Impact
> > "Don't you look cute."
'Cute' didn't seem like exactly the right word, considering the way the cabbie's eyes were practically licking up her legs.
"Your name wouldn't happen to be Tiffany, would it?"
"No, why?"
"You look like you're ready for a mall tour."
Angela looked down at her outfit -- the long knotted T-shirt with an airbrushed girl-butterfly on it covered the denim cutoffs; the sapphires on her stiletto heeled shoes glittered back at her.
Mall tour? What was that supposed to mean?
"So, where to?"
"You know where the museum is?"
"Which one?"
Oh, right. "MOMA."
"Sure thing."
"Take me past there, then home."
"Home?"
"You know The Willows?"
"Oooh. Nice digs."
Not that she'd be there for long. She was going to have to find a place to stay soon. Or at least clear out her stuff. She remembered putting everything she owned in her old Corolla to move in; it wasn't much. Since then, she'd added some towels and a few outfits and shoes for work, but that was it. Things were certainly different than what she thought they'd be by now.
I never thought getting back on my feet would mean wearing clear heels.
It was easy to drift off in the back of the cab; downtown traffic sucked. Angela thought about how she'd gotten here -- "here" as in knowing where and when a bunch of stolen cars were going to be sold for shipment out of the country. That argument with Mr. Aquino in the stairwell was so clear in her mind, and yet it seemed so far away. She'd been so righteous and determined, then. Fighting crime was so important. Noel's reluctance was both baffling and infuriating.
Now the shoe was on the other foot.
Fighting crime was still important to her, but... how did she end up chasing stolen cars? Especially Porsches and Mercedes and Ferraris. Who did that hurt? Shouldn't she be going after the *real* criminals?
It wasn't even the *real* mafia. Wasn't Gerald Bates the man everybody talked about as the supposed kingpin of crime? Not that she believed it, but still... until she met Dino, she'd barely even heard of a *Russian* Mafiya.
Why was she here? It was like she'd done it for spite -- Noel wasn't interested in that Ferrari, so she'd been determined to prove just how significant it was. Now looking back, Angela had to wonder if maybe he was right. Sure, it was a big haul -- a million dollars -- but what did it mean in the grand scheme of things?
And unlike that day in the stairwell when she'd hounded Noel and he'd been reluctant to act, now *she* was hesitant, while her partner in law enforcement was the one pushing for results. She'd no doubt have a message from him in voicemail -- if she knew how to check it. If she even knew where the phone was right now. In the bedroom somewhere, probably.
Maybe she'd come this far because of Dino. Did she stick with her "work" as an excuse to be with him? Or was she with him as an excuse to bust him? Or both? Try as she might, she just couldn't unravel her feelings for the man.
But what *was* unraveling was her whole life. All alone, no job, no place to live, and she just couldn't quite get evened out... and for what? To save rich people some money on their car insurance? To take a couple of mid-level wiseguys out of commission so they could be replaced by other, meaner wiseguys? To start a bloody power struggle?
Forget it. The solution is worse than the problem. Plus I can't do anyone any good if I don't take care of myself first.
And anyway, I'm not throwing away everything I've invested in this relationship on a few car thieves. If I'm gonna bring these guys down, I'm gonna bring them *all* down -- for good.
Angela became gradually aware of the rising cacophany of car horns and angry shouts. It had been a while since they'd moved.
"Son-of-a..." the cabbie gritted. He started complaining, talking to himself as much as to her. "This guy's delivery truck breaks down right in the stupid intersection! Unbelieveable!"
Angela looked at the meter. She was still okay, but if they didn't get moving soon, she'd be better off getting out and walking, at least across downtown. And from there she might as well take the Union Express bus.
Yeah, or you could just fly home.
Right, in broad daylight.
It's not like anybody here can identify you.
It's not like I'm in a hurry, either. Besides, it's been a while since I had my meds.
You're snorting Glitter -- let's not call them "meds."
Shut up. I only do that because it's better than taking it like a pill. And I only take it to help with my anxiety.
And your depression. And your energy level. And your concentration...
Shut up. I'm taking less now, and I'll be quitting completely soon.
"All right; finally, somebody pushes him out of the intersection! Let's go, people!"
