West Pacific Supers: Rising Tide (29 page)

10:41 p.m., Friday, May 24
th
, 2013

C Street and Moreau Avenue

West Pacific, CA

“So, let’s
go over this one more time,” said Loren, who was struggling to understand how
the Trio had turned something so apparently simple into something so incredibly
complex. “Who are we beating up?”

“Some thug from the
C-Street Gang,” explained Cupid patiently. He was wearing a toga tonight, so it
was hard to take him seriously, but Loren was trying. “Just not José, because
he’s our informant.”

“But if we have an
informant, why do we need to beat anyone up?” Loren asked.

“To provide cover
for the informant!” exclaimed Goalie. “Come on, I’m getting hot. Can we get out
already?”

Cupid nodded and
slid open the door of Samurai’s van and they all piled out. Loren was still
processing. “So we’re beating up a guy to pretend to get information that we
actually already have?”

“Exactly!” Cupid
beamed at him.

“And what is this
information?” Loren asked, happy that he was finally grasping the basic plan.

“Big stuff,” grunted
Samurai, who had finished strapping on his breastplate and was slipping on his
helmet. It had a metal grille across the face and a bunch of hard leather and
padded fabric flaps to protect his throat, neck, and shoulders. Loren loved
Samurai’s costume, though Samurai took offense if you called it that.

“Someone’s hiring muscle
and shipping them out to some offshore location,” said Goalie, leaning against
the van as she snapped on her inline skates. “They’re flush with cash and
looking to hire all the goons they can get.”

“Whoa!” said Loren.
This was big. “This could be the
Avalon
One
we’ve looking for! We need to get this information to Midnight
right away!”

“Keep with the
program,
Truthfinder
,” said Goalie. “Midnight already
knows. First we beat up Marcus to ‘get’ the information, then we go stakeout
the boat and stick on the tracking device. You do have the tracking device,
right?”

“Of course,” said
Loren quickly.

“Good. Once we get
the tracking device on, then we report back to Midnight, who probably calls it
all in to White Knight.” Goalie adjusted her hockey mask, which looked new -
some sort of mask and cage combination.

“Nice mask,” said
Loren admiringly.

“Oh, do you like
it?” Goalie sounded pleased. “It’s really cutting edge, fiberglass and Kevlar.”

“Who’s Marcus?”
asked Samurai.

“The thug who’s
after José’s girl,” said Goalie. “Pay attention.”

Samurai frowned, or
at least Loren thought he did; it was hard to make out his facial expressions
behind the kendo gear. “I don’t think we should be getting that involved in
gang politics,” Samurai said. “It might tip someone off that José is our guy.”

“Better that than
José deciding not to deal with us anymore,” growled Goalie. Loren wondered if
she and Samurai had been having another one of their fights.

“Plus it’s love,”
piped up Cupid, who was jogging to keep up with the three of them. “We are
duty-bound to save the relationship from Marcus’ machinations.”

“It’s unnecessarily
complicated,” Samurai persisted. “What happens if we can’t identify this Marcus
guy?”

“He wears a black
leather jacket with a face of Jesus crying blood,” said Goalie.

“Wicked!” said
Cupid. “I call dibs on the jacket!”

“Why do you want a
jacket with a picture of Jesus crying blood?” asked Loren, curious.

“For my collection,”
said Cupid. “I’ll put it right next to the 24-karat-gold Madonna that we pried
off that drug dealer’s car.”

“He’s like a
freakin
’ headhunter,” Goalie said to Loren. “He has this
insane trophy collection. It was bad enough when it just junked up his room but
now it’s spilled over into the living room.”

“Isn’t that kind of…
” Loren wasn’t sure what to say.

“Sick?” suggested
Goalie helpfully.

“Well, I was more
thinking illegal,” said Loren.

“Not at all!” said
Cupid cheerfully. “They’re the bad guys and we’re the good guys, remember?
Salvage is just part of the game.”

