**Disclaimer: I had New Frontier very much in mind when I wrote this challenge-fic (my first!). But I also had to deal with the reality of certain characters' influence and positions in life being altered to suit the times. Without going into too much about whom I am outside of these boards, in the same vein as Cooke's revamped take on John Henry Irons, I understand something of diminished circumstances and realistic opportunities. That said, this piece is a little long in the tooth. I had a hard time trying to shrink this so I didn't try. Please bear with me and thank you, I apologize if (and when) anyone's just a little too OOC.**
*1955*
Her fingers glanced about the keys, ticking, tacking. She looked at the clock, nearly eleven at night. She usually preferred to keep his hours but tonight she was wanted at home. She was roundish, fairly nondescript, her only accent being the dark red lipstick coloring her mouth.
Once, in the dear old days of Duke Ellington's orchestra and a boyfriend named Bobby Sykes, she'd dressed to go out on the town. Her momma didn't believe in lipstick and pantyhose on a gal that young and had whipped her with a wire hanger. She sobbed and sulked out into the night and did not come back.
Mr. Faraday had found her, a cigarette girl at a Negro supper club somewhere near the train station. A fairly nondescript fellow himself beyond that hair. He looked like somebody's imitation of Eddie Fisher. But smoother, calmer…better. And what was he trying to be? Visiting a colored joint? Hip?
He'd asked her for a pack of Big Chiefs and puffed, arms crossed there in the long wooden booth near the door, an exaggerated church pew if anything. He flipped her a nickel for the pack and too asked for a newspaper. That wasn't her job description. He smiled, studying her up and down, "Where're you from?"
She'd blushed; imaginary ants crawling up and down her back, resenting the way the uniform left the back of her thighs exposed in little more than black stockings, "Can't say sir, not supposed to talk up the customers. Just give a pack and move on."
He gave that smile of his, "I'm heading through to Kansas." He looked around, the other patrons were nerved at his presence, "I've an idea things are a little hostile with me here."
She'd shrugged.
"What do you do?"
She felt nervous, Miss Frankie didn't like the girls to get too…friendly, not less they wanted to ply trade and that wasn't her kind of action, not at all, "I sale cigarettes sir."
He'd shaken his head, too calm, "I mean when you're not here, what do you make of your days?"
"Sleep mostly, look sir; I've got a quota to meet…"
He'd reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill, "Will this settle you for the night?"
She made a face, not sure what to make of his offer, then her brow flattened, "I don't take handouts…sir."
He'd shaken his head again and raised his hands, "Just cool it, I'm…expecting someone…" he absently picked up the glass before him, "Just a heads up, this place is going to be turned inside out in a couple of hours."
He'd looked back up at her, "What's your name?"
"…Wally."
He'd smirked, not buying it, "Wally…you ever heard of a guy called Black Lightning?"
She'd looked about, worried, "Who's he?"
"You've seen the guy in the papers? Haven't you? Certainly seen him in the colored papers…"
She nodded dismissively, face devoid of expression.
"I'm looking for him, that's all."
"Oh."
He downed his glass, "And the way things are now…can't trust a guy in a mask."
"Oh."
"Just…take the dough. I know I sound like a creep but honest, you're a cutie," his voice was low, rumbling from the bottom of his stomach, heavy with beer and no lunch and less sleep, "This Black Lightning guy could kill me if he got his hands on me. That's all. Just do what you're told and go home or something. Tomorrow it'll all be over."
She figured he was just some drunkard rambling on about a fantasy. She hemmed and hawed and tucked the bill into the waist of her skirt and twitched away.
And it was true; they did an exposé on the fellow called Black Lightning in the major magazines, after he torched the place of course. And she was intrigued, scouring the papers at the newsstand, looking for any word on the slim dude with the entertainer's face, but there was nothing.
And now she was out of the job. What the hell kind of of*y shows up, sticks in his nose in and next thing, the whole place is lit up? She figured he was connected or something, maybe he was a bookie or ran numbers. But that didn't figure, not with that malice. The gangsters in the movies didn't seem to take things too personal, not unless money was involved.
