Innocence
The blanket of clouds over the valley blocked the moon, but they glowed grey-orange with the aggregate castoff of the city's streetlamps. Cloud cover like this could hang over the city for days or weeks at a time, never releasing more than a griming mist, dulling the days and keeping night's sleep fitful.
In the past Sapphire would have soared above such oppression, but these days she was more grounded. She had to be. The sapphire force that could lift her skyward could also drop her without warning. Short hops of a few blocks at a time minimized the impact of her less-than-reliable power source -- literally.
Sapphire wondered if a less-determined superheroine -- or perhaps a smarter one -- would take her own fading power as a sign that it was time to give up, or as just another cross to bear. But there was no one to ask.
She saw the man she was here for, but he was going the wrong way. Was she on the wrong block? Or was she just turned around? From the rooftops, everything looked the same in all directions; it was easy to get lost. Wait, there, the church steeple, it should be to her... right, but it was to her left.
There.
In another minute he'd be at his usual place of business. And that's where she'd hit him.
A breeze blew up the side of the building, making her sleeve-wings billow and flutter. She hadn't worn them in a while, but she also hadn't flown much in a while, and she felt safer with them. Maybe it was the way the gossamer fabric shifted and flowed around her, or maybe it was just that they reminded her of who she used to be.
Sapphire reached out over the edge of the building, feeling the chill of the swirling air through her fingers. She wasn't cold -- she was never cold as long as the sapphires were working -- but she was starting to shiver. Muscles tensed up, trying to purge the onset of withdrawal by physical force. It seemed to work for the moment.
She would only need a moment.
The air rushed about her as she took the final leap, over the adjacent building and into the orange darkness of the alley beyond. She pulled up short of a landing, hovering less than a foot off the ground right in front of him. He spasmed backward two steps in surprise. Satisfied that she was recognized, she straightened her legs and found the pavement beneath her feet, taking a power stance.
The man took a deep breath, shucking off surprise with a smoothing tug on the bottom of his garish red-white-and-green leather jacket. As Sapphire's eyes adjusted she made out the disgusted grimace rearranging his pockmarked face.
"You again," he growled.
His eyes flickered up and down her form, and she saw something in them she wasn't used to seeing lately: Fear.
Voices approached from behind. Sapphire sprang into action, leaping forward and catching the man in the chest with an open palm, jamming him up against the wall. "Hand it over, scum!" she shouted. She watched the hope fade from his eyes as the voices scattered.
Then Sapphire felt the moment pass. A sudden sickening disconnect that let the cold blustering breeze overtake her. She staggered back a step, unwillingly releasing the pressure against her prey. She steeled herself, waiting out the flickering of the sapphire energy, stepping forward again and pushing hard against the man's chest, but after a few tantalizing inflaming shocks of energy, the stones gave up on her.
The man shoved her off; she stumbled and fell back against the side of a dumpster. He grinned, his eyes brightening. The fear was gone.
"You want it, you gotta pay for it, just like everybody else."
"I could just take it," Sapphire said, straightening up, bluffing confidence. "Or turn you in."
"So you say." His smile grew nasty. "But then you'd have to find another supplier."
"Fuck you." Sapphire jerked her shoulders forward, feigning attack, but the dope dealer didn't flinch.
"Matter of fact, why don't you go do that now. I got business to do." He stepped past her.
"Wait," she said.
He paused. "Fifty."
The would-be heroine felt a brief swell of sapphire energy, but then it faded again. It was as if the stones were taunting her.
Or scolding her.
"I don't have the money. With me."
He turned, his eyes taking another trip up and down her body, this one mocking. "Left it in your other pants, did you?"
"Please."
"What?" His look was as dismissive as his comment. For once she found herself wishing a man would want her.
"I... need it."
"We all have needs," he said, his tone still flat. But there was a suggestion in his stance...
Sapphire took a deep breath, feeling her chest shudder; her condition would be obvious soon. Though the fact that she was in a dark alley pleading with a drug dealer made the physical symptoms superfluous.
"All right..." she said, stepping toward him. Her hand found his belt and began to tug unsteadily; she began to lower herself to her knees...
But he pulled away. "That's not gonna work for me. You called me scum."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm kinda sensitive to being the victim of others' hypocrisy." He fixed his belt, but he didn't leave.
She remained on her knees, humbled. Humiliated. Helpless.
"What do you want me to do?"
He led her by the wrist to a motel around the corner. He didn't stop to check in; they went straight up the stairs. So he lived here. Or maybe he was just a regular.
