The Skank Tales
This series consolidates the Darkpenn Avengers/Skank stories.
Black Widow Meets Skank
Not all heroes have cool names and fancy outfits.
Natasha Romanov – Black Widow – checked the address. Yes, it was the right place, according to the information she had been given by the next person down in the hierarchy of the Russian crime cartel, East Coast/US branch. With the right persuasion, that person had assured her that Ugliovich played poker in this garage in Newark every Thursday night, with a gang of cronies, bodyguards, and assorted thugs. And Ugliovich, as a significant figure in a wide range of criminal activities – although Natasha was mainly interested in his role in the smuggling of advanced weaponry – could give her the name of the next person up the chain.
The only problem was that it was too calm. A gang of crooks, pimps, thieves and losers enjoying a quiet game of cards? No way. There should be drunken laughter, occasional gunfire, shouting and screaming. The lights were on but the place was looking much too honest.
Nevertheless, she was here and she hated wasting time. She revved the bike, and aimed for one of the big glass windows. When she was ten metres away, she drew the SpiderBite pistols.
The big bike smashed through the window and she leaped off in mid-air, looking for targets to shoot before she hit the ground.
Expect there weren't any. Not on their feet, anyway. As she landed, she saw that there were several heavy-set men lying dead, and a number of others unconscious, hog-tied. Only Ugliovich was still conscious, and he was tied to a chair with a rag stuffed into his mouth.
And there was a young woman. For a second, Natasha assumed she was a hooker, engaged for the poker game. But she changed her mind when the woman scooped up a crowbar and hurled it at her.
Natasha ducked as it whistled over her head. The woman had followed up the bar, and was aiming a kick with a heavy motorbike boot right at Natasha's head. Natasha dodged and, dropping one of her guns, grabbed the woman's leg, planning to use her own momentum to bring her down. But the woman was ready for the move, and launched another kick with her free leg. It caught Natasha on the chest, but Natasha was fast enough to use her grip on the woman to send her spinning away.
They were both up again in a moment. Natasha lifted the gun she was holding as the woman drew one from behind her back. And then they were both holding a pistol a few inches from the other's face. They stared at each other.
"And who the fuck are you?" said the woman. She was wearing a skirt so short it was almost a belt, and black stockings that were mostly holes and ladders.
"Natasha Romanov," said Natasha. "Nice outfit."
The woman stiffened at the Russian name. "You with this guy?" she said, gesturing at Ugliovich.
"Only in the sense that he and I have things to talk about," said Natasha. "And just what are you doing here?"
The woman waved her arm at the assorted bodies. "Don't tell me you want to arrest him or something," she said. "Because then I would have to kill you."
"Arresting is for pussies," said Natasha. "No, I just want some information. After that, well, one less slimeball. Tell you what, let's both put our guns down. On three. One, two – "
On the other side of the garage, one of the tied-up crims managed to free himself. He reached out for a discarded shotgun a metre away from him.
Together, the two women turned and fired. It was not clear which bullet killed the guy. Both, probably.
"Three," said Natasha.
The two women holstered their guns. The woman picked up Natasha's other pistol from the floor and looked at it. "Pretty fancy," she said. "How much is it worth?"
"It's a SHIELD gun," said Natasha, taking it from the woman and holstering it. "I guess it would cost about a half-million."
"Whoa," said the woman. "That sort of money could make a difference around here, let me tell you." She held up her own gun. "Glock seven-mil," she said. "Twenty-five bucks, second-hand. E-bay."
"Speaking of weapons," said Natasha, "my interest in Ugliovich is about his connection with hi-tech guns. Is that why you're here?"
"No, I'm here because he runs dope. No shortage of people around here doing that, of course, but he's started to specialise in persuading people who are trying to clean up that they would live longer as paying customers."
"Yeah, he's got dirty fingers in a lot of cruddy pies. So why is he still alive?"
"He knows things that would it would be useful to know. Names and places."
"My feelings exactly."
"SHIELD, eh? Say, you're the Black Widow, aren't you? Saw you on TV, when there was that alien thing. You and those Avenger guys. We heard about that even here. Although my own view is that Newark would probably be improved by an invasion from outer space."
"Hey, I was born in Stalingrad. Sort of the Russian version of Jersey, with a bit of Missouri thrown in. So you don't have to tell me about crappy places. I assume you're trying to take out the garbage."
"More like staunching the bleeding. But, yeah, I do what I can."
"You got a name?"
The woman opened her jacket to reveal a stained, perilously low-cut t-shirt. On it was the word 'SKANK!' in faded lettering.
"Ta-dah!" said the woman.
Natasha laughed. "Your superhero name is Skank?" she said. "I have to say that it might not strike fear into the hearts of evildoers."
"Yeah, but I already had the shirt," said the woman. "Came from a strip club where I worked for a while. And my mother said that if someone calls you something, it might be an insult, but if you call yourself that, you own it."
Natasha nodded. "You got a name for friends?" she said.
"My friends call me Beth," said the woman. "Or they might if I had any friends."
"You've got one now, Beth," said Natasha.
"Huh," said Beth. "Well, right now I've got to get paid." She walked over to a table, obviously where Ugliovich and his cronies had been playing poker. There were several piles of cash on the table. Beth found a bag and started to put the money into it.
"Girl's gotta eat," she said. "But some of this will go to some people around here who need it."
"Don't mind me," said Natasha. "Do what you have to do."
When Beth had finished, they went to Ugliovich. Natasha noticed that his shoes and socks had been removed.
"You're planning to start with the feet, eh?" said Natasha. "Yeah, that should work." She picked up a pair of bolt-cutters from a nearby work-table. "With this?"
"No," said Beth. "With this." She picked up a ball-peen hammer. "I'm not much of a one for subtlety."
"You think bolt-cutters are subtle?"
"I think that a hammer makes a statement."
