Recoil Pt 4-11 (Patreon)

Time was ticking away in my head; I knew the approximate time that the body in the street was due to be discovered. Subtract from that the time that Anne-Rose and I needed to swap out in the bathrooms, and the travel time between this place and the movie theatre, and from the movie theatre to Andrea's place … we had a little leeway. But not much.

Unlike Galvanate, Marquis didn't make his men near-invulnerable. He just ensured their loyalty by making sure that any man who failed him significantly was never seen again. I had to presume that he didn't inflict this kind of punishment on someone who didn't properly make his morning cup of coffee; it probably required more than that, given the fact that he still had men working for him. But I was reasonably certain that they wouldn't be permitted to go against his personal code. Which, in this case, involved not hurting women.

This was precisely the same strategy that the Brockton Bay Brigade would use against him when they were due to take him down in just over six years, but in this case, it was for a good cause. Kinsey's life, after all, did hang in the balance.

-ooo-

The safe house in question was actually an abandoned storefront; Marquis had placed men around it in pairs. I appreciated the forethought of the move, while wishing that he had been a little less efficient about it. As it was, I had to wait till Gladys got into position before making my own move. Time was ticking away, and we hadn't even gotten inside yet.

Of course, once we did, things were going to happen very quickly indeed.

I had two of them in my line of sight as I strolled casually down the alleyway; they looked like drunks sleeping it off, but Lisa had pinpointed them for me, so I knew they were more than that. Really, it was kind of unfair; Marquis was going for 'security by obscurity', but with my particular advantages, I could see straight through the subterfuge. Of course, I had never believed in giving the other guy a fair fight, and I wasn't about to start now.

They straightened up from their slumped positions as I neared them, and the door they were guarding. One of them spat noisily in the gutter, a move calculated to make me veer off. Instead, I came closer.

"Hey, get outta here," the other guy slurred, lurching to his feet. "Ain't a good place for a woman."

Reaching up with my left hand, I pushed back the hood, showing my face. "Really?" I asked. "I'm here for the date with your boss. Captain Snow, remember?"

It was obvious that he did remember me; he stared, then frowned. "Wait a minute. How did you -?"

I kept moving toward him; his buddy stood, and they both pulled pistols. "Stand right where you are," the first one ordered. "Arms out to the side."

"You do realise, if you shoot me, you'll wish that Marquis had only killed you." My voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

"If I gotta shoot you, I'll kill you, and I'll make sure the body's never found." So was his.

Gladys was good, I had to admit. She was very quiet on her feet as she sneaked up behind them; the other guy never heard her coming. But he certainly felt it when the extendible baton whipped through the air to impact with the side of his jaw. It was a difficult shot, taken from behind, but she pulled it off.

The one facing me heard the crack of breaking bone; he reacted, turning fast. But not fast enough. I came in, catching his right wrist with my left hand, and smashing him in the face with my right elbow. He staggered, and I kicked him in the crotch with all the force that I could muster. As he began to double up, I cupped my right hand around the back of his head, pulling him down faster; my right knee came up to meet his already-ruined nose.

He dropped; I kept hold of his right wrist, stepping over it and twisting his arm against my leg. His elbow broke like dry kindling; I plucked the pistol from his hand and let him fall the rest of the way. I was just checking chamber on the pistol when Gladys came over to me. She looked down at the man at my feet, then up at me, her eyes wide. “Damn, girl,” she murmured. “Do you have issues, or do you fight like that all the time?”

“Oh?” I tucked the pistol into the back of my waistband, retrieved the second man's pistol, and checked it as well. “Oh, no, that's how Kinsey taught me how to fight.”

“Christ,” she muttered. “Now I see why you gave me the baton. You didn't need it.”

“Happier with a pistol,” I admitted, rubbing my elbow. “Here, you have this one. I'll have Kinsey's back, thanks.”

Accepting the firearm, she unlooped the length of Kinsey's belt from over her shoulder – I hadn't been able to carry it for the approach, for obvious reasons – and handed it back to me. I slung it across my chest, then unzipped the hoodie. The small Glock in its shoulder holster was ready for use; I drew it, then swapped it into my left hand.

“Okay,” I told her. “We'll be going in hard and fast. I'll shoot anything in the way; you stay a room behind me and mop up, the way we practised. Once we're fully invested, keep an eye on our six, because the other guards might come in that way.”

She nodded briefly. “Okay.” However, the white-knuckled grip on the baton gave away her nerves.

“Gladys.” The tone of my voice made her stop and look at me. “There are exactly three people I'd prefer to have at my back in this sort of situation. One of them's in that room. Emily's out on ops somewhere. You're the third. I trust you in this. Got it?”

She took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her nerves. “Got it. Let's go kick some ass.”

I grinned, showing my teeth. “Let's do this thing.”

-ooo-

“So tell me about your Captain Snow,” Marquis invited. “You seem to have a high opinion of the woman. What's so special about her?”

Kinsey grinned tightly, all the while testing his legs against the bone bonds holding them in place. It was no good; they were as solid as rock. “She's done things that you wouldn't believe. Things that I have trouble believing, and I saw her do them.”

“What sort of things?”

“Nope.” Kinsey shook his head. “Can't tell you. I'd like to hang on to my clearance level.”

“I'm fairly certain that your life is more important than a ridiculous security clearance.”

“Fine. I'll tell you this much. My career was in the toilet, and she rescued me. Gave me a chance to redeem myself. I've worked every day, ever since then, to match up to the trust she's shown me. She hasn't doubted me, not once, not ever. The day I betray Captain Snow is the day I eat a bullet.”

“You love her.” Marquis' voice was light, amused, in contrast with Kinsey's deeper tones.

