Originally posted April 7, 2010
((This is an entry into a story about one of Theresa's characters, the anti-hero, Finality. I like giving Chance the opportunity to flex his detective abilities. As of yet, the story remains unfinished.))
The club was about forty years past its prime with faded velveteen walls that once were red, but now ruddy. Gold accents and trimming now flaking and showed the pewter gray underneath; as did many of the dancers stripping for tips from men that had long been dumped by wives and girlfriends or still lived at home with mother.
Chance walked in and nodded to the mountain of a man that watched him with a look that dared him to cause trouble. The blond smiled and headed to the bar. "Excuse me, but how do I get to Betty’s apartment?" The woman behind the bar stared at the attractive young man with a look between hunger and need.
"Who wants to know, handsome?" A slow, revealing lean over the bar punctuated the question. Chance kept his eyes above the cleavage and thought a moment before responding. "I’m a client," he explained, unsure of what clients Betty might entertain. "I was told to come and see her." He couldn't use "I’m a friend." As far as he knew, Betty didn’t have any.
The bartender looked him over once more and then passed on the directions. "This better be on the up and up," she warned. "Betty don’t take kindly to calling without business and disturbing her." She pointed her finger like a gun at him, her thumb pumping down with a quiet explosion of breath.
A room full of strippers ogled him as he made his way up to Betty's door. The door slowly swung open at a gentle knock. He paused, reaching into his massive messenger bag for the comfortable touch of a weapon. He left his sword in the satchel. He called out to the silent space, "Fin? Betty?" He cautiously entered the room. "It's Chance, Betty. Tiph asked me to stop by and check on you."
A ransacked room greeted him: a mattress half pulled from its frame, pistol carelessly strewn across it. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Clothes lay spread around the room. A dozen empty bottles betray the wormwood stench of absinthe.
Chance pulled a pair of latex gloves from the utility belt in his bag. He moved quickly, trying to disturb as little as possible. Hovering above the absinthe, a coppery odor drove some level of urgency. "You here, Betty? The door was ajar." He stepped farther into the flat, mindful of the shattered remnants of mirrors flung across the floor.
Not seeing Betty immediately, Chance walked to the bathroom. Its door stood ajar. Shards of another destroyed mirror reflected his image from the floor. An empty bottle floated in the toilet. He followed two sets of footprints out of the bathroom to the curtain covered tub back in the flat.
Chance cautiously peeked in the curtain and sees her; nude and lying in blood red water. The tall, lithe woman held a straight razor in one hand. Long gashes ran the length of her wrists. He pulled out his phone with one hand, dialing 911 before setting the phone on the damp floor. The young man urgently explained the situation to the operator, pulling a first aid kit from his bag. Keeping the line open, he began to wrap the wounds in gauze.
The raven haired woman opened her eyes, eyelids fluttering with an attempt to focus. "I didn't order a blonde." Her voice sounded low and weak. Chance released a chuckle, "Hey Fin. Help is coming."
"Who? Help?"
"You did a great job on the remolding." He quipped as he rearranged her arms.
"Huh?" Her retinas focused, "Chance?"
"Yeah, Betty. It's Chance. Just stay still ok?"
"What the fuck?" She mumbled, "Why are you here?" She offered him a half, weak smile. "Want to bath with me?" Fin tried to sit up..
"Whoa there, Betty, just give it a moment. Don’t try and sit up." He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Her weak voice still carried some wit. "Whoa my ass. I need a drink and a smoke. Besides you still have your clothes on."
Chance chuckled again. "Ooh, pretty sure you don't want to see me naked, big tattoo, says property of Arasaka Corp."
Fin grinned at him with her eyes closed, "Well is no fair, you are getting a show for free. Besides what happens at here stays here. No one ever has to know." Her head tipped forward, lolling on her neck. "Why do I feel so weak?"
"You've lost some blood Betty; just hang tight for a minute."
"Blood? Was I shot? What happened?"
"No, and let's save the conversation for another time. Just take it easy now. Help is on the way."