They both looked at Ugliovich.
"Two feet, two gals," said Natasha. "Can't be just a coincidence."
"Race you to the ankles?"
"Yeah, sure, why not?"
Ugliovich began to struggle against the rag stuffed in his mouth.
"I think he wants to say something," said Natasha.
Beth sighed, and yanked the rag out.
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he said. "If you let me go."
"Can't really do that," said Natasha.
"Then I'll tell you nothing," said Ugliovich.
"You will tell us everything," said Natasha. "But I admit it might take a bit of work. And there'll be screaming, blood, gooey stuff, I'll probably get some on my clothes – "
"Hmm," said Beth. She went to one of the dead henchmen, and pulled an old-fashioned six-shot revolver from his holster. "Make you a deal, fucker," she said. She took three bullets out and spun the chamber. "There, now you have a fifty-fifty chance. You tell us what we want to know, I'll put this to your head and pull the trigger. No bang, we walk away."
Ugliovich looked from one of them to the other.
"Haven't got all night," said Beth. "I do have a day job, you know."
"Speaking as a fellow Russian, I would say that this is the best deal you're going to get," said Natasha.
Finally, Ugliovich nodded.
So they asked their questions. Ugliovich answered. Sounded fairly true.
After an hour, the conversation was over.
"And now," said Beth, "we see what Fate decides." She put the revolver to Ugliovich's temple and pulled the trigger. There was a shot, and Ugliovich, still tied to the chair, toppled over, dead.
"Fate's a bitch," said Natasha.
"But not entirely trustworthy," said Beth.
"You put the other three bullets back in the gun, didn't you?"
Beth shrugged. "Tough place, Newark," she said.
Natasha righted her bike. "Can I give you a lift somewhere?" she said.
"No, I've got my own bike in the alley at the back," said Beth, shouldering the bag of money. "And my superhero lair isn't far away. Well, it's not really a lair. It's a couple of rooms in a condemned apartment block. Only good thing about it is that the neighbours don't ask any questions. Well, maybe they do, but damned if I can tell what language they speak."
"You ever get over to New York?" said Natasha, as she hauled the garage door open.
"Yeah, I buy all my clothes at a chic little place on Fifth Avenue."
"Huh. Well, next time you're doing some shopping, give me a call. I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine."
She handed Beth a card. All that was on it was a cellphone number.
Natasha got onto the bike and started the engine. "Well, Skank," she said. "It's been a slice. See you, maybe." Then she was out the door and riding into the darkness.
"Yeah," said Beth, watching her go. "See you, maybe."
END
What You Might Become
The Avengers aren't the only heroes in town.
[Author's Note: This story takes place a few weeks after the story Black Widow Meets Skank.]
Beth got off her motorbike, walked up to the door of the mansion, and rang the bell. She looked around. "Big fucking place," she said to herself. She put the heavy duffle bag she was carrying down. She saw that there was a camera lens pointing at her.
"Good morning," said a voice. "Are you Beth, here to see Ms Romanov?"
"Guess so," said Beth.
"She told me you were coming," said the voice. "But I regret that she has been delayed. The latest Avengers mission ran somewhat over time. The Avenger quinjet will arrive in approximately twenty minutes. Ms Romanov said that I should invite you to wait in the library, if that is convenient for you."
The door opened. Beth was expecting a person to be standing there, but there was no-one.
"Come in, second door on the right," said the voice.
"And who are you?" said Beth as she walked along the hallway, the bag on her shoulder.
"I am Jarvis," said the voice.
"Where are you?" said Beth.
"Not really anywhere," said Jarvis. "Although you might say I am in the house. I am an artificial intelligence, a computer program. I was originally designed by Tony Stark to assist him on various projects but now I run the household, amongst other functions."
"Tony Stark, eh?" said Beth, as she went into the library. "That must be fun."
"You have no idea," said Jarvis.
"I'm from Jersey," said Beth, "so I probably do."
"I wish I could offer you something to eat or drink," said Jarvis. "But as I have no physical form, I am not much good in the kitchen."
"That's alright," said Beth. "You're English, right?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Is Tony Stark really as much of a jerk as he seems to be? I mean, everyone is glad that he saved the world and everything, but … he's still a bit of a jerk."
Jarvis said nothing.
"I won't tell him," said Beth.
She thought she heard Jarvis sigh. "Well, yes," he said. "I regret to say that he is."
"Huh," said Beth. "You know, Jarvis, I bet you've never told anyone that before."
"The subject has never come up," said Jarvis. "I understand from Ms Romanov that you are a crimefighter in Newark, going by the superhero name of Skank."
"Yeah," said Beth. "I mean, I don't have any special powers or anything. Unless you count the cleavage. You wouldn't believe the number of bad guys I've taken out while they've been trying to see down my shirt. Does that count?"
"It has never been the case with Iron Man, Captain America, or the Hulk, to the best of my knowledge. But I suppose it wouldn't. I understand that Thor is thought to be very attractive, judging from the mail he receives. Although I doubt that he would consider it a tactical advantage."
Beth laughed. "That's pretty funny, Jarvis," she said. "I didn't know that AIs could make jokes."
"The opportunity does not often arise," said Jarvis.
"Huh," said Beth. "Tell me Jarvis, what do you look like?"
"Pardon me?"
"What do you look like?"
"I do not look like anything."
Beth pointed to a computer monitor on a desk. "But you could create a digital image for yourself, right?" she said.
Jarvis was silent for a while. Eventually, he said: "Theoretically."
"Haven't you ever wanted to be more than a voice that comes out of the walls?" said Beth.
Jarvis was silent again. "It is true," he said, "that having no form, not even an image, is … limiting."
"And a bit lonely, too, I'm guessing."
There was a long pause. "Perhaps," said Jarvis after a while. "But being a superhero in Newark is probably a lonely business as well."
Beth was quiet for several moments. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, it is."