Traffic soon thinned out; they were moving along at a pretty good clip when they passed the museum. "Slow down a little," she instructed, turning around and staring out the back window.
She could see Monique's style in the mural now; a lot like the butterfly on her T-shirt. She wondered if Monique had tagged the mural lately -- she said every once in a while she went back to sign it again, and then the museum people would cover up her tag -- but Angela couldn't make out any particular mark. She wondered what Monique's tag was; she'd forgotten to ask. She'd said something about using that cop's name...
The angel had just about disappeared behind a neighboring building when Angela noticed something darting through traffic in the distance. Just occasional glimpses of bright yellow between lanes and cars. "Somebody's in a hurry..." She looked for a roof-mounted billboard -- all the cabs seemed to have them -- but this thing didn't have one.
Angela's own cab just sneaked through an intersection on the tail end of a yellow light when she caught a good look at the fast-moving object. It wasn't a taxi, but it was a car -- low, and wide, and *very* yellow, squeezed in right behind the SUV waiting for the light to change. Angela lost it for a moment as cars from the cross street turned and filled in behind her cab.
"You must really like that mural," the cabbie observed.
"Yeah," Angela said absent-mindedly, still staring out the back window. She didn't know why, but she had a creepy feeling about that car.
Maybe it's somebody following me.
Don't be paranoid.
Monique said Dino was worried about that...
Well, don't worry about it. You have your sapphires -- what could they do?
"Did you know that mural was actually graffiti?" the cabbie continued.
"Really," Angela said flatly, still craning her neck and shifting back and forth, trying to draw a bead on the yellow car.
"Yeah. Most people don't know that. This guy came down the night before the grand opening of the museum when there was a power outage and painted the whole thing in the dark. But people who saw it just thought it was a clever display, so the museum left it up. Cops were pissed -- apparently this guy was the most notorious tagger in the whole city, and it wasn't exactly sending the right message to leave it up -- but the museum didn't want the controversy from the arty-farty types, you know, freedom of expression and all that bullshit -- so what could they do?"
Angela saw the light a block back turn green; where was it? "It was a girl," she said absent-mindedly.
"Huh? What's a girl?"
"The person who painted it isn't a guy."
"Oh, suddenly you're the expert."
Angela was irritated, both at the cabbie's insult and that he wouldn't shut up when she was obviously occupied. "Actually, I am," she snapped. She turned around briefly and smoothed out her T-shirt. "I just had lunch with her, and she gave me this shirt."
The cabbie's jaw dropped; shown up, he clamped it shut and focused on the road ahead.
When she looked back out the rear window, the flash of bright yellow grabbed her and held on tight. It was a sports car all right, with a massive muscular low hood and arched fenders. And it was coming up fast, juking and weaving through indignant traffic, sliding to the left and shooting forward between two startled cars like it was covered in Crisco.
Angela's head swiveled around to the side, tracking its movement. The electric-yellow machine hesitated in the lane next to her, as if it was some great beast coiling its muscles for its next predatory leap. Angela stared hard at the driver.
The car wasn't covered in Crisco. It was *driven* by Crisco.
Chris Cogan, Dino's star car thief, with whom she'd tangled once before, was less than ten feet away.
And the way he was driving, he was going to get somebody killed.
He never saw her. The road rocket roared ahead, landing in a momentary empty spot in front of the cab before again leaping left and squirting ahead out of sight beyond a FedEx van.
"God-damned Corvette-driving lunatic!" the cabbie shouted.
And then, half a breath later, his voice was hushed. "Oh no."
"What?"
The cab lurched forward, standing on its brakes.
"Oh no no no..."
Angela strained to see ahead; the cab's soft suspension rocked it back and forth as it settled to a stop next to the curb. Angela briefly noted they were blocking the intersection.
The cabbie grabbed his radio, making an urgent call; but Angela didn't hear his words, her attention riveted on the coalescing crowd ahead, trying to see between shifting arms and legs. The word "ambulance" leaked through.
"What happened?"
The cabbie's door opened. "That asshole ran somebody over," she heard before he disappeared into the throng.
And with a flash of cold horror, Angela's indifferent uncertainty fell to Sapphire's furious resolve.
