Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (47 page)

But first, I had to find my team, and since my previous contact, no one was responding.

“Hurry up!” I heard someone yelling down the street. It was a woman’s voice and it sounded just like Ruby. I hurried down through an alleyway and came around the corner to a major street, Wisconsin Avenue. It was as deserted as any of the smaller roads, littered with destroyed or abandoned cars.

“Who are you?” a woman asked me, her costume a black and white spandex monstrosity, with skull knee and elbow pads and a set of tears across the abdomen, as if the material had been ripped apart by a massive claw. Her face was covered with the mask that gave the villain her name, and it only took me a second to recognize her. It was Deathshead. Beside her was Stormfire, standing with her legs splayed, arms out and ready with a reddish burning anima surrounding her fists. Stormfire’s long, blonde hair danced in the breeze, and when she turned to face me, a wicked smile crossed her face. Floating in the air in the middle of the street, watching out for incoming heroes, was Skyburner, floating in the air thanks to the jetpack strapped to the back of her mercenary armor. Once she saw me approach, her twin hand cannons trained on me, two laser sights intersecting in my chest. The fourth member of the group was Razorstrike, a sadomasochistic witch with leather-strapped armor that jutted spikes in every direction. She crouched over a fallen winged hero, who was badly injured and spattered in his own blood. A quick look told me that he was Angelus, a member of the superhero team called the Chosen. He recoiled from Razor’s slashing claws, which had criss-crossed his body with several dozen slashes. One of Angelus’ feathery wings was twisted back, the delicate bones snapped in an odd angle.

These were the Ladies of Pain, a villainess group who was among those escaped from Utopia thanks to Dr. Zundergrub, though where their leader, Bubblerella was, I couldn’t tell.

“Well, well,” Deathshead said, unraveling her Painwhip. It was an electrified weapon, and I had no idea what the effect would be when it hit my energized suit.

“Who do have we here?” Stormfire taunted, tossing her hair like if she were auditioning for a shampoo commercial.

There was no way for them to recognize who I was. To them, I was a big dude in a funny tech suit and big, ugly boots, but I knew I was in trouble if they decided to attack. Deathhead’s whip was only the first part of the pain the ladies would have in mind for me, and I was sure to join Angelus if I didn’t do something to stop them.

“I’m Blackjack,” I said, strutting forward without a care.

Deathshead gasped, Stormfire’s mouth lay agape, and Razorstrike even turned away from her sadistic torture of Angelus for one second, giving me a once-over with her cat-like slit irises.

“You dress like shit,” she said through her sharpened, fang-like teeth.

I walked right up to them, noticing how Razorstrike stood away from Angelus to join the others in encircling me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, still putting up a strong front.

“We’re playing, baby,” Razorstrike said, licking the blood from her claws.

“Hey boss,” Stormfire shouted to one of the stores, and Bubblerella came out of small newsstand.

She was the most dangerous and leader of the bunch, with control of magnetic waves that could lay to waste a small town, but she concealed her unearthly power under the veneer of a teenage cheerleader, down to the pom-poms and everything. Bubbles was an attractive little thing with a killer figure, a blonde bob cut, and a duckface pout that she sported as she came out of the store.

“No fucking lollypops,” she spat, not caring much about me. She turned her attention to Angelus. “Oh. My. God. Fucking kill him and be done with it, bitch. Who’s this?”

A dozen or so super villains flew above, low enough to catch wind that the Ladies of Pain were hunting and needed to be left alone, moving on for easier pickings.

“That’s right, bitches!” Bubblerella yelled them. “This is our house!”

I looked around at the destroyed buildings, the uneven streets, as if ripped from the ground by an earthquake, tossing cars and smashing windows asunder. Rubble and corpses everywhere, the place looked worse than Kosovo.

“I’m Blackjack,” I said again, and from her change of expression, I knew Bubblerella believed me.

“We should turn him in to the doctor,” Skyburner said, landing behind me.