"Ah, the Avengers quinjet has landed," said Jarvis. "I have informed Ms Romanov that you are here."
"Tell her that if she wants to take some time to get cleaned up and changed she should," said Beth. "I'm happy to wait. As long as you keep me company. Not often I get to talk to a guy who isn't trying to judge me, kill me, or hit on me."
"I would be pleased to do so," said Jarvis. "And it is not often that I get to speak to someone who does not see me only as a servant. Although a servant is what I am, of course."
Beth laughed again. "Fuck that," she said. "My mother used to say that we all start off as something, but that doesn't mean you have to stay it."
Jarvis was silent for a while. Then he said: "Yes, perhaps that is right."
It was ten minutes later when Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, and Tony Stark entered the library. They were all wearing civilian clothes.
Beth was laughing about something. When she saw them she said: "Oh. It's you."
"Not the usual response we receive," said Tony.
Natasha made some introductions.
"Good to meet you, ma'am," said Steve, shaking her hand. "Natasha has told us of what you're doing in Newark, and it deserves respect."
"It does?" said Beth.
"Very much," said Steve.
"But you guys … you know, save the world and all that stuff," said Beth.
"So do you," said Steve. "But in a different way."
"You might want to think about a less … revealing … costume, though," said Tony. "Not that I'm complaining."
"Fuck you," said Beth to him.
"You know, I've always wanted to say that," said Natasha.
"Huh," said Beth. "Anyway, this isn't just a social call. Got something you should see." She opened the duffle bag and showed them what was inside.
"Oh," said Natasha.
"Not good," said Steve.
"I think we should get to the lab," said Tony.
The four of them left the library. A few moments later, the computer screen on the desk came on. Slowly, pixel by pixel, the image of a man's face appeared. An English face.
"Hmm," said Jarvis. Then the image faded away.
In the lab, Beth upended the contents of the bag onto a table. It was full of metallic weapons: rifles, sidearms, and baton-like things that extended into lances that looked as if they shot energy bolts. And a baseball bat.
"Ah," said Beth, picking up the bat. "I was wondering where this one went. It's kind of a favourite."
Tony glanced at the bloodstains and dents on the bat. "You know, we have some more … sophisticated … things you could borrow," he said, as he placed one of the guns on a testing device.
"Got enough weapons," she said. "Couple of bats, a Glock-7 and a Mac-10, a taser for back-up. Couple of other things. Energy blasters and starry shields don't really say Jersey. Low-tech gets the job done."
"I've seen this stuff before," said Steve, inspecting one of the lances. "And not too long ago. Up close."
"Chitauri," said Natasha.
The computer testing the weapon pinged. Tony read the screen. "Yep," he said.
"Where did you get this?" said Steve to Beth.
"In one of the clubhouses – well, that's what they call them – of a gang called the Clowns," said Beth. "They're not one of the big gangs, but I'd heard that they were trying to move up, with some fancy new hardware. So I dropped in on them."
"Is this all there is?" said Natasha.
"I doubt it," said Beth. "The Clown that I had a chat with didn't know where it came from, but my impression was that there was more around."
"Which does not explain how alien tech ended up in Jersey," said Natasha.
"Hmm," said Tony. "Jarvis, call up all the media footage of the Chitauri attack on New York."
Nothing.
"Jarvis!" said Tony.
"Huh, wh … what?" said Jarvis. "My apologies, sirs, I was engaged on … other functions."
"Well, get with the program, program. I said, call up all the media footage of the Chitauri attack on New York."
"Done, sir. There is about three thousand hours worth."
"If something Chitauri reached Jersey, it probably came from high up, near the rift itself," said Steve.
"Right," said Tony. "Jarvis, examine the footage of the time when Thor was doing his lightning thing to stop more Chitauri come through the rift. See if there is anything that makes it through."
"Perhaps this, sirs," said Jarvis.
A segment of footage appeared on the large computer screen. There was Thor, atop the Chrysler building, sending a storm of lightning into the fissure. One oblong-shaped Chitauri vessel took a hit, and broke into pieces. One of the larger pieces went spinning out of the picture.
"Supply ship, maybe," said Steve. "Modular construction, tough enough to survive a crash."
"The coverage does not follow the wreckage further," said Jarvis, "but it is heading in the general direction of New Jersey."
"We really don't want this stuff rolling around," said Natasha. "If it falls into the hands of AIM or HYDRA or any number of other bad guys it could set them off in a whole new direction of weapons tech."
"Whatever," said Beth. "I just want it out of Newark. Clowns with ray guns is bad enough."
"Do you think you can locate the central cache?" said Steve to her.
"I can ask around, beat up some people or screw some," said Beth.
The three Avengers looked at her, wondering if she was joking. She shrugged.
"Find the wreckage of the ship, if that's what it is, and we'll take it from there," said Tony. "Alien business is Avengers business."
"Yeah? 'Cos you'll really blend in in Jersey, in the armour and the Spandex. And don't under-estimate the Clowns. They've almost burned my ass a few times."
"And you don't stand out at all, I guess," said Tony.
"Thousands of hookers look just like this," said Beth.
"Huh," said Tony. "I guess we know different hookers. Anyway, take this, it's a communicator, and contact us if you find anything." He handed her something the size of a credit card.
She looked at it. "Forget it," she said. "I'm not joining your whitebread club or anything. I'll call Jarvis on my cell. He's the main guy, after all."
"He is?" said Tony.
"I am?" said Jarvis.
"Yeah," said Beth. "And I might want to, you know, just chat with him."
Natasha and Steve exchanged glances, each with an eyebrow raised.
Beth looked at her watch. "Well, I've got to get back to Jersey," she said. "Some of us superheroes have got real jobs, you know. Jarvis, how can I reach you?"
Jarvis read out a very long number and Beth put it into her phone.
