In a run down section of Queen City's downtown; on Race street near Seventh, Angus Wickersham locked the door of his little tailor's shop as he'd done for the last thirty years. He turned to the street and sighed, then glanced up at the darkening sky. He pulled his briefcase closer and began trudging up the street toward the parking lot where his immaculately maintained LTD was waiting for him.
"Ahh, Emily," he muttered as he walked. "I still miss you, love. Sometimes I wonder why old Angus is still here." The tall man moved steadily, his footsteps firm. His attention focused on getting home, Wickersham didn't hear the footfalls behind him. From an alley in front of the parking lot three teenagers in matching black jackets stepped out.
"Whatcha got in the briefcase old man?" asked a teenager. Wickerham suddenly felt a pair of arms grabbing him from behind. Another teenager punched him in the stomach and Angus Wickersham's breath leaked away like an open balloon. He sagged in the arms of his captor.
"N..no!" he begged. "My life's work..." The teenaged thugs grabbed the briefcase and popped it open.
"Money? Stocks?" A look of anger and confusion crossed his face when he held up a small bundle of cloth.
"CLOTH?!?" The young punk's face turned red with fury. "Where's the MONEY, old man?" He pointed at his buddies and Wickersham felt a fist slam into his tight stomach. He groaned in agony and drooped to one knee. The punk punched him in the side of the head and Mr Wickersham saw his glasses spiralling toward Race Street. A fist caught him in the ribs and Wickersham groaned again, his sides on fire.
But through blurry eyes, he beheld an angel in white. The angel droped from the skies, swooping in and throwing the street punk into the wall of the alley. The remaining hoods ran away. The angel glanced after them, and Wickersham feared the Wrath of the Lord would fall on them. But the angel stooped down, and handed him his glasses.
"Are you all right?" she asked. Wickersham slid the glasses onto his nose and stared up at his angel. It appeared to be a woman, clad in a white leotard and mask. Her dark brown hair shone in the streetlight, forming a halo, but blotting out a clear image of her face.
"I...I think so," he said. "My car is just down here." The woman helped him to his feet, and Wickersham winced in pain. He grabbed his chest, then took a deep breath.
"I think I had worse in Aberdeen as a lad. My football and rugby days were a bit rougher than this," he said with a small attempt at humor. He accepted his proffered briefcase and began down the street. When he turned back to thank his angel, he saw that both she and the teenaged punk were gone.
"That's all right," he said. "I think I know how to thank her." Humming softly, Angus made it to the LTD and drove home.
******
Sergeant Winslow sat hunched over the steering wheel of his black Monte Carlo. He was on patrol near Victory Park, looking for that mysterious flying woman he'd been hearing reports of, but aside from the one sighting the night she gave him a burglar at the hospital, he'd drawn a blank. Other officers had seen her though, and Chief Mallory was furious.
"I won't allow Queen City to be overrun with vigilantes!" he'd shouted.
Winslow didn't voice his own opinion; that while Chief Mallory wouldn't allow vigilantes, he would allow people like Giovanni Cafazzo and his gang to run rampant. Winslow hated the idea, and knew Mallory was on the take, along with several other cops. Captain Linseed was of the same opinion. He'd taken Winslow into his confidence a month ago.
"I don't like the idea, Don, but I really feel the only way we're going to get Cafazzo is from outside the force. Every agent we send in gets aced within weeks, and we get nothing of value."
"Why don't we send for the Feds?" asked Winslow.
Linseed snorted. "You got more faith in the Feds than in good cop work, Winslow? Besides, this is an internal matter in the department; I don't want the feds to drag the whole department through the mud for the sake of a few bad apples." Winslow had to agree. In the interim, he'd pieced together a plan. But it required him to see this heroine again.
Winslow heard a thump against the trunk of the car and he jerked his head up. "Crap!" he shouted as the cold Dr Pepper spilled on his shirt. He looked back at the trunk and saw a teenage gangleader from a downtown gang bent over the trunk. The woman in white was holding him down.
Winslow scrambled out of the car. "Wait!" he called. The woman smiled.
"He was assaulting an old man, and I figured he had to have other warrants too. And I knew your car from the other night. So do you want him?"
