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Message-ID: <47413asstr$1081739403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 33 {Imagineer} (MF exhib reluc viol ScFi)
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Date: Sun, 11 Apr 2004 23:10:03 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 33: Exhausted


  Max had lost her again.

  He turned around in the middle of the street. Hadn't he just come
this way?

  Max could hardly afford to lose her like this. If he didn't know
where she was he couldn't protect her. 

  If you don't know where she is you can't make us stronger. If you
lose her we won't be able to defeat Sapphire. If you lose the energy
trail we'll never open the portal.

  Max was tired -- and he could only begin to imagine what exhaustion
Valerie might be feeling -- but his hunger drove him, demanded him,
possessed him. And he in turn drove Valerie.

  He'd been following her, finding and losing her three times already
today. It seemed the more heat was on her, the more reckless she
became. On one level that was fine with Max -- indeed, it was what he
wanted. The amount of sapphire energy she left in her wake fed his, or
rather, the amulet's craving. No matter how many banged-up, banged-on,
or just-plain-banged discards she left for him, he knew he needed more.
Sapphire would not go down easily.

  But it wouldn't do to lose the goose that lays the golden eggs. And
on another level, a small part of him felt concerned for her safety.
And ashamed for using her.

  This is a dangerous game. If you let Valerie stray too far she might
do something stupid. Like get caught by the police -- or worse, by
Bates.
  We- I am more than powerful enough to free her from any bonds.
  Fool! The energy is to be accumulated, not wasted on mistakes. Her
recklessness could set us back days, possibly weeks.
  That recklessness has paid handsome dividends thus far.
  Still, you should not let her operate so freely.
  She is a woman, not a puppet. Her will is not so easily subdued.
  All the more reason you must keep her close at hand.
  Too close and she will feel my presence. She cannot know I am with
her. She cannot suspect me. And she cannot hold back.

  Max had a feeling that even iron-willed Valerie would not resist the
rising intensity of the manhunt -- well, woman-hunt -- for much longer.
Not even her near-psychotic need for revenge against Gerald Bates could
keep her going forever, could it? Best to get what energy he could
while the opportunity still presented itself.

  So he hung back, leaving her to assume she'd lost him completely,
letting cops, mafia, gun-nuts, and street thugs take their best shots,
with Max providing only enough of his subtle assistance to keep her
from getting caught. When he could keep up, that is.

  Electric Avenue and Paisley Parkway. They looked the same. All the
streets did.

  It was hardly like him to get lost. He knew most parts of the city
well, but there wasn't much call for gypsy cabs in the endless acres of
anonymous concrete tilt-up light-industrial and off-center retail in
which he now found himself.

  Islands of succulents or cypress or juniper alternated with neat
patches of yellow-green lawn -- precisely underwatered in deference to
P.C. water-rationing -- on perfect artificial berms that delineated
street from parking lot from building and looked disturbingly like mass
graves.

  In the heat of an August noon even the shadows looked the same in all
directions.

  He hated it here. Everything was so...

  Sterile.

  And how could he lose a girl on foot in such sprawling open spaces?

  Not to mention the pack of a dozen or so street punks chasing her on
foot, skateboard, scooter, and a pair of ratty old slammed minitrucks.
They were even more comically out of their element in this business
suburbia than Max. They should not only stick out like the proverbial
sore thumb, they should draw a crowd.

  If there'd been a crowd to draw. There seemed to be some kind of
occupant density rule being strictly observed in this part of the
sprawling city. A steady stream of diffuse traffic zipped by at well
over the posted speed limit. People in business casual and
sell-somebody-something suits loped from Camrys and BMWs and Mercedes
to front lobbies, while their Ben Davis and Dickies counterparts
scurried from warehouse doors to old pickups and Mazdas and Hyundais.
Never more than three people or cars moving at once.

  Max had no idea where the amulet might lead him, what might lay
beyond the portal... but surely it was better than this.

  The stoic Asian brought his hand up to his chest, stroking the amulet
gently as if to coax some sign out of it. But it was cruelly silent.

  A skid and a crash punctured the air. Max lunged ahead, swaying
around the next corner to see a single mangled car in the middle of the
street. Val sat to one side, on the ground but (of course) unhurt. 

  Max rushed to the driver. The airbag had coated the middle-aged
saleswoman in fine white powder. She was already on her cell phone.
"Yes, I've hit something. [pause] I don't know, a dog I think. [pause]
No, the car is wrecked. [pause] It was a *big* dog! [pause] A
half-hour? Are you kidding me? [pause] I can't believe it takes that
long. [pause] I don't understand why it takes so long. [pause] Yes,
it's an emergency. I'll be late for my meeting. [pause] Maybe it
doesn't sound like an emergency to *you*, but I assure you..."

  Max was never acknowledged. Obviously no damage, except to her ego.
Max moved to check on Valerie.

  Unhurt or not, Val still looked like hell.

  Bright pink shoes, one dangling from toes, the other abandoned
sideways on the pavement.
  An erotic charicature of denim cutoffs, ripped up both sides to the
waistband, and frayed to tatters halfway up the seat.
  T-shirt, too small to be decent at dawn, now ripped right down the
front, nothing more than a dainty vest brushing the outer edges of her
breasts.
  Her skin glistening with sweat in between dark smudges of grease and
dirt.

  And hair that made Yahoo Serious look corporate.

  "Are you all right? Is anyone chasing you?" 
  "Bunch of little hoods on skateboards were, but I finally wore them
down. Fuckin' eighteen year old suburban kids can't last a minute. Some
of 'em couldn't even get it in me before they popped." 

  Max was amused at this girl dismissing boys her age as if they were
children. 

  Val continued as Max helped her to her feet. "Ugh. I can't believe I
had to let 'em do me. But there's just no outrunnin' 'em." She took a
deep breath and brushed herself off. "I coulda used your help." 

  "I apologize. I do not have the endless endurance I once had. I have
spent much of the morning on foot. I only acquired this car a few
minutes ago. And I am unfamiliar with this part of the city. Where did
you leave the boys?" 
  "Behind the party supply warehouse, I think. Why? Wait, you don't
need to do your thing on them. Believe me, they're not gonna tell their
parents what happened, and nobody'd believe 'em anyway." 
  "In my line of work it pays to be thorough." 
  "What *is* your line of work exactly?" 
  "Security," Max answered vaguely. "I will only be a moment."

  Max resolved not to kill these boys. He'd done enough collateral
damage already. Besides, he needed to know he could still show
restraint -- that he was still in control of the amulet, not vice-versa.

  But as he touched the first one through the lad's
professionally-ripped Quicksilver tee, Max found it almost painful to
deny himself the full rush.

  A beautiful woman. Dangerous and seductive. Recalling countless
images downloaded in the wee hours of the morning after parents were
asleep. Cornered like a wild animal. Frightened, and yet curious.

  Companions became competition. Prey surrounded, each moved closer,
subtly jockeying for position. Traditional social order challenged for
the sake of very high stakes. Virgins hungry, players hungrier. No good
girl, no skater chick, no prom queen, no cheerleader ever looked so
desirable. So available. So ready.

  A feeding frenzy. Jostling, shoving, reaching for just a touch of
soft feminine skin.

  Gasping. Grunting. Grabbing. Stroking. Pinching. Rutting.

  Oh sweet heaven.

  The boy's experience with Valerie intersected with Max's own, making
the visions doubly intense. To see his lover amplified through a
teenager's first experience -- the mystery, the wonder, the bewildering
loss of control, every past excitement fading in the brain,
overshadowed by this singular moment of conquest, of ascention to
manhood . . .

  Max forced himself to pull away. He fell to his knees, overcome with
feelings at once primitive and profound.

  A breathless tear broke from eyelash to cheek.


  "What took you so long?"
  Max rubbed his eyes and exhaled sharply, willing his composure
returned. "Discretion and precision should not be rushed." He studied
her, still sitting in the street.

  "You could have gotten in the car. I left it unlocked."
  "I just needed a moment to collect myself. I feel... used up."

  Max's heart momentarily leapt into his throat. He reached out to read
her mind; were the sapphires exhausted? Would he never be able to open
the portal? Was his Valerie now merely an ordinary girl?

  He calmed himself; no, the background hum of the sapphires on his
queen's libido was still present. Her comment was only metaphorical.
Max pressed a soothing feeling into her subconscious.

