A Fearsome Shadow

Tyson Lewis slid his hockey mask on over his head. He felt himself come alive, eyes peering at the sun going down. He remembered loving the daylight. Now it was something that kept him in check.

Tyson had been injected with a chemical that had mutated him while he was in a coma. When he woke up, he discovered he had the ability to move in shadow. He decided to use this new ability to get revenge for what had happened to him. Gradually he had expanded that into a wider vigilantism against all criminals.

The house was something he had worked on to convert into a secret lair. He had cleaned it out and was squatting on it. He had gotten the electricity and water turned back on, but made sure the bill was sent to a P.O. box. He couldn't do anything about the meter readers, but at least the house looked abandoned from the outside.

The sun finally vanished, leaving behind a twilight gray sky. It wasn't ideal, but at least he could get out and travel without drawing attention with his patchwork costume, and white full helmet.

Tyson sank into a shadow, and slipped out of the house. He made his way along the street, using connecting shadows to get around. He hadn't figured out how he did it, but he could sense the world around him even flattened into darkness when he shouldn't be able to sense anything.

The kid vigilante decided that he would hit some of the local watering holes for leads he could follow back to someone he could wreck. Nine times out of ten, the gossip was wrong. That tenth time is what kept him in business as the Mocker.

Tyson knew he wasn't a big deal like the Leaguer, or Johnny Shield. That didn't fuel his need to do something. His altered DNA and the need for revenge is what kept him hiding from the world and attacking the underworld with his shadow power.

It also pleased Tyson that his shadowy Mocker persona made the same type people that turned him into a freak while trying to kill him, afraid of what could happen if he started looking into their business. He was a fearsome phantom that carried off evil doers to his lair where he dined on their hearts and livers.

That amused the boy to no end.

Tyson decided that he would hit the Knickerbocker Club for his first stop. It was owned by some Colombians who were middle men in the drug trade in Church Hill. One of the owners had been caught with a ton of cocaine.

The guy said he didn't know how that bag had got there.

The shadow walker made his way across town riding the silhouettes of moving cars as he went. It was the fastest way he could think of short of driving himself and that wasn't likely to happen. He was outside the system now, and a license, much less owning a car was out of reach for a good long time as far as he could see the future.

He looked out over the city as the sun started going down. His hooded cloak swirled around him, hiding his black suit of leather. White hair peeked out of the edges of the hood, framing a hideous face.

The face scared criminals enough to run so they wouldn't look like that.

The papers called him the Fear. He felt neutral about it. He needed a name, and the Fear was just as good as anything he might have created on his own. Plus it helped his victims realize that he was scary.

Reputation deterred trouble for the most part, depending on how bad it was.

The cloaked man raised one hand, a grapnel shooting from under the sleeve to a building far below. He needed to think about getting a car. Until then he had this, and public transportation across the city.

The Fear swung out in the air, falling but also being pulled forward to where his hook had made an anchor point. His cloak spread out behind him in giant bat wings as he soared over the street. He landed gently on a ledge, reloading the grapnel as he made his way from the edge of the roof.

The city was an open book to him, doors opened when he wanted them to, its residents giving up their secrets when he decided to ask. Others patrolled Church Hill, trying to protect its citizens. He liked the shadows and the edge the unknown gave him.

They couldn't all lift buildings like the Leaguer.

The hero couldn't scare people either. Everyone knew he and Johnny Shield were boy scouts. The underworld didn't fear them.

The cloaked man drifted along the roof tops. He had been teaching Church Hill's criminals to fear him. It allowed him openings to close open cases despite what some of the authorities wanted to do. He had already targeted certain policemen who were on the take. They would never know who had played their taped conversations in the middle of the open trial in which they were testifying.

It had disrupted proceedings but the look on their faces had been priceless.

The hooded man drifted to the roof of the Knickerbocker Club. He was looking for someone, and the dance hall was the best place to start. If he didn't see the man he wanted to talk to, there was always someone else he could use to further his own ends.

A vigilante could pick and choose and often did, but the cloaked man liked to tie people together into a net of incriminating evidence and forced confessions. Sometimes that didn't work and he had to use his fists to get information.

He descended on the roof of the club. A special key allowed him in through the roof emergency door. The alarm failed thanks to a small disk he placed in the lock mechanism. The stairs leading down led him on.

The Fear waited in the shadows, watching the stairs for anyone coming up to the office he stood outside of. He couldn't hear over the noise from the sound system below, but decided to take a chance. He worked the lock and stepped inside.

The office was empty with a window to watch everything going on below. A light wasn't needed for what he was doing. It only took a few moments of looking to find the concealed safe in the fake liquor cabinet. It took almost as little time to spring the small vault.

The Fear scanned the contents with as small amount of touching as he could get away with. There was nothing there to say the owner was doing anything more illegal than watering down the drinks. Not exactly what he was looking for.

He shut the safe and went to the window. He scanned the crowd for the one face to make this worthwhile.

Pedro leaned against the bar, protected by muscle, and enjoyed the lovely senoritas moving around in their skimpy dance clothes. This was the life. He could have any girl he wanted with a flick of his finger.

There was one fly in the ointment. A group of Street Sharks wore their denim and teeth proudly as they moved around the room. They were enjoying the money from undercutting the Reys in a place at the edge of their respective territories. Only the proclamation of neutral ground prevented a gun battle right there on the dance floor.

The Reys and the Sharks had been enemies for a long time, with the Sharks on top. Something had happened and their ranks had been shorted. Pedro knew of one guy who had been slammed repeatedly by someone. The balance had shifted because of that turmoil and now the Reys called the shots.

One way, or the other, they ran the trade through Church Hill.

Pedro knew the Sharks and the other gangs wanted to fight it out with the Reys. He tried to fix it so the cops went after his enemies before they came after him. He liked the idea of using the cops to do his dirty work, even if others would consider him a snitch.

It saved on bullets as far as he was concerned.

Pedro decided that he would head to some other night spot. He could sense the way the Sharks were watching him, like they were gearing up to start trouble. It would be better if his crew were leaving in case they had to explain a gun battle.

Self defense was the best defense in court.

Pedro gestured at his men, three bulky slabs of muscle and four wiry toughs, and started for the door. He kept his hands in his vest pockets, eyes on the Sharks muttering over glasses of booze. He considered whacking them outside in an ambush, but discarded it. The Reys couldn't afford the heat, and he couldn't afford to be tied up ducking the cops.

Freedom required vigilance, and he required his life out of jail so he could spend his money.

Pedro made it to the door, ignoring some shouted personal comments. Insults didn't bother him. Nothing bothered him except the loss of funds. His crew knew better than to say anything. Too many Reys that talked too much wound up vanishing with no one knowing what happened.

All knew that Pedro had talked to the offenders before they disappeared in the urban graveyards around Church Hill.

Pedro headed for his ride, a neon purple Honda, hands in his pockets, whistling. The other Reys fell back a step. Their captain was planning something bloody. The random notes he issued marked someone being fitted for a concrete box.

The only question was who.

The Reys walked to their cars, trying not to think about it.

The Mocker felt no fear in the Knickerbocker Club. The lights were dim, throwing long streaks of darkness across the bar and dance floor. A person of his abilities could stand in one place without being seen by the crowd moving around. The music was the only drawback.

The living shadow moved from table to table, trying to find anything he could use in his crusade. He came across the Street Sharks watching the Reys leaving. He strained to hear as he rode along at their feet.

"We should get rid of Pedro." The lackey stood close enough to his leader to be heard without raising his voice. "The Reys would collapse without him."

