A SHOT IN THE DARK
featuring Miss Masque
by
Femfan26
'If you turn on the light quickly enough, you can see what the dark looks like' (Pascal).
The fruit seller hawked his wares noisily to the throng of passers-by from his corner street stand. The main drag was broad and long and people were bustling their way home as on any other given day in this city. It had been humid for the early part of the day, had become overcast, but the clouds had kept the temperature up. This was always good for business, thought the vendor, as juicy oranges and delectable grapes would appeal to the great crowds that poured out of hot crowded subways and stifling buses. Maybe he could move a melon or two if he was lucky.
Increasing the volume of his voice all the more, he drew attention to what he had on offer. He managed to rope in a few mothers with children, husbands who had forgotten to get the groceries earlier or the occasional bachelor who might wander from a building tenement opposite to see if he could pick up a bargain or two.
Stanley Rosenbaum, age 46, more or less a regular by now, shuffled up to the stand as the crowds started to thin out, hoping to barter a lower price with the vendor over the few remaining bananas. Stanley liked bananas, seeing them as a delicacy in his otherwise limited dietary intake and the vendor always made sure there were some left for him. Today had been busy during the rush, but his ever-reliable salesman still managed to keep some of his favourite fruit aside. It was a nice touch, thought the fruit seller, Neighbourhoods were good like that - people looking after people, and customer loyalty was built up by taking that extra special care. Folks around here sure needed that sense of care with all the crime these days on the rise, so this was as close to any form of positive community service he'd ever be able to provide.
He saw Stanley walk off, content with both his price and his purchase and soon he was busy again with a young well to do couple inquiring after his oranges. The day was drawing to a close, rain had begun to fall infrequently and patchily, not heavily, but annoying enough to turn any more worthwhile clientele away, so he closed up his stand and wheeled it back towards his home. The young couple who had bought the oranges complimented him on their quality as they too headed their way homewards.
The pair agreed to a romantic stroll under the streetlights to a spot where they had first met years before, the rain continuing long enough to keep them undercover until the twilight had passed. The shower eased off and allowed their reminiscing walk to continue. They delighted in each other's presence, arm-in-arm, oblivious to the fact they were being followed. The shadowy figure behind them saw only easy profit, a chance to cash in quick and make off with whatever they had on them before he set out on the rest of his night's other scurrilous rounds. With all of the local crimebosses turning away nothing but the best of henchmen, he wanted to get a headstart with 'Mr and Mrs. Society Page' here, the opportunity to grab his first major scalp. What he had to do to these saps to get ahead was no concern of his.
***
The crime had gone seemingly unnoticed on this moonlit night in a back alley of the great metropolis. A couple held at gunpoint, knocked unconscious and their assailant using the shadows to best hide his deed. He seemed to limp, perhaps injured in this or a prior encounter, but still moved quickly enough away from the scene.
Diana Adams had never regretted donning her Miss Masque persona, sure in the knowledge that crime would never escape unpunished. She had trained too long, seen too many battles, both extraordinary and mundane to let this fool slip from her grasp. Her only regret tonight was not getting to this pair quickly enough - some light rain had made it difficult to negotiate rooftops she would normally have easily accounted for. Momentarily catching a heel in a grate hadn't exactly helped either, but she was nimble and quick enough not to let it hinder her progress unduly.
By the time she reached the roof edge of the small warehouse overlooking the crime scene, she'd missed out on confronting the crook. She was scant minutes late, but her standards were always set high. 'Enough of this self-recrimination', thought Masque. There were people in need down there and they required her attention first and foremost.
Masque dropped swiftly below to examine the condition of the innocents - they were only stunned, thankfully, which gave her back any precious time she thought she might have lost in the pursuit ahead. She could check on their physical wellbeing more thoroughly later, as catching this creep wasn't going to take long. A groan from the couple startled her.
The woman was already beginning to come to, her breathing regular and sound. 'Good' thought Masque, examining the man sprawled out beside her, whom she presumed to be the woman's betrothed. The large diamond encrusted ring on the recovering beauty's left hand seemed too valuable a prize for the thief not to have made off with. Her purse had been ripped off, a pearl necklace the same, but why not the much more valuable ring? The guy was picky, maybe?
