Shield of Justice
1
It moved with the street traffic. No one saw it. No one felt it. If there had been someone who could see it, it would have looked like a blue fog with flashes of dark red and pure white that resembled a column instead of a wave like real fog. It seemed to cast around idly. A man stepped through it, shaking as he came out the other side. The fog turned to follow that man. Its misty surface clung to his shoulders as he kept walking. The man hitched up his baggy jeans as he walked. The fog swept along with the man, growing darker as the pair moved forward.
"Hey, Clinton!," the man called, waving his hand at a man in a foot ball jacket and pants with multiple pockets. The second man was leaning on a light pole on the corner of the block.
"Kite," Clinton said in acknowledgment. "Got my money?"
"75 like we said," said Kite, reaching into a pocket, pulling out a roll of bills. "Here you go."
"Who are you kidding, chump?," said Clinton. "I said a hundred. Where is the other 25?"
"That's not what you said," said Kite. "You said 75."
"Are you disputing me?," said Clinton. His right hand went under his jacket.
The fog bunched up around Kite, who had enough sense to put his money away at the sudden threat. He looked around for an escape as Clinton stood up straight.
"No, Clinton," said Kite. "If you say it was a hundred, then it was a hundred."
"Give me what you got," said Clinton. "Then come back with the rest."
"Naw," said Kite. "I'll wait until I got the rest."
"Give me the money," said Clinton.
"No, I don't think so," said Kite.
He turned and ran from the older man. He looked over his shoulder as Clinton pulled a pistol. He ducked around the corner as the pistol shouted at him.
The fog hung on to Kite's body, billowing around him invisibly.
2
Kite ran without direction. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping that he was faster than the other man. All he had wanted was a little crack to sell. Now he was about to be perforated.
How had that happened?
It was almost as if some other voice was talking to him, telling him what he should do.
Kite ran down an alley. Somehow he knew a basement door would be opened for him. He pushed the door to get in the basement. He slammed the door shut, turning the lock behind him.
Let Clinton get through that.
Kite ran to the entrance leading upstairs. He climbed the staircase leading up through the brownstone. He didn't want to go back out on the street. That would put him back where he started.
The roof would be a great place to catch his breath and move along the block.
Kite shoved open the emergency door. He ran out on the roof. He looked around. He didn't know how much time he had before Clinton got wise and came after him. He had to keep moving. Kite jumped over to the next roof. He ran across that one, and jumped again. He ran down the fire escape on that building, dropping the last few feet to a vacant alley. He needed to get home, get some clothes, and get out of town.
He would go west to Cutter Bay, or south to Dwyer Town.
Clinton would not like being crossed for his money.
Kite was happy that he had always kept his home away from his small side business. All he had to do was get there and he was halfway free. The second voice in his head seemed to be laughing at him for some reason. Kite shook it off as he ran down the street toward the subway entrance.
3
Kite got on the train, trying to keep an eye out for anyone following him. He didn't spot anyone suspicious. That didn't mean they weren't there. He couldn't remember if he had said anything about his place to Clinton. He got off the train at the closest stop to his home. He ran the few blocks to the house. He paused when he saw the door was open an inch or two. Clinton couldn't have gotten to his place that soon.
Should he go in, or keep walking?
He decided that he had to take a look. There was nothing else he could do. Maybe his mother had simply left the door open, thinking she had closed it. He stepped inside, eyes scanning the entry foyer. He gave a once-over to the stairs to the second story before walking down the connecting hall to the back of the building. He glanced in the rooms on either side of the hall as he passed.
No one seemed at home.
He stopped at the door of the kitchen, looking around. It was empty too. An envelope sat on the table. He picked it up with a shaky hand. A simple tug pulled a note out for him to read.
"Dear Mr. Evans,
Your delightful family is keeping me company for the moment. I have heard of your problems with a certain man named Clinton Williams, and have decided to assist you in my own way. All you need to do is have Mr. Williams meet you at Pier 24 at 11 p.m. I will be glad to return your family if you comply.
Sincerely, J."
Kite collapsed in a wooden chair, face in his hands.
No way would Clinton agree to meeting him after this morning. If he called, it would look like a big set-up, and his family would die.
What could he do?
The invisible fog closed in on Kite. It seemed to try to silently reassure him.
"Grant me protection," Kite heard himself saying, "against my enemies. Grant me strength to pursue justice. It is time to battle for the right. So say I."
The fog wrapped around Kite, becoming a solid cover. The transformation continued as darkness clouded the boy's mind. Johnny Shield stood up, taller and bigger than the body he was built on. His dark blue leathers streaked as he moved toward the back door. An opaque mask covered his face, leaving glittering spots for the eyes. He vanished through the door.