Winslow nodded. "I do, but I need to talk to you too. Can you spare a minute?"
The woman nodded and Winslow accepted her charge. He read the punk his Miranda rights, then locked the kid into the backseat of the Monte Carlo. Turning back to the white heroine, he asked, "What should I call you?"
The woman smiled, and a warm feeling washed over Winslow. He felt like a schoolboy again and almost turned his head.
"I'm White Owl," she said. "Is that all?"
"No-no!" I want to let you know something. The police department isn't too happy with you being here, officially anyway. I know there are orders to bring you in at all costs."
"So are you going to take me into custody, officer?"
"Sergeant. Sergeant Winslow. And no, I'm not unless you've broken some law. Actually, I have a proposition for you."
She grinned again. "Shame on you Sergeant, I can see you're married."
Winslow looked at his left hand, and saw the gold band. "Yeah, Carla's terrific. But that's not the proposition." He glanced at his watch, then looked at the punk.
"I get off shift in two hours. I need to process him first. Care to meet me at Bowyer's Point? I'll bring coffee."
"Make mine a nice tea, two sugars. I'll be there."
Later that night, Winslow stood along a rail at Bowyer's Point, two steaming cups in his hand. Like a whisper, he heard the rustle of satin as White Owl alighted behind him.
"I didn't think you were going to come," he said.
"I did a quick reconnoiter first," she replied. "I couldn't be too careful. After all this could have been a trap for me."
Winslow nodded. "Mind if I light up?" he asked.
"I wish you wouldn't. I'm still not sure this isn't a trap." White Owl took the offered cup and sipped the hot tea. A smile crossed her face again. "Just right, Sergeant--Thank you."
Winslow fidgeted. "I...I don't know how to ask this, White Owl."
"Why not straight out--I find that works best."
Despite her brassy attitude, Winslow found himself liking this young girl. So he plunged forward. "You're aware of Cafazzo and his stranglehold on the city?" She nodded.
"We can't get to him, he's too well protected. But have you ever heard of Stan Pogue?"
White Owl shook her head. "No, who is he?"
"Pogue is the accountant for Cafazzo. We know there are at least two sets of books, but we suspect three. Warranted searches of his office and his home have turned up just the two. But we suspect Pogue has a third set, reflecting the funds he's been skimming from Cafazzo. If we can get that, then we'd have a way to make Pogue give over Cafazzo.
"But you said a warranted search hadn't turned it up."
"True, we didn't. But Pogue has more than one hidey-hole. He has a mistress in Uptown, keeps her well. We couldn't get a warrant there. If someone could get into her place, we're certain we'd find the books there."
"So you want me to engage in a little creative breaking and entering?" she giggled.
"Well, yeah. But not tonight. Pogue's in town tonight. We know he's planning to go out of town on Saturday night. Would you be able to check it out then?" Winslow handed the heroine a slip of paper with the address.
She turned her head to the river, then looked back. "Who am I to turn down an honest cop? I'm just a good citizen right?" She crushed her cup and tossed it into a garbage can, then jumped out over the river. Winslow watched as she headed west toward the bridges, then she disappeared from sight.
"I just hope I haven't done something I'm gonna regret," he said, lighting a Laramie.
******
Friday Morning broke at the Nikos household. I'd been White Owl for about a month and I thought I'd been doing a good job. The morning paper didn't have any stories about my nocturnal activities, and that was a good thing. I kissed Papa as I sat down to breakfast and we outlined our days. Alex was meeting with the bank to get loans approved for expanding Gold Line. Papa was doing quality contol in the Kosterman Hill store.
"I'm visiting my tailor, Papa. I need to get some clothes made for winter, and for the conference I have coming up next month in Zenith."
"You're going to Zenith, heh? You going to visit your sister while you're there?"
"Of course, Papa," I agreed. He kissed me on top of my head, then he and Alex left me to clean up. I set the dishes in the washer, and went out to wait for the bus. I never really understood it, but I never learned how to drive. I was always busy with everything else. And as a child, I figured out the bus schedules for Queen City early on. I was all over town as a kid, thanks to the bus. When I went to school at the university, it was easier to take a bus than drive so I didn't bother then either. So while both Alex and Diana can drive, I rely on public transportation.