"We can't afford a war." The head cheese frowned at the slighter man with his blocky features. He ran a hand through a buzz cut as he looked around. "We can't even fight a war without more guns."

The Mocker knew Bull Canford was a lieutenant in the Street Sharks. The human brick had risen to that position thanks to him in a manner of speaking. The gang's losses were the result of their attempt on his life and giving him his powers.

Tyson wondered what he could do to spur the situation on. The Reys kept out of trouble, kept away from outsiders, and only killed people when they could get away with it. They had avoided his personal attention for those reasons.

Maybe he should take a personal interest in things and see if he could steer the two enemies into a fight. Framing people was second nature to him now.

He just needed an existing gripe he could fan until the two made a mistake the police could use on them.

Canford ordered a bottle of beer and took it outside. His circle, and Tyson, followed him. Canford went to his car, sipping the beer as he thought. The shadow walker could almost hear the wheels grind in the big man's head.

"We're going to start looking at the Reys' schemes." Canford threw the empty bottle against the wall. "No fighting. Don't get too close. Just cruise by and come to the Fifth mission. Once we have an idea on how they're working it, we'll decide what to do."

"What happens if they shoot at us?" The lackey smiled in the dim street light. "I wouldn't mind dropping a couple of those streeters."

"If anybody starts anything before I'm ready." Canford's face set in planes of grimness and quiet malice. "Don't bother coming to the mission. Am I understood?"

The smaller Sharks nodded, even Mr. Bloodthirst.

"Go home. Get some sleep. Start tomorrow." Canford climbed into his car. "I'll be waiting at the mission at three. Don't do anything stupid."

The Sharks dispersed, swimming away in the light traffic. The Mocker became visible for a brief second, hands on hips, short cape over his shoulders. He shook his head, before he used a shadow to get back inside the club to get some more information he could use.

The Fear left the office as silently as he had entered. He had gathered some information from his observation of the crowd, but he didn't know how useful it was yet.

The cloaked man headed for the roof. The Reys were the new threat in town. It was time that he had a talk with one of their guys. Once he had a broken link in a chain, he could work his way up and down the pipeline.

The key was to pick the right Rey to talk to. Everything else fell on that.

The Fear used his grappling gun to swing across the city, keeping track of the colorful cars he had spotted from the roof. He waited until one was stopped at a light. He used the other arm gun to shoot the back of the car with a beacon. He backed off, letting his quarry run while he moved at a more leisurely pace.

There was no point in rounding the guy up right away.

The Fear liked to gather information before he moved in. That allowed him to identify possible secondary targets to grab up as he went.

The cloaked man moved through town, a small hand unit telling him where he had to be. His subject moved around, rarely talked to anybody, and then found a girl to go home with. The distance traveled was in a five-block radius.

The Fear checked his equipment belt around his waist. He didn't have any other bugs in the area gathering intelligence. Time to change that. He outfitted his arm guns and sent his supply of bugs raining down on the neighborhood. Most of what he gathered would be useless. What he could use would give him an edge.

Part of his job was to create havoc and confusion so he could cut out his targets from the herd. Any edge he gained would make his job easier. Working from ambush allowed him to use a magician's touch on his marks.

Sometimes no one even knew he was involved in what happened.

That made things more satisfying to him in certain ways. Expectations allowed him to maneuver his targets into places they couldn't climb out of on their own. That made it easier than when he did have to take a hand in things.

The Fear turned and fled over the city heights. He had spent his first few hours with this. It was time to look around for more active felons. He had to feed victims to his reputation if he wanted to keep his act going.

Tyson Lewis fled from shadow to shadow. His power allowed him free access but no one talked about anything but the Sharks and the Reys. Some forecasted a short war with the Sharks broken and finished in Church Hill.

Tyson didn't see it.

The Sharks had always been the gang, fighting off other gangs who tried to invade their turf. In fact, the only real setbacks they had taken came after they had injected him with the shadow fluid. He had been slightly bloodthirsty after what he had undergone.

Maybe he should look into the Reys before Canford started his plan.

Tyson made his way to the door, slipped outside, and made his way across town to police headquarters. They kept files that he used to put together his own raids. Some of the information was bad, but the records allowed him a way to get a fix on someone he was looking for. Plus his shadowiness allowed him free access anytime he wanted.

Tyson entered the building through the parking area reserved for officers. He flitted from shadow to shadow until he reached the gang unit. Several officers were on duty, checking information over the phone, doing their own file searches. The Mocker made his way to the back of the room.

Now came the tricky part.

Tyson hid in the shadows and manipulated the keys on a computer from inside the keyboard. He stuck his head up to see if he typed in the right thing before pressing the enter key. His request allowed him to look at gathered intelligence on the Reys. The list of crimes was longer than his arm.

Tyson put the files in an email and sent them to a plain address he used for such an emergency. He could read them later at the library. After that he would delete the address. If the detectives noticed what he had done, they would try to track down the owner of the address.

It was better to get rid of it than keep it.

Tyson shut the computer down, and fled from the room. He retraced his moves back to the parking garage. Once outside, he moved along the street, trying to come up with a plan.

The Reys needed to be taken down a peg, or two.

Tyson decided that he needed to look at the files he had stolen a little closer. He headed for the nearest library. A few minutes of work netted him a printout he could read as fast as he wanted. He made sure to shut everything back down before he fled into the night with his precious papers.

Tyson made it home, changed, and hid his costume in a space in his closet. No sense leaving it out in the open and giving someone a clue about who he was. Besides he could just make another just as easily if he had to do it. He went to his couch and started going through the file, taking notes in his work book. Names and addresses would make it easier doing what he wanted.

Tomorrow he would infiltrate Canford's meeting, and see if there was anything there he could use to his advantage.

A gang war had to be stopped before it started. Too many people could be caught in the crossfire. It looked like he was the only one who knew about it, and he certainly couldn't go to the police. He needed a plan to get at the Reys' weak links and shut them down.

It sounded really easy, but he knew it wouldn't be. He would need an iron clad frame if he wanted to make a dent.

The day came and went, night denizens hiding out until the sun went down. Tyson Lewis donned his costume as he watched the last of the fiery eye sinking to sleep below the horizon. He stepped into shadow, and started across town.

The Fifth Street Mission had been taken over by the Street Sharks when St. Agnes moved to another building closer to the church. The criminal element had preyed on the nuns and priests until the bishop had said enough. Tyson knew that Johnny Shield had tried to protect the social workers, but when he wasn't there, things had gone badly. So St. Agnes had just given up on the location and moved to a safer one.

Canford paced inside the boarded over soup line kitchen when the Mocker arrived and used a shadow to hide until he had heard something he could use on the gang. He knew it wouldn't be long before Bull's lackeys arrived with what they had gathered about the Reys.

The lower members of the gang arrived and snuck in through a busted out cover. Anyone outside would think the place was sealed off, but the Sharks had two doors out of the building where they had pulled the boards loose enough to move out of the way for a few moments.

"Did you guys find out anything useful?" Canford glared at his minions, still pacing the same ten feet.

Bull's minions listed everything they had uncovered in their scouting mission. His blocky face twisted more and more with everything he heard. When all the talking was done, he turned away to look at a broken window, and the boards over it.

"I know Monty Reynolds." Canford's voice had sunken in volume as he talked out his thoughts. "He has a bunch of guys holding out at the bus stations, and the airport. If he is walking with some of the Reys, Pedro might be running a load up on a dummy. We need to talk to somebody in his setting, see if they know something like schedules. We could grab some of the Reys' product if we're lucky."

"Mezzo is in there." One of the lackeys spoke without being spoken to. He blanched at the shark eye dropping on him.