Kinsey grimaced. “You're delusional. She's my commanding officer, and I have every respect for her -”

“You love her. Ha. Of course. It would be clear to a blind man.” Marquis' face was alive with delight. “And you serve her faithfully, just so that you can earn her praise. Have you ever told her how you feel?”

Kinsey gritted his teeth. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“So you haven't. Do you think she knows? A lady so intelligent, so insightful, how could she not? But does she look at you as Kinsey the man, or Kinsey the Sergeant? Have you never wished to step closer to her, take her in your arms, look into her eyes -”

There was a loud bang as Kinsey brought both fists down on the table; Marquis raised one eyebrow. “Temper, Sergeant. Temper.”

“One more word about the Captain,” ground out Kinsey. “One more word, and I'll come over this table, chair or no chair, and I will squeeze the life from your throat with my bare hands.”

Marquis leaned down, placing his hands on the other side of the table at which Kinsey sat.

“You can do nothing to me, Sergeant, which I do not all-”

He was cut off by an explosion of firing from the next room. One moment silence, the next a full-on firefight. Marquis turned toward the door in question, a bone weapon of some sort forming in his hands. At the same time, the bone bands spread to cover his body. Kinsey didn't hesitate; he braced himself and shoved the table as hard as he could into Marquis' back.

The four men in the room were just starting to pull their own pistols when the door burst open. Marquis may have been able to react in time, but he was staggering from the blow to his back. Even as the figure of Captain Snow appeared in the doorway, there were two shots, and the villain went down, kneecaps blown out. More staccato shots rang out, the Captain servicing targets as coolly as on the firing range. With each shot, a man dropped; in these close quarters, she barely had to do more than eyeball the targets.

“Kinsey!” she yelled, while shooting to the left and right of him, to get at two men almost behind him. Her gun barrel jerked upward slightly. He took the hint, raising his cuffed hands high. The next shot passed between them, severing the handcuff chains. She had already dropped the pistol in her right hand; her hand dipped, and then an object was hurtling toward him; he recognised it as his .44. Catching it, he pointed it straight down at the bone bands holding his legs to the chair, and fired; the calcitic restraint shattered, and he was free.

She was now just holding her holdout weapon; he stepped in, back to back with her. There were other doors, other rooms. A man showed himself at one, then ducked back; Kinsey's hand-cannon boomed once, shooting through the wall eighteen inches back from the door frame. The man's body flopped forward into view a second later, but Kinsey was already firing at another doorway. Behind him, Captain Snow fired three times, then stopped. She tilted her head at the sound of shooting outside.

“That's all of them in here,” she decided. “You all right, Kinsey?”

“A little cramped from all the sitting around, ma'am,” he replied. “What kept you?”

“I had to arrange for a date,” she told him.

“Beg pardon, ma'am?”

“Long story. Tell you later. Get the brass. Only the polished ones.” As he complied, she stepped over to where Marquis lay on the floor. He turned his face up to hers, looking right into the barrel of her small Glock.

“Damnation,” muttered the villain. “Did you kill all my men?”

“Only the ones I had to," she replied. "Some might survive. You will. I only shot out your kneecaps.”

“Why so lenient, ma'am?” Kinsey slipped the last of the brightly-polished bullet casings into his pocket and thumbed back the hammer on his pistol; in the quiet room, the sound was ominous in the extreme. “One shot, and another problem gone from the world.”

But she shook her head. “No, Kinsey. It suits me to leave him alive and free. This time.”

Kinsey frowned. “But why, ma'am?”

“Much as I hate to agree with a musclebound brute, and much as I hate to appear ignorant … yes, dear lady, why?”

Captain Snow shook her head with something that may have been a smile. “One of these days, we'll meet again. And on that day, I will place you under arrest. Until then, you will leave me and mine alone, or I will come back to Brockton Bay. And on that day ... you will never see me coming.” Dropping to a crouch, she looked into Marquis' eyes. “Do I have your complete attention, or do I need to start grinding my gun barrel into your wounds?”

“You have my attention,” he admitted. “You and yours will be left alone.”

“Good.” She stood, moved over to where she had discarded the empty pistol. Using the corner of her hoodie, she cleaned the prints from it, and dropped it once more. “I'll leave you to your own devices now. Have a good night.”

Kinsey shadowed her to the door; as she was about to leave, Marquis called out. “Captain Snow?”

She turned. “Yes?”

His smile was painful but genuine. “It would have been a romance for the ages.”

She snorted, but one corner of her mouth quirked upward. “If you say so.”

Kinsey paused, looked back. "Told you so." Then he followed her from the room.

He'd never had the slightest doubt that she would come for him.

-ooo-

There were two men lying in the outer room, and one more in the doorway. As we stepped outside, Gladys laid out one last man with a punch to the solar plexus and another to the jaw.

“Ran out of bullets," she explained, "and I dropped the baton. Oh, there it is.” Leaning down, she retrieved the weapon, which appeared to have more than a little blood on it. “It, uh, might need cleaning. Or something.”

“I'll take care of it,” I advised her dryly, accepting it from her and collapsing it. Holstering the Glock, I handed Kinsey's weapon belt to him. “Where's the pistol you were using?”

Picking it up, she handed it to me; I wiped it clean, then dropped it once more. “Coming, Kinsey?”

The Sergeant was looking at the men on the ground, then back at the others inside. Finally, he looked at Gladys. “You did all this?”

“Uh, Taylor did that one,” she noted, pointing out the man whom I had first approached. “But yeah, I did the rest of them.” She rubbed her face; a bruise was starting to show under her eye. “One of them tagged me.”

His face was a study in consternation. “The Captain obviously did not fill me in on exactly how capable you really are.”

“Walk now, talk later,” I urged them. “We're on the clock.”