He tossed her toward the bed; the bathroom door closed behind him. The motel's half-lit neon sign flickered through the curtains. Her eyes darted around in the semi-darkness, catching the blue tint in nearby objects, her sapphires glowing brightly though she could not feel them.
She could leave now.
She could try to find his stash.
She could try to stall him and hope her powers returned.
Or she could just get this over with.
The bed was unmade, the sheets still warm. Sapphire wondered how many other young women traded a bit of self-abuse for a bit of escape. The gems flickered, and she wondered how often she'd confused the two.
She was afraid to take her sapphires off; but she was more afraid of what they might do to her if she didn't. It took only a moment for them to join her skimpy outfit in a small pile on top of the dresser.
Sapphire was now powerless. But then, that was true before she'd landed in the alley outside. It was why she had come in the first place.
The toilet flushed; she slipped into bed, pulling the sheet up to cover her.
He saw her in bed; he seemed surprised. "What are you doing?"
"I thought you wanted to-"
"Hey, we ain't married. I wanna see you."
She pulled back the sheet.
"No, I wanna see *you*."
He motioned to the little pile of her things.
How could he be so cruel? So cavalier? How did he know she wouldn't find her strength again?
He didn't know. But it didn't matter. After all, he had what she needed. And he knew she'd always need more.
"Come on," he said, throwing her things on the bed. "I wanna fuck Sapphire. And without the costume you're just another Gliss whore."
She pulled up her skirt first. Her hands trembled noticeably as the top slipped down her arms and over her head to drape over her breasts. She didn't bother with her panties.
She was torn between stalling and hurrying as she fastened her wings, which only made the shaking worse. Her foot chased her shoe around the floor before catching it. If the sapphires were anything more than jewelry, they gave no hint when she slipped them on.
But they came alive when the tiara touched her head. The energy tore through her, as much pain as pleasure, her drug-abused body unable to stand up to the gems' vengeful return. The slender girl stumbled and fell to one knee, an arm on the bed scarcely keeping her from collapsing entirely.
Gradually, the sapphires' energy came under her control. She pushed past the pain, standing, seething. If she struck him now, she knew she could put him right through the wall.
But what she craved was not the sapphire energy, not even the dark twisting aphrodesia it became as it faded. So she stood and waited. And shook like a brittle leaf in a bitter wind.
"Damn, you're fucked up. Maybe we should get you a taste before we get started." He pulled a vial out of his pocket, deftly unscrewing the cap with the same hand. A little pile of purplish powder spread out on a hand mirror. The grinning pusher scraped it into two little lines with a grocery store discount card before bringing the mirror to where she stood. The pain of withdrawal had rooted her to the spot; just bending her head down to where he held the mirror felt like muscles tearing.
Then she took a deep breath, and her face momentarily numbed. She had to be told to take the second line, and she had to guess where it was.
"Now *that* is good shit," the pusher said, pride puffing his chest. "I been savin' that just for you." He guided her toward the bed, hoisting her so that she was on hands and knees, feet hanging off the edge.
The pure Glisten ransacked her mind, throwing thoughts into scattered disarray before suspending them in a thick gel; anxiety, shame, determination, enthusiasm, all were stilled. Only passive pleasure was allowed to flow.
Wetness between her legs. Hands on her hips. A rude, insistent fullness. Blood dripping on her hand.
The room was moving in and out around her.
But she felt still.
Peaceful.
Sweet.
Happy.
Gone.
And then Glisten's glue began to soften. The slow-motion blur of oblivion began to let things through.
A squeaking bedframe.
Slapping flesh.
Dripping sweat.
Blood, thickening in her nostrils, running over her lips, spattering the sheet with every hot breath.
The neon wash across the floor, flickering and spitting like her sapphires sometimes did.
Her image in the mirror -- Sapphire fucking a dope dealer for a fix.
It was horrible, and powerful, and seductive, and... distant.
He pushed her forward, plowing her face into the bed as he climbed onto the bed behind her. His staccato strokes raked her hard nipples across the coarse sheets.
She knew she should feel great, fantastic, electric, and she knew her body did, but it didn't really register. She didn't really care, couldn't care.
And she knew her dark fantasies of weakness and submission were stirring somewhere, striving to connect to and amplify what was happening to her, and that other feelings should be fighting to keep that darkness cornered, but none of that really mattered either.
Already coasting down the backslope of that pure rush, cooled in the shadow of the shunning sapphires, a desperate apathy crushed after her. She wanted to fight but didn't...