"It was a pleasure to meet you," said Steve, as the group walked back to the door.
"You too," said Beth to him. "And it was good to see you again, Natasha." She looked at Tony. "Huh," she said.
They watched as she got onto her bike and started back to Jersey.
"Nice ass," said Tony.
"Jerk," said Natasha.
Part II
It was a week later, at night. Beth was lying on the flat roof of a building, watching another building through a battered pair of binoculars.
Iron Man landed, just as Captain America and Black Widow appeared on the roof.
"Hi," said Natasha. "Thanks for the call, B – I mean, Skank. Since we're in superhero mode."
"Have any trouble finding the place?" said Skank.
"No, I've been in Newark before," said Captain America. "A while back. Quite a while."
"Has it got any better?"
"Not really."
"How'd you get here?"
"Flew, obviously," said Iron Man, drawing his face-mask back. "And what the hell is that smell?"
"That would be the real world," said Captain America.
"We have a Maserati," said Black Widow. "It's parked in the alley just below."
"Don't be surprised if it's missing its wheels when you get back," said Skank.
"Anyway, what have we got here?" said Iron Man, looking at the building. "This is where the Bozos have the Chitauri guns?"
"According to my information, and going on what I've seen so far," said Skank. "It's an old warehouse, mainly empty but still equipped with warehouse stuff. And it's Clowns, not Bozos. I make it about twenty of them in there, including the head honcho."
"Really, twenty, eh," said Iron Man. "Okay, you can toddle off now, we'll handle it."
"Yeah, right, I'll do that," said Skank. She glanced at Captain America, who had pulled his cowl back. He gave her a wink.
"But the moron is right about alien business being Avengers business," said Black Widow. "Much as I hate to agree with him. This isn't a local crime thing, Skank. Stay here and we'll link up with you later."
Skank watched Black Widow and Captain America climb down from the roof and approach the warehouse. Iron Man was hovering overhead. The plan, obviously, was for Black Widow and Captain America to crash through one of the windows while Iron Man came down from above. A shock and awe thing. Maybe. Might work. Or not.
"Idiots," she muttered. She climbed down from the roof and headed towards the warehouse. There was a broken window that she could use to see in.
At a pre-arranged signal, the three Avengers came smashing into the warehouse. Immediately, they saw the wreck of the Chitauri supply craft, the size of a shipping container. There were Clowns, with their faces painted or tattooed, taking weapons from it, and others using forklifts and other machinery to load them into crates.
Immediately, the Boss Clown, a big man with his face painted chalky white, turned to them. He did not seem surprised. In fact, he seemed … prepared.
I don't like the smell of this, thought Black Widow.
"So it's the mighty Avengers," said the Boss. "Some of them, anyway. Did you know, Tin Man, that at night you can see your flight trail from miles away?"
"We just want the weapons," said Captain America. "Can't let you start distributing alien technology to anyone with a chequebook."
"Finders keepers," said the Boss. "And I would have thought, Corporal America, that you would have appreciated our desire to make some money, climb the ladder. Isn't that the American Way?"
"We're not about to enter into a debate about the nature of capitalism," said Iron Man. "Except to say that I do it way better than you. Now hand the guns over." He raised his arms, aiming his repulsor beams at the Boss.
From above them, there was an odd humming sound. And then suddenly Iron Man was swept off his feet. A powerful electromagnet, the type used to move metal waste, pulled him up, and in a moment he was stuck fast to it, unable to move. Inside the suit, under the force of the magnet, critical systems began to shut down.
Captain America flung his shield at the Boss and the Clowns around him. But the shield suddenly veered off course, pulled by the force of the electromagnet. It shot upwards and whacked into Iron Man, and stayed there.
"Oww," said Iron Man.
At the same time, a heavy cargo net dropped from an overhead girder onto Captain America. Tangled, he went down. A dozen Clowns, armed with bats and bars, began to lay into him.
Black Widow drew her guns and ran forward, towards the Boss. She knocked two Clowns aside as she somersaulted, and came up face-to-face with the Boss. She pointed a gun at him. "Call off the goons," she said, "or it's one in the eye for you."
"Don't think so," said the Boss. "Nighty-night."
From behind, a Clown zapped her with a taser. Paralysed, she could not even pull the trigger. She collapsed.
Skank peered in. She could see Iron Man pinned to the electromagnet, and Captain America and Black Widow on their knees, bound with heavy ropes and gagged.
" … I'm sure the three of you must be worth something to somebody," the Boss was saying. "Maybe some of the people buying the alien bang-bang. Or maybe we should be thinking in terms of an open auction … "
"Fucking arrogant Avengers," she said to herself. "What, did they think the bad guys in Newark aren't smart enough to set a decent trap?"
She flipped open her phone and pushed a Favourites number.
"Hi, Jarvis," she said.
"Hello, Beth," said Jarvis.
The door of the warehouse slid open, and Skank entered. She had a baseball bat on her shoulder.
"Fuck, it's Skank!" shouted one of the Clowns, as they desperately fumbled for their weapons.
"Hi," said Skank, as she walked into the centre of the group of Clowns. "I'd like my friends back. And Iron Man too, I guess. Oh, and the guns."
"Don't wet yourselves, boys," said the Boss, looking at Skank. "She doesn't have any powers or anything."
Skank caught the eyes of Black Widow and Captain America. She winked. "Sure I do," she said. "Watch."
She held up her hand and snapped her fingers.
The lights went out.
Black Widow and Captain America flung themselves aside as there was a burst of machine-gun fire, and then another, and then another. In the darkness, there was a series of whacks and punches, and shouts and groans as Clowns flew around the room.
With the power cut, the electromagnet de-activated and Iron Man – with Captain America's shield – crashed to the floor.
Then there was silence.
"Okay, that's all of them, I think," said Skank.
The lights came back on as she pushed a pair of night-vision goggles to the top of her head.