Her eyes opened, narrow slits against her pale face. "Wait, did you say help? Who did you just call? Damn it Chance, if you called the hospital or cops... where are my pistols?"
Chance pushed her back as she struggled to rise from the bath, his voice now taking command, "Back in the tub! Do you have anything here that you need me to get out of here?"
She laid back against the porcelain. "Yes get my pistols and I will tell you what to do. Oh and there should be a berretta under the pillow as well. Oh and one in the kitchen drawer and one under the cushions of the couch and one in the toilet tank."
"Stay put." He rummages a few large evidence bag out of his satchel, separately bagging each weapon. A series of lipstick smudges on the silencer attached to the barrel of a MK23 caught his eye. He could think of only one way they could have gotten there.
She called out from the tub, "When you done go to the closet and pull out the throw rug on the floor."
He paused. "What’s on the rug?"
"Just hurry and do what I say before anyone comes!" She yelled back weakly.
He opens the closet and pulls the floor rug out. "Ok now what?"
"Step inside the closet and then take a side step to your right. Then kick the baseboard in front of you till you hear a click. You will know what to do then."
He followed her instructions and kicks the baseboard and hears the click. To his left the floor pops up about an inch. He knelt down to pry the panel loose. The floorboards hid an arsenal of weapons and ammo. He placed the gathered bag inside then re-secured the trap door. He threw the rub back over the floor, just in time to hear a thud as Betty's body collapsed to the floor. She had tried to get out of the tub, falling in a sprawl.
Chance exhaled in a long sigh, pulling a sheet from the bed to cover the pale flesh and make her more confortable. "I'm so tired, Chance."
"Tired? But Betty, I was going to ask you all the tricks I need to learn to keep Kori interested in bed. Got any suggestions?"
One eye peeked up at him "Don't be a smart ass Chance... you’re not very good at it." The eye closed as smirk. "Get me a cigarette please. The pack is somewhere on the floor with a lighter."
Chance stood, found the pack and crushed it beneath a heel. "Sorry Betty, they got trashed."
"Fuck." She mumbled. She reached out to grab her wrist he knelt next to her "But to answer your question Chance…"
"Yes, give me good tips here, tell me everything."
"Just be there for her and don't... don't..." her head rolled to the side as her voice faded. Chance felt a thin pulse beneath his fingers. He gently patted her face. "Fin, wake up."
"Chance? Are you still here? I can't see you and I am so cold."
He pulled her hand into his. "I’m right here Fin, Not going anywhere." and he wonders what is taking them so long to get here.
"Can I ask you one last favor?" He leaned close to listen to her faint voice. "Yeah Fin, anything you need."
"Tell Frank... I am sorry… and would you kiss me for him before I check out?"
"A big wet one? Does he like the tongue? Come one Fin. Anything else I can give him?"
Her body began to tremble, slipping into shock. "Please Chance let me go out imagining him kissing me on last time, just a kiss." Her words turned to ramblings, "Frank... one... last kiss... please?"
Chance lowered his face to press his lips against hers. Fin's hand drew up to his collar to pull him closer into a hard deep kiss.
"Ah excuse me someone call for an ambulance?" Came a call from the door.
Chance bit down on Fin's tongue, finally breaking free and pulling back, "Yes, over here." Fin grinned at him with half open eyes. "Sucker."
--
"Hey Eddie," Chance called out from within the apartment. "Thanks for meeting me." Police Lieutenant Edward Alejandro gathered his duster about him before sliding through the police tape. "Hey, kid," he responded. "There are a couple of guys out on the street watching the building that aren't mine. You in any trouble, Chance?"
The younger man shook his blonde head. "That's my security detail. You missed the other four, Eddie. Must be time for new glasses, abuelo."
The policeman chuckled as he stood up, taking account of the space while rubbing his shaved pate. "Security detail?"
"Yeah, my new girlfriend; she worries." Chance pulled his lower lip in-between teeth with a sucking sound. "I'm living with Korinna Arasaka, Eddie." The lieutenant didn't pause, didn't stop rubbing his head as his eye traversed the room. "Good for you kid. I'm happy to help out here but we have to make it quick. I'm meeting Eva Mendes for lunch. We're trying to keep it casual, you know." A smile flashed from within his goatee. Chance chuckled and held out a file.