...wanted to beg but wouldn't...
...needed to cum but couldn't.
Nothing meant anything without that glorious Glisten high.
Detective Miguel Rubio put the binoculars down. It was her all right. Blondish hair, but definitely her. And true to his word, Mendez was fucking her. Miguel could hear the bed squeaking from the car. The cooling motor's tick-tick-ticking seemed to play off the bed's metallic creaking to form an urgent urban rhythm.
It made him ill.
Miguel was a good judge of character -- it was his best weapon. He knew Angela wouldn't be able to control her habit. He knew she'd deny she had a problem, and eventually lash out against it. And when Billy came back and told him the story about Mendez getting rolled for his stash, Miguel knew it was only a matter of time before she returned. Mendez was only too happy to cooperate.
But he hadn't expected this. From everything he knew about her, through everything he ever asked her to do, there was always that righteous pride keeping her above it. He'd thought he hated her for it, that it was undeserved, born out of defiant naivete, a dangerous liability in a cruel world that used broken morals as fuel. But in searching for her after her disappearance, he'd had a lot of time to think about things. He'd come to realize that innocence was her strength. It made her untouchable. *Regal*.
Only now it seemed her innocence was lost. The queen was broken.
The man who was fucking her seemed to be working hard at it, concentrating, like he was taking a test. At first she thought maybe the sapphires weren't affecting him, but then she saw it -- that glint of desperation, that possessed thrusting. The sapphires had him.
Sapphire wished they would have her. She felt her body respond, but only remotely, as an obligation.
Her eyes glazed over with melancholy tears as he made his final thrust.
He fell away from her, gasping, eyes bugged out -- but alive, and -- "Oh, fuck..." -- aware.
Her nose had stopped bleeding; her upper lip was caked with dried blood. She wiped it clean with a sweaty arm.
There was no washcloth in the bathroom, so she used the end of a hand towel to wipe herself. He'd used a condom -- it depressed her to think he'd done it to protect himself from her, and not the other way around -- but her arousal and their sweat were vile enough coating.
The towel did little to cleanse her.
The dope dealer sat up at the edge of the bed. "That was fucking great," he said between heavy breaths.
She moved to the dresser, blinking back the dizziness and ignoring the pain. Her underwear was rolled and tangled; it took her too long to get them sorted and slipped on. Her hands were starting to tremble -- not from any physical effect, but out of anxious anticipation.
She tried not to sound desperate, but it didn't work. "Can I get my stuff now?"
He snorted; he knew. He looked at her hard, eyes narrowing for a moment, like he might try to get more out of her. They both knew he could get it. But he was still winded; though she was willing to give, he seemed unable to take any more. At least for the time being.
His expression softened. "Yeah. Here." He reached into the nightstand drawer, then tossed her a vial; she barely caught it.
Just one? But she needed more. "I need... I need Glitter too."
He looked at her like she was crazy. Was this humiliation not enough? Then he rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I guess you were worth it," he said, begrudgingly tossing her a second vial; this one had a purple cap.
A shower might wait until she got home, but Glitter wouldn't. Trembling fingers unscrewed the cap, tapped out a small glittery pile on the back an unsteady hand, and reclosed the cap jealously. Sapphire brought her hand to her nose and fought to inhale slowly and deeply. Several sniffles kept the drug from dripping out. She tilted her head back; it was just a little nosebleed this time, and reclotted after just a little trickle ran down the back of her throat.
Then the rush hit.
Her heart immediately doubled up; lungs filled with suddenly-cleaner air, chest outthrust proudly; spine straightened, shoulders rolled back, arms and legs shook off their stiffness.
And the sapphires reached back and gripped her tight, a crushing but welcome embrace.
Sapphire took a deep breath, rising weightless above the floor, her gems bursting a beat of brightness before settling into a stronger glow. The superheroine slowly released the freeing breath, gradually settling back to her feet.
She knew the feeling wouldn't last, but it was brilliant nonetheless.
"Damn," the dope dealer said, "that shit really works for you." He stood up, pulling his boxers up over his already-flaccid penis. "Being a crimefighting addict makes for a bit of a moral dilemma though, doesn't it?"
Sapphire scowled; she didn't need a lecture, especially from a scumbag like him. "Shut up. If I find out you told anyone... you better pray you never see me again."
"My client list is strictly confidential." He put his hand over his heart; she couldn't tell if he was mocking her. "You look me up when you need more."