4
Johnny Shield crossed Church Hill as rapidly as he could. Clinton may have moved his business at Kite's escape. It was up to the hero to find him, and drag him to the waterfront. Kite Evans couldn't do that. Johnny jumped from the roof of a nearby building to a light pole. Blank eyes stared from behind the full face mask. Clinton was on his corner.
Johnny dropped down to the ground. People who saw him scattered. That was enough to make Clinton turn to see what was going on. His eyes widened when he saw the dark crusader coming at him. Clinton went for the pistol in his waistband. He pulled and fired until the clip was out. Smoke drifted up from the hot barrel. He didn't like the fact that his target stood in place glaring at him.
Clinton ran like Kite had earlier. Crazy vigilantes were impossible to bargain with. He had heard about the ones that had come and gone. The new breed was cut from the same cloth and he wasn't going to stick around to try.
Johnny Shield moved like a living shadow after his quarry.
Clinton looked behind him as he ran. He slowed down when he saw that he was alone. He stopped, looking for any pursuit so he could start running again.
It never occurred to him his pursuer would be fast enough to get ahead of him and stand waiting for him to approach.
He bumped into someone walking backward. He turned, ready to shout at the guy. He paused when he saw the red and white striped shirt under the blue jacket. He looked up at the blank face mask, and short curly black hair.
Clinton turned to run the other way. A gloved hand grabbed his collar. The other wrapped around his mouth. Then he seemed to fly to the top of a light pole, then to an apartment building.
"What do you want with me?," Clinton asked. "I don't remember ever crossing you."
The blue mask looked down on him, silent and threatening.
"I don't," asserted the drug dealer.
Johnny Shield nodded at the assertion. He drew a J in the dirt of the roof with a finger.
"J?," asked Clinton. "You got to be kidding me. The only J I know is Jessie King. Jessie the Card King. You know who I mean?"
Johnny nodded.
"What does he want with me?," asked Clinton. "I never had dealings with any of his people."
Johnny shrugged, unable to speak and unwilling to guess.
"I'll see you later," Clinton said, waving.
A hand lifted him off the roof.
"Maybe not," said Clinton.
5
Johnny Shield dragged Clinton to the meeting place with a minimum effort. He dropped the dealer in the middle of the floor of the warehouse. Blank slits looked around for the inevitable lackeys. He was surprised to see only one man stepping out of the shadows in the back of the place.
"I see that Evans disobeyed my note," he said. "At least you have brought the right man."
"What is this all about?," Clinton demanded. "I don't know you."
"Are you sure about that?," the man said, stepping into the light.
The stranger was tall, and thin. The skin on his face had been pulled tight to reveal the skull underneath. His eyes were bulbous, yellow orbs. His hair was a stack of yellow straw on the top of his head.
"I'm sure," said Clinton.
"Let me refresh you memory," the stranger said. "Six months ago you sold a man a batch of new synthetic coke. After he tried a sample, he fell down and went into a seizure. You threw the body in the trash. Is it coming back to you now?"
"You can't be that guy," said Clinton. "He died. He was dead."
"Was I?," said the man. "Do I look dead now, old chum?"
Johnny looked around. He slipped into the darkness while the two confronted each other. He had no interest in the settling of old scores. The Evans should not have been involved in the first place.
"Now I think I will show you just what I felt," said the tall scarecrow.
"Hold on," said Clinton. "I didn't know."
"Didn't know?," exploded the scarecrow.
A wind began to whistle around the pale man, whipping his jacket around. Debris danced across the floor in wild gyrations. A cloud of dust swirled into a menacing tower.
"That's not an excuse, my friend," said the man with upraised hands.
Johnny found the Evans family tied up at the back of the building. He kicked open a door for them to get away from the scene. Then he could get down to business.
Clinton ran for the door, pulling the pistol he had been allowed to carry by Johnny. He turned, firing at the scarecrow demanding his revenge. The bullets paused when they entered the dust cloud. Clinton almost froze when he saw that. Instead he kept running, fearing what could be coming after him. The scarecrow raised a fist. The dust cloud lifted him up on a spinning column. The odd steed roared forth, scoring the concrete floor of the warehouse as it went.
Johnny Shield jumped through the air from the back of the building. He slammed into the back of the scarecrow, sending him to the floor in a slow skid. He landed lightly, ready to attack.
"Why are you protecting him?," asked the scarecrow. "Can't you see what he has done to me?"
Johnny shook his head, shaking a finger.
"So, Mr. Hero, you want to interfere with me?," said the scarecrow. "Then you'll get what I intend for that rat first."