Puzzled, Masque looked at them both and noticed the husband's fashionable walking cane lying beside him. It bore a fine silver handle, a magnificently crafted beechwood shaft and protruding from the base, a bloodstained six-inch blade. These canes had been all the rage once, but were outlawed in many states as 'concealed weapons'. So the criminal had a limp courtesy of some latter-day gentlemanly bravado! She didn't think the police would press the matter with the couple, especially in the light of what had only been an act of self-defence.
The gun used to threaten them lay only a few feet away. Masque surmised it had been knocked from his hand by the courageous husband's trusty cane, the blade then being activated on the swing, coming back to injure the thief. Unfortunately this was not enough to stop their attacker from overcoming them. The pain must have got the better of his covetous cowardice, however, as he thought better of flight than further pilfering. Still, Masque was thankful she had a lead - a trail of blood, although it was only in a small pool here and one to the north about twenty feet away. At least it was a start.
Calculating how many blocks he must have gained by now in the short time it had been since she saw his escape, Masque quickly set to the chase. She entered the night, flickering lamplight following long shadows, through the muck and dregs of refuse thrown from upper windows onto alleys below. Still, the rain that had fallen earlier wasn't helping - she worried that the added splashing sounds she made from the excess water lying around would alert her prey to her position. Masque adjusted her step accordingly and carefully missed most of the oncoming puddles. 'At least it's faster than the rooftops', she consoled herself, all the while keeping an eye out for more blood trails.
The absence of said bloodstains was disturbing her, as if the man were quickly becoming a figment of her imagination - surely not a nemesis with occult or super powers? Already today she had had to deal with all the annoying trivialities of preparing the guest list for yet another charity banquet with that annoying socialite harridan Lois Van Kent.
Shortly thereafter, 'The Winged Octopus', (why on earth he ever chose that name or costume was beyond her), crashed through the ceiling, grabbing Van Kent and demanding money and valuables from her. He threatened he would most certainly use his 'super-enhanced powers of magnetic manipulation of the 3rd metal' he held in his hand, well, tentacle, to make a clean hole in Miss Van Kent's head'. Diana was momentarily tempted to agree, but dismissed the thought. 'Van Kent is an innocent, Van Kent is an Innocent'...repeating it constantly in her head warded off the temptation to do otherwise.
Able to slip away, (owing to the fact that the Octopus with Feathers had a very unwieldy headpiece on and hence very little actual field of vision), Diana changed into her much loved Miss Masque costume. She soon appeared on an above floor balcony in order to gain a clear shot at the offender. It seems the control over whatever device he held in his hand was poor to say the least, as both he and Miss Van Kent, disappeared, apparently re-appearing in the middle of a busy Police Precinct office. Miss Van Kent had rung her from there, complaining at Diana's sudden exit. Now she was in pursuit of a run of the mill goon in the dead of night. This was what she lived and breathed for.
She cut an impressive figure speeding through the shadows, cape whirling behind her, twin guns occasionally catching the glint of the moon or a passing light. She revelled in the chase, in the freedom of being able to exert all her prowess of athleticism to the maximum. The freedom she felt was incomparably less however, to her ideal of finally obtaining the freedom of this city from villainous scum like the one she was pursuing now. Where was he? There had been no sign of him for three city blocks thus far. He was limping, for goodness sake, surely he couldn't have made off that easily?
Nevertheless, she persevered, straining herself to keep up pace as well as accuracy of footfall, but no sign of the pursued was forthcoming. She kept on for another few minutes, deftly avoiding things in the dark that others would have easily run into at walking pace. A cat yowled, as it got out of the way of the oncoming scarlet clad avenger, clambering onto a fence, annoyed at being awoken from its rest. Masque tired and saw no new hopeful indications of clues before her.
She stopped, caught her breath and scanned everywhere, high and low, looking for the faintest movement. Turning her head back she smirked - she'd overshot him by a good hundred yards, as he had only just crawled into view on a sidestreet she had passed easily mere seconds before. 'Confidence in one's abilities is one thing', she thought, 'Putting a limit on them to fit the context of the chase is another thing entirely!'