Sapphire knew anything she said would only emphasize her hypocrisy. So with a sharp sigh of resignation, she turned and left.
"Gotcha!"
Strong hands gripped slender wrists, twisting and spinning and pinning. In a flash, surprise and superior mass neutralized the threat. Struggling continued, violent, valiant, and in vain.
"Let me go!" the petite vigilante shouted, legs flailing and kicking, trying and failing to find a susceptible target.
The aggressor wasn't big, but he was big enough, hoisting her with one muscled arm around her neck and the other wrenching her wrists up between her shoulder blades, threatening to tear her arms out of their sockets.
"Be still, you little bitch, or I'll snap your pretty neck!"
She thrust about, arching back and pistoning legs changing the center of gravity and forcing her captor to stagger back until he slammed up against a wall, then curling forward trying desperately to break free. Feeling the balance shift forward, she opened her eyes to see the opposite wall coming up fast, until she was smashed into it.
The fight stunned out of her, at least momentarily, her muscles relaxed. The man who held her lowered her enough for her feet to find floor, taking some but not all of the wicked wrenching pain out of her shoulders.
"Careful!" The caution came with a Russian accent. The girl saw a second man standing a few safe feet away. "We don't want to damage the goods any more than we have to." He was taller, hard-looking but handsome, overdressed in a shiny gray suit.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked, fearing the answer but maintaining a tough facade.
"My name is Jacob. And you, Miss Jones, have a debt to repay."
Miguel almost didn't see Angela leave. For some reason he expected her to use the front door, but he just caught a glimpse of fluttering fabric streaking over the rooftop of the building in front of him.
"How the fuck does she do that?" he said over the waking roar of the engine.
It was a bitch to keep up, but Miguel managed without endangering too many lives. How was it that the streets were abandoned until you needed to get somewhere in a hurry, and then the eternally-signalling squatters and drunken pedestrians and abandoned shopping carts came out in force?
It was a long time before he actually saw her again -- an impossible diagonal leap across a four-lane intersection, just catching the corner of the gas station overhang before leaping out of sight again. Fortunately, he didn't need to see her to know which way she was going -- the tracker was working. He just couldn't afford to fall too far behind.
She'd changed course and was heading north, into Oak Flat Business Park. He'd been here recently, but for what?
He remembered when he turned the corner: Art Hooks Photography.
Miguel killed the lights and crept into the far end of the parking lot, where a broken lamp shrouded him in darkness. There was another car parked out here, and judging from the leaves it had been here a while; he parked facing Hooks' building, staggered back somewhat from the other car.
The rest of the lot was fairly well-lit. There was just one car near the building -- black Mercedes, parked haphazardly, thirty yards from the corner entrance.
Binoculars gave Miguel a closer look at who was here.
Standing just outside the front door, talking to someone on a cellphone, white male, average build, dark hair, dark turtleneck and slacks. Near the Mercedes' front passenger door, a second white male, burly, dark hair, T-shirt and leather coat over dark jeans and combat boots. Russian Mafiya.
And perched on the roof directly above, the open sleeves of her costume billowing like the spread wings of a falcon: the young woman most of the city knew only as Sapphire.
Vadim turned slowly around in a circle, looking for better signal. "Kostya, I know he said it was in the Rolodex, but I checked it twice. I searched his desk, even went through his files."
Kostya was angry. "Maybe he meant his computer Rolodex."
Vadim remained calm; he knew Kostya's anger wasn't directed at him. "I thought that too, but I checked and it is not there. All of the other girls are in the Rolodex."
"Well, call him and ask him where else to look."
"He is not answering his phone. That is why I am calling you. I was going to head over there-"
"No no, I will go," Kostya answered. "I owe him better than a phone call anyway if I am going to take his most profitable girl."
"What do you want us to do?"
"Go keep an eye on Jacob for me. Clearing this girl's apartment can wait."
Vadim thought he heard something overhead. Like... a flag flapping. "Yes sir."
The phone flipped shut. But it never reached his pocket. Something hit his hand so hard the phone went flying. So hard he had to look to make sure his hand was still in one piece.
Vadim turned. "What the f-"
The sight of feminine fury silenced him.
Sapphire! But... Erin Jones was... not...?
"Looking for someone?" the scarcely-dressed girl quipped.
Vadim's partner Marik seemed to recover his wits more quickly; Vadim heard "Don't move!" A glance told him that Marik had his pistol aimed at the girl. "You're coming with us," Marik added.