“Good luck,” I said, angling toward at her, making sure she would be my first target if the Ladies decided to get nasty.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Bubblerella told Skyburner, coming closer to me, unconcerned with the reputation or what I could potentially do to her and her friends. “You really Blackjack?” she asked, smacking her gum.

She came right up to me, close enough that I could smell her perfume, see the runs in her heavy eye shadow, and notice the nervous twitch in her eye as her thick eyelashes were interwoven with her bangs. Bubbles put her hand on my chest, rubbing my pectoral and abdominal muscles.

“Oh, my,” she whispered. “Bubbles,” Stormfire started, but she stopped with just a glare from Bubblerella.

“How tall are you?” she asked me, her attention once again entirely on my muscular frame.

I chuckled. “Big as they come.”

She didn’t like the taunt, with all of its permutations; she raised an eyebrow and half-cocked a grin around her perfectly white teeth.

“I want one,” she told the others.

“What about Zundergrub?” Razorstrike said.

“Fuck that crazy bitch. This girl wants to have fun.”

Stormfire laughed, also coming closer, “Girl, you are such a horndog. But damn, if he’s good enough for Apogee, I want sloppy seconds.”

Bubblerella liked the insult, bringing herself into my chest and angling up for a kiss. “Are you going to break my heart?”

I crossed my arms, making her take a half-step back, and said, “All of you have to leave.”

Bubbles didn’t instantly understand, trying to figure it out as sex talk, but Razor knew immediately what it meant.

“Come on, hon,” Bubblerella pleaded. “We’ve got places to go, people to kill. We could use you.”

“And abuse you,” Storm said, still playing the sexy game.

“Me, first,” Bubbles said, inching in front of Storm. “We’re tired of Zundergrub’s stupid games. He got us out, and we helped him take the town. Now I want to have some fun. I’ve been in jail for three years, Blackie. A girl needs to get laid or she’ll get ... nasty.”

There was a little sting in what she was saying, a veiled threat hidden deep within, but I could see her nerves, sense her apprehension. All those years in the mind-prison had blunted the edge.

And besides, I was Blackjack. I’m sure she had since discovered that I had taken down Epic.

“You and your freak brigade have ten seconds to fuck off,” I said to Bubblerella.

She finally understood, as did Stormfire. I wasn’t going to be on the menu today. A fight with me meant at least half of their number dead or seriously injured. I didn’t fuck around when it came to throwing down, something that might have spared Angelus.

“Damn, honey. It’s you who’s missing out,” Bubbles said, and then she used her magnetic wave powers to lift off and fly away. Storm and Skyburner also lifted off, and Deathshead whistled, making her Murdermachine hovering Harley appear out of the ether and roll right up to her. She jumped on, and Razorstrike jumped on behind her, making a big deal of using Deathshead’s bone-inlaid bustier to hang on. Death’s abundant bust made for an ample handhold.

“I’d heard your bitch-ass had switched sides,” Razor said. “Next time you’re going down hard.” She blew me a kiss as the Murdermachine’s engine roared to life and tore the two women away from me, leaving a heavy trail of smoke in their wake.

I ran over to Angelus, who was coughing up blood.

“Hey, you all right?”

Turning him over, it was obvious that he wasn’t. His pale skin was scarred with dozens of minor slashes, coating his upper body, shoulders and face with trails of blood, but it was a gaping wound in his lower abdomen that was the problem. It looked like shotgun blast had opened up his midsection and spilled his intestines out into his lap. The dried blood that caked his abdomen and legs gave me a hint that he had struggled with this injury for some time.

I laid him on his back as comfortably as I could. His eyes blinked, trying to ascertain who his new attacker was. He tried to push me off, but his hands were too weak.

“You’re going to be okay,” I lied.

Angelus shook, a violent wave that originated in his midsection and ran down his extremities.

“Take it easy,” I said, and not knowing what else I could do, I ran into the same store where Bubbles had come out of, looking for something to help. There were displays of magazines that were all ripped from the walls and strewn all over, a wall-length cooler filled with drinks and sandwiches, and a small counter with a register. A dead man lay doubled over the counter, his blood sprayed over the Formica. I grabbed a bottle of water from the broken-down refrigerator, running back outside.