She refused to let this particular tortoise make her a hare! Gingerly she kept to the shadows, maintaining a good line of sight on his shape coming ever more closely towards her. She thought about winging him in the shoulder, but decided it best not to, as the shadows were making it difficult to get a good bead on such a precision shot. His steps were slowing, obviously hindered by whatever size wound had been inflicted upon him. Masque decided to stop and wait, kneeling beside a trashcan in the dark.
By the time he reached 23rd street, she had him plainly in her sights. He stood about twenty feet away, in the middle of a narrow alley. She sprang up, ready for action in the direct beam of a streetlight. A tad dramatic maybe, but the element of surprise was more what she was after.
"Stop! Just hold it there and don't make me add to your body's natural lead content!" yelled Masque, with all the authority and threat she could muster.
Startled, the figure turned to face her, blackjack in hand, loot in the other, pallour and shock breaking out all over his face.
"Stop! I saw it all, so just give it up, ok?" Masque shouted, as he stood rigid, unsure of what to do, his body language betraying his inner turmoil. Dropping his ill-gotten gains, he then dropped and rolled out of sight, the building at the end of the alley covering him from the two shots she managed to reel off. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly into the night, their intent subverted.
'Darn' cursed Miss Masque as she set to pursue him again. At least she knew he wasn't packing another gun - one lousy blackjack would be pointless against her. He was still bleeding too - the guy left a trail every 10 feet or so - she could literally kiss the citizen she left with his wife blocks behind. Her mind worked overtime with the number of ways the crook could be headed, but brushed it aside as she found her trail had gone cold into a cul-de-sac. The moonlight shone a splinter beam in the darkness to the end wall, revealing fragmented detail of the buildings around her.
'Great', she thought, 'he disappears into thin air - blood all around me, on the pavement, on the wall'. 'Well, this is one dead, cold trail that looks like being...'
'...Not that cold at all!' she thought gleefully, spying the blood which led up the fire escape to what looked like some sort of shady apartment block. She followed cautiously, tracking the constantly appearing bloodstains as best as she could in this light when she heard the clang of shoes up above and a window opening hastily.
Masque scanned for her target but he must have already made it into the building. By carefully yet efficiently following the sanguinary marks the thief had left behind him, she soon found the tenth floor window and tentatively made her way through.
The room was poorly lit - only an occasional flashing
neon provided any good illumination. A door directly ahead of her was ajar,
leading to a hallway. A patch of blood seemed to glint on the floor in front
of her, but the light could as easily be giving her just a glimpse of the
pattern from the carpet.
She breathed softly and as noiselessly as possible, aware her prey could be anywhere, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Something - the wind? - made her glance to her left, as the purple and gold drapes caught her peripheral vision and alerted her ever-vigilant eyes to the shape on the wall. The distinct shadow of the goon's hand ready to club her if she stepped out one foot more shot into her mind.
Now she felt fear, as there were too many variables involved with this. Did he know she had made it in here? How strong was he really? After all, he had been donating blood for several city blocks, climbed a fire escape and all this after overpowering a guy who could handle himself with a pretty handy weapon. The threatening shadow hand remained firm in position, as did she. Thankfully her own form was casting not so much onto the wall directly but was blending in and out with the blowing curtain. She at least had been given some cover - time was what she definitely did not have if he made his move anything like the way he had overtaken the guy with the cane. They were on more or less equal terms now - the room seemed small, he was out of direct sight and she would only be able to rely on trajectories she was now preparing in her head to take a shot.
She thought she saw the hand move, but it was only the neon's flicker distorting the shape. A radio played in the distance from the next room or beyond. 'This is driving me nuts!' she screamed mentally. Masque gritted her teeth and concentrated, aware of the peril, but resolving not to give into the pressure it was presenting. Going from full-on flight to this moment of tense procrastination had momentarily thrown her off balance, mentally and emotionally. She had to make the first move though; she knew it all too well. What was needed was composure to face the unknown, courage to leap into the lion's mouth, strength of character to overcome her fears and decisively act. She considered backing slowly back out of the window and trying to find an alternate entrance = maybe from there she could have the upper hand, maybe surprise the guy by bursting in from behind and bringing him to the ground?