The bus came and I read through the city until I heard the mechanical chime announcing Seventh and Race. I stepped from bus and walked up the street to Mr Wickersham's shop.
He looked up from his dummy and smiled as I came in. "Ahhh Ms Nikos. I see the suns of the Mediterranean just made you look lovelier." I smiled back at him. He made a slight limp toward me.
"Are you all right?" I asked him.
"It was nothing. Ruffians tried to rob me last night. But an Angel helped me."
"An Angel?" I asked.
"Surely, you know the city has a new guardian Ms Nikos. She's all dressed in white. And she saved my life last night." As he spoke, he closed the blind on his window and locked the door. His eyes twinkled with a merriment I hadn't seen in a long time.
"And now I have an opportunity to thank her."
"Wh...what are you talking about Mr Wickersham?" I asked.
"Oh come now, Ms Nikos. A mask hides the face, but a tailor knows every inch of his client's bodies. Moreover, I recognized the leotard she was wearing--I know my own seamwork when I see it." He bent over a safe and turned the knob. Opening the door, he pulled out a new shimmering white leotard, a pair of long gloves, and a pair of high white boots.
"Try this on," he said. I stammered, but nodded. I stepped into the dressing room and slid into the leotard. It was soft, silky and felt delicate.
"I don't think this would work, Mr Wickersham." I said, stepping out of the booth. "It seems too soft and..." I stopped and stared as Mr Wickersham pointed a pistol at me.
"What are you doing?" I said, alarm in my voice.
He pulled the trigger, and three loud gunshots rattled through the room. I screamed and felt three thuds against my chest. But when the smoke cleared I was still standing.
Mr Wickersham calmly set the pistol down on the counter and stepped back over to me. "Aye, just like in the tests. 'Tis bulletproof."
"What?" I asked again, stupefied.
"This is a new material I developed Ms Nikos. I call it NuSilk. It's a synthetic blend--soft and supple like silk, but with a special surface tension that keeps the bullets from penetrating. Scissors and knives can cut it along the seams, but it won't take any other abuse. Something to keep the new heroine safe."
I stood there with my mouth agape. "I...I don't know what to say."
"Then say 'Thank you'," he said. I nodded and thanked him.
"I've more I'm working on," he said. But I thought the basics should be covered first." Having presented me with the costume, Mr Wickersham became all business again.
"Now then Ms Nikos. What can I show y' today? I've a nice gray wool, and some vurra nice sweaters for autumn and winter."
*****
I was so excited Saturday night. I knew Winslow was counting on me. He'd even given me the address. I was perched on the rooftop of Monitor and Wager, surveying the quiet apartments that Stan Pogue, CPA for the mob, kept for his mistress, Gina LaRosa. She'd been spotted at the airport with Pogue; they were leaving for a Vegas weekend.
The city seemed sleepy as I swooped onto the balcony. No alarms sounded. And at this level, Gina wasn't too careful. The balcony was unlocked. I slid the door open and stepped into the dark apartment.
"Now where would I hide those books?" I wondered. I stepped into the living room which was immaculate. The kitchen was neat, dishes cleaned and put away. Gina's bedroom was done in pinks and satins, and a large teddy bear occupied the center of the bed. Her computer glowed in one corner of the room and I slipped toward it. I spotted a heavy filing cabinet next to the computer and tugged on the handle. The drawer didn't open, but the cabinet pivoted. I looked down and found a recessed door in the floor.
I pulled open the door and found them. Pogue's third set of books. I slipped them from the floorsafe and closed the door behind me. I shoved the file back into place, then grabbed the books and prepared to stand up. I heard a rustling from the bed and felt the cold barrel of a gun against the back of my head.
"I'll take those," said a gravelly voice.
"My my, a talking teddy bear," I said.
"Shut up!" he said. As he cocked the trigger, I whirled,, my high kick hissing high on the "teddy bear's" thigh. The goon groaned and dropped the gun. I grabbed the books and ran for the balcony. Behind me, I could hear the bear groan, chasing after me. I shoved the sofa at him, moving it easily. It blocked the chasing criminal, and I ran out onto the balcony, then flew into the air.