"Mezzo used to drive around in that Honda." Mr. Bloodthirsty joined in on the line of reasoning. "He would know what Reynolds was doing if anybody."

"And do you think you can grab Mezzo without being seen?" Canford examined his henchmen neutrally. "We don't want Monty to know we're getting ready to rip him off, do we?"

"Sure we can do it." Mr. Bloodthirsty looked at the other three. "We'll have him back here easy."

"Not here." Canford smiled slightly. "I want you to take him to the factory."

"We'll scope him out, and grab him up." Mr. Bloodthirsty smiled. "Shouldn't be a big deal."

"No one can see you." Canford warned them. "If anyone does, kill Mezzo and dump him where he can't be found. We're talking about starting a war. We can't afford a mistake before we even get started looking at a profit."

"Don't worry. No one will see us."

Canford nodded. His troops filed out of the abandoned building. He waited for a few minutes, then he left too. His shadow carried a passenger with him as he walked to where he had hid his car so he could drive away.

Tyson could have followed the underlings and stopped the kidnaping. He felt it was safe to let the plan go ahead for the moment. Canford's order had been clear. If there was any trouble getting to this Mezzo, they would break off.

If anything led back to the commander, four more graves would be dug for them to join their victim.

Night fell on Church Hill, calling him from his false life. His instruments had given him mostly garbage, but he had a few threads he could follow. It wasn't perfect, but it was no use trying to jail someone if he didn't have evidence to hand over to the police. He was trying to help the revolving door of the system, not implant his own justice.

He wasn't objective enough to do that.

The Fear leapt from the clock tower, swinging over the city. He had work to do. Dwelling on the vastness of the big picture meant nothing if he couldn't paint a few small lines.

The cloaked man used the city's towers to drift toward the shore. He wanted to look at one of the ships that was supposed to be landing at the docks. The Reys expected something they wanted smuggled through customs.

He wanted to see what the cargo was in case it needed to be scuttled.

The Fear paused at the line of warehouses that dotted the waterfront. A quick glance told him where the unloading should be. He pulled a miniature telescope from inside his cloak. He looked out over the area, smiling slightly at what he saw.

Mezzo Marland was on the docks with some guys who belonged to the Reynolds crew. His file said he was a minor leaguer operating in the trade. His presence meant that the deal could be legitimate.

The Fear put his telescope away and drifted closer. He had a microphone he could use to pick up conversation if he wanted. That might give him something useful to use down the line. People talked about anything when they thought no one was listening.

His thoughts were interrupted by a car pulling on the dock. He didn't need his telescope to see trouble on the move. Mezzo must have someone wanting to rip him off for what he was picking up for the Reys.

His existing plan was to gather intelligence, possibly rip off the Reys' support network until they got desperate. Now he was looking at a possible gun battle with plenty of civilians drifting around the scene. His goal was crushing the city's underworld, but he wasn't going to allow a stray bullet to kill a bystander if he could help it.

The Fear loaded one of his arm shooters with a gas round. He took careful aim with the sleeve gun and waited until the car was closer. A flick of the thumb sent the shell through the front window with a shattering noise. Colored smoke ejected gas into the passenger section of the vehicle. The car rolled to a collision with a crane, and stopped with the engine running.

Everyone on the dock looked at the collision. Some of the workers rushed over to see what had happened, if the passengers and driver were okay. Mezzo made hurry up gestures for his cargo to be dropped on the deck so he could get out of there.

The Fear smiled slightly, wrinkled face becoming even more horrifying. He moved along the edge of the roof for a better shot. He needed to scare Marland enough to talk. It would take something impressive.

The load of boxes dropped to the deck. Marland went for them, looking for one in particular. The cloaked man loaded one of his specials as he waited. Mezzo broke open the box. He started dumping the contents in a gym bag. The sleeve gun fired. The mule shouted as the bag blew up in his hands. Then he was flying.

Mezzo Marland was glad when the world stopped spinning. He found himself sitting on a roof top. A man in a big cape with a hood over his head stood a little way away. His face looked like something from a burned ward.

"You have a lot of questions, don't you Mezzo?" The cloaked man smiled. His face grew even uglier. "The one question in your mind should be what happens if you lie to me."

"I don't know what you want." Marland looked around, glad that a fire escape was in running reach if he could distract this nut enough to make a break for it.

Suddenly Mezzo found himself hanging by his neck over something that definitely wasn't a roof. He couldn't look down. All he could see were those evil eyes, and that hand holding him aloft.

"What did I say about lying?" The voice was little more than a monotone, and hateful.

"What do you want to know? What do you want to know?" Mezzo's feet kicked the air, trying to find purchase as his hands wrapped around the forearm holding him.

"I want to know what you know." The evil face eased back. "Let's start with Monty Reynolds. What do you do for him?"

The interrogation went quick after that. The hooded man only asked questions when he wanted to confirm what he was hearing. Mezzo laid out the whole operation that he was involved in from whom he answered to, what he did, and what the customers expected for their money. His voice died out when he realized that as soon as Reynolds found out, he would be dead.

"I think it's time you took a vacation." The cloaked man dropped Marland back on the roof.

The Fear backed away, smiling horribly. It was almost like he could read the thoughts going through Marland's mind. He pointed at another building.

"Mexico should be nice this time of year." There was a puff of smoke and a line stretched out through the air. "I suggest you get started on that right away."

Then he was gone like a nightmare fading in the night.

Marland got to his feet, realizing his former captor was right. He couldn't go back to Reynolds. The man would kill him for losing a shipment. Then there was the money involved. Monty didn't believe in garnishing wages.

Pay in full was his rule.

Marland went to the fire escape, and started down to the street. He had to get out of town, start over. He had some money. That should hold him over. He didn't think he was going to Mexico. It was better if he went somewhere he was sure no one would look for him.

He wondered how Canada was as he started down the sidewalk. Reynolds didn't have anybody up there. He could maybe find a place to fish for a while before he started trying to make some money. The first thing he needed to do was go to the bus depot and get a ticket.

He knew that Reynolds would be waiting for him at his apartment, maybe already talking to his girl depending how long he had been out. It was best to make a clean break, maybe let them think the guy in the cape had killed him.

Best if he vanished off the face of the Earth.

Marland walked as casually as he dared to the bus stop. He would head Downtown and then take the Greyhound to anywhere. His money was in the bank under another name. He could draw it out whenever he felt like it from any ATM. That should throw off the cops Reynolds had on the pad.

Marland kept his face averted when he got on the bus, and stayed away from the incoming lanes at the Depot in case someone spotted him. A reward would jog memories of seeing him after he was supposedly dead. He couldn't have that.

Mezzo got some money and bought his ticket. He only had to wait about an hour before his bus was ready. He got on and went to the back, looking out the window. The bus rolled out and he watched his home slide by as he headed for a new life.

Bull Canford walked around the mission's first floor. Something was wrong. He could feel it. His guys should have been back with Mezzo an hour ago. He checked his watch again, wondering what he should do.

Canford decided he needed to find out what had happened to his crew. He knew they had found a deal being done for the Reys by Monty Reynolds. They could be there waiting for it to go down, and not bothered calling him to let him know.

He decided he should take a look and make sure nothing had gone wrong with the snatch.

The guys would think he didn't trust them to get the job done, but so what. He was standing on the brink of a war that would have the police and vigilantes like Johnny Shield and the Leaguer looking at his operations. He needed to be sure everything was going to plan.

Canford got in his car, cranked it up, and pulled out into slow traffic. He knew the deal was going down in the Waterfront. That's where he had to be.