She searched her quickly-made mental picture of the exterior stairwell only to remember that the next window along was what looked like the next apartment, well lit, nothing at all like the room she stood now so precariously in. Perspiration was building up under her mask and making the experience all the more difficult to bear - she wanted to wipe it away, but any sudden movement may cast the shadow of her arm on the wall, giving her opponent even more of an edge than he already had. He was obviously waiting, ready for her to enter the room. She was trapped into little option but to act and outwit him or feel the deadweight of his weapon against the back of her skull.
She wished the light from the neon sign could be shot out - at least that would give her full cover to roll, move forwards, perhaps open the door in front of her more fully and get some sort of fix on her target. Unfortunately it was outside, well out of range, and even then, only a skilful shot could take it completely out, as it was large, composed of several elements, shedding its light over a large portion of the apartment building, albeit with infrequency.
That was it. She had to use the full darkness when the neon flickered off momentarily to her advantage. The timing would have to be precise, and the move after that quick and accurate. She would leap forwards in the dark, crouch somehow, turn and shoot, then face the consequences. She presumed that the guy was not good with shadows, as although he had managed the streets, she had noticed while observing him earlier that his head movements indicated he had struggled slightly making out objects in front of him. Perhaps the loss of blood had affected him. She had no time to ask him to fill out a questionnaire about it!
Deciding to make her move, she timed the neon flash to her heartbeat, helping her to best decide the right angle, speed and strength she needed to carry out the manoeuvre she had so carefully been trying to piece together in her head. It needed to become a simple staccato set of movements - she imagined she would look like someone under a strobe light, or a movie slowed down to its individual frames, but her guns blazing would surely bring this film back into full motion and hasty resolution of the hanging plot.
Reminding herself over and over she was the superior in agility and skill here, she breathed in deeply, compared her mental count with that of the neon on the wall and sprang into action. Her heartbeat synchronised with her thoughts and her whole body with the neon light flicking on, off, on, off, on...
As soon as the neon faded, she flung herself forwards. Her lithe form moved between the heartbeats, lunged, ducked, turned hard right, fired four rapid volleys and managed to shoot the offending article out of the hand of the man in front of her.
"Hey! I was just about to eat that! Who the $#*@ are you, anyway?"
Stanley Rosenbaum, aged 46, had enjoyed a lovely walk home in the late afternoon rain. He took his time climbing the stairs to his apartment, had talked with one of his buddies about the upcoming baseball game, how bad the mayor was, who really ran the country and other topics before finally entering his apartment as night fell. Never one for expense, he refused to turn on the electric light, preferring to make his way around by the convenience store neon that cast its sickly stuttering glow onto so many of the dwellings and businesses in the area. He walked out to the bathroom, returned slowly to the kitchen, picked up and was just about to peel his favourite fruit, the delicious banana, when some high-heeled blonde in red gloves and hat, wearing a mask, shot it out of his grasp.
He stood opposite her, face like thunder, still holding the peel in his palm hanging limply as mock testament to the fine display of marksmanship. Holes in the wall beyond him left by her hail of leaden death were not concerning him right now. He had lost his banana.
Miss Masque wasn't exactly feeling like the angel of vengeance at this point in time. She drummed up enough courage to actually say anything:
"My, um, apologies, sir. I was, well, chasing a felon and he...that is...he...is injured and you...obviously...well...aren't...and ..thankfully you're not...and hey, you aren't even... him...and...uh...sorry about your banana and umm...nice place you have here and...oh damn..."
"Felon, Schmelon! Git outta here ya dumb broad!" Stanley picked Masque up forcibly by the back of her collar and walked towards the door. "What does the MM stand for anyway, huh? Major Moron? Sheesh!''
Diana thought she ought perhaps tell Stanley that the double 'M's on her uniform were actually meant to stand for 'Miss Masque!', but thought the better of giving over such information as it was perhaps better to remain the 'anonymous' shooter of his banana. If he did contact the papers, a headline with any combination of her alter ego's name, Stanley and his favourite snack only made her stomach turn. 'Major Moron' seemed appropriate for the moment.