"OK, what do we have here?" asked Eddie as he walked over to pull the folder from Chance's hand. "Run it down for me."
Chance explained the situation: a murder attempt dressed up as a suicide. "Think it was a real attempt?" Eddie posed as he shook his head. "All the perp needed to do was stick around a few minutes to make sure the vic was dead." Chance shrugged. It had been a long standing joke between them. Ex-spooks, agents, and super-villains could show colossal stupidity and arrogance in this modern milieu the two of them had started calling "The Dance." "Maybe she had to find somewhere private to cackle dramatically," Chance offered.
"She? Are you sure the perp is female."
"A lookalike of the vic," Chance explained. "Tall, stiletto heels, leather trench. Family, maybe. Shapeshifter, perhaps."
"Let's work with that for now," Eddie cautioned. Technically, the Special Investigative Service branch of the MCPD could only involve themselves in crimes involving super-villains and metahumans. Eddie flipped through the papers. "Sure it wasn't an actual suicide?"
"Yeah," Chance nodded. "There was definitely someone else here. Visual confirmation with multiple witnesses, including the vic."
"Coño , kid." Eddie lifted his head to point at a name on the page, "You didn’t tell me who the vic was on the phone."
Chance winced. "I wasn't completely sure she was square with the police, Eddie. I didn't want you to say 'no' right away." The young detective had gone through the news stories from last year: the confusing false accusations, human beings butchered and then sold as meat, killings, and criminal masterminds.
"As far as I know," the lieutenant answered his head turning back to the file, "She was completely cleared of any wrong doing." He tapped at his bearded chin. "She did a number though on Dr. Holmes, he absolutely checked in to complete-mind-screwed-hotel. If it was not for the ambulance the Doctor stole that night he killed her and he went bat-shit crazy, we would never have found where he was holed up. Dr. Holmes made it easy after finding it; he documented everything and made the clean up of the investigation easy with all of his files and notes. You know there were sightings of a lookalike in that case, too."
Eddie grunted. "All right, who else besides the now incarcerated Dr. Holmes might have it in for the illustrious Ms Paige?"
"Probably a long list; an ex-FBI agent in the BAU can generates quite a few enemies. Recently broke up with a boyfriend. All around unpleasant person." Eddie raised an eyebrow. "I don't think it's a stretch to assume something bad happened to her before this attack," Chance continued. "She was on a major bender for a couple of days, at least."
"You talk with the ex?"
"Tried to but he hung up at the mention of her name. He's clean though as he was in D.C. at the time giving congressional testimony on VIPER." Eddie nodded as Chance explained his frustration. "I've been through her papers and every listing on her cell phone. She has her phone encoded though and with out her voice and password I can’t get the damn thing to call. I've got bupkis, Eddie and she is still unconscious in the hospital and I'm not sure how much she'll co-operate when she'll come around. I was hoping we could go over the crime scene together and you might enlighten me with you greater wisdom and experience."
Eddie smiled and pulled a pair of glasses from a duster pocket. "Alright, kid. Let's see what we can see…"
--
Breaking and entering; It had been a while. The Harrier slowly shifted his weight forward, sliding his foot a few centimeters at a time. The suit he wore helped. A wondrous construction of Arasaka scientists/shinobi, it cooled his body temperature just enough to confuse the motion sensor hanging on the wall. As long as Chance kept his moments slow, he could cross the ten or so meters between the office and his point of entry. No sweat. Ten meters would take about 45 minutes at this pace. The cleaning staff had already been through here. The hero had all night.
It had taken four days of browsing through the memories of a madman to get this lead. Dr. Holmes, Fiona's one time mentor and notorious serial killer, had kept detailed notes articulating a series of crimes including the attempted frame of Fin last year. Eddie and Chance had spent the last four days examining the files, journals, and notes of Dr. Holmes in the cramped confines of a police evidence locker. A series of receipts and extensive entries regarding a particular patient pointed them towards Chicago. Chance needed some behind the wheel time. This seemed like a great excuse for a road trip.