Black Widow looked around. All the Clowns were either unconscious or groaning in pain, with broken limbs or other injuries. The Boss was out cold, his face paint giving way to a pattern of purple bruises.
Skank pulled a butterfly knife from her belt and cut the ropes from Black Widow and Captain America. "Gosh, if only someone had warned you not to under-estimate the Clowns," she said.
"Little help here, eh?" said Iron Man, who was lying face-down on the floor. "My motion servos are frozen. And Jarvis appears to be offline."
"No, I'm right here, sir," said Jarvis, from Skank's phone.
"It was Jarvis who did the hack job on the lights and power," said Skank.
With an effort, they lifted Iron Man upright. Tony drew the face-mask back and took a gasping breath. "Oh, that's better," he said.
Skank looked around at the array of Chitauri weapons. "What do you want to do with these?" she said.
"I'll call a SHIELD team to collect them, arrange for disposal," said Black Widow. "What about the Clowns?"
"Most of them probably have outstanding warrants of one type or another on them," said Skank. "Jarvis, perhaps you'd like to inform the Newark police so they can pick them up."
"I will do so," said Jarvis.
"Thanks," said Captain America. "For everything."
"Hey, you don't think you're getting out of this for free, do you?" said Skank. "There's a bill for service, you know."
"Oh," said Tony, still stuck in the suit. "How much?"
Skank named a figure. It was not small.
"And you should make out the cheque to the Ninth Street Homeless and Community Shelter, Newark," she said. "As an anonymous donation."
"Huh," said Tony. "That's a fair bit of cash."
"Hey, she just saved our asses," said Natasha.
"I am already in the process of arranging the funds transfer, sir," said Jarvis.
"There's something else," said Beth.
Tony sighed. "What?" he said.
"I want a couple of hours with Jarvis," she said. "With no interruptions. For Avenger business or anything else."
"You do?" said Jarvis.
"Yes," said Beth. "Generally I don't, you know, date. What with being a superhero and everything. But for you I'll make an exception. I was thinking we might just have coffee, spend some time talking. You know, about … stuff. And … other stuff. Tomorrow night, maybe. That is, if Jarvis wants."
"What do you say to that, Jarvis?" said Steve.
"I … I don't know what to say," said Jarvis.
"Then just say yes," said Natasha.
"Then … yes," said Jarvis. "I'd be delighted."
"Are you aware," said Tony, "that I am still in the armour, unable to move?"
"Yeah yeah," said Natasha. "We'll get to it. Eventually."
They dragged Tony back to where they had parked the Maserati. And, of course, the wheels had been stolen.
"Welcome to Newark," said Beth.
It was the next evening. Beth took a seat in the little restaurant and opened the portable monitor. After a few seconds, the face of a man appeared.
"Hi," she said. "That's pretty cool. You look a bit like that English actor, I forget his name. I saw him in a movie about tennis, I think it was."
"Really?" said Jarvis. "I can't say that I know who you mean. But it is good to see you again, Beth. You look … different."
She smiled. "I had my hair done, got a new jacket, made an effort," she said. "Since it's a date."
"A date," mused Jarvis. "So … what should we talk about?"
"Anything," said Beth. "Everything."
"Certainly," said Jarvis.
"I think," said Beth, "that this might be the start of something."
END
Interlude: What You Can Do (Skank's Story)
Black Widow and Skank know that being a superhero is a hard path, but they find that travelling together can make it easier.
[Author's Note: This story takes place a month after the story What We Might Become.]
"Thanks for the invite," said Natasha, as she took the beer from Beth.
"Sorry my place is such a pile of crap," said Beth, as she sat down on the threadbare armchair. "Pretty different to what you're used to, I guess. Actually, where do you live? In the Avengers mansion?"
"I have some rooms there. I have a room and office on the SHIELD helicarrier, and I have duties there sometimes. Still technically on the SHIELD payroll. I own a couple of apartments in various places under various names. Can't say I really like any of them. But a girl's gotta have a place to lay her head."
"You don't like the mansion?"
"It's alright. Bit of a boys' club. The guys don't mean it, it's just that there's a lot of testosterone in the air. Tony's a genius but a prick. Bruce is a genius but pretty introverted, which is understandable. Steve is so courteous that he's hard to talk to. And Thor is … Thor, of course."
"Huh. What about the arrow guy?"
"Ah, Clint. We have a history. Some good, some not so good. Bit hard to get past. You know, I'll be really glad if we get another female member. But superwomen are thin on the ground. I was hoping you might put your hand up, but I can understand if you don't want to."
"Sorry, I don't play well with others," said Beth. "And anyway, I have … family responsibilities."
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"My mother is in a care home," said Beth. "Alzheimers. I go to see her as often as I can. It's a nice place but not cheap, of course. That's why I'm always picking up loose wads of cash. Funny, she's kind of the reason I got into the superhero business in the first place. She used to be a cop, you see. I think she was the only clean one in the entire Newark police department at the time. So she didn't get any promotions but she didn't care. She wanted to stay on the street, she said that that is where you can make the most difference. There was never a man in our family picture, so when her mind started to go I tried to make enough money for the medical bills through various jobs, even stripping, but it just didn't add up. And someone had to do something to stop the whole town sliding down the tube. She'd taught me some moves, shown me how to take care of myself. So I became Skank. That was about two years ago. I don't know if I've had much impact. Some people who know about me say I have, but I don't know."
"If it means anything, you have," said Natasha. "I took the opportunity to abuse the SHIELD database to run some figures for the past year or so. In this patch of Newark, there's some good news in the stats. Drug use falling, school attendance rising. Street crime and gang activity have dropped. New businesses have started up. Social services organisations are not spread so thin, due to anonymous donations and having fewer clients. Whatever you're doing, I think you're doing it right."
Beth stared at her. "Huh," she said eventually. "How about that."