  "I'm feeling better now. Can we go?"
  "Certainly." He indicated the car with a wave of his hand.
  "Max, I can't do this anymore."
  "Do what?"
  "Be here."
  "We cannot leave until you get in the car."
  "That's not what I mean. I mean in Oak Valley. Bates can wait. He's
not goin' anywhere. But I can't take this constant harrassment. It's
starting to make me feel... dirty. Like raw and mechanical, like I
don't feel anything and I don't care."
  "Is this a new capability you've developed?"
  "No, I don't mean literally feel, like the forcefield is different or
anything. No, I'm different. I just don't care anymore. Like I said,
used up. I need a vacation. I need some time to think. There's more to
my life than running from assholes who want to fuck me silly. Or at
least, I want there to be. It's gotta stop."

  Max was chagrined. But he felt her mind hardening around that
thought; he would not sway her from it. At least not now. He simply
walked toward the car. Val followed.

  Max noted with amusement the way that Val stopped halfway to the car
and went back for her shoe, slipping the pink Candie's mule on her foot
in a moment of unexpected femininity. Val noticed Max's quizzical look.
"What?" she said, irritated and defensive. "It's not like I can walk
around with one shoe." 
  "You could go barefoot." 
  Val looked down at the sexy shoes. "I guess I'm used to them."


  After several wrong turns, Max finally had them heading out of the
industrial park. Despite her ordeal, Val was restless.

  "I'm serious, Max."
  "I have not known you to be otherwise."
  "About getting out of here. Let's go tonight."
  "You need rest."
  "Don't dismiss me."
  "I was not dismissing you."
  "Yes you were."
  "I was merely observing that you appear tired."
  "That's not what you meant."

  Only a woman could tell you with a straight face what you meant.

  "I do not wish to argue with you."
  "No, you just want me to do whatever you say."
  "That is not true."
  "Isn't it?"
  "No, it isn't." Max was not going to get sucked into an argument.
  "So what are you saying? That I should stick around and let everyone
take their turn?"
  "No."
  "So what then?"
  "I am not saying anything at all."
  "Now you're just being difficult."
  Max refused to answer.
  "Dammit Max, why won't you talk to me?" Val crossed her arms and
pouted.
  "Because you misconstrue everything I say."
  "Don't talk down to me."
  "I wasn't... never mind."
  "There you go again."
  Max groaned. "What?"
  "Being difficult."
  "I am not the one being difficult."
  "What are you trying to say? That *I'm* being difficult?"
  "You are not being difficult."
  "Now you're just saying anything to shut me up."
  "You are being *impossible*."
  "I am not!"

  Max slammed on the brakes; the car crabbed sideways off the road.

  Valerie saw an anger in the man's eyes that she hadn't seen before.
"You will not speak another word until we get to Twisted Oaks, or I
promise you I will take you over my knee and give you a taste of the
lash you will not soon forget."

  Valerie recoiled in subjugation and surprise.
  It was several silent moments before the absurdity of such a threat
against a woman with a personal forcefield registered. She began to
giggle.

  "What?" Max said, flashing her a stern look.

  "A taste of the lash?" More giggles.

  Max grunted his disgust. It took several moments for the percolating
giggles to die down, during which Max's cheeks only burned brighter.

  Finally, Valerie seemed to get her case of the giggles under control.
She clamped her hand over her mouth, suppressing one last chuckle.

  "What?" Max said through tight lips.

  "Are you blushing?"
  "Be quiet."
  "You're cute when you're mad."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Andrew looked sideways at Johnson. He didn't know why Ginger insisted
he bring Johnson along. The guy creeped him out. Johnson enjoyed his
job a little *too* much.

  Andrew blinked.

  The massive door blew in off its hinges. Agent Johnson's gun was
drawn -- a massive, long-barreled large-caliber death stick in gleaming
chrome. He strutted into the dark foyer in slow motion, a black-suited
badass sent to dispatch legions of black-suited badasses. Andrew felt
bullets whiz by him. Agent Johnson leveled his weapon and fired; the
slide moved back slowly, muzzle flash billowing like a miniature
fireworks display; time nearly stood still as the Smack! sound of the
shot passed Andrew's ears, the slide slowing on the return trip . . .

  Andrew blinked.

  Agent Johnson stood where he'd been a moment before, both feet
planted in front of the still-closed door. He dropped his Ray-Bans a
skosh to give Agent Dean a curious look.

  Andrew blinked.

  Ginger Hartwick stood next to him, chewing him out again. "Don't be
stupid. Of course I don't expect Angela to find Valerie and take her
stones. She got lucky once, it won't happen again. Valerie's a badass,
she'll mop the floor with that walking Skipper doll. No, I'm going to
get the Black Widow's gems myself. I just need you to do two little
things for me. Don't fuck 'em up."

  Andrew blinked.

  Agent Johnson shook his head. "You need to relax."

  Damn, Andrew thought, I'm starting to see shit. I need a vacation.

  The door opened slightly; a steroid-shaped face peered from between a
pair of shoulders wrapped in what had to be a custom suit jacket. Agent
Johnson flipped open his ID with military precision in front of the
doorman.

  Agent Andrew Dean smiled.

  "We're with the government. We're here to help you."


  Gerald Bates' meaty hands hung down over the front edge of the chair
arms. Andrew was surprised at the lack of adornments on the fingers.
Stereotype suggested at least a pinkie ring. Gerald noticed the agent's
gaze. "I take my rings off when I'm working out. I just got finished."
So the track suit wasn't just a fashion statement. Andrew now noticed
the thin beads of sweat on Bates' forehead. He recalled the grace with
which the big man had crossed the room before sitting down with them,
and rethought his evaluation of the mob boss' physical condition and
ability. Bates may have been a big man, but he was definitely no fatso.
The surface looked soft, but underneath was a muscled frame.

  In contrast, his face looked hard, but his eyes showed fear.
  Not of them; he'd certainly destroyed harder men.

  He feared Her.

  Remarkable that a slender nineteen-year-old girl could put fear in
such a man.

  Fortunate that Andrew wasn't a target of that girl's ire. Though
given the path on which Ginger had put him, that could certainly change.

  "Let me get this straight," Bates said. "You want to use *me* as
bait."
  "It won't actually be you. She'll just *think* it's you."
  "And when she goes after the car, you'll disarm her."
  Johnson spoke for Andrew. "No, we'll kill her." Bates shot Johnson a
look: was I talking to you?

  Bates looked back to Andrew. "And you will succeed where others have
failed because..." he trailed off, prompting an answer.
  "Because we know her weakness."
  "Which is?"
  "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

  Bates was momentarily taken aback. But after a moment his features
softened and broke into a grin. "You're a funny motherfucker, Mr.
Dean." Bates wagged his index finger in Andrew's direction. "I like
you." 

  "So will you help us?"
  "On one condition. I get credit for taking her out."
  "Actually, we were hoping you would."
  "Let me guess. We never had this conversation."
  "It would be in your best interest to deny any knowledge of our
existence."

  Bates called to the open doorway. "Yo, Jimmy! Give this man the keys
to my DeVille."  He returned to Andrew. "I'll have my people make the
announcement at 4pm."

  Bates stood, offering his hand. Andrew stood and stepped forward to
shake it, noting the powerful, practiced grip.

  Bates gave Andrew a conspirational look. "Watch your back. Ginger
Hartwick would fuck her own mother to get ahead."
  "Thanks." Andrew couldn't think of anything else to say. He certainly
agreed with Bates' assessment. But the warning piqued Andrew's
curiosity. How exactly *did* Bates know Ginger? What had she done to
*him*?

  Bates clapped a hand down on Andrew's shoulder, holding him back as
Johnson strode to the front door. Andrew stopped, looking down at the
hand on his shoulder, then up at the crimelord's face. Bates leaned in.

