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Return to Lefty's Part 1

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Return to Lefty's: a White Owl adventure
Featuring the Crimson Dynamo

“I'm bored,” announced Tiffany as she swept up the five flights to my “penthouse”apartment. Daisy jumped from the papasan and ran under the couch. But when she saw Tiffany, she meowed softly and allowed herself to be coaxed out. Tiffany swept the books and newspaper from my sofa and plopped herself down.
“I'm tired of unpacking, tired of working at my new job at the labs and worn out from chasing the loonies that call Queen City home. Don't get me wrong; I needed the change of venue. But I need a little Tiffany and Theena time. What do you say, girl?”
I looked up from my computer where I'd been writing a guide for the next exhibits at the museum and glanced back at my auburn tressed friend. Tiffany had moved to Queen City from Paragon just two weeks earlier, following the death of her friend Frost Lotus. She'd taken residence in the ground floor apartment of the brownstone I owned, and made the basement over into a lab. In the meantime, she'd started working at STAR labs (thanks to a few called in favors) and had been working with me as I attempted to re-establish my police powers as White Owl. We were two wounded veterans attempting to support each other.
“I suppose you're right Tiffany. We have been working pretty hard to get you into place. And this guidebook is almost done and not due at the publishers for another two weeks. If I'm early, it will throw the archeology world into turmoil for at least a year. Whoever heard of a writer meeting deadlines?”
She laughed, and I recalled how pleasant that could be. It was good to see her coming back out of her brittle shell.
“So where shall we go?” I asked.
“There's a nice,new piano bar down in the East End,” suggested Tiffany. “Margo at work suggested it and...”
I froze. If it was where I was thinking...still the East End had undergone a renaissance of sorts and I felt it might be all right. “OK,” I heard myself agreeing. “Drinks it is. But I'm driving.”
“In that windy old Jeep?” Tiffany whined. “But I wanted to get all dolled up and really hit the town.”
“So what's stopping you?” I asked. “I'll meet you downstairs in 20 minutes. And then I'm going with or without you.” Tiffany giggled, then swept out the door.

OK I knew it was going to be a night on the town, and I was still officially on the bench as far as the QCPD was concerned. Still I had a nagging suspicion something might come down requiring White Owl. So I slipped into the old leotard—the open necked one. Then I slipped into tight suede miniskirt and jacket. My emerald cross pendant hung loosely around my neck and I brushed my hair until it shone. I slipped my glasses over my nose, slipped on my high calfskin boots (the kind that could roll down into my Buccaneers) and stuffed my gloves and weapons belt into the false bottom of my purse. I set a can of cat food out for Daisy who mreowed loudly and sniffed at the bowl suspiciously.
I was at Tiffany's door a few minutes later, knocking. The door swung open and I looked admiringly at her. She was wearing dark boots, and black tights. A red skirt clutched at her waist like a jealous lover. Above that she wore a white silk blouse and some cute glasses of her own. “So this is what lab rats look like in their off time,” I said with a smile. “That's not your Crimson Dynamo skirt is it?”
“Give me some credit, Athena. This is from that fashion god Tar zhay. Thirty dollars and not on clearance! And do I detect a familiar bodysuit under your jacket?”
“Guilty, I'm afraid. But I also have to admit this leotard makes a stylish shell.” Tiffany nodded approval and swept up her purse.
“I have a confession to make” we both said in unison; then broke out in laughter.
“You first,” I said.
“I'm wearing a variation of my costume,” said Tiffany. “The tights are really nano tech and every bit as impervious as my battlesuit. But they're equipped with a technology that allows me to control opacity and image. So while they're battle tough, I can make them look like hose.”
“What about your weapons?”
“I don't think I'll need the full array tonight. So I have a limited utility belt built into my purse. The shoulder strap converts, and I have a few resources in my bag too.”

I nodded, impressed and approving. “Well,” I said with some hesitation; “I have the tools of my trade as well.” Tiffany laughed as we got to the Jeep.
“If some lounge lizard tries anything tonight, he'll wish he hadn't tried it with us,” she said.