He drove carefully, obeying the law. He didn't have a need to be stopped then have the flatfoot try to look through his car and find his piece. That would require such a good explanation, his mind boggled at the extent of the lie.

Canford reached the docks, driving around until he found the area where the exchange was supposed to happen. He didn't like what he saw.

One of his guys's car was against a loading box, one of those big ones. The front window had been smashed out. A burn mark covered another load hauler further along.

There was no sign of his subordinates.

Canford drove around until he found a receiving office facing the disaster area. Something bad had happened when his guys had shown up. Someone must have seen something. He needed to know what had gone on before it came back to bite him.

Canford pulled his piece from its hiding spot and tucked it in his waistband as he got out of the car. He walked into the office, looking around. No cameras up front were a good sign. Someone must be getting some kind of kickback to let Reynolds smuggle things in.

"Hey buddy," Canford waved at the short man he could see to come closer. If he had to pull his pistol, he didn't want to leave a witness. "What happened outside?"

"There was a load coming on the dock." The short man gestured with his hands as he talked. "This car was coming down to the unloading area. Then something smashed through the window of the car, and then the load blew up. Some people on the dock rushed the guys in the car to the hospital. They looked out of it to me."

"You know any of these people?" Canford didn't say anything but this just confirmed what he had thought when he had first arrived.

"I think one of the men that was waiting was called Barlow, Barko, something like that." The clerk scratched his balding head. "I've seen him around a lot the last month or so."

"Thanks." Canford turned to leave. "You've been a big help."

"Don't mention it." The short man went back to his job.

Canford went back to his car, unsure what to do now. His men were good as dead. He had no leverage to get them back. He couldn't prove that Reynolds had taken them. Even if he could, he had to admit he had sent them down to the docks to do a snatch.

He might as well kill himself if he did that.

Monty Reynolds and Pedro walked along, eyes watching for people watching them. They liked to keep on the move in public. Still they talked in euphemisms in case someone was listening with a rifle microphone.

"You still have the fish?" Pedro moved to the right, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah." Reynolds pulled a cigarette out of a pack of Newports, sunglasses covering his brown eyes. "What do you want done with them?"

"Throw them in the trash can." Pedro paused on the sidewalk. "We don't need them."

"What do we do about Missy Snow?" Mack lit up. He blew a smoke ring as Pedro thought about what he was going to do.

"We need another girl." Pedro knew that if he ran out of ready supply, his customers would go somewhere else. He couldn't lose any money over something like this.

"I'll do what I can." Reynolds already had suppliers lined up. It would take a little time but it would be done.

"What about the guy?" Pedro had heard about the new mystery man in town. Knowing the guy was targeting his crew put a spin on things he didn't like.

"Don't know." Mack frowned. His guys had reported some Zorro crap. If he hadn't known most of them for years, he would have thought they were trying to rip him off. "Think it's the same guy that took down the Mall crew."

Pedro nodded.

Almost a year ago, a group of soldier thieves had targeted the mall. They had been taken down at their home base. The police had taken the credit. Stories had surfaced later that a man in a cape had put them all down.

If it was the same guy, he was trouble.

Johnny Shield and the Leaguer liked to go after public threats, guys trying to make a big name for themselves. Messing with guys like the Street Sharks and Reys was incidental to how they operated. This new guy aimed at the underworld, operating in the shadows like they did.

Pedro considered shutting down until the cape moved on some other set.

"Think about changing your courts for a while." Pedro looked at traffic on the road. "I'll call with the table in a few days. Standard invoice."

"I'll get right on it." Monty puffed on his cigarette. "I'll call if there are any more problems."

"Keep your lookout." Pedro started across the street. "You don't want to disappear next."

"Tell me about it." Reynolds started back the way they had come down the street. "See you."

Pedro headed over a few blocks. He had parked in the parking lot of a funeral home. He needed to get his car and get his crew together. No vigilante was going to make him run scared. He would lose everything if he did.

Pedro saw his car, pulled out his keys. He keyed the engine as he crossed the asphalt. He slid behind the wheel, trying to come up with a plan to deal with this mysterious enemy. He never had to deal with someone without a face before this.

He didn't like it. It meant another level to the standard challenge of his day to day life.

Pedro pulled out of the parking lot, talking on his phone. By the time he was done, those street sharks would be buried somewhere no one would ever find them.

Tyson Lewis smiled behind his hockey mask.

Bull Canford had roved around town. Mocker went with him wherever he went. He learned things about the Sharks that he made notes of so he could use it later. He had been letting them slide while he went after other criminals in Church Hill.

The Leaguer was good for saving an airplane, or stopping a fire, but he didn't go after small fry unless they ran out in front of him.

That left a lot for Tyson to do, and he knew he couldn't do it all.

Canford finally settled back at the Knickerbocker Club. He went right to the bar. Tyson went right with him. He didn't care about averting a possible gang war. He wanted to take his revenge, and keep taking it.

Canford was a key to Tyler.

He hoped that he could use Canford to rip the guts out of the Street Sharks. He had hurt them in the past when he first discovered his ability. He wanted to keep on hurting them until their name was an example to everyone who hurt anyone in Church Hill.

It wasn't saving an airplane, but it was an ambition that kept him going whenever he thought about quitting.

Canford drank a couple down. He looked around the room, holding his third glass. Maybe he was waiting for someone to come into the place so they could have a little talk.

Tyson wondered whom he could be meeting. He doubted Canford was going to tell anybody what had happened.

The Mocker stayed with his subject until the Shark started cruising the dance floor. The living shadow thought it odd, but hung in until he saw who the gangster was going after in the crowd. Some of the Reys' girlfriends were doing their thing in a cleared area.

Canford was headed into that zone.

Canford pulled his pistol as he got close to one of the Latinas. They started talking to him, telling him to beat it. He raised his gun to shoot one of them. The crowd started to scatter when the closest bystanders saw what was going on.

"Come with me if you want to live." Canford kept the pistol aimed low so he could shoot from the hip.

"Who do you think you are?" One of the women misjudged what Canford would do. "Arnold?"

Canford started to pull the trigger. Tyson saw the intent in his eyes from his hiding spot. The shadow pushed the weapon straight up, using the darkness in the room as his cloak. The pistol blew out a light above, but the music covered most of the report.

"Any other problems?" Canford stepped into a small light, pointing his weapon at the girls again. "You, let's go."

"You're crazy." The indicated girl stepped away from her friends. "Do you know who I am? You're a dead man."

"Let's go." Canford gestured to the front of the club. "I don't have all day."

Tyson figured the girl was involved with the Reys somehow. He didn't have a lot of moral fiber left, but he wasn't going to let someone get killed that didn't deserve it on the surface of things.

You didn't kill someone because they were dating the wrong guy.

Tyson waited for Canford to step into darkness before he made his move. The gangster and his hostage walked along, pushing through the crowd. The girlfriends followed at a distance. Obviously they wanted to rescue their friend when they thought the time was right.

Tyson was going to do it for them.

The thing about being living darkness was as long as it was dark you had plenty of space to operate without being seen. The whole floor was a hiding space for Tyson Lewis. There was no place he couldn't go in the club in a couple of seconds as long as he avoided the roving spotlights.

The Mocker got ahead of Bull Canford and his hostage. It wasn't hard. He was merged with the darkness on the floor, immune to touch and sight, which meant he didn't have to worry about the crowd. Canford had to push through while keeping the girl within reach of his pistol so he wouldn't shoot somebody else by mistake.

Slow work even for a big guy like he was.