"Alive," Vadim cautioned. Sapphire was of no value to Kostya dead. He stepped back, further out of the line of fire.
Vadim expected Sapphire to cower, or at least freeze up. That's what most normal people did when they got their first look up a gun barrel.
But this girl wasn't afraid. She wasn't even surprised. Her smile faded. Lips tightened, eyes narrowed. She stepped forward, hands coming off her hips to hover loosely away from her sides. Like a gunfighter.
Marik's gun didn't scare Sapphire.
It made her *angry*.
"They grabbed the wrong girl," Vadim whispered.
Sapphire's eyes flashed bright with burning fury. Her left hand shot up, palm thrusting at Vadim. And he found himself hurtling away from her, smacking into the side of the concrete building. His vision blurred with the impact, but not enough that he could doubt what he saw: the girl rose into the air and then settled again, squaring herself with him and the building, her open hand still outstretched toward him. Vadim felt a pressure against his chest, pinning him to the wall.
There was a bright flash to Vadim's left, and a loud Crack! Then another right behind it. Marik was shooting at her. Vadim swore he saw a pair of bluish sparks pop off the girl's torso, like from an arc-welder's torch, and her blouse jumped as if she'd been hit. Vadim felt the pressure come off his chest as her hand lowered slightly...
Sapphire's right hand leaped toward Marik. The burly Russian was tossed against the car, bouncing off the crumpling door; the window shattered, raining to the ground like diamonds. She hit him again, slamming him against the car like a rag doll. The big Mercedes groaned and swayed under the assault; Marik just groaned.
Sapphire relaxed her right arm; Marik collapsed to the ground; Vadim saw his associate was still conscious, but done.
Then the girl turned to Vadim, her invisible grip on him relaxing; at least he could breathe. His eyes darted up and down; there wasn't much to her costume. Or to her, for that matter -- a little taller than the girl they'd grabbed earlier, and less busty, but still small and soft and fragile. Except for the look in her eyes: hardened, embattled, determined.
"Where is she?" Sapphire snarled.
"I... I don't know."
The force pressing him against the wall suddenly vanished; he naturally fell forward.
Only to be slammed into the wall; the blow made his head throb.
"Liar!"
The pressure crushed the breath out of him; Vadim felt his eyes bulge.
Vadim felt panic overtaking him.
Let go!
And she did.
Vadim collapsed to the ground, gasping, hot with rushing blood, shaking with adrenal energy. He was afraid to move, afraid if he did anything she'd crush him again.
"Wh-where is she?" the girl repeated.
Vadim stiffened. There was something in her voice. Uncertainty.
He leaned back, straightening up on his haunches. He looked at her.
He saw it. Surprise. At what? Her own rage? Or something else?
"I don't know where they took her," Vadim lied. He figured if he told the truth she might kill him anyway, but he was also testing her.
Daring her.
She hesitated. She wanted to hit him again, to make him feel her power. He could see that. But she was afraid of something. She bluffed. "Tell me who *does* know, or I'll hurt you a lot worse."
She didn't say she'd kill him. She didn't lay a finger on him -- or whatever it was she'd done before.
Vadim pushed it. He stood up.
She stepped *back*.
Something was definitely wrong.
He stepped forward -- she lashed out, both hands pushing away from her. There was still six feet of empty space between them, but Vadim felt the blow strike him as surely as if she'd been right in front of him.
He hadn't expected it, and his whole body tensed in reaction. But she couldn't hold it. As quickly as it hit him the invisible hands disappeared. And as Vadim stared hard at her, he saw her begin to slump. Her eyes grew wide, her fear obvious.
Vadim stepped forward, adrenal fear turned to invigoration. He'd never felt so... strong.
Sapphire looked down at her hands; it was as if her strange power hadn't just abandoned her, somehow it turned on her -- the harder she set herself as if to strike, the weaker she seemed. When he recovered, he noticed her stance was a little unsteady; she grunted, her shoulders shivering slightly.
Apparently she felt something she hadn't expected, either. She affected a tough stare, but Vadim wasn't fooled. He knew she was reeling. It almost looked like she *enjoyed* it.
Right up until the moment her legs gave out.
Sapphire fell to the ground hard; her legs kicked for leverage to get back up, feet scratching for traction in her ridiculous heels.
Vadim wasn't sure what was happening, but he wasn't going to just stand around and wait for the girl to get her shit together. Not when there was a price on her head...