“Shit, yeah,” she agreed. “Okay, let's go.”

-ooo-

Sirens were starting to sound really close as we got back to the car; gang neighbourhood or not, a firefight like that was going to draw attention. Kinsey and I climbed into the back seat, and Gladys gunned the engine. Once the initial acceleration wore off, I reached down into the footwell and retrieved the bolt cutters that I'd had Gladys bring. It wasn't easy in the jolting car, but I managed to snip first one then the other bracelet from his wrists. They had left marks, but I wasn't worried about that. Opening the window, I wiped the the incriminating items, then tossed them out into the street.

“Back to the theatre?” asked Gladys.

“Back to the theatre,” I agreed.

“Theatre?” asked Kinsey. “Why are we going to a theatre?”

“We aren't,” I told him. “I am. You're going back to Andrea's.”

“But why are you going to a theatre, ma'am?”

“I'm on a date. Right now, I'm in that theatre, watching a movie. With a date. Who happens to be a police officer.”

He shook his head. “Ma'am, I confess myself to be totally at a loss. But I'll trust you on this.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Kinsey.”

Gladys brought the car into a screeching halt, just around the corner from the theatre. I climbed out, barely remembering to bring the bag along, but leaving the pistols and the shoulder holster for Kinsey to take care of. With my hood up, I headed for the theatre.

-ooo-

Anne-Rose tried not to squirm. Kimball had his arm over her shoulders now, and was trying to edge her close to him. She was pretending to not notice, staring fixedly at the fuzzy image of the screen that she had through Taylor's glasses.

If he tries one more time to kiss me, this time I'm not going to elbow him gently.

Just as she thought that she was going to have to go ahead and do it, her elbow poised and ready, a pager went off. She had half a second to feel annoyance, until she realised that it was hispager. Oh, thank god.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me," he muttered as he took his arm from her shoulders – she did her best to hide her sigh of relief – and fished the offending device from his belt. For a moment, she thought that he was going to merely turn it off, but with an aggravated sigh of his own, he read the message on the tiny screen.

Oblivious to the glares of the other patrons – this must not be the first time this had happened to him, she realised – he climbed past her to the aisle. "Gotta make a phone call," he murmured.

"See you when you get back," she replied, just as quietly. But she didn't relax until he started up the aisle.

Hurry back, Taylor. The movie's almost over, and I don't know how much longer I can politely fend him off.

-ooo-

I was almost at the theatre doors when they opened, and Kimball stepped out. Oh shit, was my first thought. He's twigged that Anne-Rose wasn't me. But on second glance, I realised that Anne-Rose wasn't with him, and he was holding a pager in his hand. He's been called in on one or other of the homicides. Shit.

That was when I realised that I was still wearing my glasses; reaching up, I whipped them off.

Too quickly, I realised a moment later, as the movement drew his eyes to me. He looked me full in the face for just a second; still distracted by the pager, he was slow to come to the realisation. But it would happen in just another few seconds -

Danny's face interposed between mine and Kimball's. "Sweetie!" he greeted me loudly, putting his arms around me; instinctively, I did the same for him. "I've been waiting forever for you!" And then he kissed me.

He kept his lips closed and so did I; all the same, we both made protracted mmmm noises. He embellished this with a loud smacking noise as he drew away, pulling my hood down over my face a little more as he did so. Behind him, I saw the blurry form of Kimball heading over to the nearby phone box; our little charade had hopefully fooled him.

"Come on, let's go in," he urged me.

We headed inside; the moment the doors closed behind me, I turned to him. "You kissed me!" I hissed.

"No tongue," he pointed out. "And it did the job."

"Well, true," I admitted. And thinking back, I'd let Lieutenant Calvert kiss me once upon a time, and that had been a much less pleasant affair. And on this occasion, it had well and truly saved my bacon. "Thanks. For the quick thinking."

"My pleasure," he told me with a boyish grin; just as I realised the double meaning behind his words, he pointed at the ladies' bathrooms. "You might want to go in. I'll get Anne-Rose."

Slipping on the glasses one more time to get my bearings, I headed for the bathrooms.

-ooo-

"So you've got a dead man in midtown, and a bunch more over at the other site?" asked Kimball, notepad out and pen busy, phone wedged into his shoulder. "How are these all connected?"

"They're all Marquis men," his partner told him. "And get this. There's a car right next to the dead man. It's all beat up, windows smashed. Evidence that a brawl happened right on top of it."

"Yeah, so?"

"It's a hire car. Out of Chicago. I'll give you one guess as to whose name's on the lease."

"You're shitting me," breathed Kimball.

"That's right, buddy. None other than Captain Taylor Snow, Parahuman Response Teams."

"Wait, wait," protested Kimball. "What are you saying? That since her run-in with Marquis, she's decided to go vigilante and clean up the town?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, buddy. Prelim forensics at the multiple homicide shows single-shot kills, centre head. And you saw how she can shoot."

"But you said the single dead guy was beaten to death. She's good, but could she do that?"

"No, but that big sergeant of hers could do that easily."

"Yes. He could. Say, when was that firefight reported?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. Why?"

"Timeline doesn't work. Captain Snow's got an alibi."

"What? How? Who?"

He took a deep breath. "Me. I'm on a date with her. We're at the movies."

"You're at the movies. With our suspect."

"Yes. I've been sitting next to her for the last hour and a half."

"Well, fuck."

"Look, something's weird about this. You know where Snow's staying?"

"Yeah. She and her sergeant have been living at an old friend's place. Girl by the name of Campbell."

"Yeah, I know her. You might want to canvass that place, just in case."

"Already taken care of, buddy. Sent uniforms over there as soon as confirmation came back on the hire car thing."