The Mocker turned, judging the way the shadows played across the two of them as they moved. That was something he had gotten good at to make it easier to get around in the daylight. Sometimes you had to grab on at the right moment and hold it until you were ready to drop off in another shadow.

The Mocker surged forward, climbing up and around the girl's body until he was on her back. He leaped from the shadow, taking advantage of his speed when he emerged. One hand grabbed the gun arm, while the other swung a punch. The Street Shark took the punch, dropping to the dance floor. He felt something was broken but he still had enough to climb back to his feet.

Canford looked around, rubbing his face. His attacker had come out of nowhere, white goalie mask gleaming and changing colors as it came right at him. The guy was gone. Pedro's girl had started through the crowd to get away from him. He could see her hair moving in the crowd from where he stood.

He couldn't let her escape.

Canford started forward, bulling through anyone not fast enough to get out of his way. He didn't have a hole card if he let her walk. At the very least he had to kill her to show he meant business even if he couldn't use her as a bargaining chip.

Hands latched around Canford's ankles. Force was applied and he was pulled off his feet. The Shark looked around. He didn't see anything. Then he was sliding along the floor, knocking his head against the polished wood as he went. He revolved around at high speed, and then was sent into the wall. His hands came up as a buffer at the last moment to save his skull from cracking.

Canford tried to pull himself together. He didn't know what exactly was going on, but he realized he was a sitting duck in the club. As long as his attacker was invisible, he was helpless to stop it pounding on him any way it could.

Canford got to his feet. He ran for the door. The street and parking lot outside were better lighted than the club. It might give him a fighting chance.

Canford reached for the push bar, shoulder already lowered to push the door open. Something smashed against his back, driving him forward. He slammed in the lobby, falling to the carpet and rolling. His pistol sailed across the small pay area.

Canford got to his feet, rushing to where his pistol had landed. The club's bouncers were coming through the door after him. They were bigger than him, and likely to try to do some harsh things to his anatomy.

Canford was more worried about the invisible man.

The Street Shark grabbed his weapon as the first of the men reached him. He turned, ready to shoot. He would walk out on his own two feet. He glimpsed something white. Then the glass in the front door of the club shattered around him as he flew through the air. The gangster landed on his back on the concrete sidewalk in front of the building.

Canford tried to clear his head. He thought he saw a thin guy in a hockey mask and a towel cape bending over him. Then the guy was gone. So was his pistol.

News of the attempted assault spread through the underworld fast. Everyone knew who had tried to do it. Lookouts were put on alert to report where Canford hid out.

Both sides wanted him found and dealt with in a permanent manner.

Other gangs, syndicates, minor league villains were licking their chops. If the Reys and Street Sharks went to war, the money would flow for others who wanted to dominate the sections they did. Cops would have their hands full trying to stop the two rivals. Even the heroes might be kept busy, allowing some basic robberies without interference.

The news had reached the Fear, and he had decided to do something that would hopefully help stall any combat. The Reys couldn't go to war if they were busy trying to get out of trouble themselves.

The cloaked man descended on the Reys' home turf. He moved from shadow to shadow, planting microphones and small cameras. He smiled, hideous face twisting into something even uglier.

Now for the second part of his plan.

Sunlight came to Church Hill, setting the towers of downtown ablaze with its ruddy light. News shows started, talking about the current thing, events, person. Rumbles had reached their ears, but nothing could be broadcast as fact yet.

At nine in the morning, every channel on the radio and television based in Church Hill broadcast Pedro Munoz's desire to deal with the Street Sharks once and for all. His picture was plastered over the air waves. It took almost twenty minutes before the stations found out where the signal looped into their broadcast and shut it down.

Minutes later, reporters were combing Pedro's neighborhood asking questions. Normal business was disrupted as street dealers and pros were forced to take it over a few blocks to avoid cameras.

Several enterprising reporters caught up with the Reys' chief. He had to drive off under a fusillade of questions and picture taking.

Pedro didn't know what was going on, but he needed room to breathe. He couldn't conduct business if he was constantly being pursued. It struck him someone had wanted that. It kept him from doing anything but hide from the public scrutiny.

Pedro stopped at a red light. A pawn shop was to his right. He glanced over. Televisions behind the barred windows were rehashing the earlier recorded comments.

He knew he hadn't said anything like that. Someone had gone to a whole lot of trouble to frame him so he would be kept busy. He was glad that he habitually kept his car and person clean. The police were bound to get in on the act sooner or later.

He had to hide out.

He couldn't expect to continue to do business under all this scrutiny.

The worse part was he was afraid to call Reynolds and tell him to change the time table on their deal. He had a feeling he was being watched more than usual. If someone listened in on that call, they could have something real to use against him.

His mind dwelled on how to turn this around. If he could prove the tape was a clever fake, he could say he was innocent, and the city government was responsible. That might get the cops off of him.

It also might take years of court battles with him under suspicion and unable to do his business.

Pedro watched the traffic as he rolled along. He needed to switch wheels. His neon purple sportster stood out to anyone looking at it. He needed wheels that would blend in now.

Pedro headed to a used car dealer he knew. The Reys had supplied a number of cars on the lot. He needed wheels and that was the place he could do it quickly. They could chop his old ride up for him.

He spotted a city police car behind him. It moved with him as he changed lanes. They might have a warrant for him. Going to jail was out of the question. He needed his freedom.

Pedro decided to ditch the car before the cops were sure it was him. If he did that, he might have a chance to get away. Dark eyes started looking for a parking space. He spotted one next to an alley. The car went in the rectangular space half off the curb. He got out, and hurried down the alley. He knew hundreds of places to hide.

By the time the squad car got to his car, he had vanished.

Pedro cut through the back streets. If he hurried, he could still get a new car. He wondered how many other Reys were getting this attention as he walked. He knew the guy from the mall rigged this. It was the only possible reason.

The papers were calling him the Fear. Pedro could see why. He was running scared right now. And as long as he was running scared, he couldn't plan what his next move should be.

First he needed another car, then a place to hide.

Then he could plan how to get out of the spotlight.

Bull Canford drove through the streets. The announcement of war stilled played sporadically on his radio as he tried to think. He was in big trouble, no matter how he sliced it.

The shadow guy was after him. The police could be after him if the thing at the Knickerbocker Club was reported. The Reys were after him. He expected to see the Leaguer dropping in on him at any second.

Bull didn't see how it could get any worse than this.

Bull saw some Sharks from another section walking the streets. They waved him over to the curb. He slowed to a stop. He saw hands drop down behind legs as they walked toward his car. He hit the gas. His back window blew out. Something buzzed his face as he drove away.

Not even his brothers were going to give him a place to hide.

Canford slammed his wheel with a fist. All of his planning had gone wrong thanks to those masked men. They had screwed him over so bad he couldn't fix any of it. He should get out of town.

He didn't know what was going on. He couldn't ask his brother Sharks for any help. He definitely couldn't go to the police. Squaring things was out of the question unless he blew Pedro away for good.

His choices boiled down to leave, or kill Pedro.

Canford decided he was going to kill Pedro. Everyone was out to get him. He didn't have much to lose at this point. First he needed a gun.

Canford drove around until he saw Spats Corgi. Spats leaned against his mobile warehouse, watching the people moving around his business spot. In a few minutes he would move to some other spot and hang out until someone wanted one of his babies. Spats only dealt with people he had seen before. He tried to lower his risk of arrest that way.

Canford pulled up, getting out of his car. Spats saw him, reached for a pistol in his waistband. The Street Shark dove on the smaller man, tackling him to the ground. Bull punched him until Corgi stopped moving. He took the piece and shot the dealer in the face three times.