She managed to get one trembling arm beneath her; Vadim just used it to flip her over on her stomach. He grabbed her by the wrist and twisted; she shrieked in pain. For a moment, he felt a violent shove to his shoulder, but he just squeezed her wrist and she went limp with a gasp.
He still had the handcuffs in his pants. He was glad he hadn't dumped them in the car after Jacob and Itsov had left with Erin. It was almost like a part of him knew this girl was coming.
The polished metal clicked around her wrist; this made her squirm more desperately. He felt a hammer-blow to his right shin -- "Ow!" -- this made him stumble, yanking the girl's arm. She let out a soft yelp and calmed down.
Vadim kneeled. He started to reach for her other arm when he noticed something in the crook of her elbow.
Needle marks. Still swollen and red.
Sapphire was a *user*.
Vadim smiled at the irony -- a girl going after the very organization that made the drugs she used.
Then again, maybe that's why she did it. Maybe it was payback.
Or maybe it was guilt.
Soon it wouldn't matter.
He reached for her other wrist...
The girl's costume had soft wristbands with big blue crystals dangling from them -- meant to look like giant sapphires, no doubt. They caught the dim light of the parking lot much more than cheap glass should, sparkling, almost glowing. For some reason Vadim found himself fascinated by them. So big, so dazzling, so bright, too bright.
Waitaminute...
Vadim looked up, across the parking lot. Bright lights; blinding high beams; he dropped the girl's wrist to shield his eyes. The car was coming at him -- *fast*.
The lights dimmed as the car turned slightly, scratching its way to a stop some twenty yards from the gangster-thief and his fallen prey. The driver's door bounced open; a dark-clad figure leaped out, boldly into the open, gun raised...
"Police! Let 'er *go*!"
Sapphire's whole body hurt. Her gems hadn't just left her, they were attacking her. First just a startling flicker, then as she'd pressed this man the sapphires seemed to switch sides. Channeling the sapphire energy seemed to pour it right back into her in the form of searing, spasming agony. More than being arrested, more than being taken by the Russians, Sapphire feared the very thing that had made her.
But when the Russian's grip on her arm slackened, Sapphire felt something else slip as well -- whatever held sway over her sapphires relaxed. Cringing against another painful jolt, Sapphire pushed out. And for a moment, the sapphires served her, thrusting her away from her captor, skidding her on a blue-sparking force cushion across the pavement, out into the open.
But it lasted only a moment before the stones again bore down upon her; the girl screamed as her body curled into itself, coming to a stop in a fetal ball.
Vadim's concentration wavered at the intruder's barked command. Before he knew what happened, he found himself launched into the air as if hit by a car, limbs going slack; she'd hit him with her impossible weapon again. His first reaction wasn't fear, but anger, as if he'd *let* her do it to him. It was a crazy thought, but it didn't last, leaving him when the pavement proved more pressing. He landed hard on his side, rolling over as the asphalt gripped his clothing, tumbling to a stop.
Adrenaline already pumping, Vadim felt no pain, just panic. He'd leaped to his feet and started running before he knew where he was, only then finding a car to his left. The Mercedes, his car. He stumbled-ran to the far side. Someone was shooting at someone; he ducked reflexively, but didn't stop moving. His hand found the door handle. He jumped in, nearly breaking the key off in the ignition. The German mill spun up, spitting angrily under Vadim's heavy foot.
Marik. Where's Marik?
Standing on the other side of the car, one hand opening the door, the other doling out return fire. The cop was somewhere beyond; Vadim's vision wasn't clear enough yet.
Marik took a hit; Vadim heard it, a muted Thwip! among the tinny Pop!s and crunchy Chip!s of bullets against panels and pavement. Marik half-sat, half-fell in the passenger seat, tucking his legs and grunting "Go! Go!"
Go.
Gear slammed, pedal floored, tires squealed, the big sedan gathered its haunches and lunged forward. One of the back windows broke, and a bullet whizzed by. Vadim gripped the wheel tighter, mentally spurring the metal beast to accelerate harder.
The Mercedes leaped out of the parking lot, crashing pavement, sparking and squealing sideways under the rough reining of its panicked driver.
She lay as still as she could; she just wanted the pain to stop. There'd been shooting, and shouting, and a car racing off, but now it was quiet.
Except someone was running, toward her.
Sapphire knew she had to get up, had to escape, fly away, run away, crawl away, anything. But she couldn't move -- she was afraid to move.
Someone kneeled next to her. "Angela... Angela, talk to me." She felt a hand on her neck, a gentle touch. "Talk to me, Angela, come on."