Loren was quiet. Not
all vigilantes were comfortable with the idea of salvage, though some
practically made a living off of it. Evidence of course was always turned over
to the police, and guns and drugs were a big no-no, but other stuff was more of
a personal call. He’d heard a lot of vigilantes call it “recycling” and Night
Fox had once given him a long explanation of how it was an ancient tradition
going back to the practices of freelance knights in the Middle Ages. Loren
tended to think it wasn’t right to profit off of his heroics, and he suspected
that Samurai agreed. Then again, Loren had kept a set of genuine thieves’ picks
that he’d found one time, as well as a nifty night scope…

“Listen, it’s called
living in the real world,” said Goalie, who was apparently thinking along the
same lines. “Professional supers have endorsement deals, multimillion dollar
salaries, and health insurance. We, on the other hand, have second-hand gear,
rent to pay, and more than our fair share of ER visits. Salvage is just basic
fairness. The sick part is when people keep the stuff,” she continued, looking
over at Cupid. “I still say you should sell that Madonna. The meltdown value
alone would be worth it.”

“Never!” cried
Cupid. “My collection is sacrosanct!”

“Quiet,” said
Samurai in a low voice. He stopped to wait for them to catch up and then
gestured at what could only be described as a sinister-looking alleyway.

It had all the
classic signs of trouble: busted out street lights, a homeless guy passed out
in the gutter, an abandoned car with broken windows, an overflowing dumpster
that stank to high heaven, and a rough-looking group of 20-somethings hanging
out at the end next to a tricked-out muscle car with a booming bass system.
Loren looked at them nervously, but the West Pacific Trio seemed suddenly to be
in high spirits. Cupid gave a big grin as he said, “Okay, Trio, let’s get ready
to rumble!” Goalie even reached over and gave Samurai’s hand a squeeze; Loren
realized that her snappishness earlier was probably more nerves than an actual
bad mood.

“Okay, so what’s the
plan?” Loren asked, but Goalie was already moving into action. She fished a
scary-looking metal puck with serrated edges out of her satchel and dropped it
on the ground, lined up her metal hockey stick, and started blading towards the
group with smooth, practiced strokes and glides. Samurai grasped his modified
wooden sword and rushed forward. Cupid straightened his toga and plucked an
arrow from his quiver. The Trio was ready for action.

It was a quick, brutal
battle that Loren mostly observed from behind the rancid dumpster. His
Truthfinder
persona wasn’t what you’d call a fighting
vigilante, so he assumed the role of lookout to make sure that they didn’t get
bushwhacked by unexpected gang reinforcements. He kept an eye out, but mostly
he just watched the Trio do their thing. Goalie was ferocious, all the fluidity
of inline hockey combined with ice hockey aggression. She brought down one thug
with a gorgeous redirect that sent the puck directly into his face; Loren
winced at the scream that accompanied what must have been the guy’s jaw
breaking. She brought another down with a sweep of her hockey stick to his
knees. Samurai was slower but no less effective. His favorite maneuver seemed
to be a thrust to the throat, usually accompanied by a fighting shout and
frequently an impressive foot stomp. Cupid meanwhile stayed out of the fray,
firing arrows in rapid succession. Cupid had once explained to Loren that his
arrows were designed for impact, not piercing. Which was good, Loren thought,
or else he would be slaughtering people. Even so, the gang never stood a
chance.

Only a few minutes
after the fight began, the few who remained scrambled into the car and floored
it out of the alley, nearly creaming Loren in the process. Goalie quickly
bladed over to see if he was okay and gave him a hand up. Samurai was picking
up a Hispanic kid with slicked-back hair and a black leather jacket with the
face of Jesus crying blood on the back. “Let him have it, Samurai!” Goalie
yelled. She sounded exhilarated. “Cut him to shreds if he won’t talk!” She
winked at Loren and bladed off down the street, looking for stragglers Loren
guessed, or maybe just letting off steam.

Cupid was dashing
around the battlefield retrieving arrows and scavenging for dropped gear.
“Don’t forget I want the jacket!” he called to Samurai, who was thrashing
Marcus, though Loren could tell it was more of an intimidation than an actual
beating. The kid didn’t seem to realize that, though, and he was definitely
spilling the beans.