I twisted the cap off and poured some of the liquid into his mouth, but he shook his head, pushing me off.

“It is His plan,” he whispered, a strange smile crossing his blood-spattered face.

“I’m sorry I was late,” I said, but he shook his head.

“You are in His plan, too. Blackjack.”

I sipped the water, looking down the Wisconsin Avenue in hope that Battle was nearby. Perhaps Mirage’s healing powers could bring Angelus back from the brink.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, knowing the answer.

He was so still, I thought he was already dead, but then he closed his eyes and smiled, satisfied.

“Always,” Angelus whispered, and died.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I was lost, and not because I was a careless fool.

That was the usual reason I would be lost, a general absent-mindedness that increased as I became more concerned with the scenery than the actual goal of my trip. It had happened a million times driving around in my old Bentley, the one Atmosphero blew up along with my Malibu house. That lack of concentration was the reason I had designed my watch computer with military-grade GPS, more accurate than the commercial ones, and a 3D holo mapping feature that let me know where I was, regardless of where I was. The watch had been destroyed back on Hashima Island, when the most powerful arrowhead I’d ever designed, the Nuke, had obliterated Retcon’s device and saved the world. Haha had used it to piggyback his basic command functions. Now it was just a vestige of my old life, a memory of my foolish past.

Haha had abandoned me in Australia, but at this moment, I would have taken him back. The robot would have been worth his weight in gold right about now.

Hell, even a run-of-the-mill smartphone would have been a lifesaver. But I was a wanted felon, a fugitive of the world’s most secretive and secure prison.

Who the hell would give me a data plan?

Besides, I wasn’t lost in the usual way. I was just damned confused. Some asshole had taken the time to pulverize every stop sign, every streetlight, and yes, every damned address sign, so I had no idea which direction R Street was. I might have been on S Street, so running one way meant a short, one-block jaunt to find the boys. Meanwhile, running the other way might send me in the wrong direction.

Another thing that was bothering me was the spandex tech suit, riding my crotch. I knew Superdynamic wanted some uniformity in his new team; he wanted everyone looking and feeling the same. I knew the logic: in the scrum of a battle, it would be easier to know where your partners were, who was in trouble, and who was coming to help. I knew that. But I didn’t think Superdynamic designed this suit for a guy my size, regardless of how stretchy the thing was. It was comfortable, and felt like you weren’t wearing anything, but now I understood why Moe wore regular pants over the thing.

I ran past a big and tall store and went inside.

To suit up.

I found a decent pair of jeans with a double-stitched inseam, and a black T-shirt. Combined with a good black leather belt and my trusty old Ass-kickers, I felt more like myself. The tech suit still protruded down to my wrists, but it didn’t look too bad.

“Superdynamic,” I said, hoping they could still hear me.

“Where are you, man?” he shot back, his voice scratchy from the shitty reception.

“I’m kind of lost,” I said, hating that I was THAT guy, the putz lost way behind. Even as I cringed at the thought of asking for help, I knew they needed me. Only I could neutralize Lord Mighty.

“No problem, man,” he said with a tone far too affable for how he had been treating me the last few days. “Your ‘twenty’ is six hundred yards northeast of us.”

“Damn,” I complained, realizing I had run past their location.

“We’re headed toward the battle lines, hoping to attack from behind and give General Hinds a reprieve. Then we’re hitting the White House. So hurry up.”

“I’m on my way,” I said, breaking into a run, heading out of the back of the store in the general direction of Superdynamic and the boys.

“You do know cardinal directions?” he asked, back to his usual smarmy self and I laughed, hating him once again.

“Yes, I’ll be there in a sec.”

“You’re northeast of us, so you have to go southwest. You got that? You’re moving northeast.”

I was about to fire off the rocket boots when something gave me pause. I couldn’t put my finger on it, just something made me stop and listen. I was standing in a wide back alley between two strip malls, each facing opposing streets, but a weird sound was coming from the other side

The honking sound of a lot of ducks.