Winslow was waiting at Bowyer's Point again, and I hovered over him, dropping the books behind him. "I'll be in touch," I said, as I flew toward Sylvania.
"Ahh, Emily," he muttered as he walked. "I still miss you, love. Sometimes I wonder why old Angus is still here." The tall man moved steadily, his footsteps firm. His attention focused on getting home, Wickersham didn't hear the footfalls behind him. From an alley in front of the parking lot three teenagers in matching black jackets stepped out.
"Whatcha got in the briefcase old man?" asked a teenager. Wickerham suddenly felt a pair of arms grabbing him from behind. Another teenager punched him in the stomach and Angus Wickersham's breath leaked away like an open balloon. He sagged in the arms of his captor.
"N..no!" he begged. "My life's work..." The teenaged thugs grabbed the briefcase and popped it open.
"Money? Stocks?" A look of anger and confusion crossed his face when he held up a small bundle of cloth.
"CLOTH?!?" The young punk's face turned red with fury. "Where's the MONEY, old man?" He pointed at his buddies and Wickersham felt a fist slam into his tight stomach. He groaned in agony and drooped to one knee. The punk punched him in the side of the head and Mr Wickersham saw his glasses spiralling toward Race Street. A fist caught him in the ribs and Wickersham groaned again, his sides on fire.
But through blurry eyes, he beheld an angel in white. The angel droped from the skies, swooping in and throwing the street punk into the wall of the alley. The remaining hoods ran away. The angel glanced after them, and Wickersham feared the Wrath of the Lord would fall on them. But the angel stooped down, and handed him his glasses.
"Are you all right?" she asked. Wickersham slid the glasses onto his nose and stared up at his angel. It appeared to be a woman, clad in a white leotard and mask. Her dark brown hair shone in the streetlight, forming a halo, but blotting out a clear image of her face.
"I...I think so," he said. "My car is just down here." The woman helped him to his feet, and Wickersham winced in pain. He grabbed his chest, then took a deep breath.
"I think I had worse in Aberdeen as a lad. My football and rugby days were a bit rougher than this," he said with a small attempt at humor. He accepted his proffered briefcase and began down the street. When he turned back to thank his angel, he saw that both she and the teenaged punk were gone.
"That's all right," he said. "I think I know how to thank her." Humming softly, Angus made it to the LTD and drove home.
******
Sergeant Winslow sat hunched over the steering wheel of his black Monte Carlo. He was on patrol near Victory Park, looking for that mysterious flying woman he'd been hearing reports of, but aside from the one sighting the night she gave him a burglar at the hospital, he'd drawn a blank. Other officers had seen her though, and Chief Mallory was furious.
"I won't allow Queen City to be overrun with vigilantes!" he'd shouted.
Winslow didn't voice his own opinion; that while Chief Mallory wouldn't allow vigilantes, he would allow people like Giovanni Cafazzo and his gang to run rampant. Winslow hated the idea, and knew Mallory was on the take, along with several other cops. Captain Linseed was of the same opinion. He'd taken Winslow into his confidence a month ago.
"I don't like the idea, Don, but I really feel the only way we're going to get Cafazzo is from outside the force. Every agent we send in gets aced within weeks, and we get nothing of value."
"Why don't we send for the Feds?" asked Winslow.
Linseed snorted. "You got more faith in the Feds than in good cop work, Winslow? Besides, this is an internal matter in the department; I don't want the feds to drag the whole department through the mud for the sake of a few bad apples." Winslow had to agree. In the interim, he'd pieced together a plan. But it required him to see this heroine again.
Winslow heard a thump against the trunk of the car and he jerked his head up. "Crap!" he shouted as the cold Dr Pepper spilled on his shirt. He looked back at the trunk and saw a teenage gangleader from a downtown gang bent over the trunk. The woman in white was holding him down.
Winslow scrambled out of the car. "Wait!" he called. The woman smiled.
"He was assaulting an old man, and I figured he had to have other warrants too. And I knew your car from the other night. So do you want him?"
Winslow nodded. "I do, but I need to talk to you too. Can you spare a minute?"