“Yeah, yeah, I got
your jacket,” grumbled Samurai, who spun Marcus around and pulled off his
jacket in one fluid motion that sent the kid careening to the ground.

“Okay, let’s go!”
Samurai said, throwing the jacket to Cupid.

Goalie swooped by
and gave a war whoop as she high-fived Cupid, who was now jogging back towards
the van with his spoils. Samurai caught up with Loren and shook his head.
“She’s going to be impossible tonight,” he muttered, a comment that Loren
thought best to ignore.

They climbed into
the van and Samurai took off his helmet before starting the engine and driving
quickly away. Goalie had flung off her hockey mask; her face was flushed and
her eyes sparkling. “Oh yeah, we kicked ass!” she cried. “I
gotta
get me some pancakes! IHOP! IHOP! IHOP!” she started chanting, with Cupid
beating time on the side of the door.

“Quiet down you
two,” said Samurai from the front. “We still have to stake out the harbor,
remember?”

“Oh right,” said
Goalie, deflating a little. She stopped chanting and rifled through a bag on
the seat next to her to find a towel to wipe off her sweaty face.

Loren felt like he
had to say something to
compliment
their victory.
“That was really impressive back there,” he offered.

“Yeah, we rocked!”
said Goalie, looking excited again.

“They were two-bit
gang members,” said Samurai from up front. “Not a mutant among them and the
worst they were packing was switchblades. It was hardly a fair fight.”

“Spoilsport,” said
Goalie, sticking out her tongue at Samurai. “We were on our game tonight!”

“I agree,” said
Cupid, smiling magnanimously at them as he put the black leather jacket on over
his toga. “We should celebrate the moment. This is definitely an IHOP night.”

“Surveillance now,
pancakes later,” said Samurai, swinging the van into a parking spot in a dark
part of the harbor district.

“Boy, somebody woke
up on the wrong side of the dojo this morning,” Goalie grumbled, making a face
in Samurai’s direction. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go do surveillance.” They piled out
of the van again.

The
South Harbor really had seen better times. A couple warehouses facing
Industrial Island had been transformed into an artsy area with some upscale
restaurants and a bunch of studios, and there was a yacht club guarded by
well-armed private security, but most of the district was rundown buildings and
empty docks littered with rusty shipping containers. Loren’s mom had dragged
him down here once for the fish market, and he came down for the ferry over to
Industrial Island for vigilante meetings, but like most sane people he
generally tried to avoid the area, especially at night.

It was night now,
and the place felt ominous. Loren shivered in the cool mist that was blowing
off the water. The Trio was moving quietly, even Goalie seemed suddenly somber.
Samurai gestured towards a high chain-link fence and Cupid nodded. He tiptoed
over to Loren and whispered “Do you have your tools?” Loren patted his satchel
and nodded. “Good. There’s a gate, but it’s locked. If we can get in here, we
won’t draw as much attention.”

Loren followed
Cupid, who resembled a little lost child in white pajamas and an adult’s black
leather jacket. It was a strange image, especially in the eerie haze. The gate
in question had an ancient chain and padlock holding it closed; this was the
sort of lock picking that he’d cut his teeth on and should have been a matter
of seconds to open, if it weren’t for the rust encrusted on the tumblers. Loren
dug out his pocket-sized spray can of WD-40, which made quick work of the
corrosion. The padlock snapped open with a satisfying click and Loren unwound
the chain and pushed open the gate. “Good work,” whispered Goalie as she glided
soundlessly past.

They were entering
one of the commercial dock zones from the back, hugging close to the side of an
old warehouse. From the outside, this area had looked abandoned, so Loren was
surprised to see a hubbub of activity around the dock. A commercial trawler
seemed to be loading up; there were a bunch of people milling about the area
and on board, but it was hard to see any specifics from this distance.

“Bingo!” breathed
Cupid, close at his side.