"Good. Let me know how things turn out. Most especially, if Kinsey's actually there."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, how's this for a scenario. Marquis wants something out of Snow. Maybe revenge for showing him up, maybe something else."

"Okay, that makes sense."

"So he sends his men to kidnap that sergeant. But it goes south, and one of the guys gets killed."

"I know I wouldn't want to try conclusions with him."

"Nor me. So. He's got the sergeant, he contacts Snow, she arranges a rescue."

"Except that there's no other PRT personnel in town that we know of, and sure as hell nobody who shoots that good."

"So it had to be her on the ground."

"Except that you say you've been sitting next to her all this time."

"Yeah. Fuck. Apart from that, it all holds together."

"So where are you going to attend?"

"You take the multiple; you're there already, right?"

"I am. Oh; fun fact."

"Yeah?"

"We've got more bullet-holes than shell casings. Some from a larger calibre than any weapon found on the scene, and no casings at all from that. Some of the brass is missing."

"They policed it up."

"Or they used revolvers. We dug a bullet from the floorboards that would fit a larger calibre, but it's a soft lead hollowpoint. No ballistics worth a damn."

"This is special ops shit, right there."

"No kidding. What branch did you say your girlfriend was from?"

"Intelligence. Or so I thought."

"Sounds more like double-oh bullshit to me."

"Well, I'm gonna go back in and have a talk to her, then drive her home and see if her friend Ms Campbell tells the same story."

"No. You hold her there. I'll send someone else along to pick her up."

"What the hell, man?"

"You know the rules as well as I do. You're on a date with her. This makes you automatically compromised."

"Ah, fuck. Seriously?"

"Seriously. Just keep her there. Someone will be along in a while. Okay?"

"Okay. Fine. I'll hold her here."

"And don't discuss the case with her."

"Christ, all right. I got it, already."

He hung up, and turned back toward the theatre. Taylor, what the fuck is going on?

-ooo-

Kinsey pulled the cleaning cloth out of the bore of the .44 and inspected it in the glare of a passing street light. "Good enough," he decided, and began to reassemble the pistol. Despite the lack of light, the movement of the car, and the less than optimal conditions, he had it back together in less than forty seconds.

"Okay, wow," Gladys commented, keeping her eyes on the road as she swung the car around another corner. "Taylor was pretty good at that before she joined the PRT. But you just cleaned two pistols and a baton in less than ten minutes, in a moving car. That's just plain impressive."

"I'm trained for it, ma'am," he pointed out, reloading each weapon with the spare magazines that he had found in the Captain's handbag, and slotting them into their respective holsters. "Personally, I'm quite impressed that a high school teacher was able to participate to the degree that you did, tonight. Not to mention, very thankful."

"I took my ROTC training very seriously," she noted. "And I've kept up some aspects of it, since."

"Such as boxing," he observed.

"Such as boxing," she agreed. Pulling to a halt, she nodded to him. "This is your stop. See you later, Jim."

Reaching forward between the seats, he shook her hand. "See you later, Gladys."

He climbed out of the car, taking the handbag with him; the car moved off down the road. Turning, he headed into the building.

-ooo-

Andrea heard the brisk knocking on the door and leaped up. Peering through the peephole, she recognised Jim's blocky silhouette almost immediately; hastily, she unlocked the door.

"Come in, quick!" she gasped, dragging him inside. He looked a little taken aback at her attire; this was not surprising, as she was wearing just a flimsy robe over even flimsier panties. Closing the door, she locked it before grabbing him, pulling him down to her level, and kissing him thoroughly.

To his credit, he kissed her properly in return; when they separated, she was breathing a little heavily. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but -" he began.

"But nothing. Get your clothes off and into the shower," she ordered. "You stink of guns." She grabbed the handbag from him. "I'll take care of this."

-ooo-

He watched her barely-clad rear end dart from the room, and shrugged. Right now, she knew what was going on better than he did, so that put her in charge. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered, heading for the bathroom, pulling his shirt off as he went.

Thirty seconds into the shower, he had his head lathered, and his hands covered in soap; the last thing he wanted was for some busybody local cop to find GSR on his hands. And then the stall door opened, and a familiar body pressed up against his.

"Andrea?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Who else?" she murmured, with a smothered giggle. "Come on, I'm trying to get you in the mood here. Work with me."

"But you – but I – the Captain –"

"Worked the whole plan out. This is part of it." She did something extremely naughty with her hands then, and he could not help but respond. Her body was smooth and warm and rounded under his hands. "Oh yeah, that's more like it."

But then she opened the door and slipped out. He stared after her. "What ...?"

She had already grabbed a towel and was vigorously drying herself off; he could not help but watch in fascination as various body parts were exposed and covered again. "Here." She thrust another towel at him. "Get dried. Race you to the bedroom.'

Never had he dried himself off in such a hurried and haphazard fashion; she only just beat him there. And then the real fun started.

-ooo-

No-one was paying attention to me as I soaped my hands almost to the elbow, then dried them off. Next, I ran water over my head, rubbing a little hand soap into my hair. It wouldn't do for shampoo, but it would assist in getting rid of the smell of burnt cellulose. Just as I was flushing that out, Anne-Rose burst into the bathrooms.

"He nearly caught me," she gasped.

"Stall, quick," I ordered.

She ducked into one; as I went to step into the next, another woman went to take it. "Mine," I snapped.

"I was here first," she retorted, reaching for the door while fending me off. I took her hand and twisted her wrist, dropping her to her knees.

"Ow, hey!" she protested.

"My. Stall," I explained.

"Okay, fine. Your fucking stall. Bitch."

I let that go and allowed her up, then stepped into the stall. Just as I pushed the door closed, she kicked it from the outside; it nearly hit me in the face. This time, I slammed the stall door shut and engaged the lock; it would have taken too long to deal with her, and she wasn't worth it in the long run anyway.