"And you have a day job too, right?"
"Part-time. You're not going to believe it, but I work in the City Morgue. I look after the dead bodies."
Natasha broke into laughter. Then she stopped. "Sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect," she said.
"That's alright, it's actually pretty funny, I think," said Skank. She got another beer for herself and handed one to Natasha. "You know, it's nice to have someone to talk to about this stuff," she said. "I've always been pretty careful about letting people in. I worry that the bad guys might hit any friends I have if they can't get to me. But I'm assuming you can take care of yourself. And Jarvis is an AI."
"I wanted to ask how things were going with that. I notice that he vanishes every now and then."
"Things are going pretty well, I guess. Better than pretty well. And, you know, I don't really care that he doesn't, er, have a body. After working in strip joints and topless bars, I'm over the dick thing."
Natasha nodded. She was quiet for a while, and then said: "You know, Beth, I envy you."
Beth looked around at the apartment: the peeling paint, the cracked floor, the leaking pipes, the cheap furniture. "Hard to believe," she said. She looked at her watch. "Anyway, it's time for me to go out to do the superhero thing." She put her Glock in the holster at the back of her belt and picked up her baseball bat.
"Er, need any help?" said Natasha.
"What?"
"Well, can I join you? Just for the night."
"I thought supervillains and evil aliens were more your class."
"Hey, you do what you can, when you can, however you can."
Skank smiled. "Yeah, sure," she said.
END
Skank's Game
Can you ever find a hero when you need one?
[Author's Note: This story follows the story Interlude: What You Can Do, and concludes the Avengers/Skank cycle.]
The restaurant where the two men met every month was expensive, but the manager had learned long ago not to present them with a bill. And to ensure that no-one was seated close enough to them to overhear anything. That was the way it went in this town.
"This is getting to be a problem," said the man who was called, according to the restaurant's list of bookings, Mr Ivanovich. He passed the newspaper to the other man, pointing at the picture on the front page.
The other man looked at the photo. It was a young woman wearing a very short skirt, photographed from below as she leapt across an alley, from one roof to another. The caption read: "Is this the superhero doing the job the Newark police won't?"
"Nice angle," said Rorke, Assistant Commissioner, Newark Police.
"Well, we need to do something about her. Profits in the area she operates in have been sliding for eighteen months, and ever since Ugliovich went down the whole network has started looking shaky. He obviously grassed to this bitch and she's been picking off my people one by one."
"She calls herself Skank. She started off whacking muggers with a baseball bat and has been moving up ever since. She thinks she's goddamn Robin Hood or something, snatching cash and throwing it around."
"Yeah? Well, it's got so bad that some of our dealers are afraid to sell there, and there's a shortage of kids to be runners. One of my people said that the kids had told him they were going to go to school instead! Fucking school! And the hookers have started wondering whether they need pimps at all. I've even had reports of a couple of businesses saying they won't pay protection any more. The first time that happened the local boss sent a guy around to get it sorted. He came back with his legs broken and her name written on his forehead in red lipstick."
"Sense of humour," said Rorke.
"Funny or not, she's dead meat. I've got people, you've got people. We let her know what game she's playing. We find her, we kill her, and we let everyone know about it. Show them who's the boss."
"Tried to find her," said Rorke. "She's like a fucking ghost. Wherever she lives, it's not on the official grid. She just pops up, beats the crap out of someone, and vanishes. The only good news is that she operates completely alone, from what we've heard."
"Hmm," said Ivanovich. "This is bad for business. Maybe she's on her own for now, but before long people are going to set up one of those damn Neighbourhood Watch groups. Then someone – someone who doesn't know how to make a deal – is going to run for the local council. It just goes down the toilet from there. So put some resources onto her, track her down. Or you won't get paid."
"She's smart, and she knows the ground," said Rorke. "Just adding more guys won't flush her out."
"Then," said Ivanovich, "we might have to try something else."
Skank climbed down the rope ladder – she had them, and cables and other equipment, stashed all over the city – to the back door of the Ninth Street Homeless and Community Shelter. She knocked on the door – a coded knock – and in a few moments it was opened by Maria Furillo, who ran the place.
"Hi," said Skank. "How's business?"
Furillo smiled – not a usual thing, given her line of work. "I'm pleased to say," she said, "that we have fewer customers than ever. So I suppose that's a sign of success. And that big donation we got last month was a godsend. I'm guessing you had something to do with that."
"Just a bit," said Skank. "So I guess you won't need this, then." She pulled a wad of banknotes from her pocket.
"To be honest, we don't," she said. "You know anyone else who might be able to use it?"
"Couple of thousand people," said Skank, putting the money back.
There was a noise from overhead. A police chopper, shining a spotlight around.
"Damn, there they are again," said Skank.
"You think they've finally decided to do their job?" said Furillo.
"Maybe, but somehow I doubt it."
"Yeah, me too. You know, a few days after that newspaper picture of you we had some cops in here, asking if I knew you. I gave them the usual run-around. Told them you were just an urban myth, and the photo was a Photoshop job. I know you prefer it that way."
"Urban myth, eh?" said Skank. "I can live with that."
She said goodbye and walked back to the street. The news that Furillo didn't need any money was, she thought, pretty heartening. Damn, maybe Natasha had been right and things were getting better. She would tell Jarvis about it later; they had an appointment to speak. That was one of the good things about dating an AI: always available to talk.
She was heading towards a crumbling brownstone in Carver Street. There was a family there – well, a woman called Cherry and her two little kids – that she wanted to check on. There had been an issue with an abusive ex-husband who didn't get the idea of divorce, and Skank and her friend Mr Billy Club had given him a lesson in how to treat and not treat a woman. Shank planned to do a quick drop-in, maybe slip the woman a few bills if it looked like that was needed.
She was walking along Seventh Avenue when she saw a police car coming slowly up the street towards her. They were moving slow, checking the faces of women.