  "You ever think about a career change, you come see me."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  "Ricky!"
  "Yeah, Dad. What's the matter?"
  "Have you been seeing Angela behind my back?"
  "What? No, Dad!  Jesus, don't you trust me?"
  "I don't have time for your attitude, son. This is important. I need
the truth. Does anyone know you've been seeing Angela?"
  "I haven't been seeing Angela. I haven't even talked to her since you
told me not to."
  "Are you sure? Does anyone know you two had a thing?"
  "We didn't have a thing, not exactly. I don't know what it was. The
truth is she kind of freaked me out."
  Ricky's dad seemed relieved, but only for a moment. "Does anyone know
you two knew each other?"
  "Well, I mean, some kids at school probably knew I tutored her a
little, but other than that we didn't really hang out. We were mainly
chat buddies until the summer, and I haven't really seen any of my
other friends since school got out, except for Jimmy."
  "Does Jimmy know?"
  "Yeah, but Angela doesn't really know Jimmy. What's this about? Why
are you all freaked out?"
  "So no one can connect you to Angela."
  "Has she done something wrong? Is she in some kind of trouble?"


  Noel was treading on thin ice. Clearly his son hadn't made the
connection; and it was best that he didn't. "No, not exactly, not
directly. It's just... well, after what happened last night..."
  "You mean with Sapphire? Is Angela in trouble because of Sapphire?"
The concern in his voice was palpable. So there was still something
there, after all.
  "Well, yes." This was going to be tricky; he'd have to phrase things
very carefully.
  "Because Angela's Sapphire's friend? Is that what you're worried
about? Is Black Widow going after Sapphire's friends?"
  "When I spoke with her last night, before she broke out-"
  "Before you let her go, you mean."
  "I didn't let her go."
  "But you helped her, didn't you."
  "Ricky, if I helped her I'd lose my job."
  "But you helped her anyway. I know you did, because you're a good
man. I know you did because she didn't break out until five o'clock
this morning, and if she could have gotten out on her own she wouldn't
have waited that long, not with Black Widow still loose on the streets.
I know you helped her for the same reason you haven't been working very
hard on her case even though it's the only one you've had since she
first showed up. Because you know she's one of the good guys, and you
know she's the only one who can stop Black Widow and the Hunter."

  Noel was stunned. "Son, how do you know all this?"
  "What, you think because you don't tell me anything I won't find out?
I am the son of a police detective, you know, at least some of it's
rubbed off on me."
  "Enlighten me."
  "First you tell me what you know."
  "This is not a negotiation. I am your father, and I am the police
officer. I need to know your involvement if I'm going to protect you or
help anyone else."
  "Okay, don't make a federal case out of it."
  Noel had a vision of himself fetching coffee for a man in
short-sleeve polyester with bad hair. "Believe me, that's the last
thing I need."


  "Okay." Ricky was in for it now.; why'd he have to open his big
mouth? All he wanted to do was tell his dad he was proud of him; now he
was getting cross-examined. "I picked it up on the web."
  "On the Internet?"
  Oh boy. "Yeah."
  "So my name is on the Internet."
  "Dad, Sapphire is a big deal. She's got fans all over."
  "So where exactly is this stuff posted?"
  "All over," Ricky evaded.
  "For example."
  "Discussion boards, chat rooms, the usual."
  "Where *exactly*?"
  "Don't get mad, Dad."
  "Where *exactly*?"
  "Mostly on my website."
  "YOUR website? Jesus, Ricky!"
  Wow, Dad was pissed.
  "Well, not *my* website, I mean, other people are on it, I'm just one
of the people there. But it was my idea." Ricky couldn't help but be
proud. After all, this was his baby. It was his contribution. His way
of making a difference, in some small way. His tribute.
  Noel sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. "I can't believe
this is happening."
  "Yeah, people from all over share stories about what they've heard,
and we all discuss it, pick it apart, separate fact from fiction. A lot
of it's bullshit, but there are enough legitimate sources that come
through."
  "Have you been looking through my files?"
  "Only in the last couple of days. But I didn't post anything, I
swear. Not like you had anything *to* post."
  "Now even my son thinks I'm a screwup."
  "Not at all, Dad. I understand. You've got two other guys on the case
now. If you're gonna protect Sapphire you can't write anything down."
  "I'm not trying to protect her. I mean, I wasn't. But... what are you
so interested in Sapphire for, anyway?"
  "Are you *kidding*? This is *epic*! It's history in the making! And
it's happening right here! It's like a real life comic book."
  "It's a real life tragedy, that's what it is."
  "So what do you want to know?"
  "I think I know too much already."
  "Well then, tell me about this thing with Angela. How can I help?"

  "Look, Ricky, I don't have time for this now. I need to go do my job.
But first I need to get you to the cabin."
  "The cabin? But why?"
  "Son, your name is all over that website. Anybody looking to hurt
Sapphire is going to come after you."
  "Actually, it's not. It's all anonymous. Jimmy's good at that kind of
stuff. I'm pretty good at it myself, I mean, I take all the basic
precautions, dynamic address, proxies, anonymizers, PGP encryption, log
scrubbing... it wasn't even my site, originally. This guy put up this
fake Sapphire porn site, and he had some pictures of..." oops, "these
girls we knew on it," that still wasn't good, "I mean, um, anyway, we
knew Sapphire wouldn't do anything like that, so we stole the guy's
site. He still doesn't even know it's stolen."
  "Goodness, Ricky, do you know how many laws you're breaking? I can't
believe my own son is a hacker. I knew I should never have gotten you
that computer. And that high-speed connection... Dammit, Ricky I don't
have time for this now."
  "You already said that. Look, I didn't hack anything. I'm just
contributing to a website that somebody else set up. Really. Somebody
else set it up. I'm just posting to it."
  "Well, legal or not, anonymous or not, you're packing your things and
you're going up to the cabin. And you're not taking your computer with
you. You're grounded, young man."
  "But, Dad, I can help."
  "You'll help yourself to more trouble than you can handle. No thanks.
I'm putting my foot down."
  "Dad, I'm not a little boy anymore. Sapphire and I have this...
connection. I can't explain it exactly, but I probably know a lot more
about her than you do. And she's got friends online. Quite a few of
them. And they can help."

  "Ricky, I can't have you risking your life for this... girl you don't
even know."
  "I'm not risking my life. I told you, it's all anonymous."
  "Can't they trace your IP address to you?"
  "Well, technically it's possible, but they'd have to be really good."
  "How do you know they're not?"
  "I mean like *really* good."
  "How do you know they're not?" Noel repeated, steely-eyed. "Look, a
girl like... Sapphire, she's not exactly ordinary. Hell, she's not
exactly *possible*. There's no telling where she got her... equipment,
or whatever it is. And there's no telling who's after her."
  "All the more reason she needs our help."
  "All the more reason she's out of your league. Let the professionals
handle this, all right? Now get packed; you're going up to the cabin."
  "Are you gonna take me?"
  "No; a friend of mine will take you." By that Ricky knew he meant a
fellow officer.
  "What if we're followed? What if they're watching the house right
now?"
  "Ricky, you're not helping."
  "You're the one who went all conspiracy theory, Dad."
  "I'm sorry. I guess I got carried away. You can be so frustrating
sometimes. Look, this guy's a really good cop, and he owes me. You'll
be fine. I'm sure it's nothing, but I want to be safe. So just let him
take you up to the cabin and stay there for a few days. And stay off
the computer. Sapphire's a big girl, she can take care of herself."
  "What about Angela?"
  "I'll worry about Angela. You worry about you."
  "Okay, but we'll talk later, okay?"
  "You're darn right we will."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Dwayne wasn't even supposed to be picking up this fare. Melvin was
closer. But Melvin didn't know that the gate on the old steel mill's
access road was broken...

  Blasting over the curb and back onto pavement, the cab bottomed out.
The sun visor smacked the brim of Dwayne's dirty meshback cap. He
yanked the wheel hard to the right; the used-up Caprice rolled left
onto its bushings like a humpback whale flopping for excited tourists.
The engine roared, sound more than thrust marking its response to
Dwayne's unsubtle pedal input. Right foot joined left on the brake
pedal; the whole car shuddered as the primitive ABS system struggled to
keep the car from skating across the parking lot. The chromed-plastic
grille nodded to the sleepy-looking girl standing outside the
restaurant. Dwayne motioned wildly with his arm, "Get in!"


  Angela stepped tentatively to the bloated-looking sedan's door, her
mom's purse bulging under her right arm. The door opened, the handle
awkward in her left hand.

  It just now occurred to Angela that her mom probably didn't have much
money in her purse. She stopped, one foot in the cab, her tired brain
trudging through what she should do next, when and where she could get
money...