“SuperD,” I said.

“See the Moon?” he said exasperated, his voice louder than usual as he and Battle were under heavy gunfire. “Just make a half-turn to the right–”

“No, man. I don’t need directions,” I said, kicking down the back door of a business. If there had been electricity in the district, an alarm might have gone off, but instead, I was able to enter a cake and cookie shop from the rear, passing through the kitchens toward the storefront.

“I just want to know why I can’t hear anything,” I said weaving through the dark store. “I can only hear you, is what I’m trying to say.”

I heard an audible beep, then he responded.

“There, you’re given access to all channels,” he said, but I still didn’t hear anything. In theory, Superdynamic and his team were chattering to each other, and he was monitoring all communications, including a line to General Hinds himself. But I was still in the dark.

I came to the front of the store, hiding behind the glass display.

“I still can’t–”

“You just think it, Blackjack. You think it, and the suit does the rest,” he snapped, and I remembered Apogee’s words to me back on Shard World. “He’s only a douche to bad guys.”

I almost laughed, engaging the system and being rewarded by the sounds of Moe saying “Suck-a-dick, nigga. How long we gonna wait?” I heard Templar mumbling a soft tune I couldn’t recognize and Ruby muttering, “Jesus Christ, I have to pee.” Chen said, “We can’t trust him, Superdynamic. He’s too unpredictable” over the open channel, which meant he didn’t care that I had heard. Behind it all, at a lower volume, was the channel to General Hinds and I could hear the man himself, cursing up a storm as he fought tank-to-tank through the streets of Washington, D.C. The general seemed to be making progress, now that I had cleared the artillery battalion that had pinned in down.

“Goddamn motherfucking shoot straight” General Hinds shouted over comms. “I’ll go over there and make you do a hundred fucking pushups right in the middle of this goddamned shit, you understand me, you fucking cocksucker? If I had time to give you a fucking lesson on how to shoot straight, I would. Now you’re the fucking lead tank, act like a motherfucking lead tank and shoot the fuckers dead....”

And so on.

It was pretty funny to listen to him berate his troops, but I didn’t laugh. Instead, I audibly gasped, cringing under the front display of the bakery, trying not to be seen.

Ahead of me, in place of the strip mall’s massive parking lot, was a pit torn into the earth, perhaps fifty feet to the bottom and four times as wide. Down at the bottom were thirty or forty heroes, and ringing the pit were maybe ten times that number of villains acting as prison guardians. Some delighted in torturing the heroes, having found a nemesis among the throng and unleashing well-deserved revenge. Standing high over the pit were several mecha and a few companies of General Maxwell’s men intermingled with the villains. In all, there were about two hundred soldiers guarding the heroes. They took no part in the tortures and murders, but they also made no effort to stop them.

But none of that was what made me crawl under a store’s display, hiding myself from sight.

Because standing among the mecha was a tall demon dinosaur thing, a red monster I knew well and had fought back on Hashima, and at its feet, somehow distinguishable despite the hundreds of people gathered around him and the distance between us, was Dr. Zundergrub.

And he was smiling like a kid at Christmas.

“What are you doing?” Superdynamic asked as I ripped off a length of a white tablecloth and wrapped it around my face. I dug my fingers into the cotton fabric, making a pair of eye holes.

“Going undercover,” I said, heading to the wrecked door leading out.

I heard a few audio beeps, similar to when Superdynamic had opened up my suit audio. Instead of communicating with me, though, I froze.

“Is that you fucking with me?” I asked, fighting against my restraints. The suit felt like dried paint, complaining at every effort, almost about to crack and flake off. But I was more afraid of busting the thing than I was of being held.

“Super,” I said.

“Yes.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I looked out the windows of the cake shop, hoping no one would look inside. Most were near the lip of the crater, taunting the heroes inside, but a few were bored with the festivities, close enough to the shop that it was only a matter of time until someone saw the big dude hiding inside.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“I have an idea,” I said, now as exasperated with him as he had been with me. “If it goes right, I might free a bunch of people. You see what I’m seeing, right?”