We made our way out of Victory Park and down the Eden beltway to downtown. It was still early, and I could see crowds of people heading toward the theater district, or toward some of the better downtown dining places. I turned onto the Columbus parkway and drove a few blocks.

The east end of Queen City had been the home of the wealthy at one point. Then after the floods of 1927 and 1929 the wealthy migrated out to drier suburbs, and their townhouses had been converted to tenements. These had been allowed to run down further and further, with the neighborhood becoming home to the working class poor. Five years ago, it had been full of crime and criminals, and Lefty's Pool Hall and Gentlemens Club was one of the worse ger's part, Lefty's had been closed down.

But the need for entertainment, and the retro-chic buildings had screamed renaissance. Mayor Linseed and the city council had offered numerous tax breaks to bring people back to the downtown and the East End, raising property values, but also making it harder for the working class to stay.

One of those blocks that had been renovated was the former stretch housing Lefty's. Gone were the gaudy second and third hand shops, the cellular phone dealers and the kids on every corner hustling crack. Instead, new lighting, repaired sidewalks and coffee houses and nightclubs lined the street. Same vice, different look—a bit more expensive was all.

Even though it was early Friday evening, Tiffany and I had a hard time parking. (OK I admit it—a city girl doesn't LIKE to pay $20 for parking) and we finally spotted a free spot about 4 blocks away. I locked the Jeep,and Tiffany and I began the walk back to “Expressions” a home for music and fun. We checked out the shop windows along the way, remarking that neither of us would have the money for some of the things we saw.

“I thought you were an Heiress,” she laughed.

“Yes, a chili empire!” I replied laughing. “But its not worth beans.” Tiffany laughed and we raced to see who would hold the door for the other one.

We both lost. A skinny, nervous man in an ill fitting suit and rumpled tie pulled the door open just as we walked up. “Well I guess chivalry isn't dead,” I said smiling. He only had eyes for Tiffany though.

We sat in a booth near the piano and ordered our drinks, then began chit chatting. A few minutes later, another appletini showed up at the table. “Compliments of the man at the bar,” said the waitress. Her name tag read “I'm Barbie.”

“Looks like you have an admirer,” I said.
“Aww he probably feels sorry for you,” said Tiffany. “After all you are out in public with me.”
“Stop that!” I commanded. Tiffany laughed.
A moment later, the man himself was standing in front of us. “My name is Paul,” he said. “I couldn't help but notice you as you came in. Did you like the appletini?”

“I did,” said Tiffany. “Thank you very much. I'm Tiffany, and this is Theena.”

“Excuse me,” I said, sliding out of the booth. I looked at Tiffany. “I just got a call I need to take. I'll be back soon, I hope. Sit down Paul, the seat is warm.”

Tiffany's eyes lit up and I could see she understood the code.

I paid for the bill up to that point, then raced back toward the Jeep. There was a dark alley between Expressions and the Jeep, perfect for a night like this. I peeled my skirt and jacket off, then affixed my mask , belt and gloves. The skirt and jacket went into my purse and I stopped long enough to lock them into the Jeep. With a spring, I caught the sky and flew toward District one. I landed on the open air patio, where Captain Winslow waited with two large black coffees. I took the one he proffered and sipped, the warm aroma and smooth taste warming me from the chill in the early spring air.

“What's up?” I asked. “I didn't think I was still a part of this force.”

“Your suspension is up,” said Winslow, tersely. “We got word your old pal, Sterne is back in Queen City. We both know he hates the cops, but he's REALLY got it in for you after the Tarot thing.”

“How did he get out?” I asked. “Those murders should have kept him locked up for life.”

Winslow shrugged. “He got a shrink at St Genesius to believe one of his stories. She broke him out, by telling the guards they were going to the yard for some air and privacy. By the time anyone got wise, there was a hole in the wall and the doc and the psycho were gone.”
“Any word on either of them?”

Winslow shook his head, the salt and pepper hair bristling. “No. She was well set up, had money but all her accounts have been sucked dry. No trace on the money. Its almost as if Barbara Dall never existed.”