  "Come on! I ain't got all night!" Dwayne's eyes darted from reluctant
passenger to the horizon to his outside mirror. He hoped Melvin hit a
couple of lights. Ever since Dwayne had squeezed Melvin out of that
hundred-mile fare, there'd been rumors going around that Melvin was
gonna kick his ass just as soon as he could catch him alone. Dwayne
wasn't the type to be scared of anybody, but Melvin had that crazy look
about him. Melvin was the last guy Dwayne should be crossing right now,
but Dwayne really needed the money. Especially since he was about to
get fired, just as soon as the boss saw Dwayne's third crumpled fender
in a month.


  The cabbie's authoritative voice dashed all thought from the foggy
teen's head and she rushed to comply. The left shoulder of her top
caught something on the doorway as she dove in, twisting and stretching
the sweater momentarily. The bottom button popped off under the strain,
loosening the bottom edge of the sweater slightly; the lower curves of
her titflesh just peeked into view. Angela failed to notice the damage
as she settled into the worn-out seat.


  Dwayne raised an eyebrow when he got a good look at his disheveled
fare. Something else rose, too...

  Petite. Curvy. Leggy. How could one girl be all three? Smooth skin
marred only by faint smudges of dirt around the knees and forearms.
(Probably an occupational hazard, Dwayne snickered.) A taut little
tummy exposed between bright blue half-sweater and black shawl-like
skirt. And if the sweater's stretched-to-translucence knit gave a hint
of the flesh underneath, the lace-patterned open weave of the skirt was
an answer key. Her hair made him think of a RATT video. And the big
gaudy jewels on her hands and feet said... well, he didn't know what
they said, but they certainly made a statement. This gorgeous creature
had stepped right out of a fashion shoot in Vogue -- or at least, what
a Hustler-reading cabbie thought a fashion shoot in Vogue might be --
and into Dwayne's cab.

  Cab. Right.
  "Where to?"


  That was certainly the question. Angela just wanted to go home; maybe
there she could gather her wits and figure out what to do. Only she
didn't have a home anymore. Those bastards had blown it up. Those
bastards now had her mom.

  "You look like you could use some rest. Huh? How bout I take you over
to the Sleep Eazy? It's not far from here."
  "Hmm? Okay..." That was as good a place as any, she supposed. It
sounded cheap enough. She could sign her mom's name, and maybe they
wouldn't look too closely at her driver's license... And he was right,
she was so tired her whole body buzzed with fatigue. (Or so she
thought.) If anything, her morning nap in the tub seemed to have made
her worse off. Yes, she needed rest.
  She needed something else too...

  She felt a buzzing in her hand. The cellphone. She looked at the
cabbie nervously, then reached forward and slid the plexiglass
partition closed.

  "Hello, Sapphire?" 

  It was Ricky!

  Exhausted Angela nearly answered with the boy's name, but remembering
her secret identity, covered: "Who is this?"

  She thought she'd sounded cool enough. But she couldn't help her
heart beating a little faster at the sound of his voice.

  "Ricky. Ricky Aquino. Do you remember me?" 
  "Of course, Ricky." He had a hopeful enthusiasm in his voice that she
hadn't expected, until she remembered that she was Sapphire now, not
Angela.
  "Well, I heard you were working with my dad on something for Angela.
Is there anything I can do to help my two favorite ladies?" 
  "I don't think so, Ricky, but I appreciate the gesture." 
  "You sure? We'll do anything." 
  "We?" 
  "The Sapphire Network. Website, discussion board, chat -- you've
developed quite an underground following." 

  "Great, I have a website." Angela imagined the salacious pictures
people would be ogling if her real adventures were chronicled. She
shook her head clear of the disturbing thought. "I need to find Black
Widow," she said hopelessly.

  Ricky was blind to her sarcastic dismissal of his efforts, awestruck
that he might actually be able to contribute. "That's a tall order, but
we'll give it a shot. I'll see what the network can tell us." His heart
felt a twinge of guilt at the word 'us', as if it implied that he and
Sapphire could ever be... partners... no, a couple. As if even the
innocent use of the word somehow violated his confused-but-strong
feelings for Angela. His fantasy mind reeled in the conflict. Couldn't
he and Sapphire work together professionally while he and Angela stayed
close emotionally? As if... And, as if... 

  Ricky came back down to reality. "How can I reach you?" 

  "I'm kind of hard to reach right now. How about I call you later." 
  "Okay; what time?"
  "Um... eight."
  "Eight. It's a date." They both sensed it was a joke, but not really.
"And, Sapphire?" 
  "Yeah?" 
  "Say hi to Angela for me. I miss her. Take care of her, 'kay?" 
  "I'll try. Ricky?" 
  "Yeah?" 
  "Be safe." 
  "Okay." 

  There was a moment of silent longing as neither one wanted to hang
up. Ricky, hanging on his hero's very breath; Angela, so glad for a
familiar port in her storm of circumstance.

  "Ricky?" 
  "Yeah?" 
  "It was really good to hear your voice." 


  Dwayne snickered. Was that her pimp calling? Dressed like that,
surely she must be a hooker. No, not hooker and pimp -- she'd mentioned
a website -- more like porn star and agent. But what would a hooker,
er, porn star be doing way out here? In the early afternoon? On a day
most places around here were closed? Checking out her latest title as
it rolled off the packaging line, maybe. Who cares? She's in *my* cab
now. Damn. I'd give my left nut to shoot a scene with her...

  He watched as she crossed her legs. The skirt wasn't really a skirt.
It looked like she'd just taken some old woman's knit shawl and tied it
around her waist. Her left thigh was mostly covered, but on the right
side it went right up to her hip where it was knotted. He could just
make out the shadow of her little black panties...


  Angela squirmed about in the cab, twitching and rolling her shoulders
in discomfort. The tight little sweater seemed awfully scratchy against
her skin. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, just... distracting... She
tried hard to sit still, but with every bump they hit, her breasts
jiggled under the tight fabric, rubbing her hardening nipples into
sharp points.


  Damn. She's really turning herself on.


  Her squirming only made it worse; the fuzzy material of the
stretched-out top . Angela rubbed her palm back and forth over the
sweater between her breasts in a frustrated attempt to get some relief,
but this only made matters worse. The second and third buttons below
the high choker-style collar popped off, parting the sweater with a
keyhole effect that showed off the upper curves of her firm tits -- and
sent the softly-scratchy fabric sliding outward slightly over her
already-oversensitive flesh. She gasped in surprise. Now her breasts
bounced around under the fabric which shifted to and fro. It was
maddening; her eyelids fluttered under the garment's tactile assault.


  Woah, fuck, she just undid two buttons on her sweater. Did she just
wink at me? What a fuckin' tease.


  Angela collapsed against the door, partly curling up on the seat. The
sensations of the moving cab played on her with growing insistence.
Engine buzzing. Vinyl sticking. Road thumping. Doors squeaking. The mix
of stimuli evoked dim memories of car trips as a little girl, back when
her grandmother was still alive... coming home from a family gathering
as the sun set, the car rocking her to sleep, making her feel warm and
cozy . . .

  She became aware of a gentle caress along her thigh.  She looked down
with heavy-lidded eyes.

  It was her own hand.

  Angela cursed her sapphires. Even though she wasn't using them,
they'd done their damage. As exhaustion gripped her more tightly,
rational thoughts were pushed aside by more primitive stirrings.


  Dwayne watched with steadily-growing interest as his fare's hips
began rolling back and forth, her thighs rubbing up and down against
each other, her back arching, shoulders twitching in and out, up and
down, back and forth... Damn, if I don't pull over, we're gonna get
into a wreck.


  The tip of her pinkie finger traced a path of longing on the inside
of her bottom lip. She stared out the window at nothing.


  Dwayne had been staring at her legs, her chest, her lips; only now
did he notice her hair. And some kind of weird hair clip. No, not a
hair clip. An ornament. No, what do they call those things beauty
queens wear? A tiara. Was there a pageant in town? Waitaminute...