Canford searched the body for keys. He needed a new ride. Might as well take Spats's. He wouldn't need it anymore. Canford got behind the wheel and backed out over the body. Witnesses pointed but he didn't think anyone would say anything to the cops.

Even if they did, what did it matter.

The cops would have his car. As soon as they ran the plate, they would know he was the one who had done the deed. That wouldn't matter if he got to Pedro first. Then he would go to jail a happy man.

The next step was to find the king of the Reys.

Bull cruised around, looking at the hangouts he expected to see Pedro using. After an hour, he gave up the roaming method. He needed something faster.

Bull pulled up in the lot of a taco stand facing the street. He grabbed an assault rifle out of the back seat. Some of the Reys stood around their cars, talking and throwing their wrappers on the asphalt.

Maybe they knew where Pedro would run when the heat was on.

Bull got out of the car, swinging the rifle at his side. The Reys spotted him, some going for weapons. He pointed the rifle and cut loose. Bullets walked up and down the cars, breaking windows, cutting flesh. The Shark walked close, throwing the rifle down, pulling a pistol he had taken from Spats's inventory.

He didn't have a lot of time so he had to make this quick.

Church Hill police started by canvassing the neighborhood where Pedro lived. At the very least, they needed to question him about the broadcast. His family reported he had left in his car that day and hadn't come home yet.

Neighbors reported the same thing. Members of his set said the same thing.

No one knew where he was.

The officers spread out from there.

Members of Reys and Sharks were taken down. Illegal substances and weapons provided enough evidence to take them, charge them, and get them ready for their day in court. The spreading net held the city's underworld as it spread past. The forces of evil decided to wait until the police returned to their normal resting mode.

A few of the wolf packs decided they would rather go down fighting than be taken by the task force. SWAT answered more calls than any time previously.

Running gun battles broke out as the gangs tried to shoot each other and any policeman trying to serve a warrant. The Leaguer appeared, dropping out of the sky to lend a hand. Things started to settle down after that.

No one was going to mess with a guy who could squeeze your car like a tube of tooth paste.

By the end of the day, the police had nothing. Pedro had ceased to exist as far as his friends and fellow criminals knew.

The body of Spats Corgi had been reported by a car registered to Bull Canford. The reporting officer took statements from witnesses. He called in a be on the lookout to the dragnet slowly spreading across the city.

They were already looking for one fugitive. One more wouldn't make much of a difference.

The sun went down on the busy officers trying to find their two main reasons to be searching. They were two steps behind Bull Canford as he fled the scene of a shooting. The rifle he had left behind made it clear that he was armed and dangerous.

The car he had left behind was useless to the policemen. The trunk was open and it belonged to the victim from earlier in the day. Witnesses reported that Bull had taken the car of one of the men he had shot.

No two descriptions of the car were the same. The best Church Hill's finest could do was send a lookout for one of the victims' car from a license check of the vehicles in the lot matched against the dead men being taken away.

Nightfall brought a shadow flitting over the city, cloak forming wings as he went. The information he had gathered had been sent to the police by the post office. That should help in any prosecutions coming out of the dragnet he had sparked. According to his scanner, the police were still looking for the two mortal enemies.

They had to be found.

The Street Sharks and the Reys would still hate each other in the morning. Canford had lost most of his standing. He was venting his anger on anyone who got in his way. It didn't matter who, or why, to him now. He was looking for Pedro and that's all that mattered to him.

Pedro would try to evade the law until things settled down. Then he could try to pick up his business as well as he could while avoiding the police. Continuing the feud might be a consideration, but not if it cost his freedom and life.

It would be better if Canford was dead, but Pedro would never allow himself to be drawn into a gunfight when a phone call would get him out of the jam just as well.

The cloaked man descended from the skyline. He found an apartment building and dropped to its roof. He entered the building. Then he would pass on Pedro's real location to the police if he found the gang leader.

The Fear pulled out a small pry bar, descending the fire escape. He needed to find a window that could be used to get inside the building. Careful searching found one. He slipped the pry bar in a crack in the sash. A few seconds later, he was roaming the halls, listening for his prey.

He had started a clean up. It wouldn't be long before the police were back in their resting state. The city just didn't have the money to keep going like it was. The least he could do was give them their prize for helping him out.

Bull Canford looked up at the apartment building. His informant had told him where to find Pedro. Now he had to do what he needed to do.

Bull headed up the stairs, glad that people were getting out of his way. He didn't want to shoot anybody he didn't have to before he got to where he was going. That would raise an alarm.

Canford reached the floor where Pedro hid. He looked at the doors, wondering where he should begin. Maybe he should shoot all of them one by one until he found the right one.

Someone in a ragged gray cloak came down the hall, hood pulled down over his face. He was moving fast. Canford swung the rifle up, ready to shoot one of Pedro's watchdogs. Maybe they would get the guy out in the hall where he could be shot too. The cloak moved his hand. Darts stuck out of the Shark's arm. The rifle clattered against the floor tile.

Canford roared as he charged. No freak was going to stop him from doing what he wanted. He swung his uninjured arm in a haymaker. His hand skidded along that ragged piece of cloth, then everything switched around for a second before he smashed headfirst in a wall.

"It's over for you." The voice sounded gravelly like someone who had survived a major fire.

Canford scrambled to his feet, getting his arm up to keep his face from being smashed into putty. It was still enough to drive him to one side. He had to use the wall for support so he wouldn't fall down again.

The Shark backed up, knowing that if he ran, he would be taken from behind. He needed something to fight with that the other guy wouldn't see coming. The cape had already proved he was faster.

Canford threw his weight against an apartment door. The wood gave way with a token complaint before it fell down inside the cracker box. He hopped over the fallen barrier, pulling one of the pistols he was carrying. A woman screamed and he knew he had a hostage.

The heroes didn't like to be all heroic if they had a chance to get someone killed.

"Shut up, lady." Canford had to shout to make himself heard over the screams. "Don't make me shoot you."

Bull grabbed the woman, holding her in front of his body. He clamped one hand over her mouth. That stopped her screams.

"I have a hostage now." Canford kept his eyes on the door. "Try anything funny and she gets it."

Silence answered his demand. That wasn't good. Bull knew the first sign should be some sort of conciliatory gesture to keep him calmed down so he wouldn't hurt the woman he grabbed. Why no answer?

"Come on." Canford dug into the side of the woman's head with the barrel of the pistol. "I know you're out there."

A hand clamped on the pistol's hammer and slide. It pulled the weapon out of Bull's hand before he knew what was going on. He turned, off balance from the yank. The other hand sent him to the floor.

"I think you should call the police if you haven't already, madam." The woman didn't know who was scarier: the man who had tried to use her for a hostage, or the ugly man in the cape staring at her.

"Come along, Canford." The cape grabbed Bull by the neck, hoisting him in the air. "I think we have bothered this young lady enough."

Both men vanished through the opened doorway. The woman ran to the phone. The neighborhood was bad, but never like this. The next thing would be the Leaguer smashing through the place.

Time for her to move to somewhere else.

She called 911. She hoped it didn't take them ten minutes to get there like the last time.

Tyson Lewis listened to the radio as he dressed. He had missed the boat from the sound of it. Bull Canford had killed some people while the Mocker had been sleeping. He hadn't expected a rampage.

Tyson pulled on his helmet, wondering what he should do now. Maybe he should look around the building to find out why Canford was there. Maybe that would relieve some of the anger burning inside him.

Tyson watched the sun go down, slipping out in a shadow. The apartment building probably had a ton of cops all over it. He wanted to look around without interference.