The voice was familiar.
"Angela, it's Miguel. Can you hear me?"
Miguel. Detective Miguel Rubio. It was his job to arrest her. He hated her. And yet his voice was comforting.
She didn't want to move, but she had to breathe. The gasp was painful, but her body wasn't asking permission.
Angela rolled onto her back, away from Miguel. She tried to get up, but her muscles wouldn't work right -- they were too busy shivering.
"Angela, relax. It's okay. It's over. It's all over."
She felt something slide behind her back, something else behind her thighs. And then he was lifting her. Holding her. Cradling her.
She opened her eyes. He was looking at her. Even through the dazzling haze of Glitter his expression was one she hadn't seen before; she was too tired to figure it out.
"Are you okay?"
She just threw her leaden arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest, ashamed and afraid and relieved.
"Let's get you out of here." She felt him shift her in his arms, as if he was pulling back. "Hey, where's..." She felt his head turning, looking up and around and down.
"What?" she asked.
"The wires. The harness..."
"There isn't any," she sighed.
He put her in the back seat. She laid down, trying to still her trembling. The handcuff was unlocked and fell from her wrist. Then she felt him tugging on her wristband; she recoiled, wincing at the pain of movement. His hand found her wrist again, but just held it. "Angela, trust me." After a moment, he pulled at the wristband again; she didn't trust him so much as she knew she couldn't resist him.
He took her shoes, and untangled the tiara from her hair. Then he started wrapping her hand in something. No, he was sliding something up her arm. A shirtsleeve. He was dressing her. It was then that she realized she'd been topless; her blouse must have ripped off during the fight. She was past caring.
He buttoned up the shirt, a soft flannel. He tossed a thick sweatshirt in her lap. "Tie that around your waist," he instructed. She figured she could do that later.
He handed her a bottle of water. She spilled a lot of it, but it felt good. She would have drained the bottle, but his hand lowered it. "Take these," he said, holding a couple of pills in his hand. "They'll help with the pain."
The car door closed. She sat up enough to look around; they weren't in the parking lot anymore, at least not the same one. He was in the driver's seat now. He turned around, giving her a pitying smile. "Get some rest," he said.
Vadim's run to the payphone was hobbled by the hand in his pants pocket fishing for change.
Ring. Ring. "What?"
"Kostya! Sapphire attacked us! You got the wrong girl!"
The phone practically broke, Kostya yelled so loud. "*WHAT*?" Then: "Did you get her?"
"No -- the police showed up, we barely escaped. But listen-"
"I've already told Doug that we have her... This is bad. We cannot afford to disappoint him! --And how did they know to be there tonight? Something is wrong. I need to call Jacob."
"But Kostya-"
Kostya had hung up.
Vadim dug for more change, and called back, but it went straight to voicemail. He was out of quarters. He was about to place a collect call when he saw a familiar car go by. With bullet holes in it.
She didn't know how far they'd driven. Miguel was talking to someone on his cell, and then he wasn't. The streetlights and headlights passing and spinning and diving hurt her eyes, even when they were closed. Without the sapphires' comfort her body trembled too much to really sleep; she drifted through semi-consciousness, fragments of nightmares real and imagined menacing from the shadows of her mind but never finding enough mental energy to coalesce.
The car was stopped. They were in a parking garage: echoes and harsh light everywhere. Angela felt Miguel take her hand, pulling her out of the car a little roughly; her bare feet didn't like the prickly concrete. Through her fog she thought she saw Miguel bend down; she heard a whisper in her ear: "Trust me. This is for the best."
The door opened; the sheer noise nearly knocked her over, and the light burned; Angela held her arm over her face; even through closed eyes the light hurt. She felt Miguel drag her across a dusty floor. She could barely stand -- the floor seemed to be tilting this way and that. She bumped into Miguel when he stopped; she couldn't help but lean into him, dropping her free arm and feeling about blindly for something to hold on to. Things got muddier; she couldn't think. Her body didn't hurt as much, but she couldn't stay awake...
"Here," she heard Miguel say, "take her." Someone else grabbed her wrist -- rough hands. Angela squinted tight, using her free hand like a visor, trying to get a look at this new person who was going to help her. He was tall and thick and wore a dark shirt; an oversize belt held up dark pants. The same thing as some other guy out where they parked, and that lady by the door...
Then something shiny on his chest reflected light right in her eyes.
A badge.
No. Miguel couldn't. Didn't he understand? This wasn't about her anymore. Becky was in trouble...
