can beat this team!" said Gus. "The jealousy of our resident
oso grande
--our
big bear
, on the other hand..."
Max threw an arm around Lillian's shoulders and roared with laughter. "Here's to the Order of No Mercy!"
As Kay sipped her drink, she noticed that two of her agents were less enthusiastic than the rest. After the toast, Carver and Trudy excused themselves and got up from the table. Kay joined them.
"Where are you two off to?" said Kay as they walked toward the door of the club.
"A vacation, maybe," said Trudy. "I think we could use some time off."
"Good idea," said Kay. "It's been a tough couple of weeks."
Carver nodded. "You might say that."
"It's still pretty hard." Trudy squeezed Carver's arm and gazed at his face with concern. "Even with Guidry in prison...well, it's been hard."
"There's one thing that keeps bothering me," said Carver. "All those criminals we've outsmarted. The ones who've died because of us."
"Yes?" said Sister Mayhem.
"How far gone were they? Could we have saved them?" Carver met Kay's gaze. "Could we have saved Lee?"
Kay sighed. "Carver..." She had no answer to offer.
Carver looked at the floor. "Sometimes I wonder," he said. "If we can't save the ones who need saving, does our work have any meaning? Do
we
?"
Sister Mayhem said nothing. Questions of conscience and shades of gray were not part of her world or her war. The only way she could succeed in the fight she'd chosen was to hold fast to a firm moral compass and leave no room for doubt.
"I wonder about things like that sometimes." Carver took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Then I hear someone like her." Looking up, he turned his attention to the singer in the spotlight.
Kay looked toward the singer, too...and found herself suddenly, strangely captivated.
Sister Mayhem gazed at the singer, letting the song trickle over her like summer rain, like rays of sunlight streaming through a cloud. Though Kay stood in the midst of a crowd, she felt as if she and the singer were the only two people in the room.
For that one instant, unexpectedly, Kay had a moment's respite from her neverending war. For that one instant, listening to a singer named Billie Holiday spin pure magic through the air, she felt like a human being again.
That was when, for the first time since the murders of her fellow sisters in the convent and the start of her war against crime, Sister Mayhem was able to enjoy listening to music again.
*****
Â
Â
The Foolproof Cure for Cancer
Â
"
I
'
ve had cancer three times
,
"
said Mr. Mayflower
,
teeth gleaming in a magnificent grin.
"
Each time in a different part of my body. Each time incurable and inoperable by the standards of so-called modern medicine.
"
And I stand before you now without a single malignant cell in my body. The cancers are not merely in remission. They are gone forever.
"
As Tom Porter listened
,
he felt hopeful in spite of himself. In his search for a cure for his wife
,
Sydney
,
he had been down countless dead ends before
,
like a rat blundering through a maze with no exit...but he was still a sucker. His features were fixed in an expressionless stare
,
but underneath
,
he listened with all the goggle-eyed raptness of a child hearing the story of Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.
Maybe there was a chance. After all
,
now he was dealing with Ignatius Yawheh Mayflower
,
the famous Billionaire Samaritan.
"
How were you cured?
"
said Tom
,
shifting in his chair.
Mayflower winked and reached for the jewel-studded cigarette case on the glass-topped patio table.
"
I
'
ll never tell
,
"
he said
,
drawing out a skinny black cigarette
,
"
but I have no doubt we can do the same for Sydney.
"
Tom watched as the Billionaire Samaritan put down the case and lit the cigarette. Though he had read that Mayflower was at least ninety years old
,
Tom thought the billionaire didn
'
t look a day over sixty. Mayflower had a mane of pure white hair
,
but his face was smooth and tanned. His tight
,
black turtleneck revealed a frame that was lean and muscular instead of shriveled and knobby.
With a sigh
,
Tom gazed out at the vast
,
sunbathed gardens fanning out below the mansion balcony where he and Mayflower sat.
"
I hope you
'
re right
,
"
he said.
"
We
'
ve had so many disappointments.
"
Mayflower leaned over and patted Tom
'
s forearm.
"
I won
'
t let you down
,
"
said the billionaire.
"
You must know that
,
if you
'
ve been reading
Good as Gold
.
"
Tom nodded.