  "Hey, I know you."
  Angela turned dully from the window to gaze up at the cabbie's eyes
reflected in the rear view mirror. "Excuse me?" Though she could only
see his eyes, they seemed to smirk knowingly.
  "I said, I know you."
  "No, I don't think so." The exhausted teen dropped her head back to
the window glass, eyes unfocused, barely registering the passing blurs.
  "Yeah, I'm sure of it. You're Sapphire."
  Angela's face felt suddenly hot. She noticed her breathing was
shallow.
  "Cops'r lookin' all over f'you. There's even a reward."

  Only after the cab stopped did Angela realize they'd turned down an
alley somewhere. She didn't know where they were...

  "I think you have my confused with someone else," Angela bluffed
weakly.
  "Come on, honey. Nobody wears a tiara in August." He turned around,
piercing her with his stone-faced stare. Angela's hand was already in
her hair, fingers gracing the telltale tiara before her sleep-deprived
brain could tell her not to react.

  I... I... I just won a beauty contest.
  I'm... on my way to... a costume party.
  It's not a tiara, it's... a hair... thing...

  At her sharpest she knew she couldn't have come up with a plausible
explanation that would satisfy someone so suspicious. And so...
unsavory. Why did men always have to look at her like that?

  "I'm thinkin' I should take you in. Do my duty as a citizen." He held
up his cellphone, the little display reading 911, his thumb hovering
over the Send button.

  She had to get out of here. She had to... get away. Her body
responded slowly, disconnected; its interests lay elsewhere. Angela's
now-trembling hand finally reached for the door handle, but she
couldn't seem to make it open. By the way he snickered, she knew he'd
locked her in somehow.

  "Unless you can convince me otherwise. I heard you can be very
persuasive." He seemed to pour through the passthrough in the cab's
plexiglass partition into the seat next to her. "Very... pleasantly
persuasive."

  Angela felt herself retreat from the world, her vision tunnelling,
sounds becoming tinny, skin growing cold. She felt a thousand miles
away.

  And yet the touch of his hand on her thigh felt hotly immediate.

  Her voice was so small. "Please," she cried.


  Dwayne had no intention of letting this girl go. She -- or more
specifically, the $5,000 reward -- was his meal ticket. But he wasn't
about to give her up without getting some action first.

  Meaty fingers snaked up her neck to take root in her hair, turning
her head gruffly. He pulled her toward him, crushing his fleshy face
around her mouth. She succumbed to his hot breath.

  As their tongues danced in dominance and submission, the cabbie's
other hand shoved itself unceremoniously upward, pushing back the
flimsy resistance of her skirt, hungry digits homing in on the prize.


  She was wet.

  The sapphires had made her wet.

  The sapphires had made her a slut.

  And she was too tired to care.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Got my best suit and my tie
  Shiny silver dollar on either eye
  I hear the chauffeur comin' to my door
  Says there's room for maybe just one more...

  A man in a black suit walked into the donut shop. He took a stool at
the counter.

  "That your car there?" The old man at the counter pointed at the
sinister-looking sedan nosed up to the glass, front wheels turned in
rakish agression.

  "Yeah," Black Suit said, tipping his styrofoam coffee. "That's my
baby. The only thing in this world that understands me." He took a long
sip. "And she *always* puts out."

  "Impala SS. Last of its kind. You keep it stock?"
  "Naw -- 383 stroker, 1.6 roller rockers, hot street cam, custom
headers, three-inch pipes, cold air induction, and a hundred and fifty
shot."
  "Reminds me of the '68 Chevelle I had in high school. I could hardly
afford to keep her filled up, but there was just somethin' magical
about hookin' up an' goin, all that steel around you, that motor
bellowin' like a beast, always wonderin' whether it was me or the car
in control -- I felt invincible. Sometimes I dream I'm still in that
car. Sometimes I wake up and I can swear I feel the floorboard
vibrating against my foot... but of course it's just a dream." The
ragged man looked down wistfully at the empty space where his right leg
used to be.

  "That sucks," Black Suit said, shaking his head.
  "'s'my own damn fault. I shouldn'ta been drivin' when I was wasted.
'Course, if I didn't drive when I was wasted, I never woulda drove."
One Leg took a bite of his donut, washing it down with something from a
bagged bottle that slipped out of his jacket only long enough to
dispense its fiery dry liquid.

  "I enjoy driving too much to not be sober," Black Suit said seriously.
  "You should do it for a living."
  "I do. I'm a driver for... an important man."
  "Anyone I know?"
  Black Suit looked sideways at his counter companion. Dressed in
layers of stains and patches, only the fact that he didn't reek put him
one step above homeless. "Yeah, maybe you do," Black Suit said
facetiously. "I think Gerald Bates may have mentioned you down at the
club."
  "If you hadn't just named-dropped the most powerful man in the city I
might say that attitude could get you in trouble."
  "Relax, man, I'm just fuckin' with ya."
  "About working for Bates?"
  "No, I really do work for him."
  "That must be... exciting."
  "Are you kidding? I'd rather drive kids to the prom -- at least then
there's a slight chance of something exciting happening."
  "But isn't Bates a... I mean, don't people try to..."
  "Maybe before he went up, but now he's Mr. Untouchable."
  "I thought people were tryin' to kill him. Maybe somebody he gave up
or something?"
  "He didn't give anybody up. They got him on a setup. Didn't even have
anything to do with his business. Sexual misconduct."
  "My mistake," One Leg begged off.
  "Don't sweat it. I won't tell him you said anything," Black Suit
winked.
  "So if nobody's tryin' to kill him, what happened last night?"
  "Oh that. Former girlfriend or something, just went nuts."
  "I heard it was the Black Widow."
  Black Suit eyed the man with suspicious respect. "You're pretty
plugged in for a pegleg in a slum donut shop."
  "I'll take that as a compliment. So the Black Widow is really after
Bates, eh?"
  "I don't know. He thinks she is, that's all that matters. Got him all
freaked out and shit."
  "No shit. That must be exciting, hmm? Wondering if maybe you'll be
driving along and some bulletproof bitch jumps in front of you or
ambushes you at a light and rips open the car door and kills you and
your boss."
  "Have you been talking to my boss?" Black Suit joked.
  "How do you mean?"
  "He's constantly looking over his shoulder. Hasn't left the house all
day. No visitors. All this extra muscle around."
  "I guess I would too, if I could afford it."
  "That'd be fine if it stopped there. I mean hell, I'd get paid just
to sit around."
  "Aren't you?"
  "Naw, he's got me driving all over fuckin' town. I might as well wear
a god-damned bullseye."
  "I thought he wasn't leaving the house."
  "He's not. I drive around with a bunch of paranoid trigger-happy
steroid-overdosed no-necks in the back armed to the teeth, hoping
she'll try something."
  "But she's bulletproof."
  "You understand my frustration."
  "Well, at least you won't have to do that any more. I heard Bates was
leaving town for the Bahamas tonight."
  "You really *are* plugged in."
  "No, I just sit here all day, watchin' that TV." One Leg gestured up
to the glowing box of simulated woodgrain perched on a pole in the
corner of the donut shop. "Didn't you know your boss issued a statement
this afternoon?"
  "I knew he was leaving, I didn't know he was issuing a statement.
Grandstanding motherfucker."
  "He's concerned for the safety of innocent civilians."
  "Bullshit. He's trying to draw her out. While she's chasing down his
limo at the military airfield, I'm supposed to sneak him into the Nixon
International cargo terminal."
  "That's not so bad. It'll be nice not to be the bullseye, won't it?"
  "Yeah, except I gotta drive around like I'm making the normal
collection rounds first. Fucking three hours until we get to Club
DeiGlo."
  "What's at Club DeiGlo?"
  "Supposed to get there at ten, that's when the limo leaves for the
airbase, and I break off and head for the cargo terminal. It's fuckin'
ridiculous. None of this cloak-and-dagger shit would be necessary if he
didn't announce his plans on TV."
  "Your boss is clever."
  "My boss is an egomaniac. He's just using this Black Widow nut to
gain sympathy with the public. I bet he said he was leaving 'for the
safety of the citizens of Oak Valley' or some shit like that. If he was
really concerned about anyone's safety he wouldn't have announced when
he was leaving or how he was getting there."
  "He said he wanted to make sure everyone knew to stay away in case
the Black Widow attacked; he didn't want any more innocents caught in
the crossfire."
  "Bullshit. It's just grandstanding. He hopes she attacks the limo,
just so he can laugh his ass off watching the footage while he's
sucking champagne on his private jet."
  "He has a jet? I had no idea that crime paid so well."
  "He doesn't, really. It's a corporate timeshare lease deal."
  "So I guess you don't get the night off after all?"
  "Nope. I guess I better be going. You won't tell anyone what we
talked about, right?"
  "Who would I tell?" One Leg grinned.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  The scrape of stubble against her neck.
  The filthy words breathed in her ear.
  The squeak of springs bouncing.
  The grip of a calloused hand on her bare breast.
  The slap of skin against skin.
  The hot wet splash deep within her.
  The animal scream of lust released.

