The Return - A Tale of the Bastard *HF*
By Gene
Casey Jones' face was grim. "It's not good. We're not looking at worst-ever body counts here, but it could get that way unless the police get their act together. Half of them are unsure of what they're facing, the rest don't know what to do about it, and the lawyers and politicians are just getting in the way. We've got to act fast. We're looking at 6 dead already. The pattern I see suggests we should have two more within the next week or ten days."
The Queen's Bishop paused and stared at her.
"I know what you're thinking," Nebula said.
"Of course," Cyclops said.
Nebula shook her head. "I don't know. We need someone stealthy who can find this person, wipe him out, free any prisoners there might be, and get out without being seen. Toby's gone. Diablo's too powerful. I need you here. Chastity is on a mission and this isn't quite right for Emma. SlashR and Gomurr are also odd fits. And the other Courts either haven't caught on to this, or are reluctant to help after the Florida mission."
Cyclops nodded. Nebula looked at him.
"He's not mine. He answers to Michael."
"You know he'll go anyway. It's important," Casey said.
Nebula sighed and nodded. She put her face down in her hands and sighed again. "Fine. Unleash the Bastard," she said.
Cyclops turned and began walking toward the door. "I'll get right on it."
"Cyclops!" Nebula called after him.
He stopped in his tracks. "Yes ma'am?"
She looked at him seriously. "The ring stays here. With Shaman."
Cyclops nodded. "Yes ma'am. I'll let him know."
***
New York, New York. The offices of Lyonspaw Enterprises
Gene sat at the head of a long wooden conference table lined with a dozen men and women dressed in business wear. Behind him, a window looked out on the Manhattan skyline. The American flag fluttered in front of the window from time to time, suspended from a flag pole just outside the window. Gene was dressed in a blue dress shirt and grey slacks, with a red and blue power tie. He was leaning back in his chair, holding a manuscript in one hand while he absent-mindedly fidgeted with his other hand, massaging his temple and rubbing his fingers against the ball of his thumb. He sighed and put the manuscript down.
"Guys, what are you thinking? Why do you write the stuff you write, and why do you write it this way? Epstein, what is this magazine about?"
A small, youngish man with curly dark hair replied, "Lyonspaw seeks to entertain as well as inform the public about issues pertaining to..."
"No!" Gene interjected. "Don't recite the mission statement for me. Think for yourself. What do we do? Washington?"
The tall, lanky African-American man spoke in a calm, confident voice. "We write about music, arts and politics from a totally unbiased view with no agenda."
"Better, but not totally there. Arguably, Rolling Stone does that. Vincent. In simplest terms, what do we provide?"
A handsome man with wavy hair and a large dimple in his chin thought for a moment, then said. "We tell the truth."
Gene clapped his hands and shouted. "Excellent! The truth! No spin, no shit! About what? Arnold?"
A young, short man with a quiet voice said, "A wide spectrum of things. All genres of music. Literature. Movies. TV. Politics. We get in there and show it all."
"YES!" Gene shouted triumphantly. "We show it all! Why?" He pointed at a short 30-ish man with sandy hair. "Shulman! Why do we do what we do?"
Shulman leaned his chin on one hand and thought, then said, "Because people should know. Even when the news sucks. Even when the story isn't much of a story. People should know the truth."
Gene slammed his hand down on the table. "Thank you. So knowing that, what is this shit?" He grabbed the top story from the pile of manuscripts. "Washington...'Britney Spears declared most powerful person in Hollywood.' Whoop-de-doo. Same story ran on-line, in most newspapers and all over TV last week. You wrote it from a press release, then got comments from a few pros. Big fucking deal. Tell me what she does with her power, where she got it from, where she's going next, and what her expected staying power is. Then tell me in at least a sidebar if this ranking is accurate. No way to I believe she has more guns than Dreamworks or Tom Cruise."
He tossed the manuscript aside. "Epstein, 'World Music Continues to Grow.' Terrible headline, Juan. And you don't talk much about world music. A few paragraphs, maybe 3 on other sounds, then the rest on mainly Celtic influence. Sinead and Enya aren't Celtic music, Juan. Sinead is pop, just like U2, and Enya sings about horses, waterfalls and dying alone and loveless. There's a bar three blocks from here that plays Celtic music all day and night. Spend some time there later today, then contact Peter Gabriel and the PR Office for Real World Music and get packets on their artists. Later this week, listen to Triad and the Drummers of Burundi, dig up some more sales stats, and rewrite this article. You phoned this one in, pal."
He tossed the mansucript aside.
"Barbarino..." he paused and reached in his pocket, pulling out a white pager. Then he pulled out a white cel phone, pushed a button, and read the message on the screen. He stifled a look of surprise, then tucked the phone back in his pocket. He stood.