Chance and Eddie had stopped by the office of the exclusive, Gold Coast plastic surgeon earlier in the day. The investigating team had not expected much. Dr. Beckman would claim doctor/patient and refuse to provide access to personal files without a warrant. The Harrier fought the urge to chuckle under the full face mask as he remembered the scene earlier today. At some point in the future, he would need to set up a poker game with Dr. Beckman. The surgeon's face blanched at the mention of Sarah Coulter. Chance could smell the sudden tartness of sweat.
He and Eddie rose and thanked the doctor, the police Lieutenant calmly explaining a warrant would not be necessary as they only needed to follow up. Now that they had they could finally close the case for good on Dr. Holmes. Eddie had used his best "good cop" voice as Chance looked around the office, surreptitiously taking pictures with the camera in his phone. The secret photo shoot continued as the two nodded and left the doctor's office, while Eddie stopping to chat up the cute Latina receptionist.
Out on the street, they nodded and exchanged pleasantries before Eddie left to establish "plausible deniability" by visiting some family. They had worked this routine before, together. The policeman would get them in the door. The un-sanctioned hero would then take the investigation law enforcement could not go.
Tonight, that led to five more meters to go before reaching the office, opening a file safe, taking a few pictures, disabling a window alarm from the inside (a much easier task than from the outside), and slipping out. Chance couldn't think about a better way to spend his time.
Then he heard the quiet beeping of someone typing out a security code outside the front door.
Harrier froze. No one could see him from the entrance way. He watched the LED on the motion sensor, waiting for it to indicate "Standby." The bolt of a lock slid back in the door behind him. He wished a moment of clumsiness on the intruder. Trip, fall, do something. Give me just one more moment to get to the open office and duck behind a desk.
A giggle spilled out from the space behind him. The light changed and he silently and quickly darted forward into Dr. Beckman's darkened office. Whatever you're here to do, don't need to do it in here, he thought as quietly closed the office door.
From a hidden space behind a mahogany desk, he listened as the giggle moved from the foyer into the waiting room. A male and a female voice spoke softly in Spanish. Chance knew enough slang from Eddie to realize this was not a professional visit. Chance remembered more than a few after hour visits to darkened back rooms. Young and lustful, one will take some privacy where you can find it. From the way the giggle transformed into coos, the young hero realized he might have a few new words to ask his Cuban friend about.
A hand rested on the office handle briefly before being led down the hall into an examination room. Wise decision. Chance would favor a romantic encounter on an adjustable, cushioned, examination table than a cold hard desk. He pushed an unbidden memory of Kori's penthouse office out of his head and returned his focus to an assessment of the room.
The photos hinted at three potential locations for a hidden file cabinet. Chance found it on the second try. Keeping an ear open to the pace and tenor of the coupling occurring down the hall, Chance quickly picked the lock, searched the names, and pulled out the rather meaty file of one Susan Coulter. He laid the file on the floor, arranging the pages under a tiny hooded book light he pulled from his utility belt. He didn't read as he silently took pictures, but he saw enough.
He did not spend more than three minutes photographing the file, picking out revealing excerpts. Satisfied, he set the file back in to its hiding place, re-locked the cabinet, and slid the concealing panel back into place. Chance let the pitch build a bit in the room next door before soundlessly slipping out of the office, through the waiting room, and out the still unlocked front door. No cameras in the hallway and a straight shot to the staircase then roof. He stopped himself from whistling as he climbed. Walk in the park. No trouble at all.
--
Chance handed Eddie a beer as the Lieutenant scanned the files on his laptop. "Kid, this is beyond fucked up." The younger man took a long pull before nodding and flopping into the table next to his friend. "Not only did he run the same experiment on each of them, trying to turn them into serial killers," Chance explained, "But he gets this one," he pointed to a photo of Susan on the screen," to look like the other."
Chance leaned over to bring his head closer to the detective. "What do you think Eddie?"