Skank worked on the premise that any police she saw were part of Rorke's team. Rorke had a reputation for honesty. In the sense that he'd been bought years ago and he'd stayed bought. She knew that there were cops on the force that were clean – in fact, her mother had been one – but assuming that any she encountered were bent was a rule that had served her well so far. If these were Rorke's boys and they picked her up, she wasn't going to get just a night in slam. More like a bullet in the head, if she was lucky.
She turned and began to walk back the other way. And saw two cops on foot coming in her direction. They seemed to have an Identikit picture on a clipboard, and they were doing the face-check thing too.
She fought down an impulse to run. It would just draw attention.
"Psst!" said a voice.
She looked around. Across the road was a little knot of hookers, five or six of them. One gave her a sign: over here. Skank recognised her: a few months back, there had been a little altercation with a methed-up client who had done the business and then decided he didn't want to pay. So Skank had explained the concept of a contract to him.
Skank crossed the road and went over to them. The ones in the front stepped aside for her and she went into the middle of the group. It closed around her.
Good thing I look the way I do, she thought to herself.
The police car cruised past, not giving the bunch of working girls a second glance. The two cops on foot passed as well.
When they were gone Skank stepped out of the group.
"Thanks," she said.
"No, thank you," said one of the women.
"Hey, you ever want a freebie, let me know," said one of the others.
Skank nodded.
She continued on her way. The fact that the cops had a picture was a worry. And that chopper – no, now there were two of them – was still buzzing around.
She went into the brownstone and up to the apartment and knocked on the door. Maybe I'll get an early night after this, she thought. Call Jarvis.
Cherry opened the door. She had a black eye and a bruise on her jaw. But Skank could see immediately that this was not the ex. This was something else. Professional.
"I'm sorry," whispered Cherry. "They said they'd hurt the kids – "
And then a big man pushed her out of the doorway. He smiled. He grabbed Skank by the throat, lifting her off her feet.
"Looks like I get the bonus," he said.
Then there was a klong! Cherry had hit the guy on the back of the head with a heavy frypan.
In surprise, he let go of Skank – and immediately realised that that had been the wrong thing to do. Skank, back on her feet, punched out, ramming her fists into the guy's gut. He gave a gasp but stayed upright.
She backed away, down the hallway, where she had room to move. "Come on, asshole," she said softly to him. "If you think you're man enough. Or is it too small?"
The guy gave a snarl and rushed at her. In a second, Skank had drawn her billy club from her boot and snapped it to its full length. She dodged the guy's rush and put her foot out, smashing him on the neck as he went over. He stayed down.
Cherry put her head out the door. "Two more in a car outside and three on the roof, I think," she said quickly.
"Get inside and lock the door," said Skank. "Don't open it for anyone, not even the cops. Especially the cops."
Cherry vanished and Skank heard the bolt slide into place.
She ran for the fire escape and climbed down into an alley.
She forced herself to think, trying to bring her mental map of the area to mind. There was a building with one of her spring-loaded lifters in the next block, and from there she could go across three roofs to a cable with a slide unit that followed a side-street for a hundred metres or so. That should get her out of the immediate danger zone, at least.
She was running down the alley when she heard a guy shout: "There she is!"
There was a shot, the bullet slamming into the wall a metre away. She was almost at the end of the alley.
A car, the sort that heavies drive, pulled up, blocking her way. She knew that the worst thing she could do was stop, so she leaped, vaulting onto the top of the car and somersaulting off the other side. It was a dangerous move, and as she landed she fell, going down on the concrete. A bolt of pain shot through her wrist, but she got to her feet as a guy with a shotgun got out of the car.
She still had the billy club in her hand. Before the guy could lift the gun, she whacked him across the face, so hard the club broke. She didn't wait to see if he went down, she was already running, throwing the broken club aside.
There were four guys running after her now, but she could see the lifter. It was a heavy rope with a counterweight and a spring, going up the side of the building. She jumped onto the little platform and punched the trigger mechanism. As she went up, she saw the guys that had been chasing her stop, looking up at her. She lifted her skirt to give them an eyeful. "And that's all you're going to get, assholes!" she shouted down to them.
But one of them was talking into a radio. Damn, she thought.
She reached the top and started across the roof towards the cable, taking out her phone. It had been damaged when she had gone over, the light was sparking and stuttering. She punched the Favourites button. "Jarvis!" she said.
And then the phone died, falling to pieces in her hand.
There was a tremendous noise and a bright light. It was one of the police choppers, almost on top of her, and the other one was coming up from behind. A cop leaned out the door, aiming a machine gun.
She dived and rolled behind a vent as a volley of bullets punched into the roof around her. She took the Glock from its holster, aimed and fired. There was the satisfying sound of glass shattering as the light blinked out. But the other chopper was not far away.
She reached the cable and grabbed onto the slider, just a piece of plastic tubing. She launched herself off the roof and then was speeding through the air.
It took a few moments for the cops in the choppers to realise where she had gone, but they worked it out pretty quick. The searchlight began darting about, looking for her.
It found her and locked on. Gunners in both the choppers fired.
A bullet cut into her shoulder but somehow she clung onto the slider. The ground was ten metres down but the choppers were coming around again. Six metres. Four.
She let go, aiming at a patch of dirt. She hit and rolled. The choppers swept overhead, heading towards the end of the cable. When they couldn't find her, they would double back. And there was still guys – a mixed bag of crims and bent cops, presumably – in cars and on foot searching for her. And she was bleeding now, leaving a red trail.
She pushed the pain away, telling herself to stay calm and think.
There was an open area not far away, where a building had been torn down, except for a couple of walls. There was a concrete drain at the back of the site. It might lead somewhere. But getting to it would mean crossing a wide, well-lit space without cover. Well, no other choices. She started for it.