"I'm sorry, something has come up that demands my immediate attention. Kotter, go through my notes and continue with how I want the articles handled. We can do better, guys. This isn't 17 or Young and Modern. We're a serious magazine with a vision. Let's fulfill it."
He pointed at a woman with long sandy-brown hair taking notes at the end of the table.
"Julie, tell Woodman the issue is going to be a day or two late. TEll him to rush production when all the copy comes to him. Begin laying the ads out now, we'll write to fit. If he has any complaints, send him to me."
"Okay," she said.
Gene left the room and closed the door, then walked quickly down the hall to his private office. He closed his office door, sat at his desk and picked up the phone receiver. He entered a coded command on the number pad and a red light started to flash on the base of the phone. A second later, it turned green. He smiled, put the phone back on the hook, and dialed a number on the white cel phone.
"White Bastard," Gene said into the phone. He listened to the voice at the other end for two minutes, then said. "Fine, I need some equipment from my office. I can be there in under two hours. What? When?" He chuckled. "Nice, Casey. You were that sure I'd take the job. Fine, I'll grab the helicopter and be right there."
***
One week later, near Memphis.
Gene peered through his binoculars at the house. It was a normal-looking house in a normal neighborhood, but Gene was certain things weren't as normal as they seemed. Three pairs of people had disappeared within a 50 mile radius of Memphis, some in Arkansas, some in Mississippi. The bodies were generally found 2 weeks after the disappearance, and though the people were taken in pairs, the bodies were always found separately. And it was always couples. Distinct signs of a twisted mind, but because each case was in a different state, law enforcement officials weren't yet organized enough for a proper investigation. And now it was time for the killing to occur again.
Using the Hellfire Club's database resources, Gene had sifted through mountains of records, searching for specific information. Psychological profiles, prison and mental hospital release records. Purchase information. Vehicle registration. Gene then recombined and searched data until he had a list of names of people who had the ability and opportunity to capture and kill the current victims, and who filled a profile of someone mentally able and willing to do so.
That was a short list indeed, and it ended here, at the home of James Lipton. Yesterday, Lipton's neighbor was asked by a Hollywood producer if the house could be used for rush filming of a scene in the next John Woo film. The neighbor agreed and was rushed out by dinner time. By 8 pm Gene was in and had set up temporary headquarters to observe Lipton.
Earlier today, a Strong Industries satellite had passed over Memphis and trained powerful sensors and cameras on the Lipton house. Scans
showed he had dug a pit in his basement too deep to be a sump pump or hot tub, and it was lined with a hard material like concrete. Lipton also had purchased a great deal of rope earlier in the year, but had never actually gone on a camping trip or done anything that would involve rope. He also owned a large van with no windows. A scan of the van as it sat in the driveway showed there was plenty of rope in the back. A scan with the scanner Gene had in the house showed there may have been blood in the back.
Now, Gene watched as Lipton made trips from his house to the van. So far he had loaded some bags and cloths into the van, but now he was carrying gardening tools as well, and mumbling to himself. Lipton didn't have a history of violence, but he had been divorced five times in his 40 years, cheated on every time. The last wife left him a year ago, and since then, his employee assessment at the local Public Relations firm said he had become withdrawn, particularly when it came to associating with couples. In fact, he had become unable to work with clients at all if their spouses or significant others were there.
All signs of a true winner. The cincher was in photo evidence. Satellite imagery and traffic cameras placed Lipton's van in the area of the kidnapping AND body drop-off every time.
Still not solid evidence that he was the man. Only the suspect. Until this morning, when Gene saw him on heat-image camera preparing two twin-size beds in his house. Lipton had no children, nor any relatives with children who were likely to visit. In fact, he wasn't close to his family at all. By all evidence, Lipton was getting ready to host some unwilling guests, and it would be tonight, maybe tomorrow.
A patrol car drove down the street. Gene flipped down the visor of his helmet and spoke.
"Casey."
A voice crackled in near Gene's ear. "Yeah?"
"He's definitely the guy. It's a go. He's loading up to leave tonight. I'm ready to move, but I need these cops out of here."
"No problem. Give me five minutes."
"Faster."
"How about two?"
"Done."
Two minutes later, an alarm went off at a bank two miles away. Police arrived at the scene in one minute and forty-five seconds to find all the lights were on, but they could find no intruders. Still, an investigation had to be done. Five minutes later, a man slammed his car head-on into a light pole on a main road. He was unhurt, thanks to his airbag, but traffic backed up within seconds.
"You're ready to go," Cyclops said.
"Gracias," Gene replied. "Night vision," he said softly, and the view from his visor suddenly flared green, enabling him to see Lipton clearly in the dark. Gene reached on the floor and picked up his compound bow. He tightened the sights, then removed the screen from the window in front of him. Keeping his gaze on Lipton, he reached back and pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back. He examined it, then nocked it carefully on the bowstring.