Good as Gold
,
Mayflower
'
s nationally syndicated newspaper column
,
was what had brought him here in the first place.
Mayflower received letters from readers in dire straits--the more dire
,
the better. Once a week
,
he picked the people he wanted to help and printed their letters in
Good as Gold
,
along with an offer of help for the lucky few. The requests he granted could be anything from a hundred dollars for a pair of glasses for a poor child to a couple of grand for a struggling senior center or community library.
Tom had never seen a letter from someone begging for a miracle cancer treatment
,
but he had sent one anyway. Sydney had given him the idea
,
saying wouldn
'
t it be nice if her problem could be solved so easily
,
and he had sent a letter even though he knew she hadn
'
t been serious about it. He had never expected to hear back from the Billionaire Samaritan
,
had never believed it was more than a lark...and sure enough
,
his letter had never appeared in
Good as Gold
.
But to his surprise
,
he had gotten something better. A personal invitation to Mayflower
'
s mansion
,
and a plane ticket.
He
'
d come
,
of course
,
because he
'
d had nothing to lose...and Mayflower was telling him everything he wanted to hear. It was filet mignon to a starving man
,
and he devoured it.
Even though
,
in his deepest heart of hearts
,
he didn
'
t really believe the billionaire could save Sydney.
"
I don
'
t mean to sound ungrateful
,
"
said Tom
,
"
but I can
'
t help wondering. This miracle treatment...why haven
'
t I heard about it? It
'
s pretty big news
,
I
'
d say.
"
Mayflower chuckled
,
puffing out sweet-smelling smoke.
"
Have you heard the saying
'
Money can
'
t buy everything
'
?
"
Tom nodded.
"
It
'
s a damn lie
,
"
said Mayflower.
"
You
'
d be amazed at what money can buy.
"
With that
,
the Billionaire Samaritan reached into a pants pocket and pulled out a rolled-up plastic baggie.
"
This is the cure for cancer
,
"
he said
,
dropping the baggie on the table in front of Tom.
"
We
'
ve had it for nearly a century.
"
Tom rolled out the bag and stared at the fine white powder inside.
"
Who
'
s
'
we
'
?
"
he said evenly.
"
A very exclusive club
,
"
said Mayflower
,
sucking on his cigarette.
"
We also have a fountain of youth pill and a gas that reverses Alzheimer
'
s
,
obesity
,
and sexual dysfunction all at the same time.
"
Tipping the baggie to one side
,
Tom let the powder trickle into one corner.
"
Again
,
I
'
m not ungrateful
,
"
he said
,
"
but why not share this with the world? Why keep it to yourself?
"
Mayflower chuckled.
"
Because I can
,
"
he said.
"
Then why give it to me?
"
"
I may be selfish
,
"
said Mayflower
,
"
but I
'
m lonely. I don
'
t want to throw open the floodgates
,
but once in a while
,
I like to help someone who deserves it. Someone who appreciates it. Someone I can talk to for a little while.
"
Now do you want the cure or not?
"
"
Sure I do
,
"
said Tom
,
rolling up the baggie and stuffing it into his shirt pocket.
"
I thought so
,
"
said Mayflower
,
blowing out another cloud of sweet smoke.
"
So what do I do with it?
"
said Tom.
"
How do I give it to her?
"
"
Mix it in her tea like sugar
,
"
said Mayflower
,
stirring a finger in the air.
"
Make sure she drinks it all down.
"
"
And that
'
s all there is to it?
"
said Tom.
Mayflower shrugged.
"
Easy-peasy
,
"
he said.
"
With one caveat. If you try taking it to a lab or selling it to anyone
,
we
'
ll stop you. We
'
ll be watching in ways you can
'
t imagine
,
and we
'
ll know if you try anything.
"
"
Okay
,
"
said Tom.
"
I understand.
"
"
Good
,
good
,
"
said Mayflower
,
looking pleased.
"
I
'
ll see you in a week
,
then.
"
"
A week?
"
said Tom.
"
For the rest of the cure
,
"
said Mayflower.
"
And your assignment.
"
Tom frowned and leaned forward.
"
What are you talking about?
"
Mayflower laughed.
"
That
'
s just the first dose
,
"
he said.
"
You get the rest after you do a little work for me. After you make someone else
'
s wish come true.
"