“What makes you think he's in Queen City?” I asked.

“Sterne's home was here, he's got a big thing against you and one more thing. He's been plying his Pied Piper act. You remember that one?”

I did in fact remember the Pied Piper. Sterne, or one of his associates, would drug an unsuspecting victim. Then as late as three hours later, music would be played in a telephone or at a bar, and the victim would suddenly seize up, lose memory and wake up the next morning drained of all their money. They would have no idea what had transpired over the last 48 hours, making it very difficult to pinpoint the robbery or the modes.

“Let's get this guy fast White Owl,” said Winslow. “We can't let the Buffoon continue to use Queen City as his personal playground.”

I nodded in agreement. “Should I let the Crimson Dynamo know about this?”

Winslow sighed. “I'm not too keen on Paragon's rejects coming here. But yeah, she's done good work in the past.”

I flew back out to the East End and was landing by the Jeep when I heard something land behind me. Whirling, I saw a woman in black tights and a read leotard similar to mine. The auburn hair was a dead giveaway though. “Crimson? What happened to your night out?”

“Paul was WAY too aggressive. I told him I was still in mourning over a lost love, and he wouldn't give up. He kept saying things, like, 'Life is short, you need to move on.' and wouldn't take the hint. So finally, I dumped a pitcher of margaritas on his head, paid my bill and stalked out.

“I slipped into my costume, in case there was something we could work on together. So what's up?”

I filled her in on my reinstatement, and the situation, carefully avoiding Winslow's backhanded compliment. Tiffany looked at me with an odd expression.

“Wow, the Buffoon? Is he really as tough as you say, Owl?”
“I don't think he should be misjudged Crimson.” I looked at my Jeep and then at Tiffany. “Want to go back to Victory Park and start patrolling?”

“Let me start here,” she said. “You go park the Jeep, and meet me in fifteen minutes. How much trouble could I get into?” I laughed and agreed. The drive home was uneventful and I pulled into my slot, then took to the skies again.

MEANWHILE...
Crimson Dynamo flexed her legs, marveling at the movement her new tights gave her. Like her full scale battlesuit, this one was designed to be impervious to bullets, but it gave her a little more flexibility. “And more Crimson,” she said to herself. She leaped into the air, the spring mechanism lifting her two stories above the pavement. With a fluid motion, She shot a wirepoon into the building across the way, and swung over the street, her arc landing her on the rooftops five floors up. From here she could see everything. Since Expressions was closing down, Crimson wanted to insure the patrons left safely.
She saw a young woman walking from the bar, and from the tight skirt and bright blouse, Crimson assured herself it was Barbie, her waitress. Along side, Barbie was supporting another patron; a woman who might have had too much to drink. And twenty feet behind both of them, Paul wound his way toward the unsuspecting women in a blue pickup truck. The squeal of tires caught the Crimson Dynamo's attention.

The pickup truck pulled up alongside Barbie, and the passenger window rolled down.
“Whatcha got there lady?” Crimson heard.

“Just a patron,” replied Barbie. “I'm taking her to meet a cab.”

“I'll get her home,” said Paul, with an obvious leer in his voice.

“No, seriously, we'll be fine,” said Barbie.

“No seriously, you're coming with me!” Paul grabbed at Barbie, who screamed for help.

The Crimson Dynamo had heard enough. With a shot from her grapple gun, she slid down the wire and landed a heavy foot into the side of Paul's head. “I never met a guy as hard up as he seems to be,”she said to Barbie. “Go for help; I'll take care of lover boy.”

Barbie nodded, amazed at Crimson's command of the situation. After all its not everyday one meets a bona fide superheroine. So she can be forgiven for not running immediately. While Crimson's attention was diverted to the two women, Paul staggered to his feet. He dove at the Crimson Dynamo's long red scarf, and pulled it back; yanking the pretty crimefighter from her crouch.
As Crimson keeled and fought for balance, Paul clutched at her head at the base of her scalp. The pain of his fingers twisting in her hair nearly brought tears to Crimson's eyes and she reached back, pressing Paul's hand down into her hair. She back kicked , undercutting the man's ankles, and dropping him with a hard thud onto the concrete sidewalk of Eastern Avenue. Paul stifled a howl of pain, then swayed to his feet, lunging at the curvaceous vigilante once more.