Unceremoniously, Diana Adams landed on her backside in the hallway. The door slammed loudly behind her. She felt it only fair to let the poor man throw her out - she deserved it. A moment of consideration of her stinging butt would put things into perspective no end. Humility is good for the soul. We learn from our mistakes. She thought it a wee bit unfair of him to also throw the banana peel straight at her face, still oozing soggy fruit, but maybe there was some justice in that too. The door slammed a second time. She thought the second slam seemed less directed towards her as an individual. Maybe he had forgotten the incident and was merely...throwing his trash out as he usually would. The peel hanging from the brim of her hat and dripping squished banana onto her mask, uniform and the floor beneath her convinced her that said gentleman had indeed intended his prized possession for her face and person directly, not to mention the desire of engendering further despair and she should live with that and just get out of here. Now. If not sooner.
Picking herself up, she brushed off the worst of the goo she could, left the peel and walked slowly down the hall towards the staircase. What a night. A door creaked open behind her.
'No', she thought,' I won't turn back', as she really didn't feel like further humiliation from the flat occupant. Confronting him would no doubt bring on another hail of well-deserved verbal abuse, of which she had had sufficient for the day, if not for the rest of her career. A raving dictator with hundreds of mindless gun-toting followers calling her an 'Amerikanischer Schweinhundt' she could handle with aplomb. Being tied to a chair for interrogation by a Commie Superspy with a cage of vipers suspended over her head - hey, bring it on. Wrestling sharks off the coast with little else than some spare fishing line - where do you sign up?!?
A middle-aged bachelor berating her for losing his banana to years of weapons training by a supposedly elite vigilante was more than she could handle.
Perhaps she should retire while she was ahead.
'Ahead?', she wondered, considering the predicament in the room she had only just been thrown out of. Maybe a lower profile would be better - goodness knows she kept as low a profile as a masked vigilante could, but it might just keep her more focused on actually finding the criminals she was after, instead of , instead of...the banana...oh this night had already given her a pounding headache - why compound her agony by going over it all again?
'Maybe it was the full moon tonight?', she thought, 'the Green Lama knows all that mystical stuff - must remember to talk to him about it and ask what he knows about Lunar behaviour and criminal activity. I'd have to couch it like that so as not to mention the whole banana incident. Hey, I suppose I did hit the damn thing - there aren't many people out there who could say they could one hundred per cent guarantee anyone that they'd shoot four bullets right down the middle of an unpeeled banana in a badly lit room after running several city blocks and up a staircase!'
'No', Masque said out aloud, 'there aren't any such people because they'd die of embarrassment if they did say anything like that - what am I doing!?! Congratulating myself on the successful munitions demolition of a deadly handheld banana in the possession of an overweight bachelor? The Blue Bulleteer will never talk to me again if I mention this! Aggh!'
Diana vowed not to tear her own hair out.
With what little dignity she felt she had left, she holstered her guns, picked up her pace, straightened out her uniform, adjusted her mask and resolved not to think anymore about it. She would soon be home, in bed, maybe with a large brandy...make that two...ok, the whole bottle...and wake up the next morning completely oblivious to these insidious events. Sure, she would check on that couple first, but she really couldn't think of a way to sufficiently verbalise her failure to catch their attacker whilst being so successful at shooting that...yellow fruity thing...in the dark.... aggh.
A set of pensive footsteps sounded gently back behind her, slipped on the peel and caused their owner to crash headlong, knocking him out cold, the sound of a heavy and familiar blackjack dropping at his side.
Miss Masque's quarry had apparently not even caught dear Stanley's attention upon his entrance through the unlocked window, instead having rushed directly out of the flat, into the hallway and entered the room opposite. He must have waited what felt like an age for her to leave. When she didn't and spent so much time in self-remorse instead, he must have relished the opportunity to get the drop on her.
"Buddy", said Miss Masque, laughing heartily at the sorry figure on the ground she had finally apprehended "I think this is the only time in or out of court your criminal career will ever be granted a PEEL!"
The End