Tyson crossed the city with his usual riding shadow method. He slunk to a shadow going up the wall and used that to gain entry. Canford had been heading for some apartment. The Mocker didn't know which one but he could look around almost unnoticed if he was careful.

Tyson started in the basement, using the air ducts to move around without being detected. He found that a lot of the apartments were empty at the moment. Maybe the police had cleared the building until they figured out what was going on.

Tyson moved from place, peering through the vents long enough to make sure the room was clear before going to the next. About halfway through his search, he found that an air duct went to a room with a hidden door. He paused, considering the room.

Tyson didn't see anyone moving inside the bolt hole, but it was a hiding place. He could tell that from a quick look around from the vent. He wondered if this was where Pedro had gone to ground. It was hard to imagine that he would hide from his enemies.

Maybe he was waiting for the search to cool down.

The news was full of arrests going on. That meant everyone knew that the Sharks and Reys had been targeted. Pedro could wait out the official hue and cry and then take up business as usual. He would have to rebuild his set again, but that shouldn't be much work.

He would still have contacts that weren't picked up because they weren't gang related in any way.

Tyson slid out of the air vent. He took on his third dimension the length of time it took him to slide into another shadow under a cot. He had two choices. He could continue looking through the building. He could wait and hope that Pedro came back from wherever he was at the moment.

Tyson planned to wait.

Pedro was still hot on the street. Sooner or later he would return to his hiding place. It hadn't been discovered. It was perfect. Very few cops would spend a whole lot of time going over the building carefully.

There was a one in a million chance that one of those cops would show up and try to rip the place down brick by brick.

Even Tyson didn't think that was likely.

On the other hand, the Mocker wasn't prepared to wait long. He would give one night to this stakeout. After that, he would try his luck elsewhere. If Pedro was on the street, someone would catch up with him eventually.

It didn't matter to Tyson who caught up with the Rey. All that mattered was he was taken down.

A section of the wall opened. Pedro stepped inside, looking behind him to make sure no one was near enough to figure out where he had gone. His hole had worked perfectly as the cops searched the building. A quick run to resupply would carry him over for another week. Then he could try to leave town for a little bit, visit others that would look out for him.

Canford had led the police right to his doorstep. He didn't know who had talked, but somebody must have mentioned this apartment tower to the Shark. Then the police had covered every inch for hours for guys like him. No telling who had been caught up thanks to the attack.

At least no one knew exactly where he was.

Something emerged from under the cot, slamming against his legs hard. The gang leader went down. Groceries spilled on the floor. The Rey sprang to his feet, looking around, hands in defense.

Hands reached from Pedro's shadow. They pulled him down on his back. He struggled against the hands, but couldn't reach behind him. Suddenly the grip slammed him against the door.

Pedro got to his feet. He turned to the door, slipping it open. He didn't know exactly what was going on. Flight didn't require that.

He wasn't going to wait around to be picked apart by whatever was in his secret room.

Pedro ran across the apartment for the front door. He had to get clear. His car was hidden outside. Once he had wheels, he could move faster. He saw the stairs and headed down. No sign of the shadow thing.

Pedro clattered down the steps, hands on the rail. He used the metal rods to slide some of the way with each step. He reached the bottom, hand reaching for the bar to open the steel door at the bottom of the stairwell. Movement reached his fear tuned ears. The Rey ducked to one side as he pushed the door open. He slipped outside as something heavy smashed the door open on its hinges.

Pedro ran for his car. He had parked it near a pile of junked cars. He smiled as he closed on the Honda.

Maybe he should just take off and rebuild somewhere vigilantes and monsters didn't interfere with making money.

He opened the door, keys shaking a little as he shoved them in the lock. He jumped behind the wheel, starting the engine and rolling out before anything else could happen. He could get on the highway and head out of state. He could be across the line in a few hours as long as he didn't run into a road block.

Pedro considered his options as he watched exits along the causeway. He was heading north, but he could catch another highway rolling west. Then he planned to be out of town an hour later.

Pedro kept below the speed limit as he watched for police. He didn't need a stop while he was trying to get out of town. He looked down at the gauge. It said 70 mph. He took his foot off the gas so he could slow without hitting the brake.

Everything was going smooth.

Two hands erupted from his shadow. They grabbed the wheel and jerked to the left. The car hit the shoulder. The wheels bumped along as Pedro fought for control. He wrestled the Honda back on the highway. He brought his arm down on the hands, trying to break their grip.

The hands jerked the wheel again. The Honda slid off the road, heading for concrete barriers on the side. Pedro struggled with the wheel, beating on the hands. The Honda hit the joined islands, raking along the unforgiving wall.

Then the car flipped over. It rolled along the shoulder of the road, losing windshields, crumpling the roof as it went. It stopped, but Pedro couldn't tell which way was up until he realized the car was on its side.

The hands were gone.

Pedro took a moment to catch his breath. He hung in his seat, head pointing down. He undid the seat belt, got his feet pointed down, and climbed up to the door that was suddenly on top. A tremendous effort got the door out of his way. He climbed out, taking a minute to rest on top of the car.

Pedro jumped down, and pushed himself to jog away from the wreck.

Pedro jumped off the highway as soon as he could. The police would arrive at the wreck. They wanted him. He had to get clear before they found him.

His freedom depended on how fast he could get away from the wreck and find a place to hide. If he was picked up, he was looking at a sentence. The thought of jail filled him with nausea. He tried to ignore the pain and keep moving.

Vigilantes and monsters. Church Hill was full of them.

Pedro limped along, looking for a place to hide. He didn't think he had hurt anything inside. He couldn't stop at a doctor's either. His brown eyes drifted from one house, office, restaurant to another as he considered somewhere he could use to evade the cops.

Pain slowed him down. He couldn't go much farther without help. He glimpsed a house that seemed empty from the street. A look around showed him a crawlspace he could get into without hurting himself any more than he was already hurt. He entered the dark, dank place. Hopefully he could hide under the house until he was clear of police.

Pedro found a place clear of solid obstructions, reasonably dry, and away from the opening he had crawled through. He settled down, closed his eyes against the pain. He didn't think he would pass out, but if he did, he did.

He was too tired to try and keep going.

Everything had started with Canford trying to muscle in.

That thing in the cape had interfered with the drop. He must have made the recording and played it over the air. Pedro remembered that people had seen him in the building while he was hiding out.

Canford had also been in the apartment place. There was no doubt he had been looking for his rival. He had shown armed and ready to kill anyone in his way.

Lights played over Pedro's hiding place. He held his breath, watching the beams slide from one side of the crawlspace to the other. One tiny motion might give him away. Those shadow hands were behind this.

He had a brief vision of hands calling the police to let them know where he had gone after overturning his car.

The light moved on. He waited, watching it move down the side of the house. It looked like the owner had decided that there was nothing to look for after all.

Pedro let out his breath. He had nearly passed out, but that one moment of near discovery had pumped him up with a second wind. He had to get away from this place before the police got close enough to rope him in.

Pedro edged closer to the exit he had used to get in the crawlspace. He would have to crawl out, and find wheels. Then he would have to drive far enough to get out of the net without attracting attention. He debated whether or not to wait.

His refuge had looked like a place he could hide until he got his strength back. Now it looked like a self-made mouse trap. It had been skipped once. He couldn't trust that he would be lucky enough that it would be overlooked again. He had already pushed enough fleeing his wreck of a car.

He was glad he hadn't tried to take someone else's car. He would be in cuffs right then. He would have been chased until caught as long as he had kept trying to drive.

Pedro heard a sound that made him cringe. A dog barked in the night. The cops weren't giving up as easily as he thought they would. They were bringing in the canines.