The woman nodded and Winslow accepted her charge. He read the punk his Miranda rights, then locked the kid into the backseat of the Monte Carlo. Turning back to the white heroine, he asked, "What should I call you?"
The woman smiled, and a warm feeling washed over Winslow. He felt like a schoolboy again and almost turned his head.
"I'm White Owl," she said. "Is that all?"
"No-no!" I want to let you know something. The police department isn't too happy with you being here, officially anyway. I know there are orders to bring you in at all costs."
"So are you going to take me into custody, officer?"
"Sergeant. Sergeant Winslow. And no, I'm not unless you've broken some law. Actually, I have a proposition for you."
She grinned again. "Shame on you Sergeant, I can see you're married."
Winslow looked at his left hand, and saw the gold band. "Yeah, Carla's terrific. But that's not the proposition." He glanced at his watch, then looked at the punk.
"I get off shift in two hours. I need to process him first. Care to meet me at Bowyer's Point? I'll bring coffee."
"Make mine a nice tea, two sugars. I'll be there."
Later that night, Winslow stood along a rail at Bowyer's Point, two steaming cups in his hand. Like a whisper, he heard the rustle of satin as White Owl alighted behind him.
"I didn't think you were going to come," he said.
"I did a quick reconnoiter first," she replied. "I couldn't be too careful. After all this could have been a trap for me."
Winslow nodded. "Mind if I light up?" he asked.
"I wish you wouldn't. I'm still not sure this isn't a trap." White Owl took the offered cup and sipped the hot tea. A smile crossed her face again. "Just right, Sergeant--Thank you."
Winslow fidgeted. "I...I don't know how to ask this, White Owl."
"Why not straight out--I find that works best."
Despite her brassy attitude, Winslow found himself liking this young girl. So he plunged forward. "You're aware of Cafazzo and his stranglehold on the city?" She nodded.
"We can't get to him, he's too well protected. But have you ever heard of Stan Pogue?"
White Owl shook her head. "No, who is he?"
"Pogue is the accountant for Cafazzo. We know there are at least two sets of books, but we suspect three. Warranted searches of his office and his home have turned up just the two. But we suspect Pogue has a third set, reflecting the funds he's been skimming from Cafazzo. If we can get that, then we'd have a way to make Pogue give over Cafazzo.
"But you said a warranted search hadn't turned it up."
"True, we didn't. But Pogue has more than one hidey-hole. He has a mistress in Uptown, keeps her well. We couldn't get a warrant there. If someone could get into her place, we're certain we'd find the books there."
"So you want me to engage in a little creative breaking and entering?" she giggled.
"Well, yeah. But not tonight. Pogue's in town tonight. We know he's planning to go out of town on Saturday night. Would you be able to check it out then?" Winslow handed the heroine a slip of paper with the address.
She turned her head to the river, then looked back. "Who am I to turn down an honest cop? I'm just a good citizen right?" She crushed her cup and tossed it into a garbage can, then jumped out over the river. Winslow watched as she headed west toward the bridges, then she disappeared from sight.
"I just hope I haven't done something I'm gonna regret," he said, lighting a Laramie.
******
Friday Morning broke at the Nikos household. I'd been White Owl for about a month and I thought I'd been doing a good job. The morning paper didn't have any stories about my nocturnal activities, and that was a good thing. I kissed Papa as I sat down to breakfast and we outlined our days. Alex was meeting with the bank to get loans approved for expanding Gold Line. Papa was doing quality contol in the Kosterman Hill store.
"I'm visiting my tailor, Papa. I need to get some clothes made for winter, and for the conference I have coming up next month in Zenith."
"You're going to Zenith, heh? You going to visit your sister while you're there?"
"Of course, Papa," I agreed. He kissed me on top of my head, then he and Alex left me to clean up. I set the dishes in the washer, and went out to wait for the bus. I never really understood it, but I never learned how to drive. I was always busy with everything else. And as a child, I figured out the bus schedules for Queen City early on. I was all over town as a kid, thanks to the bus. When I went to school at the university, it was easier to take a bus than drive so I didn't bother then either. So while both Alex and Diana can drive, I rely on public transportation.
The bus came and I read through the city until I heard the mechanical chime announcing Seventh and Race. I stepped from bus and walked up the street to Mr Wickersham's shop.