He was silent, though whether fighting off enemies or just letting me stew, I couldn’t tell.

“Right? I mean, you made the suit. It has sensors and stuff all over.”

“I see what you see,” he admitted, and from his tone, I could tell he wasn’t going to fight me very hard on this.

“There’s maybe fifty heroes down there. If I can free them, we’d have a hell of a force.”

“You’re outnumbered fifty to one. At least. You’re going to get them all killed.” He didn’t mention me, and I wondered if he was confident I would survive or just didn’t care if I died. One more loose end tied. The worst part was how much I cared what the smug bastard thought. “It’ll work,” I said. “She trusts me, Jeff. Maybe it’s time you started to.”

A couple of villains walked past, a man and woman, their hands all over each other, headed to a more private place to continue their celebration. She peered inside and caught a glimpse of me, but it didn’t make her curious, and she continued with her beau.

“You could get those people hurt,” he said, though it was clear from the tone of his voice, as it had with Colonel Cray in the chopper, that he was about to give up.

“Then again, I might save them.”

After another long pause, Superdynamic freed the suit, sparing me having to tear the thing apart. I think he knew that holding me was more a gesture than anything, but he was still concerned.

“What’s your plan?”

I walked outside the cake shop, stumbling through the crashed threshold and almost falling to my feet. One of the villains walking past caught my arm and spared me an ungainly fall. He and his six burly buddies wore simple gray jumpers and had their arms and faces laden with tattoos.

“You all right, dude?” he said, genuinely concerned, but I could tell the others were sizing me up, wondering if I had anything valuable.

“The fuck do you care?” I growled, pushing him off. The man shrugged, walking off with his group to find easier pickings.

“The idea is to cause a distraction,” I told Superdynamic as I walked toward the edge of the pit.

Zundergrub was across the chasm, facing my direction. I couldn’t take the chance that he’d see me, so I moved slowly, using every tall person I could to hide behind, trying to blend in as best I could. I found a gap in the throng ringing the lip and peered down at the supers below.

“Are you seeing this?” I said over comms for Superdynamic’s benefit, but at the same time drew the attention of a nasty-looking villain standing next to me. He was a dark-skinned fellow with long black hair wearing typical American Indian garb – a breechcloth around his waist, leather leggings and moccasins. On his brawny torso he wore a leather beaded war shirt, dyed yellow and black.

“Of course I see,” he snapped, with an angry glare.

“I do,” Superdynamic said. “I see Coach down there, as well as FTL, Nitronic, Moonlighter and Brimstone Bobby....” he trailed off as I gave him a chance to scan.

“FTL is your buddy, right?” I said, remembering they had served on the Superb Seven together.

“Kind of,” he said. “I just ... well, the guy’s a little strange.”

I moved away from the edge, noticing that Indian villain was following me, no doubt curious as to why I was talking to myself. Ducking my head to seem smaller, I hurried through the crowd toward Zundergrub, and after a few moments I had lost the Indian.

“What I mean is, can you patch into his suit? Can you do that?”

“I could, but the signal would be easier to intercept than....”

“Than what,” I said, making steady progress toward Zundergrub. I decided to circle the pit to my right, in the general direction where the two mecha stood. His big, summoned demon was right next to them. Their massive legs and the heavy shadow they cast would provide me some cover. Zundergrub was beside the farthest mecha, surrounded by a throng of big men, almost as if he were expecting something like this. Getting to him would not only involve working my way through the crowd without him noticing me, which would be tricky even in the dimly lit night, but I would also have to fight my way through the last bunch of supers, each one bigger than I was by a factor of at least two, a few of them a thousand pounds of muscle and mass.

“Super?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking,” he said. “Okay, I’m going to patch you in directly. You’re closer, so the signal will be harder to intercept if you’re the source. FTL doesn’t have a built-in decoder like the one in our suits.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him,” I said, not realizing Superdynamic was patching me in.

“Who is this?” FTL responded with a strangely alien accent I couldn’t place.