Pedro looked around for anything he could use as a barricade. If he could keep the dog out, he could buy some time to think of a way out of his predicament. He found a dust-covered shelf and slid it in front of the opening.

It wouldn't hold them for long.

Pedro heard barking as he searched the walls for a way out. He spotted flashlights moving outside his redoubt as he felt around with his hands. He found another opening that was smaller than the first. His hands pulled him through into another room that was shallow so he had to pull himself along with his hands.

Pedro paused to catch his breathing. He heard the dog digging at the shelf, trying to get through to get at him. He closed his eyes to think. He couldn't think of a way out of the trap. Eventually he was going to be taken.

There was no doubt of that.

Pedro closed his eyes and waited. Why make it easy for the cops?

Pedro closed his eyes, not jumping when the shelf was pushed out of the way. He felt breath on his neck, heard a snuffling noise. He laid there, glad the dog had decided not to bite him.

Human hands clamped on his wrists and dragged them behind his body before he could react. Then they grabbed his ankles and pulled him out into the beams of flashlights. Cuffs were applied, but Pedro hardly moved. His escort carried him out of the hiding place.

Pedro had a small smile as an ambulance was called to take him away.

Jail would have to wait for him to get through the physical exams he would have to take thanks to his injuries. The car wreck had done him a favor and forestalled any dealings with the cops. He couldn't have planned it any better than that.

Pedro waited for the ambulance to arrive and take him away. He tried to consider a plan to get him away from the doctors. He passed out first.

Tyson Lewis smiled as the sky took on the gray that preceded true daybreak. He stood near the end of a hall, hidden from nurse and patients inside the Jail Ward. He had helped spark a small crusade that should be winding down, but hopefully cleared the streets and disrupted the normal business as usual.

He knew it wasn't something grand, but maybe it justified how he used his powers for revenge instead of helping others.

The Leaguer could save the city from outlandish villains. He just wanted to make criminals fear him until he sated his thirst for revenge. He didn't know how long that would take.

Maybe never the way he was going.

Pedro rested in a room down the hall. Across the corridor was Bull Canford. Both men had been injured. It wasn't enough as far as Tyson was concerned. They deserved much worse than what they had received so far.

A door opened down the hall. A cloaked figure stepped out in the hall, made his way down to the gang leaders' opposite rooms. He paused as if deciding, then stepped into Pedro's room first.

Tyson decided that maybe he should look into this. He didn't want his captured mastermind escaping after arranging the accident that had led him to the hospital. The Mocker paused at the door, listening to the sound of Pedro's voice.

A machine had more inflection.

Tyson pushed the door open. The caped figure held a recorder, listening to the recitation. He stood motionless, hood over his face, white strands of hair escaping.

"Pretty neat." Tyson stood ready to drop in any available shadow. The hood turned and revealed a face covered with scar tissue. The Mocker stepped back.

"The Mocker, I assume." The voice that issued from that ugly face was a clear whisper.

"You're the Fear." Tyson knew he was right from the descriptions that had gone around. "You broadcasted Pedro's admission of guilt over the radio."

"An easy trick to do." The Fear placed the recorder beside Pedro so it would record him talking without picking up their voices. "Let's step outside."

Tyson stepped out in the hall after looking for nurses or visitors in the hall. He noticed there weren't many shadows to hide in under the gleaming white lights. He wondered if the Fear had figured out what he could do, and moved the potential battleground where he would be at a disadvantage.

The Fear joined him, cloak hiding his body, his identity as he moved. The face had to be a mask of some kind. Tyson gave it the eye as he waited.

"We set a war in motion when we put the Reys and Street Sharks at each other's throats." The Fear's voice held no distinguishing features. "Everything is starting to settle back down to business as usual."

"There are other people who will step up." Tyson knew some of them from his former life.

"The problem is people will be hurt by the next generation as they take over." The hood drooped down to cover that horrid visage. "Anything I can get from Pedro and Canford will help minimize that."

"The manhunt you started will keep some of those clowns busy with the Courts for a while." Tyson kept half an eye out for anyone coming down the hall. "The police grabbed a ton of fish with parole violations and carrying. You might have wrecked most of the minor guys, and maybe some of the big ones with one move."

"That's not enough." The Fear paused, listening. "Their replacements will have to be dealt with next. Pedro and Bull are going to give me that."

"You could get them killed." Tyson pointed that fact out even though he didn't care one way or the other. If they were dead, they wouldn't hurt anybody else.

"I could get them a chance to start over if they cooperate with the authorities." The Fear laughed slightly. "I'm not really worried about what will happen to them. I want to prevent other problems from cropping up."

"I will want to know anything you gain from this." Tyson looked around again. "You're not the only one operating here."

The Fear regarded the thin man in the hockey mask. He didn't doubt this was the shadowy figure that the underworld hated almost as much as they hated him. The eyes glared from the square eyeholes in the helmet. Even if he denied the Mocker information, the smaller man would find a way to get what he wanted.

That was already proven by the broken gang leader in the hospital bed behind them.

"All right." The Fear felt it was better to share than have interference showing up unexpectedly. "I will make copies of the tapes for you."

Tyson nodded.

"Leave them taped under a table at the Knickerbocker Club." Tyson picked a place that couldn't be traced back to his old life. "I'll pick them up."

The Fear nodded as his new ally vanished in front of him.

epilogue

Tyson Lewis woke up, got ready, watched the sun go down through the concrete canyons of Church Hill. The news reported the results of the clean up. Some were going to walk away clean. More were going to be sent through the system.

Unsolved crimes had been solved thanks to fingerprint comparisons and test firing confiscated weapons.

He and the Fear had done more than they had thought.

Tyson pulled on his helmet, slipping from his lair. The shadows were growing longer and that was perfect to use for cover. The Knickerbocker Club called to him to start his night.

The Mocker entered the dance house, riding the heels of a couple. He noted how quiet it seemed from when he was there earlier in the week. It seemed slow to him.

Tyson searched the tables until he found the cassette cases taped under a table near the dance floor. He pulled the tape apart and concealed the two interview recordings in his jacket. He didn't expect much more than what he already knew.

Tyson listened to the crowd, hiding in the shadows. He grimaced at the thought he might have hurt his information resource. No one was planning a crime here. They were all happy that some of the rougher customers had been asked to report Downtown.

Tyson made for the door. There was no point in staying now. He needed to listen to the tapes and figure out whom he should go after next. He hoped the Fear didn't double-cross him.

The vigilante seemed capable of doing that no matter what he said. Tyson wasn't proud of some of the things he had done. He didn't know if he wanted to use those same tactics.

It was something to consider. Maybe he should draw a line and stick to it. The stunt on the highway could have hurt more than Pedro when the car flipped over. A little more thought before he did things might be the way to go.

The Mocker went to a booth at a music store, blocked the entrance before putting the first tape in the player. He pulled out a pad and made notes as he listened to the drugged voices of the gang leaders as they recounted facts and names.

The two of them wouldn't be alive long if this got out.

When the tapes were done, Tyson broke them apart and dropped them in a trash bucket. He headed for the door, hugging the darkness as he thought about what he should do next. Eleven was too early in the night to just go home without striking a blow for vengeance.

He looked up at the towers around him. The city seemed so peaceful compared to earlier in the week. He imagined that it was that way because of what he had done.

It was a nice thought.

The Mocker drifted along, looking for an opportunity to help someone. That seemed better than letting his hate work on him. Maybe he should do that instead of hurting and hating.

He shook his head. He was more like the Fear than the Leaguer. He might as well accept that before he got killed.

Still it was a nice daydream while it lasted.

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