The dress was already draped over the partition; I pulled off the hoodie and thrust it through the lower gap, just as the woman outside kicked my door again, rattling it on its hinges. The hoodie disappeared and I sent the T-shirt after, then kicked off the sneakers. Finally, I started wriggling out of the jeans.

My flats came back to me through the gap, then I bundled the jeans up and slid them through, with the sneakers following. The woman outside kicked the door again, and this time it jolted open; as she stepped forward, I turned and straight-armed her in the face. The last of her I saw as I pushed the door shut was her astonished expression as she sat down hard on the floor.

"Gonna need to borrow your handbag," I called softly. "Left mine elsewhere."

"Okay, sure," Anne-Rose agreed; as I wriggled into the dress, it came sliding under the partition. “Just get it back to me when you're done.”

Carefully, I zipped up the dress and slipped my feet into the flats. My perfume was still in her bag, and I touched it up, just to cover any remaining smell of gunsmoke. Slinging the bag on my shoulder, I opened the stall door and stepped out.

Of course, the woman was still there. “You bitch!” she screamed. “I'll -” She paused. “What the fuck?”

There was nobody else in the bathrooms at that moment, for which I was glad. The woman stared at me, at my outfit. “What the fuck's going on here? You weren't dressed like that a minute ago.”

“Maybe because it wasn't me that you're talking about.” I didn't have much hope of pulling this off, but I decided to try anyway.

“No, no, fuck, no, you went in there. That stall. And then you changed clothes. What the fuck's going on here?”

This was the sort of attention that I didn't need. “The stall's free now. You can use it. Go ahead. All these stalls are free. Be my guest.” I started to move away.

“No, bitch, you come back here. You're not going anywhere.” She grabbed, not at my arm, but at my dress.

Oh, for god's sake. I don't have time for this.

I knocked her hand aside, and spent a good tenth of a second deciding not to hurt her too badly, although the temptation was definitely there. Already that evening, I had killed at least six people, and wounded a couple more. I couldn't punch her, because Kimball might wonder about skinned knuckles, and I couldn't kick her, because he definitely would wonder about a dress that was split up to my armpit.

So I slammed the heel of my hand up under her jaw, making her teeth smack together and sending her staggering backward, a little dazed. Then I grabbed her, spun her around, and put her in a sleeper hold. She struggled a little, but was still dazed, and went down relatively quickly.

Anne-Rose exited her stall at about this time, and stared as the woman sagged in my arms. “What the hell?”

“Don't ask,” I advised her. “Just help me get her into a stall.”

Together, we wrestled her into a stall and sat her on the seat. I pulled the door closed and held out my hand to Anne-Rose. “Back pocket. Clasp knife.”

She blinked and fetched it out. “What were you doing carrying a clasp knife?”

“In case I needed to cut something.” Opening it one-handed – which is difficult, but useful if you know the trick – I stabbed the point into the soft plastic centre of the VACANT/OCCUPIED indicator. Twisting my wrist, I rotated the indicator, engaging the lock. Then I pulled the knife out, closed it, and dropped it into the bag.

“You're just going to leave her there?”

I looked at Anne-Rose. “Yes. She'll wake up, open the door, and walk out. In about five minutes from now. Which will be about four minutes thirty after I leave. Now, how do I look?”

Looking at me critically, she nodded. “Yeah, you look okay. Oh, here, your spare glasses.”

“Thanks.” I dropped them in the bag as well. “Okay, wait about thirty seconds after I leave. All right?”

“Thirty seconds. Got it.”

“And thanks for the help tonight.”

She shook her head slightly. “I'm sure James Bond has it easier than me. Your boyfriend put his arm over my shoulders, tried to kiss me twice.”

I grinned. “He's not my boyfriend, but in any case, I'll be leaving soon, so you can go back to your nice boring life.”

“Just tell me this much – did it work?”

“Yeah, it did.” I smiled. “Kinsey's safe and well.”

“Okay, then. It was worth it. Now go.”

Turning toward the door, I took a deep breath and pushed it open. Down the short corridor, and out into the lobby. Kimball was waiting for me when I emerged. “Taylor, seriously. What the heck were you doing in there?”

“Well, I could give you details, but I'm pretty sure you don't want those.” I grinned as I took his arm and led him toward the doors. “What was next on the agenda? A moonlit walk on the Boardwalk?”

He stopped, and therefore, so did I. “We're not going to the Boardwalk.”

“Okay then, where did you want to go?” I had turned to look at him, and I saw the bathroom door open, and Anne-Rose ease her way out.

“You're waiting right here with me, until someone comes to pick you up.”

I tilted my head. “Comes to pick me up? You're not making any sense.” I moved a few steps, around in a half-circle, and his gaze followed me. Behind his back, Anne-Rose strolled past, and out through the doors.

“You know what didn't make sense, Taylor? You calling me up for a date, all of a sudden.” His voice was grim. “Unless you wanted to use me to cover something up. Use me for an alibi.”

“Alibi. Really.” I threw all the scorn I had into it. “I went to dinner with you. I went to the movies with you. And you call that setting up an 'alibi'? How's this alibi supposed to work, exactly?”

“I don't know … yet,” he admitted.

“So, am I under arrest?”

“What?” He looked taken aback.

“Am. I. Under. Arrest? It's not a difficult question.”

“No, you're not under arrest,” he sighed.

“Can I at least know what's happened?” I asked. “After all, I am Intelligence Division. I might be able to offer some insight.”

“You're a potential suspect. Not allowed to discuss the case with you.”

“Okay, fine,” I retorted. “Can I at least be allowed to go home and change? Hopefully, my bedroom won't be quite as noisily occupied by now.”