  Angela awoke from the nightmare, flushed and gasping. But her body's
reaction wasn't just fear. It wasn't just a nightmare. It was a
fantasy. A horrifying, degrading fantasy, but her body would not deny
its reaction.

  The air felt heavy, a barrage of smells -- cigarette smoke, old
bubble gum, older coffee creamer, sweat, and... sex -- warning her of
unfamiliar surroundings. Her eyes squinted, a hand coming up to shield
them from the setting sun.

  She was in a car. A cab. In an alley. With no driver. And a
scrappy-looking man with a mullet snoring in the seat next to her.

  Oh, God, it wasn't a nightmare. Recent memories crashed upon the
tortured girl's psyche. She grabbed frantically at the door handle, but
the door wouldn't open. She remembered the cabbie had locked her in
somehow. Seeing the plexiglass partition with the sliding window,
Angela leapt forward, wriggling through the opening in a panic to
escape.

  Halfway through she felt something halt her progress with a tugging
on her waist. She squirmed more anxiously, reaching for the steering
wheel to give her leverage and kicking her feet wildly. She felt her
shoes fall off her feet, only adding to her panic. A final lunge sent
her tumbling into the front seat accompanied by a tearing sound. Her
naked bottom smacked the vinyl of the driver's seat, bare feet coming
to rest against the windshield and front window. Had anyone been
standing outside the car they would have gotten quite a show.
Scrambling like a turtle on its back, Angela flipped around and sat
upright. To her horror, she found her makeshift skirt and lacy panties
hanging from a small screw just underneath the partition opening. She
twisted around in the front seat, trying to free the garments from
their captor as carefully as possible.

  The skirt came free more or less intact, but the underwear was a
mess, the waistband snapped and the front ripped wide open down to the
gusset. She tossed them to the floor of the cab and shimmied into the
skirt, afraid to untie the knot lest her trembling fingers be unable to
retie it.

  Her shoes!

  Angela eyed the cabbie suspiciously. His head was leaned back against
the window at an awkward angle; quiet snoring marked his slumber. She
poked her head back through the partition. Her shoes were on the floor.
But she couldn't get her arms through the window without going so far
that she fell through. She backed up and put her arms through first,
over her head. Her weight rested on her tummy and the top of her hips,
balanced precariously on the narrow padded window ledge. She reached
down to the floor for one of her shoes...

  ...and nearly toppled through the window. Only her toes under the
dashboard kept her from going over, her knees not quite finding the
seat. It was now that she discovered that her skirt had been more
damaged than she'd first thought. The frantic dive through the window
had stretched the loose patterned knit considerably before letting her
ample hips slide out; now the skirt hung very low on her hips, and with
her legs angled downward, she felt the skirt slipping lower still...

  ...but she'd almost reached the shoe. Angela stretched a little
farther... got it! She tried to straighten up, only to feel the skirt
slip halfway down her ass. Better slip back through the window and fix
that skirt before getting my other shoe... the cabbie doesn't look like
he's going to wake up any time soon...

  Just then the cabbie snorted. Panicked, Angela stretched down to the
other shoe -- no way was she losing them ever again! -- and quickly
grasped it, only to feel the skirt slide off her ass and down her
thighs to pool around her ankles. She was exposing herself!

  The distraught girl tried to straighten up, but with her heels in her
hands she couldn't quite push off with enough force. She teetered there
a moment, unsure of what to do next. If she straightened up, she's
simply slide out of the window and down into the front seat. Angela
straightened her back, flexing her toes against the underside of the
dashboard...

  But her feet slipped as her weight shifted until her weight rested on
her heels. The window ledge had slid higher up on her belly. Angela
realized that if she slipped any further, she was likely to hook her
sweater on that screw and be topless as well! She planted her hands on
the edge of the back seat and lifted her torso, but she couldn't figure
out how to push herself back through the window this way.

  Just then, her heels slipped off the bottom edge of the dashboard.
She slid unceremoniously right through the window, breasts and chin
scraping the ledge and popping all but the topmost choker button off
her sweater on her way to a heap on the floor of the cab. The halves of
the sweater fell open, exposing her chest to anyone who might look into
the cab.

  Angela squeaked as she hit the floor. Arms and legs flapped madly as
she tried to cover herself and get situated in a decent-looking
position on the front seat.

  Ever the clever improviser, Angela undid the cabbie's keyring from
the key in the ignition and carefully passed it through the two halves
of her sweater, locking them together -- or nearly so. The halves
pulled mightily on the small metal ring, one through the buttonhole,
and the other through a growing hole poked in the fabric. A one-inch
gap between the halves of the fabric where the ring held them together
grew to several inches above before coming together again at the neck.
Most of the curve of her breasts above and below the ring could be
seen. It bordered on obscene. But it was better than nothing, she
reminded herself. At least her nipples were covered... though she
didn't notice in the long shadows of sunset the way they still poked at
the stretched weave. They would be quite noticeable to anyone who chose
to get a good look. Top fixed, Angela re-tied her skirt to fit more
tightly, which only opened the knit pattern that much more.

  So now what?

  Angela looked back at the cabbie. He was still zonked. She reached
behind her and closed the plexiglass window, finding the little latch
that locked it.

  Might as well take the cab the rest of the way into Twisted Oaks . . .


  She passed the sign in the median strip, its white marble base and
dark brass letters a mocking contrast to the destitution of the
neighborhood it bounded.

  Welcome to Twisted Oaks

  Below the bold letters, someone had scrawled in red spraypaint:

  NOW GO HOME!

  Dusk was becoming dark. Angela still hadn't slept more than a couple
of catnaps. Yawns came more frequently; it was getting difficult to
drive. Now that she was here, she had no idea where to go or what to do.

  A man she didn't know waved; she waved back. As she passed him he
seemed to become agitated; in the rearview mirror she saw him give her
the finger.

  Oh, right. She was driving a cab. She should probably pull over
somewhere. Where were all the motels when you actually wanted one?

  Eventually she noticed a group of garish signs up ahead: Motel Five.
Oak Valley Motor Lodge. Sleep Eazy. Nite Rite Motel. Dinosaurs from the
days before the Interstate, when highway traffic ran right through the
old center of town, up this very boulevard.

  Well, it wouldn't do to leave the cabbie right out in front of her
motel -- he was likely to be pissed about being locked in the back of
his own cab. And he'd certainly come looking for her with a $5,000
price on her head.

  Angela pulled over. Maybe a motel wasn't such a good idea. Maybe
being down here at all wasn't such a good idea.

  What now?

  You've been up for thirty-six hours. You haven't eaten since
yesterday. You have no money. You have no clothes. You have no *home*.
Your body gets turned on by the slightest breeze. You're lost in the
worst part of town. Driving a stolen cab. With the cabbie out cold in
the back seat. You're wanted for murder. Some renegade government
agents are holding your mom hostage. And all they want is for you to
find someone who doesn't want to be found, fight someone who knows your
weakness, and take something they took from you. 

  And your superhero "battery pack" needs a charge.

  I'll bet Wonder Woman never had days like this.

  She needed to think.

  But she couldn't think. Nerves frayed, muscles aching, concentration
exhausted. Every sight, every sound a distraction. She didn't want to
think; she wanted to close her eyes and have it all go away. She wanted
to wake up from this nightmare. She wanted to sleep. But she needed to
think. She'd think better with her eyes closed. Of course, it made
sense; nothing on the street to distract her. Just close your eyes for
a moment...

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Angela awoke with a start. She was behind the wheel... her situation
quickly came back to her. How long had she dozed off?

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  A police officer was standing next to the car, rapping on the window
with his baton. Angela dutifully lowered the window.

  "Hey, buddy, you know you can't park... here..." He trailed off as he
realized he wasn't talking to a hard-nosed cab driver, but a beautiful
young woman nearly bursting out of her clothes.