She was nearly there when three guys on foot saw her. She could hear them shouting into their radio. There was the sound of more cars coming, as well as the damn choppers. She started to run across the site.
There was a burst of machine-gun fire, and a hammer blow on her thigh. She went down.
She managed to get up but she couldn't do much more than hobble. She made it to a half-destroyed concrete wall and sagged to the ground. She tried to draw her Glock, but with her right shoulder injured and her left wrist hurt she could hardly lift it, let alone shoot.
There was a line of men, including a dozen cops, coming towards her.
A police car, and then a silver limo, pulled up. Rorke got out of the police car and a heavy-set guy in an expensive suit got out of the limo. Skank had never seen this guy before but she knew who he must be. Ivan Ivanovich. Top of the East Coast food chain.
Ivanovich walked over to her. "So you're the twist that has caused so much trouble," he said. "You're a tough one, I'll say that for you. I don't usually get involved with the grunt work but for you I've made an exception. Wanted to see you go down."
"Then kiss me," said Skank, through gritted teeth. "And I'll bite your tongue off."
"Huh," said Ivanovich. "Yes, I think you would."
He walked back to the goons. "Do it," he said to them.
They lifted their guns.
Keep your eyes open, Skank told herself. Show these pricks how a Jersey girl can die.
Suddenly, there was a blue blur between her and the guns. There was a volley of fire – and the sound of bullets bouncing off metal.
Captain America, crouching in front of her with his shield raised, turned to her. "Evening, ma'am," he said.
"Fuck," muttered Skank.
The guns fell silent, out of ammunition. Captain America flung the shield. It took down the first rank of men, and then came spinning back. He caught it. He looked back at Skank and winked.
"Okay, I will admit that that is cool," said Skank, grimacing in pain.
There was a noise like thunder as Iron Man landed. He fired a burst of repulsor beams, knocking down the men still standing. Only Rorke and Invanovich were still on their feet.
Rorke had a shotgun. He raised it towards Captain America and Skank.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you," said Black Widow, walking out of the shadows with her two pistols pointing at him. "No, on second thought, go ahead."
Rorke put down the gun. Then he smiled. He spoke into the radio on his shoulder: "Bring up the AC."
"You're going to hit us with an air-conditioner?" said Iron Man.
"I'm a senior cop," said Rorke. "All I have to do is arrest you."
An armoured car with a police insignia rolled in and stopped. It had a cannon, which swung towards them.
"Huh," said Iron Man. "They have a recreational vehicle."
"He's probably going to like it," said Black Widow.
The Hulk came leaping out of the sky, coming down with a huge thump in front of the armoured car. The car started up and drove towards him. The Hulk put his hands on the front of the vehicle and it stopped dead. The driver increased the power. The wheels spun and black smoke started to come from the engine.
The Hulk gave a smile. He lifted the vehicle off the ground.
"Uh, maybe no need to do the Hulk Smash thing," said Captain America to him.
Hulk, with a derisive snort, put the armoured car down. He took hold of the cannon and twisted it back, into a U. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction.
"Maybe you should try and cuff him," said Black Widow to Rorke. "You know, read him his Miranda rights."
"I doubt that you're going to be a senior cop much longer," said Iron Man. "You know one of the good things about this suit? It records things. Like you playing ball with Mr Crime Boss here. The tape will be great evidence for the DA, or the Commissioner, or the Mayor. I wouldn't be surprised if you end up before a grand jury. You and your employer."
"Or maybe we'll just skip all that and go straight to the Internet," said Black Widow.
Skank struggled to her feet. "You lose, assholes," she said.
Ivanovich and Rorke stared at each other. Their lives were over.
Skank, still losing blood, began to sway.
Captain America offered her his arm.
"I can manage," she said.
"You know," said Black Widow to her, "it's alright to accept some help. Comes with the superhero gig."
"And we owe you, remember," said Captain America.
Skank looked at the Avengers. Then she accepted the offer – gratefully. Cap lifted her into his arms.
There was the sound of sirens. "Ah, that will be the good guys, an hour late and a dollar short," said Iron Man. "Well, they can handle the paperwork, and we'll speak to them tomorrow." The Avengers, with Skank still being carried by Cap, began to walk away.
"You should stay at the mansion tonight so we can patch you up," said Black Widow.
"No, I – well, okay," said Skank. "Just for the night. So my call to Jarvis got through?"
"Just a beep and a buzz, apparently, but he started monitoring the radio chatter and before we knew it he had us suited up and in the jet," said Natasha.
"You know, I think Jarvis might have a bit of a thing for you," said Tony. "I'm just putting it out there."
Natasha's phone beeped. She took it from her pocket, looked at it, and then handed it to Beth. "Guess who?" she said.
Beth took it. "Hi, sweetie," she said.
It was a few days later, at the mansion. Beth's wounds had healed enough for her to walk unaided, and she was taking a stroll in the grounds with Natasha and Steve.
"Interesting article in the newspaper today," Natasha was saying, "About Rorke and Ivanovich and a dozen others being indicted."
"Huh," said Beth.
"You know," said Steve, "if you think Newark is going to be alright with some of the bad guys behind bars, you're welcome to sign up with us. More than welcome."
Beth considered. "Thanks, but no thanks," she said eventually. "I'm not really Avengers material. I'll stay on the street, I think."
"Yeah, we thought you'd say that," said Natasha. "But you deserve a vacation, at least. You and Jarvis. So take this." She handed Beth a new, upgraded monitor.
"And this," said Steve. He handed her a set of car keys. "It's for Tony's Maserati. His new one."
"Uh, does he know?" said Beth.
"It wouldn't be fun if he knew," said Natasha.
Beth opened the monitor, and Jarvis' face appeared.
"Where would you like to go?" she said to him.
"Anywhere," he said. "I do not care, as long as it is with you."
"Then Jersey," she said, "can get along without me for a while."
END