The sapphire energy felt smothered under the T-shirt and denim shorts, but it was enough to get airborne. A powerful leap took her to the top of a smaller office building. Free of the confines of the cab, she grabbed Sapphire's filmy top and skirt, letting her purse fall to the ground. The yellow Corvette was four blocks up, still knifing through traffic. Four blocks became six by the time she was free of suffocatingly-thick cotton and into her barely-there costume; the skyscraper-tuned winds flapped top and skirt like flags. Attentive office dwellers would be getting an eyeful, but that didn't matter. She left her borrowed clothes where they lay, shooting off the building's roof and down the glass canyon like a missile.
Her anger hurt her aim; the first force-blast crinkled a neighboring minivan's roof like foil; shattered window glass trailed it on either side.
Be careful, girl, or *you'll* hurt someone innocent.
That's not going to happen.
She scissor-kicked herself into a screaming dive, one hand pushed ahead to smooth her path, the other tucked back in a fist, ready to strike.
The sports car bobbed and weaved its way down the boulevard, as if it sensed the heroine targeting it, but she could see it was really only working through traffic. Sapphire looked beyond her target to the lanes ahead. What looked like thick automotive soup from the ground was actually long strands of emptiness dotted with the occasional car. Sapphire saw a particularly juicy spot -- two adjacent lanes open after a taxi turnoff -- and pulled up short, waiting to strike.
Sure enough, the yellow monster lunged between its last two obstacles and into the open space, straddling the two lanes as if claiming permanent sovereignty over them. Sapphire launched herself downward, her feet the tip of a mighty arrow.
The Corvette charged harder and faster than she expected; she missed the hood, landing instead on the large back window; it imploded on impact, raining the car's interior with blue-white facets. The superheroine slammed down on the rear floor of the car, grinding it down on its haunches into the pavement, making the beast shudder and spark and snap; as Sapphire let up, the thing groaned and thrashed in broken, dying protest, engine howling ineffectually against the assault. The hammered hulk began to sway and skid slowly toward the sidewalk, tires and and dragging parts scrubbing off speed. Sapphire rode the thing like a surfboard on a wave whooshing for the sidewalk shore. Thankfully the "beach" was deserted, and the gossamer girl stepped free into thin air as the carcass crushed its nose against the corner of a concrete building.
Sapphired stilettos touched briefly on the street before alighting and landing again next to the car's cockeyed door. The whole car was mangled, horn honking its last long gasp beneath the shattered plastic hood, parts and fluids still spilling to the sidewalk. The airbag had deployed and was quickly deflating; Sapphire stood by waiting to collar the driver.
But as the bag fell away from the seat, Sapphire's mouth fell open.
The seat was empty.
The superheroine's head snapped around, scanning everywhere. The alley next to the building was empty; a dark-skinned man in a track suit and a woman with shopping bags were hustling toward her from one direction; a heavyset man came out of the nearest doorway from behind.
"Did you see him?" she shouted.
"See who?" Heavyset Man answered.
Shit! Where'd he go?
She crouched down, ready to hop up for an elevated search, when she felt a tug on her elbow.
"Hey, lady, you all right?"
Shouting from up the street. "Somebody grab her! She hit a pedestrian back there!"
"Is that true?" Heavyset Man asked. "Did you hit somebody?"
"No, it wasn't me. It was... him..."
"Him who? Isn't this your car?"
"No, he was driving it... I stopped him..." She stepped back, away from his grasp.
"Hey, I think you better stick around until the cops get here." He reached again, but grabbed nothing but air; "What the...?"
Sapphire hovered a moment, just out of reach, looking down on the wreckage -- and at the gathering crowd below, a few pointing up and staring slack-jawed.
Her eyes scanned up the alley, up and down the street. If Crisco was here, she couldn't see him.
Where did he go? People don't just disappear!
"Get down here!" Track Suit shouted, apparently more angry at her escape than amazed at her bouyancy.
She kicked higher. Scanning in all directions, desperately checking every person who might look anything like Cogan. But people were appearing from everywhere, accumulating, multiplying, moving in all directions; the further out she looked, the less distinct they became, fading into a sea of anonymity.
Somehow, he'd escaped her... again.
But disbelief gave way to determination.
Maybe she didn't know how she'd lost him.
But she knew how she'd find him.