  "I'm sorry, I'll move it."
  "Hold on! Lemme see your ID."

  Angela dropped her head in shame. "I... I don't have it with me."
  The officer's tone changed, becoming very firm. "Out of the car."

  Fear froze her. "Is something wrong, officer?" she managed.

  Suddenly there was a commotion behind her. Oh, shit! The cab driver
was awake! He was pounding on the windows and yelling: "Help! This
woman carjacked me! She forced me back here!"

  The cop suddenly backed away from the car, dropping to a crouch,
sidearm drawn. "Hands where I can see 'em!" he commanded, his voice
shaking. "Now!"

  Angela put her hands on the top of the steering wheel; her heart
pounded in her ears. The glimmer of her wrist stones caught her eye.
Where were her shoes? A glance down at the seat found them piled right
next to her.

  "Now, very very slowly, reach your left hand out the window and open
the door from the outside."

  Angela looked inward, trying in vain to guage through the shortened
breath and adrenaline rush of anxiety whether her sapphires had managed
to accumulate any energy.

  "Now with your hands above your head, step out of the car."

  "But I need my shoes." Her hand dropped halfway, reaching for her
shoes. She just couldn't lose them again.
  "Hands up! Hands up!" the officer screamed.

  The screams scared Angela; she shrunk back, her hand darting down,
fingers gripping around the shoes.

  A bright flash marked blinding pain; then, blackness.

   
  The young woman crumpled back across the seat, out of the officer's
view. He looked quickly back at the man in the back seat, who had
fallen silent, cringing in the extreme corner of the cab, hands
protecting his face.

  "She was going for a gun!" the officer explained, as much to himself
as anyone else. "Don't move!" he added. He inched toward the car,
straightening up to look inside, gun held high and pointing down into
the window. The young woman lay motionless. He looked for signs of
spatter or blood, but there were none. Had he even hit her?

  Suddenly she screamed. "Ohgodohgodohgod please don't, please, please
don't shoot, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just had to get my shoes, and you
scared me, I'm sorry, don't shoot, don't shoot, please don't hurt me,
please don't hurt me..." the girl was wailing hysterically.

  "Don't move! Don't move!" the officer screamed over and over above
her wailing sobs. "Listen! Listen to me!" The crying gradually subsided
to soft blubbering. "Put your hands flat on the seat in front of you!
Face down! Face down! Let go of what's in your hand! Now, slowly, put
one hand behind your head! Good, now the other one! Now don't move!
Don't move!" He opened the car door, gun in one hand still pointed at
her. "I'm gonna pull you back towards me. Don't move, okay! Don't kick,
or I'll shoot!" He grabbed an ankle and slowly tugged her across the
seat; she went limp. "Knees down on the curb. Down on the curb. Down on
the curb!"

  Angela was now kneeling on the curb, her upper body still draped
face-down over the driver's foul-smelling seat. Her skirt had slid up
over her hips, but she was far beyond caring.

  "Don't move!" With his free hand, the cop pulled out his cuffs.
Leaning into the car, he slapped them on one wrist, then roughly yanked
it around to the small of her back; Angela squealed in pain. "Don't
move!" Her other arm was pulled down, the cuff snicking around her
wrist. The cop holstered his weapon, and hauled her up by the arms out
of the car and to her feet.

  Angela felt herself shoved up against the back door of the dirty cab.
Inside, the cabbie got a good long look at her sweet flesh pressed up
against the window. 

  "Why did you do that? Why didn't you keep your hands up? I could have
killed you! Jesus, you scared the shit outta me!"

  She felt the officer's hands up and down her body, presumably patting
her down for weapons.

  "What's your name?"
  She couldn't stop crying. 

  "Please, I have to find her; I have to help my mom."

  "What's your name?" the officer repeated.
  She went limp against the car. It was all over.
  She'd failed.

  Cars whooshed by, occasionally honking at the sight of a
half-undressed girl.

  "Come on, let's get you around to the other side where it's safe."
She felt herself pulled away from the car and pushed to walk around the
back to the other side. The officer opened the front passenger door,
twisting her to face him, then pushed gently down on her shoulders.
"Watch your head," he said, putting one hand on the back of her head
and pushing her down into the car. Her feet rested on the curb.


  Dwayne saw his $5,000 reward fading fast. He had to stake his claim.
He renewed his pounding and yelling. "Hey, lemme outta here! Lemme out!"

  "Calm down!" the officer yelled. He reached in to hit the electric
door lock. 

  Dwayne came piling out. "You know who that is?" he asked
aggressively. "I want my re-ward."
  "Sir, back off. Sir, don't touch me! Back off!"
  "That's Sapphire. I want my re-ward."
  "Calm down, sir, we'll get this sorted out. Are the locks on your
back doors broken? How'd she lock you in?"
  "Yeah, I guess they must be."
  "You wanna tell me what happened?"


  Angela felt something sharp and uncomfortable underneath her. She
squirmed about -- momentarily drawing the eye of the cab driver and
stalling his lying explanation of what had happened -- and reached
under her to find... her shoes.

  She gripped them tightly as her mind whirled through what was going
to happen next. They'd take her sapphires and throw her in jail. Mr.
Aquino was out somewhere trying to find out about her mom's kidnappers.
It might be hours before they told him. If they ever told him. They
probably blamed him for her last escape. He wouldn't be allowed to come
anywhere near her. And what about her mom? As soon as the kidnappers
found out she was locked up and the police had the sapphires, they'd
surely kill her. Even if Angela could explain everything, even if she
could get the police to understand, it'd be too late.

  Angela couldn't let them catch her. No matter what.


  "So this young woman overpowered you, forced you into the back of
your own cab, and somehow broke the locks."
  "That's right, officer."
  "How much do you weigh?"
  "About one eight-- oh shit, she's getting away!"

  The police officer spun around, looking down into the now-empty
passenger seat. He looked up; his half-naked suspect was running down
the sidewalk, shocked pedestrians jumping out of her way.

  Oh, fuck. First he fired a shot; now he lost his suspect.

  "Stop! Stop her!"


  Angela ran as fast as she could with her arms handcuffed behind her,
her upper body swaying back and forth, breasts dancing madly,
threatening to bounce free of the inadequate sweater.

  One beefy-looking dude saw her coming, and squared up for a tackle.
She rushed headlong into him, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Angela felt meaty arms wrapping around her; she rolled to one side,
pumping her knee up and down furiously, searching for his weak spot. On
the third stroke she found it, expelling a weak cough from the street
defender, whose arms went slack. Angela rolled off him, leaning up
against a park car to lever herself to her feet. Across the sidewalk
was a narrow alley. She launched herself toward it, legs pumping, bare
feet stamping a panicked rhythm.


  The officer turned a corner.

  He saw the girl reach the end of the alley. She looked up. It was
over fifteen feet to the roof; even if she could somehow climb up the
dumpster handcuffed, she couldn't possibly jump that high.

  She turned around. He saw the animal fear in her eyes. The thrill of
the chase raced through his system. She had nowhere to go. There was
nothing she could do.

  He heard something clatter to the ground. She'd dropped her shoes.
She really was scared...

  She looked down, scratching at the ground with her foot. What the...?
She was stepping into her high heels. The move completely baffled him.
Then she turned around, looking up to the roof again.

  She didn't seriously think she could jump that high, did she? Some
people would try anything to get away.

  The girl crouched. Her long, slender legs flexed. She leaped up. And
up...

  Unbelieveable. This girl had one hell of a vertical leap. In high
heels, no less. Wait a second...


  Angela felt a brief moment of weightlessness as a hot flash coursed
through her body, lifting her in a sick tumbling spiral toward the roof
above. But as quickly as the rush came, it left. The sapphires simply
had nothing left. Angela cried out in horror as she felt the energy
turn cold, weightlessness becoming helplessness, stumbling in mid-air,
coming down hard on the sloped hood of the dumpster.

  Just a little bit more! Please! The dumpster's metal roof popped and
snapped in protest of her frenetic scrabbling for traction. She leaped
again, her whole body stretching, reaching in futility for freedom. But
without the sapphire energy she barely managed to clear the dumpster by
a foot before coming crashing back down in a jumble of limbs. Angela
bounced off the top of the dumpster, sliding toward the edge...