A dust cloud swept over the hero, throwing him across the open space. Johnny hit the ground, hopping to his feet. He leaped across the space, trying to punch his opponent in the head.
One hit equaled one knockout to him.
He hit the scarecrow's shield, rotated around the man's body, and hit the ground. He rolled on impact, springing back to his feet. He turned, leaping over the dusty wave, in a spin. He landed lightly.
"How can you defend this scum?," asked the scarecrow, fury rolling his dusty cloud around him. "Look at what he did to me."
Johnny Shield shook his head silently as if to say that's just an unacceptable excuse.
"If you won't get out of my way," the tattered man said, chest swelling as he breathed in. "I'll just remove you from my path."
He swept both of his hands together, forming a funnel laying sideways in the air. It ripped across the intervening space with a roar. The silent avenger leaped under the wind, bringing his legs around. The sweep struck on target, knocking the kidnaper to the concrete floor. Johnny spun to his feet, and tried to leap through the other man's protective aura. He was deflected to one side in a shower of sparks.
"Blast you," the scarecrow said, leaping on a cloud of dust. The cloud carried him out of the warehouse after his prey.
Johnny sprang to his feet. He rushed to the door, grabbing the edge of the opening.
His task was done. It was time for him to let go.
6
Clinton Williams knew he was in trouble. That freak was coming after him on a cloud of dust. He had to get away, run faster, be smarter than that thing. The synthetic coke was supposed to be better than the real thing. Instead his customers started dropping like flies. He had to get out of selling the stuff before he lost all of his customers. How he was to know it would juice some guy up into a freak who would want to kill him?
Clinton ducked in an alley to catch his breath. He needed time to think. At least he knew who he was dealing with.
Joe Hartly.
Clinton had thought he had died, along with the rest of the users of the fake cocaine. He seemed to remember that Hartly used to have a place along the Heights. Maybe he could find the place and hide there. No way would Hartly look for him where he used to live.
Clinton searched the Heights until he found the house he was looking for. He broke a window in the back to get in, glad the place looked abandoned. He walked around his improvised fort quietly. Everything had been cleared out, leaving the dust and cob webs. Clinton looked out on the street. He wandered how long he could stay here. Sooner or later he would need food, water, and some amenities. He couldn't hide forever.
What could he do about it?
He needed to get out of Church Hill. The easiest way to do that was a bus. That meant he would make one trip across town to get his stash and then another trip to the bus station. Then he could try to set up somewhere else.
All he needed was a little juice and he was back in business. That shouldn't take too much.
Unless Hartly caught up with him and ripped his heart out.
Clinton brushed a corner clear and sat down. He pushed his back against the walls. He closed his eyes and tried to nap. He had a long day ahead of him, and he needed all the rest he could get. Something snapped outside after Clinton fell asleep. It was strange enough after the dead quiet that he had gotten used to wake him instantly. He stood up, wincing at the circulation returning to his legs. He pulled his pistol from his waistband, listening for the sound to repeat itself.
Finally it did.
Clinton went to one of the windows. He looked out, only creating enough of a space to peer through. He didn't want anybody to know that he was squatting on the scene. He didn't like the small cloud of dust dancing around the base of the house. It looked like Hartly had the same idea he had.
Hide somewhere familiar that no one would think to look for him.
Clinton decided to leave out the back door. He crept along, listening for the sound of whipping dust as he went. He wanted to get away without confrontation. Bullets obviously were deflected by the cloud when the projectiles hit the swirling dust. He only had a few bullets left in the clip. He didn't want to waste what he had left. Clinton reached the kitchen and opened the door. He heard the front door rattling. He slipped out, gently closing the door behind him. He stepped to the corner, back against the wall.
One wrong move was all it would take to put Hartly on him like white on rice.
And there was no Johnny Shield around to bail him out of trouble.
Clinton ran to the neighbor's back yard. He waited for the cloud to move inside the house. He ran down the street. He heard a rumbling behind him, but didn't look back. All he had to do was catch the bus and flee the scene. Clinton smiled when he saw the bus stop. A small route sign was posted under the stop sign. A schedule glistened in the streetlight on the route sign. Clinton frowned when he saw the next bus was in two hours.
He was better off to start walking.
Hartly would soon know there had been someone in the house. He didn't want to be in the neighborhood when that happened.
7
Clinton walked, afraid of sticking out like a sore thumb in the area. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he went. He didn't want to have to face that thing without a bazooka.
Clinton knew the train station was not far away. He could catch the train and ride across the city to his place. Then he could skip town. He reached the subway, headed down the stairs. He checked the schedule as he dropped a token in the turnstile. He only had to wait a few minutes.