He paused. “You know … I never actually saw what you said was happening with Ms Campbell and your sergeant. I just accepted what you said was happening.”

Which was true, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, I snorted. “What, would you have preferred that I give you a guided tour? Andrea wouldn't have minded an audience, but Kinsey might have objected.”

“So, about your Sergeant Kinsey,” he pressed. “If officers went to Ms Campbell's apartment about, oh, twenty minutes ago, would they have found him there?”

“I don't know,” I told him. “Why don't we go there and find out? Or better yet, find a telephone and make a call? I have the number.”

“I'll make the call.” He strode out through the doors, and headed for the phone box. I followed along, hoping that nothing had gone wrong on that end. I was fairly sure that Gladys had had enough time to get Kinsey home before officers got there as well, but I wasn't absolutely certain.

-ooo-

With my arms crossed, tapping my foot, I watched as Kimball dialled and waited for an answer. A few seconds passed, then the phone was picked up on the other end.

“This is Detective Kimball. Is Detective Parris there … oh, good. I need to talk to him.”

A pause, then Kimball took a breath. “Parris, hey, it's Kimball. I have Captain Snow with me … how did it go there?”

I wasn't quite sure what Parris said on the other end, but Kimball's face fell slightly. “Really? So he was there?” A pause. “They were?” Another pause. “There's no doubt about it?”

He glanced at me, and I raised my eyebrows questioningly. Then he turned his attention back to the phone. “How about the weapons?” A pause. “Both? Have they been checked for having been fired recently? What, neither one? Both cleaned?”

“We did that this morning,” I murmured.

He ignored me. “Have you checked the ammunition loaded in them? Copper jacketed? Not soft hollowpoints?” The answer evidently disappointed him. He rallied, though, and kept talking. “Listen, do you have anything on either one of them?”

The answer was, once again, not one that he would have wanted. Slowly, he put the phone down, then turned to me. “Taylor, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want a truthful answer.”

“Sure you don't want me in an interrogation room first?” I replied. “But sure, I'll answer your question.”

He took a deep breath. “Are you a parahuman?”

I hadn't been quite sure what the question was going to be; he had managed to surprise me. “What? Seriously? Are you asking me that?” My voice must have conveyed my disbelief quite neatly. “No, Humphrey, I'm not a parahuman. I don't have powers. You don't get to be a captain in the PRT if you've got powers.”

“So how did you do it? Body double?”

“Really. You're going there.” I rolled my eyes. “Body double. That I managed to arrange in what, one day? I'm good, but I'm not that good.”

“Listen, I know you did it,” he insisted. “Not the guy at your car; I'm putting that down to Kinsey. But the others, that's gotta be your handiwork. I just don't know how you managed to make me think you were still sitting beside me.”

“Oh, for god's sake,” I snapped. “You tried to kiss me twice. Are you pissed because I was more interested in watching the movie than making out?”

“I – uh - “

“How did you know I was in the theatre? Because you had your arm over my shoulders. How could I have gone anywhere? You were right there.”

“In the movie,” he asked suddenly. “What happened to Wingman?”

“He was shot down by the terrorists, but survived,” I replied promptly; I hadn't seen the movie, but Lisa had fed me details such as that. I put my hand on his shoulder, made my expression sympathetic. “Humphrey. You have to believe me. Whatever happened – it wasn't me.”

Since I had ended up in Brockton Bay, six years before my own birth, I had faced off Alexandria twice. This would only get harder through the years, but so far I was ahead of the game. Compared to her, Humphrey Kimball was a pushover. I did feel kind of bad about it, though. It reminded me, long ago, of what I had done to Greg Veder under similar circumstances.

“Fuck,” he grated. “I was so sure. It all fitted so neatly.”

“I'm sorry,” I told him, and I was. “But it's not that cut and dried, today. Whatever happened, someone else did it. Sometimes the easy solution isn't the correct one.”

“I never said it was the easy solution,” he muttered; I immediately felt a little bit worse about putting him on the spot like that.

At that moment, a police car pulled in to the curb; the officer riding shotgun leaned out the window. “Detective Kimball?”

“Yeah, that's me,” Kimball replied.

“We're here to escort your suspect down to the station.”

“Yeah, there's a bit of a problem there,” he replied heavily. “She's got an alibi. Me. I was sitting next to her the whole time that thing was going on.”

“You're certain of that?” the officer asked. “Didn't duck out of the theatre for any part of the movie?”

“Only to go the bathroom,” I told the officer with a smile. “The ticket attendant will verify that.”

“Okay, fine, I'll call it in,” the officer told him. “Safe night, Detective.”

“And you,” Kimball replied. He watched as the car drove off. “You realise, I am going to have to check with the ticket attendant,”

“And he'll tell you that I went to the bathroom, then went straight back to the theatre,” I countered. “I didn't set foot out of the doors.” I sighed. “Nor are there any secret passages, teleporters or other weird devices in the ladies' bathrooms.” Just one unconscious troublemaker.

“Okay, fine, I believe you. Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I find it hard to believe that you'd know where to find your man, even if he was kidnapped.”

I laughed out loud. “Oh god, that's what you thought happened? No, I told you. Kinsey was with Andrea.”

“Which makes it a coincidence that your rental was the only vehicle to get trashed?”

My eyes widened. “Our rental car? Oh shit, how badly was it damaged?”

“I haven't seen it for myself, but apparently they smashed everything that could be smashed.”

“Crap,” I muttered. “There goes the security deposit.”

“You're really worried about that?” he asked. “People are dead.”

“Behemoth,” I reminded him steadily. “New York. People died there too. Thousands of people. I watched it happen, live. You say that these people who were killed were criminals? I'm sorry, but I can't really muster much sympathy for them. I'm saving it for the innocents.”