  The officer broke into a run. He wasn't gonna let *Sapphire* get
away! He was nearly upon her now, reaching for the girl as she tumbled
off the dumpster to the broken asphalt below...

  ...when he saw red.

  He felt like he'd run right into a wall, sliding dizzily down to his
knees.

  He was close. The metal door swung away a few inches, only to return
for a second vicious impact.

  The officer fell over, an unconscious heap.


  Angela felt something grab her arm, pulling her to her feet. She
cringed, going limp in a final pathetic attempt to resist.

  But instead of a cruel tug, she felt the grip loosen, and a gentle
hand caressed her cheek. "Shhh. It's all right."

  The defeated superheroine looked up into the eyes of an angel. 

  "Come on, honey. You've had a rough day. Let me help you."

  Angela found herself lifted to her feet by a tall, curvacious older
woman -- in her thirties, anyway -- with short spiky platinum-blonde
hair, black leather jacket over a form-fitting black bodysuit, black
tights, and black boots with a heavy sole but a pronounced lift in the
heel. Angela felt gentle hands pull her makeshift skirt back down
around her legs. "Thank you," she managed.

  "Let's get you out of here." She motioned toward the open door,
stepping over the motionless cop.

  "Is he going to be all right?" Angela asked.
  The woman kneeled and touched the officer's neck. She turned his head
to find a good-sized bump.
  "He'll need a lot of Tylenol, but yeah. Come on, Sapphire."

  Angela froze up for a second at the sound of her (other) name.
  "You... you know who I am?"
  "I saw what you did. It doesn't take a rocket scientist. My name's
Faith." She turned and walked through the door, down a dark corridor.
"Come on," she called back. Angela struggled to catch up.

  Faith, indeed. This woman had assaulted a police officer to help a
stranger. A fugitive. "Why are you helping me?"
  "Because you're younger and better lookin' than me," Faith answered
with a wry grin. "It's in my best interest to make sure you land on
your feet and get where you're goin', 'cuz I can't afford the
competition."

  They went down a flight of stairs into a dripping basement, down
another long corridor filled with pipes, and back up two flights of
stairs, into what looked like a run-down apartment building.

  "Before we go in, why don't we take off those big sapphires of
yours." Angela backpedaled in obvious fear. Faith tried to soothe her.
"I'm not gonna take 'em. Here, I'll put them right in your hands. I
just don't think people in my building need to be seeing them. I know
there's a half-dozen girls down here dolled up like Sapphire, but your
gear is way too uptown. Not everybody is as ignorant as Officer
Lawrence Oblivier back there." Angela relented; through her
sleep-deprived fog she felt she could trust this woman. Anyway, it
wasn't like she could do much to resist. She felt her wristbands
pressed into her hand face-down; the stones were cold to the touch.
Faith prompted Angela to step out of her shoes; a moment later they
were held tightly in her other hand.

  "If we run into anyone, don't say anything. And don't be surprised if
I call you 'slave.'" Angela looked worried. "Well, they're gonna notice
you're half-naked and handcuffed, dear. Don't worry, it's the kind of
thing my neighbors expect from me." Angela's eyes went wide. "Shhh,
dear, it's okay. I'm not going to do anything to you."

  Angela lowered her head in shame. Of course not. Still, the thought
that this woman *could* do with her as she pleased was unsettling. So
why did she feel that tingly feeling again? She thought back to the
humiliating Super-girl session she'd had with Josh. Why did a small
part of her wish this woman would take advantage of her? What kind of
sick person had she let herself become?


  Thankfully, they hadn't encountered anyone through the maze of
hallways and stairwells Faith had led them through. "Here we are. It's
not much, but it's home." Faith opened the door and motioned Angela
inside.

  The hallways outside may have looked run-down, but inside the small
apartment looked clean and bright, with fresh-painted walls and
beautiful wood floors.

  "Stay there for a second, let me get the key." Faith disappeared into
what must have been the kitchen. Angela heard a drawer open to a few
seconds of rummaging before closing again.

  "There," Faith said, freeing Angela from her bonds. "Have a seat."
She gestured to the futon.

  Angela sat down on the futon, crossing her legs carefully. "Oh, don't
mind me; I've seen it all." Angela blushed hotly for an instant before
she realized that Faith probably didn't mean all of *her* specifically.
"Go ahead, make yourself comfortable. I'll get you something to drink."

  Faith returned a moment later with a tall glass of water. Angela
gulped it down, little drops spilling out the corners of her mouth.
"My, aren't we thirsty."
  "I- I'm sorry, it's just been..."
  "Don't worry about it. Let me get you another one."

  Angela drank the next glass a little more slowly. Having caught her
breath, she was reminded of how tired she was. She felt faint.

  Faith sat down next to her, brushing Angela's hair out of her eyes.
She gently stroked the younger woman's forehead and cheeks with a warm
wet washcloth.

  "Mmm, that feels good," Angela breathed. She leaned back into the
futon, her body going slack.

  Angela looked up at her new friend. Her face was sharp and angular,
an almost angry beauty, but her eyes had a soft glow to them. And an
impossibly bright purple hue. "Contacts," Faith explained. Angela let
her tired eyes close again as the washcloth melted away her anxiety.

  "So what brings you to this part of town?" Faith asked.
  "I need to find the Black Widow."
  "Don't we all." She noticed Angela's quizzical look. "Bates put a
price on her head. Fifty thousand dollars. Ten times what the police
offered for you." Angela jumped. "Relax, I'm not gonna turn you in."
  "Do you know where she is? Do you know how I can find her?" Angela
quickly stood up, remembering her urgent mission. But the room started
to spin...

  "Woah, girl," Faith guided her back to the futon, "you need to lie
down. When was the last time you had something to eat?"

  Angela struggled to remember. "Since yesterday, I think."
  "No wonder you're dizzy. Let me get you an apple. How long have you
been up?"
  "Since yesterday, I think."
  "You really *have* had a long day. You poor girl. Black Widow's
really running you ragged, isn't she?"
  "It's not just her."
  "You can't save the whole world in a day, darlin'. You gotta learn to
pace yourself. The city can't afford to have its only superhero burn
out." Faith returned with a giant dark-red orb dangling from its stem.
"Here, eat this, sweetie."

  Angela consumed the offered fruit with a mix of fervor and exhaustion.

  Faith took the core and set it aside. "Come on, now, lie down and
rest for a moment. You can't go anywhere in the shape you're in."
  "But my mom..."
  "Shh! You just hush now, Faith will take care of you."
  "But I have to-"
  "I'll handcuff you to the futon if I have to. Now just look at
yourself, you can't go anywhere dressed like that." Angela shrunk back
into herself, covering her chest with her arms. Faith thought it odd
that a girl dressed so provocatively should be so shy. From the stories
about her, she probably wasn't used to being vulnerable. "Let me draw
you a bath and get you some clean clothes, and if you're not going to
get some rest, at least let me get a decent meal in you. Then you can
go back out and save the world. Okay?" Faith pulled Angela's chin up;
her eyes implored the girl.

  Angela was too tired to argue. Faith was right; she could hardly
think, let alone stand. And her sapphires were still powerless.

  "Why are you being so nice to me?"
  "I figure helping an angel get her wings back's gotta help my chances
with the man upstairs." It took the exhausted Angela a moment to
realize Faith wasn't talking about the apartment above. 

  "Maybe some day when my back's against the wall, somebody I helped
will be there to help me." Faith leaned down over the reclining Angela,
caressing her cheek with a maternal grace.

  Angela noticed a small pendant around the older woman's neck. She
reached up to touch it -- a tiny gold heart. Faith held it up so Angela
could see it. "Yeah, that's me. The hooker with the heart of gold.
City's got a quota to fill, ya know." She smiled.


  Faith got up and shuffled off toward the back of the apartment. "Now,
let me go get your bath ready -- it's before ten so there should be
plenty of hot water -- and find you something to wear, then I'll go out
and get us something hot to eat while you get cleaned up, and then
maybe you can get some rest..."

  Faith returned to the living room to find Angela fast asleep on the
futon. 

  "Or you could rest first."

  She pulled a blanket down from the back of the futon to cover the
disheveled girl.

  "Sleep tight, sweet princess. Black Widow will still be out there
when you wake up."





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