Perfect.
Clinton felt a chill as he waited for the train. He rubbed his arms as he scanned the station, wanting more people present to hide among. He was all alone and not thrilled about it.
A small buzzing sound crept to Clinton. He looked at the subway's entrance. A tall man with a jagged hair cut was descending the stairs, coat swirling around his legs.
Clinton went to the edge of the platform and jumped down. He hoped Hartly hadn't seen him do that as he ran down the tunnel. He moved down the track, trying not to step on the third rail that powered the train along.
"Don't think you can run away from me," Hartly called as he stepped on the platform. "I have plenty of time to chase you down and crush you like the roach that you are."
Clinton felt the cold invade his mind. He heard words coming out of his mouth that he didn't understand.
"Grant me protection against my enemies. Grant me strength to pursue justice. It is time to battle for the right. So say I."
Streamers of fog wrapped around Clinton. The mist solidified into the form of Johnny Shield, who waited patiently in the dark of the subway station.
Hartly dropped down on the track, gravel swirling around his feet. He glared at the shadowy figure standing in front of him.
"Do you want to make this easy?," asked Hartly. "Or hard?"
Johnny Shield stepped forward, fists raised.
"What are you doing here?," Hartly demanded. "Never mind. I'll just destroy you first."
Johnny waved his fingers in a 'come on' gesture.
Hartly smiled, concentrating his cloud in a dirty ram. The blunt spear point missed as Johnny used the edge of the worker's walk as a springboard. His foot slipped along the edge of the turbulence around Hartly, but the force was enough to drive him across the track, into the concrete. The scarecrow bounced back, waving giant fists to plow through the enigmatic hero. Johnny bounced over the hands, to kick Hartly into a spin. The scarecrow went down.
Hartly pressed his hand flat against the concrete bed. Dust rushed forward to attack in a display of teeth. Johnny slipped under the stream, sweeping his leg across the legs of Hartly. The scarecrow fell again. Johnny swung around, hopping to his feet.
Johnny bounced slightly, knowing he was not really touching his foe. He needed something bigger to do that.
Joe Hartly pulled out a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. He aimed the deck at the faceless defender opposing him. The cards blasted forward in a deadly stream. The spray sliced into everything that got in front of them. Hartly was displeased that his projectiles missed Johnny as he ducked and wove out of the way. He frowned as the faster metahuman went for another takedown. This time he was able to hurdle the kick, directing some of the telekinetic force he created into the crusader. Johnny went flying across the tunnel.
That didn't look right.
Joe was suddenly wary of this. He kept his field up as he walked closer. The tunnel was lit just enough to see where the third rail was. There were a lot of shadows his opponent could disappear into if he wanted to.
Hands grabbed Hartly from behind. He started choking from the pressure. His vision started to blur at the edges. Hartly flexed his aura, prying the arms from his neck with a strain. His mind mentally strained at the effort needed to free himself. He trusted his enemy away once the grip was broken.
Luckily the field worked in any direction he wanted it to.
He turned to focus on Johnny and crush him once and for all. A backhand knocked him off his feet. He hit the rails, coat sparking at the edge of the electrified rail.
Hartly got to his feet, angry at himself. Why was he dueling with this guy. He should be looking for Clinton Williams and giving him a taste of street justice. He would escape this nut and get back on the job without interference.
A bright light played on Hartly, as he headed for the platform. The motor man pulled the cord for the heavy horn. Sparks screamed as the brakes locked on the rail. The nose of the coach slammed into Hartly. He felt his field deform under the massive blow before he was thrown down the track. He rolled to a stop as the train skidded along on its locked brakes.
Johnny Shield jogged over to where the telekinetic had stopped. He made sure the mutant was out before he used the man's jacket as rope to tie him up. He knew that Hartly would get minimum attention from the authorities, but hopefully having a train run him down would at least keep him in the hospital for a while.
epilogue
Kite Evans sat at the kitchen table. He took a bite out of an apple. He chewed on it as he watched his mother and sister cook for the family. All of his family were coming to his house to eat like a summer family reunion.
Kite looked around the room. Something had flushed his system of the juice. He didn't know what. He didn't care. All he knew was, he wasn't going back to the corner to buy drugs, or wreck his life. He had learned a valuable lesson about what he wanted to do and how he needed to go and do it.
It was something he would have never experienced if someone had not lent him a hand and made things come out right.
He felt better, knowing that he was not alone.
That was a difficult lesson to go through, but he was glad that his family was back and willing to smooth out this interruption in their lives, even though they had no more idea why they had been targeted even after he had explained things to the best of his ability.
He wondered if Clinton had been changed as much as he had.