“Why won't you stay down?” said Crimson. She leaped up and swung on the street lamp post; her calf high boots dropping across Paul's jaw, and knocking him unconscious onto the pavement.
“Finally,” thought Crimson, kneeling down beside him. Satisfied Paul's breathing was regular if not strong; she turned her attention to the young lady leaning against the lamp post. Apparently Barbie had gone for help, deserting her charge. Crimson knelt next to the girl and did a spot check for sobriety. Despite Crimson's misgivings, the girl was drunk but the walk and the cool air was doing her good. The Crimson Dynamo was about to wait with her when she heard a high whistle in her ears. Almost ...melodic, entrancing.

The eerie music bounced into Crimson's head, settling nerves and forcing her to lower her arms. Dazed, the Crimson Dynamo swayed, the fugue in her head causing disorientation. She felt so...sleepy. Unable to stifle a yawn, Crimson spiraled to the ground, her red-brown hair spilling around her head like a halo.

“Jesus! I didn't think the boss' pied piper device would work without the drug!” Paul's voice nearly cracked with excitement as he knelt next to the fallen crusader. He moved a few stray hairs from Crimson's face and frowned. “You remind me of that little tramp who dumped the alcohol over me. You're not quite what he's looking for; but I don't think he'll mind too much.” Paul rubbed Crimson's thighs, then reached under her knees to begin lifting her up.

“Drop her!” a strident voice like thunder ripped from the sky. Paul turned to see a vision in a white leotard hurtling through the night. He barely had time to react when a silk covered fist caromed off Paul's jaw. The would be lothario flipped back across the alley and crashed into a large pile of uncollected bags of garbage. He twitched for a moment and lay still.

“Crimson?” I said, leaning down next to my unconscious friend. Are you all right?”

“Do you need help?” I heard a soft feminine voice say next to me. Looking up, I saw the waitress from Expressions standing over me. “Do you want me to call for help?”
“Yes,” I said, “Thank you. Call 911 and get the police for him,” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the man in the garbage pile.

“And what about you?” she asked leaning over.

“I don't need help,” I said with a puzzled expression.

“You will” she said. She covered her eyes and a phosphorus grenade exploded in front of my eyes. I stood up blinded, tears streaming down my mask. Staggering around, I lunged where the waitress had been standing. I tripped over Crimson's prostrate form and fell hard onto the pavement. Scrabbling to my knees, I heard the whistle of an object through the air, then stars shot through my dim vision as a tire iron danced across my head.
Groaning with pain, I leaned back, only to have the tire iron swing forward, hitting me soundly in the stomach. I sagged like a leaky balloon, dropping to the ground. “She's far too dangerous to assume she won't recover,” I heard from far away.

I felt the cheek of me leotard being moved, then the sharp pinch as the needle plunged into my soft butt. I felt a warm glow, then my world went dark.

“Get up, you useless piece of crap,” Barbie kicked Paul, who groaned. He rolled off the garbage bags, then stood on woozy feet.

“The night wasn't a total loss,” Barbie informed him. “My li'l angel has been waiting a long time to get his hands on the White Owl. And this other heroine will make it even sweeter for him. Now get up and load them into the truck. We have to get them to the warehouse before the drugs wear off....”

(to be continued)

Crimson Dynamo and the late Frost Lotus are OC's of :iconcrimsoninperil:

The Buffoon and DollFace are OC's of :iconcaptainzammo:

White Owl, Lefty's, Queen City and environs, Daisy and Captain Winslow are all a part of my warped imagination (except Daisy is really my cat) Thanks for noticing!
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writerdeb88's avatar
What!! Knocked out and kidnapped. AGAIN!!