The older man stroked his beard twice, rubbed his head, and then took a swallow before answering. "We've got a name, eyewitnesses that put her at the scene, possible motive in here. It should be enough to secure a warrant for her arrest. I'm out after that, though. I can't 'officially' help you if she's not a meta." He shrugged. "Not so sure what good it will do you. A warrant I, mean. This woman's been underground for a while now."
"Yeah," Chance smiles. "But she had to be watching Fin to figure out when she could make an attempt. That took some time and surveillance. I don’t think she's done quite yet with our dear Ms Paige."
--
Dr. Holmes loved the opera. His journals described arias in meticulous detail; outlined his emotional response to each musical phrase. His notes described introducing Fiona to the art and his delight at her rapid appreciation. She could denote subtleties plot and characters, he noted with approval. He referred to “the other subject,” the “possible replacement” with less glowing terms. “Susan thinks it was pretty,” he had jotted down with some distain.
The young detective scanned the foyer of the opera house. Elegantly clothed aficionados had come out in force for the opening night of Handel's Agrippina. He came here on a hunch, an idea driven by a madman's musings. Chance bet thousands of dollars' worth of surveillance based on a half assed thought that Susan would feel some closeness to her incarcerated "father" at this time and in this place. Dr. Holmes loved the opera and Susan Coulter loved him, a psychotic, dutiful daughter.
Chance leaned against the balustrade, an untouched vodka and tonic in one hand, the stiff collar of a starched shirt pressed against his neck. Diana thrilled at arranging the last minute fitting. "This will never do for a wedding," She had told him. "But this tux will do nicely for the opera." Chance had to admit. Diana had excellent taste in fashion and he couldn't remember when he looked so good in the penguin outfit, so classy.
"You would look good in a tux," Kori had remarked at their regular bedside breakfast. "I want to see you without one," she added with a wicked smile. A grin broke out across his face. Always nice to have a reason to make it home at the end of the day.
The hunch paid off. He inhaled sharply as he spotter her in the crowd.
Pinned, washed, coifed, raven hair fell around her face, revealing a long, graceful neck. Subtly applied makeup accentuated the sharp features of her face. Her dress plunged enough to spark interest, but not so much to offer false promises. Velvet darkness covered pale skin while revealing enticing curves; a dress chic and expensive. Chance noticed a tattoo, high on her neck. Fiona carried that same mark, in that same place.
Susan's laughter sparkled over the hushed crowd. She held a drink in her hand, a handsome well-appointed, attentive man on each arm. She chatted with Fiona’s voice. She flirted with Fiona’s eyes. She interacted with the gathered crowd, a psychopathic chameleon.
Fin, Chance mused, Fin never dressed up like that. She never held herself like that. Chance couldn't remember Fiona ever smiling like that. Her lips would twist into an irregular sneer at the misfortune of another or the rotation of a verbal knife.
"Artemis. Harrier," he whispered. "Target sighted. Track." Scarce moments passed before heard a female voice in his ear. "Harrier. Artemis. Tracking."
--
Diana looked over to Chance in the dim light of monitors and across the small space afforded by the surveillance van. He had loosened the bowtie and his collar, a young James Bond dressed in a tux worth more than twice any amount he had ever spent on a month's rent. He wore it well.
"I get the feeling you've done this before," She remarked. He grinned. Chance didn’t doubt the file Kori's personal assistant had gathered on him stood less than 15 cm tall and would outline the successes and failures of every police raid or operation he ever led.
"Yes," he answered. "Never at this level. Your people are incredible, Diana."
"They aren't my people, Chance."
He nodded, eyes traveling from screen to screen. "We got her. I counted five touches."
"Yes. The radioactive isotope we dusted her with will stay tractable for about 48 hours. We can track her via satellite that entire time."
"I'd still like to move on the warrant, tonight. Before she gets anywhere near what she considers home. 'When able to attack, we must seem un-able.'" Chance quoted.
"'When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away,'" She replied.
Chance turned to her, placing an elbow on the console and his chin on his palm. "Diana, I do believe you're flirting with me."
She grunted. "You wish." They shared a quiet laugh. "Tonight," she agreed. Together they started the calculations of war.
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