He looked up from his dummy and smiled as I came in. "Ahhh Ms Nikos. I see the suns of the Mediterranean just made you look lovelier." I smiled back at him. He made a slight limp toward me.
"Are you all right?" I asked him.
"It was nothing. Ruffians tried to rob me last night. But an Angel helped me."
"An Angel?" I asked.
"Surely, you know the city has a new guardian Ms Nikos. She's all dressed in white. And she saved my life last night." As he spoke, he closed the blind on his window and locked the door. His eyes twinkled with a merriment I hadn't seen in a long time.
"And now I have an opportunity to thank her."
"Wh...what are you talking about Mr Wickersham?" I asked.
"Oh come now, Ms Nikos. A mask hides the face, but a tailor knows every inch of his client's bodies. Moreover, I recognized the leotard she was wearing--I know my own seamwork when I see it." He bent over a safe and turned the knob. Opening the door, he pulled out a new shimmering white leotard, a pair of long gloves, and a pair of high white boots.
"Try this on," he said. I stammered, but nodded. I stepped into the dressing room and slid into the leotard. It was soft, silky and felt delicate.
"I don't think this would work, Mr Wickersham." I said, stepping out of the booth. "It seems too soft and..." I stopped and stared as Mr Wickersham pointed a pistol at me.
"What are you doing?" I said, alarm in my voice.
He pulled the trigger, and three loud gunshots rattled through the room. I screamed and felt three thuds against my chest. But when the smoke cleared I was still standing.
Mr Wickersham calmly set the pistol down on the counter and stepped back over to me. "Aye, just like in the tests. 'Tis bulletproof."
"What?" I asked again, stupefied.
"This is a new material I developed Ms Nikos. I call it NuSilk. It's a synthetic blend--soft and supple like silk, but with a special surface tension that keeps the bullets from penetrating. Scissors and knives can cut it along the seams, but it won't take any other abuse. Something to keep the new heroine safe."
I stood there with my mouth agape. "I...I don't know what to say."
"Then say 'Thank you'," he said. I nodded and thanked him.
"I've more I'm working on," he said. But I thought the basics should be covered first." Having presented me with the costume, Mr Wickersham became all business again.
"Now then Ms Nikos. What can I show y' today? I've a nice gray wool, and some vurra nice sweaters for autumn and winter."
*****
I was so excited Saturday night. I knew Winslow was counting on me. He'd even given me the address. I was perched on the rooftop of Monitor and Wager, surveying the quiet apartments that Stan Pogue, CPA for the mob, kept for his mistress, Gina LaRosa. She'd been spotted at the airport with Pogue; they were leaving for a Vegas weekend.
The city seemed sleepy as I swooped onto the balcony. No alarms sounded. And at this level, Gina wasn't too careful. The balcony was unlocked. I slid the door open and stepped into the dark apartment.
"Now where would I hide those books?" I wondered. I stepped into the living room which was immaculate. The kitchen was neat, dishes cleaned and put away. Gina's bedroom was done in pinks and satins, and a large teddy bear occupied the center of the bed. Her computer glowed in one corner of the room and I slipped toward it. I spotted a heavy filing cabinet next to the computer and tugged on the handle. The drawer didn't open, but the cabinet pivoted. I looked down and found a recessed door in the floor.
I pulled open the door and found them. Pogue's third set of books. I slipped them from the floorsafe and closed the door behind me. I shoved the file back into place, then grabbed the books and prepared to stand up. I heard a rustling from the bed and felt the cold barrel of a gun against the back of my head.
"I'll take those," said a gravelly voice.
"My my, a talking teddy bear," I said.
"Shut up!" he said. As he cocked the trigger, I whirled,, my high kick hissing high on the "teddy bear's" thigh. The goon groaned and dropped the gun. I grabbed the books and ran for the balcony. Behind me, I could hear the bear groan, chasing after me. I shoved the sofa at him, moving it easily. It blocked the chasing criminal, and I ran out onto the balcony, then flew into the air.
Winslow was waiting at Bowyer's Point again, and I hovered over him, dropping the books behind him. "I'll be in touch," I said, as I flew toward Sylvania.
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