“Fine,” he grunted. “I'll drive you home.”

“Thank you.”

The air of strained civility remained between us as we headed down the street toward where he had parked his car. As we climbed in, I saw my troublemaker friend wander out of the theatre, looking more than a little upset. It wasn't my problem; I closed the door and fastened my seatbelt.

-ooo-

The Next Day

“Marquis has apparently decided to cut his losses,” I explained. “He wouldn't talk to the cops about this sort of thing anyway. They've got no leads; or rather, their best lead has a really good alibi.”

Gladys leaned back against the sofa and nudged Danny. “So we got to pull a full-on raid against a supervillain, while Danny here got to hang around a theatre, keeping lookout.”

“And I had to pretend to be you,” Anne-Rose put in. “I'm still not thrilled about that, mind you.”

I decided to make it up to her in some way; maybe a vacation to Hawaii for their honeymoon. “Well, I appreciate it. If not for you, I'd be answering a whole lot of awkward questions, first from the locals, then from my boss.”

Kinsey nodded at my words. “What the Captain said. I appreciate it, all of you. You went above and beyond, to help her rescue me.” He put his arm around Andrea; she snuggled up to him. “Especially you.”

Andrea giggled. “It was fun.”

Anne-Rose had a look of fascinated horror on her face. “Please tell me you didn't actually -”

“Yup.” Andrea's expression was pure glee. “The cops knocked on the door … “

-ooo-

Officer Bob McAuley had done this many times. He'd been offered tea, had abuse screamed at him, and been spat on, at least two separate occasions. It was a never-ending process, going from door to door, asking the same damn questions, over and over, until they were burned into his brain. Have you seen this man? Have you seen this woman? Do you know who this is? Over and over again.

On this occasion, it was a good deal simpler. Along with his partner Danny Fargo, he had to go to one address and ascertain the presence or absence of just one person. They'd even been issued with a written description. Caucasian male, about six feet tall, very broad in the shoulders, dark hair, very short cut, clean shaven. No known identifying marks. Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey of the Parahuman Response Teams.

Raising his knuckles, he glanced at Fargo, who faded back toward the side of the door, one hand on his gun butt. Even in midtown, it was wise to be prepared. He went to knock, then paused. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” Fargo frowned.

“Some kinda noise from inside. Sounds like someone crying out.”

“Wait one.” Fargo cupped his hands, placed them on the door, put his ear to it. A moment passed, then he grinned broadly. “Well, damn.”

“Well damn what?” McAuley asked impatiently. “Is that a good 'well damn' or a bad 'well damn'?”

Fargo chuckled. “I dunno if it's that Kinsey guy in there, but whoever is, he's gettin' some.”

McAuley rolled his eyes. “Well, we gotta sight the guy, so here goes.” Raising his hand once more, he rapped loudly on the door.

There was no response, so he rapped again. The door didn't open, but doors up and down the hallway did, people peering out. He kept his attention on the door; this time, he thumped on it with his fist. “Open up!” he called. “Police!”

After a moment, the tiny spot of light on the peephole was occluded. “Who is it?” called a voice. Almost certainly not the Kinsey guy, not unless he'd had a drastic operation. This was high-pitched, feminine. McAuley held up his shield so that the peephole had a good view of it. “Police,” he called back. “Ma'am, I need you to open this door, immediately.”

The door opened, on a chain. A pretty face, freckled, topped by red hair, showed itself at the gap. “What's going on? Can't a girl have some me time?”

“Ma'am, are you Andrea Campbell?”

“That's me,” the girl agreed. “What's the matter?”

“Ms Campbell, we need to enter the premises.”

“What for?” she asked.

“We're searching for a Sergeant James Kinsey. Is he here?”

“I, uh, sure. He's here. What do you want him for?”

“We just need to see him, to verify that he's here,” McAuley pressed.

“Uh, can I just have a minute?”

“No, ma'am. Please open the door. Immediately.”

The door closed briefly, then she opened it again. This time, McAuley got a good look at her, and his jaw slowly dropped. She wore an almost transparent robe over similarly minimal panties, and she wasn't too careful about how she held the robe together. He shaded his eyes. “Uh, ma'am, could you please put something more substantial on?”

“Jeez, make up your mind,” she muttered. “I'll just go and -”

Fargo raised his voice. “Sergeant Kinsey! James Kinsey! Are you here?”

After a long moment, a deep voice was heard from the rear of the apartment. “Affirmative!”

“Would you please come out here, Sergeant?” called McAuley.

Another long moment. “ … why?”

“Oh, for god's sake,” muttered Fargo. “Sergeant Kinsey, this is the police. We are coming in. Ma'am, step aside.”

They stepped into the apartment; she tried to block their way in. “You don't want to see him, guys. He's perfectly okay.”

“Ma'am, please step aside.” Fargo ran interference so that McAuley could get past.

“You really don't want to see him,” she insisted.

“We'll be the judge of that, ma'am.” McAuley moved down the passageway, to an open door. “Kinsey?”

“No – don't -”

He pushed the door further open, and saw. Some part of him ticked off the checklist; six feet tall, muscular, broad shoulders, Caucasian. He also saw a great deal that he hadn't wanted to see. “Oh, god.” Shading his eyes, he turned away from the doorway. “Sergeant Kinsey?”

“That's me.”

The next question came out without checking with his forebrain on the way. “Why are you naked and handcuffed to the bed?”

Kinsey's answer was very dry. “Son, I'm going to assume that you don't get out much.”

-ooo-

I couldn't help myself; I burst out laughing. Gladys followed my lead, and Andrea was already giggling.

“You weren't.” Danny's expression was now matching Anne-Rose's. “Handcuffed to the bed, I mean.”