But she couldn't say anything; her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. Her whole body seemed glued in place; she tried to pull away from the officer holding her, but he towered over her, a huge monster who barely even noticed she was trying to get away.
And then everything faded. Most of all, hope.
Detective Miguel Rubio sat in his car, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. He'd only gone two blocks from the station, and that only to get away from the clamor of a shift change.
He hated what he'd done to Angela -- that look of sheer helpless terror on her face had only lasted a moment before the sedatives kicked in, but the memory of it stuck to Miguel. It made him feel deceitful.
But he didn't have a choice. Anyway, it was the only place where she'd be safe.
And he knew he was far from done. It didn't take a genius to figure out why Angela had gone to Hooks' studio, or why a couple of Russian hoods were already leaving when she got there.
Miguel's only angle -- the only one that wasn't straight-up suicide -- was Artie Hooks. Miguel would apply a little guilt and see if Hooks cracked. And if he didn't, Miguel had no reservations about applying something more painful.
There was no answer at Hooks' apartment door when Miguel rang the bell.
So he knocked.
With his shoulder.
The door broke open too easily: Miguel nearly fell in. Someone else had already been here.
Miguel looked around. At first he thought maybe Artie was a little fruity; the place was a little too well put-together, even for a photographer. A little too... girly.
Then he saw the tiny frilly underthings on the bedroom floor. And the pink shaver in the bathroom. Live-in girlfriend. Probably a model...
The picture on the nightstand stopped him in his tracks.
It was a lousy photograph -- Artie was in it. He was rubbing noses with a girl, too young and too beautiful to be with him, and yet there was something magnetic about the connection.
The girl was Erin Jones, aka Becky Robinson.
Miguel sat down on the bed, shocked. Did Artie know his Russian friends had grabbed his girlfriend? Did they kill him? Or simply buy him off?
The answer came when he answered his cell.
"What?"
"Detective Rubio?"
"Yeah."
"This is Art Hooks." How'd Hooks get his number? "Detective Lewis said you might be looking for me. You were the one who barged into my studio a while back, right?"
Well, it wasn't exactly subtle... but that didn't matter now. Miguel thought maybe he should ask Hooks where he was, arrange a meeting -- not tip his hand, since Hooks was his only lead -- but if Hooks was calling *him*, that was probably wasted effort, one way or the other. So he cut to the chase. "Where's Becky?" Hooks might not know that name. "Where's Erin?"
The line was quiet for a moment; Miguel thought he heard Hooks take a deep breath.
When Hooks spoke again, his voice quivered with regret. "I've done something terrible."
"Kostya, it's Vadim."
"I found our Mr. Hooks. He was parked across the street from the place on Alvarez." Where they'd first taken Erin. "I am with him now."
Vadim chuckled. Kostya seemed one step behind; they could clean out Erin's apartment later; he had bigger news. "I know where Sapphire is. The police station. It was Detective Rubio who went after us. We doubled back and followed him -- he took her in."
"Fuck."
"It's good news, Kostya -- I tapped a source in the department; Rubio is having her held on soliciting and possession. I do not think he told them who she is."
"Why wouldn't he... motherfucker. He wants to make a deal."
"We don't have to deal. All we have to do is pay her bail in the morning and she is ours."
"Assuming he is not just fucking with us."
"If he is, Marik is waiting at the police station, and my source will let him know if she moves."
"Good. Where is the Detective now?"
"I called Cogan; he met me at the police station. He is following Rubio now."
"Excellent. You should head over to Mr. Hooks' apartment."
"Why?"
"That is where you will find Miss Jones' things."
Vadim was speechless. And a little envious. Photographers got all the cute chicks. Though Hooks wasn't going to get to keep this one. And if Vadim was reading Kostya's tone right, Hooks wasn't going to get to keep anything.
Maybe 'envious' was a bit strong.
"Hold on," Kostya said, "Crisco is calling."
Vadim waited. He hated that Kostya called Cogan by his self-annointed nickname. It showed a respect Vadim didn't think Cogan had earned. The man stole cars -- anyone with big balls and good luck could do that. A real thief didn't bother with such vulgar work.
Kostya came back. "You will never guess where Detective Rubio is headed." Where? "Artie has done a very bad thing."
Now Vadim understood. Rubio was headed for the place on Alvarez. Which meant Hooks had to have told him.
"Are you going to wait for him?"
"No, Artie and I are going out to the quarry. Crisco will take care of the Detective."