The arrow was different from the others in Gene's quiver. While the rest had aluminum shafts and blue and yellow fletching, this arrow had a thin fiberglass shaft and natural crow fletching. And the head of the arrow was different. While Gene normally carried an assortment of broadheads, flatheads, field points and even pronged fishing heads with him, this arrow had a razor-sharp tip with a recessed spring behind it. At the tip of shaft, a glass chamber was filled with two resevoirs of liquid, separated by a thin metal wall.
Gene watched Lipton walk back out toward the van. His keys were in his hand. Gene drew the bowstring back to the corner of his mouth and aimed.
"Casey," he said into his helmet comm-link. "Ready the pick-up crew."
"They're on the way now," Cyclops said.
Gene let the arrow fly. It slammed into the back of Lipton's skull just as he was about to enter the van. At the same time, the spring on the arrow compressed, pushing back the dividing wall between the liquids inside, allowing them to blend into deadly nitroglycerine and explode, thanks to a charge from a small battery in the shaft.
Lipton's body jerked forward with the impact of the arrow, then collapsed as his head was vaporized from the secondary explosion.
Lights went on in yards and houses up and down the street as neighbors reacted to the noise.
Thirty seconds later, an ambulance arrived at Lipton's house and pulled in the driveway. Two men in paramedics uniforms got out of the vehicle, one carrying a blanket. Gene watched as the men squatted next to the body. The man with the blanket pulled a shotgun from under the blanket and placed it on the ground next to Lipton, wrapping his hand around the barrel and trigger. The other paramedic went in the house to do a quick search for accomplices, prisoners or innocents. He drew a gun from his belt as he went in.
"We got him, Casey. Clean-up crew is here. I'm out," Gene said.
"Roger that," Cyclops said. "Rendez-vous in Tulsa and head home for some sleep."
Tulsa. That meant Nashville, and vice-versa. And sleep meant be ready to go back underground to regular life while this is cleaned up, until another job comes up. And in Gene's case, it meant getting some sleep, too.
"Do you ever sleep, Casey?" Gene asked on the comm-link as he packed up his gear. "You always seem to be there."
"Not enough," Cyclops said. "I work long hours."
"You should get out more," Gene said. "The world can be a fun place."
"Fun?" Cyclops said. "You'll have to remind me what that's like sometime. I've heard it's nice."
***
Epilogue
The pilot brought the White Court helicopter down on the grass and Gene and Alice stepped out. Alice, blindfolded, held onto Gene's arm.
"Come on! When do I get to see?" Alice said, bouncing in place.
"We're almost there, just a minute more," Gene said.
"This has taken forever! Planes, helicopters, cars, where are we?"
"You'll see." Gene turned Alice by the shoulders and removed the blindfold. Alice squealed in surprise.
"Oh my God! It's our house! It's still here!" she cried.
"Pretty much," Gene said.
"But how? How could a house like that last this long? Erosion and rain should have worn it away a long time ago! It's only sod!"
"Shaman tinkered around with it after we left," Gene said. "Decided to go into real estate and sell it to new residents as needed. Put an enchantment on it to keep it the same indefinitely. It's basically frozen in time. It's a high-price novelty inn, now. Bastard's made a fortune on it over the years."
Alice ran to the door. "C'mon! Let's go inside and see what's changed!"
Gene opened the door and ushered Alice in. "He tells me it's all about the same, except it now has a straw mattress and real candles. The Club gave me a few days off in between missions, let's stay a while."
An hour later, a tour guide was finishing his latest tour of Buckingham Palace. As they turned a corner, a group member in the back raised her hand.
"Is it true that the Palace is haunted?" she asked.
The guide sniffed, then smiled and said in a bored manner. "There have been rumors for centuries that the Palace is inhabited by spirits. These rumors circulate around nearly every place of great age and importance in Britain and the rest of the world. There are believers, but there is really no evidence to conclude that..."
Suddenly, a stream of liquid began to appear in mid-air, then splatter and pool on the tile floor below. The group pointed and took pictures and began to gasp in bewilderment. Flustered, the guide tried to move them along.
"Apparently there's a plumbing problem. Do let's move on where we can see..."
The stream stopped as suddenly as it started, then a six-inch taper of feces appeared in the air and dropped to the floor, followed by several smaller bits.
"Oh dear," the guide said. "Not again."
END
Gene
Original and Longest-Running Editor
White Bastard/White King's Pawn--HellFire Club
Knight of the Long-Necked Bottle
Forbidden by Law to Eat Onion Rings
Selectively Sterile
Wielder of Unbridled Contempt for Humanity
Clearest Colon this side of the Milky Way
Owner of the Coolest Snow-globe in History
No, I don't smell anything *grin*... except my hands.
Don't light a match!!!