“Darn tootin' he was,” Andrea told him with satisfaction. “Trick cuffs, of course. But we had to use something to hide the marks on his wrists.”

“So what happened then?” That was Danny.

“Well, they got me to let him go, and he put some pants on, and I put on something a bit more substantial,” related Andrea, eyes bright. “And then they asked us the kind of questions that they really didn't want to have to ask.”

“But which you love answering,” I supplied.

“Well, yeah,” she agreed, readily enough. “The looks on their faces were amazing.”

Kinsey coughed into his hand. “They had to ask her to stop going into detail.”

Gladys shook her head. “I'm not sure if I wish I'd been here, or glad I wasn't. But it sounds funny as hell.”

“Well, I enjoyed the heck out of it,” Andrea declared. “So does this make us superheroes now? Because we rescued Jim from a supervillain?”

I looked around at each of them. “Well, it makes you all heroes in my eyes. I just want to say, thank you, for -”

There was a knock on the door. I looked at Andrea. “Are we expecting someone?”

“Uh, no,” she replied. Getting up from under Kinsey's arm, she trotted over to the door, and peered through the peephole. “Huh. It's your boyfriend.”

“Kimball? He's not my boyfriend.” I sat up straight. “What the hell's he doing here? Now?”

“Dunno,” Andrea told me, “but he's got one big-ass bunch of flowers.”

“Okay, I've got to see this.” Getting up, I headed over to the door. Peering through the peephole, I saw that she was correct; it was Humphrey, with a large bunch of flowers.

“Should I let him in?” Andrea grinned at me.

“Not in in, but I should at least open the door, I guess,” I decided. Suiting action to word, I undid the locks and let the door open a little way.

“Taylor,” he greeted me. “Hi. I, uh, wanted to apologise.”

“That's okay,” I told him. “It was a tough call.”

“And I wanted you to have these,” he added, thrusting the flowers through the gap. This pushed the door open a little farther, and he saw the gathering. “Oh. You have friends over.”

“Yeah, just people I know from when I grew up here,” I told him. “Now that I'm back in town for a while, they're visiting.”

“Right, right,” he murmured, then his gaze sharpened. “Wait a minute. That guy, the tall skinny one with glasses. I know him from somewhere.”

“That's Danny,” I explained. “Turns out he was going to the movies that night too. Went in just as we came out. He was just telling me about it.”

“Yeah, I remember him, hanging around the lobby, right. Huh. Small world.”

“You're not wrong there,” I agreed. I didn't dare look toward the sofa; any minute now, I expected him to spot Anne-Rose. Side by side we didn't look totally alike, but Kimball still might twig. His 'body double' comment of the previous night had come a little too close for comfort.

“Well, anyway, I just thought I'd drop these off and say I'm sorry,” he told me, returning his attention to me.

“They're beautiful,” I responded, accepting the flowers. “Here, Andrea, hold these a moment?”

“Sure,” Andrea agreed; I handed them off to her, and stepped forward, moving Kimball back a little way.

“I just wanted to say sorry for giving you mixed messages last night,” I murmured, and kissed him. It was more than a peck on the lips, less than a full-on clinch. I only held it for a few seconds, but he looked a little dazed by the time I pulled away.

“Wow, okay, you can give me mixed messages any time,” he mumbled; I smiled.

“So we're okay?”

“We're okay,” he told me. He paused, and seemed to come to a decision. “Besides, I've been thinking.”

“Thinking? That sounds ominous.” My tone was amused.

“Yeah, thinking. What happened last night? Couldn't have happened to a bunch of nicer guys. So if you ever get it into your head to not do something like that again? However you did or didn't do it? Next time, just give me a heads-up, all right? Don't make me the patsy? Because right now, down at the station, my name's mud.”

I blinked. “Humphrey -”

“No, let me finish. I don't know how you did it, which is good, 'cause that way I can't prove it, and I can't arrest you for it. Whoever did that hit Marquis hard, which can only be a good thing. If you did it, great. However the hell you pulled it off. But I just wanna say, if it was you, and if you're gonna do that shit again, get me in on it, instead of playing me like a damn violin.”

“Well, not that I had anything to do with it,” I pointed out, “but I'm fully intending for the rest of my stay here in Brockton Bay to be nice and quiet.” I smiled. “But if I feel the need for company, I'll be sure to call on you.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

Still smiling, I kissed him again, this time just a peck on the lips. “Thanks for the flowers.”

“You're welcome. See you around?”

“See you around, Detective.”

“See you around, Captain.”

Turning, he strolled off down the corridor with a spring in his step. I watched him go, then let myself back into the apartment. Andrea was waiting for me, eyes bright; beyond her, I noticed that someone was missing. “Where's Anne-Rose?”

“Here,” she replied, stepping out of the kitchen. “Has he gone?”

“He's gone,” I confirmed.

“Good. I didn't want to come face to face with him. He might have figured it out.”

“I think he did, except for where you come into it,” I mused. “But I have an idea that he's decided that he's not going to try all that hard to solve it.”

“Because you bribed him with a kiss,” Andrea agreed cheerfully. “You know, you could have just gone back to his place last night. You'd both be a lot happier.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? My solution to everything does not revolve around sex.”

“Why not?” she asked impudently. “Mine does.”

No-one seemed inclined to argue with that; they knew her too well.

“So what are your plans for the next two weeks?” asked Gladys, seeking to change the subject.

“Believe it or not,” I told her. “I want to take it easy. All I want is peace and quiet.”

Andrea snorted. “Yeah, that's gonna happen.”

Taking the bunch of flowers back from her, I swatted her gently with them. “Shush, you.”

If anything disturbed my peace and quiet over the next few weeks, I decided, I was going to shoot it. 

Part 5-0