She wandered about but couldn't find anything steady. She got the five dollars he'd given her as take home pay along with her week's pay and extra fifty cents since Willy the bartender had been sweet on her. But forty dollars of her meager savings went to rent for two weeks and thirty-five cents would buy a meal and later a dime went towards a cup of coffee at a luncheonette. Once the rest of the groceries went…
She cursed that Black Lightning character, the least he could have done was go quietly off into the good night, at least leave things as he found them for everyone else.
By the fourth day of the second week with nothing left but a tin of saltines and deviled ham, she sat at a lunch counter, passing the last dime back and forth between her index fingers. She sat there and felt the warmth and lonesomeness of anonymity. She paid for her cup, drained it and grimaced at the lukewarm liquid's bite. She was not a coffee drinker and knew she'd regret it in the night with eyes wide and body jittery. But it was hot and there was no more coal at her place.
She stood wearily and trudged out the door, into the hawkish Chicago wind, two blocks to the subway and on to the Southside. Quiet and miserable.
At her door she gave a start. He was leaning against the water closet next to the hall phone. And all at once dread hardened her. Come sunrise the landlady would probably give her an earful about cr*ckers snooping in on them. But right now she frowned, not wanting to appear scared, as though finding him here was perfectly natural, if unexpected, "How do you know where I live?"
He shook his head, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, "Phonebook. That and having my man Cleveland ask around for a pretty little girl called Wally."
She felt herself relax slightly, "And?"
"I came to apologize, things got sort of…out of hand. Superman wasn't supposed to let him get beyond the bar. He got to the jukebox…live wires…we expected a mess but not…"
She was perplexed by his intact appearance, if he was there during…"You alright?"
He looked down at himself before pointing at his frames, "Retinas are a little fried from the flash, big Blue took most of the heat though, no pun intended."
Her brow then flattened, skeptical, "And you know…Superman?"
He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved something that looked like a leather wallet, inside was a badge.
She frowned but he couldn't tell, a lawman, now she understood the malice, "I know this is going to sound sort of funny but I'm at a bit of a loss," he pointed at his face again, "literally, I can't see much worth a damn till my eyes heal up. And I feel like I put you in a spot. I could use an office girl for a while."
She stood up straight once more, not wanting to let on, "I'm doing just fine buddy. Why don't you get your 'man' Cleveland to help out?"
He smirked, "My valet actually. Been with me since Cornell. They wouldn't let me keep him as an orderly in the war since he was colored. The dog robber they got for me spit in my shoes once or twice…and left cigarette ashes in my sheets just to fu—mess with me…till I busted his *ss down with a court martial for insubordination," the smirk widened into a smile, "Besides, Cleveland can't type."
"Who says I can?" somewhere in the back of her mind she could've kick herself for being so fresh, scoffing at an opportunity, no doubt the guy was a first-rate butt pincher though.
His voice was tight with impatience, "Lookee loo Wally, I feel bad about getting the place torched and I was damn sure appreciating the sight of you yesterday, but if you're going to make a guy feel worse—"
"What would you need me to do?" she asked quickly, remembering that no amount of sass could fill a stomach.
He dug into his jacket to replace the badge and retrieve the cigarettes, starting one. The glare of the match-head highlighted his features and she gulped wordlessly, boy was handsome… "I need an after-action report."
"What's that?"
"You'll see."
"Spook stuff?"
She could see now that his grin came easily and having grown somewhat familiar with it, she felt mildly attracted to him, "No, police-stuff. Come on, let's go."
She was taken aback, "Go? Where?"
"Where else honey? Washington. I've been here waiting about two hours, train leaves at ten-ten on the dot. That should leave us about forty-nine minutes to get our *sses to the platform. I've got your ticket in the car."
"My ticket?" things were going too fast, "But my clothes, a forwarding address," her hand clutched the doorknob plaintively.
He grasped her arm reassuringly, "We'll have someone buy you a new suit of clothes once we're there."
She shared a compartment with a Frenchwoman named Marie, adopted by the OSS as a teen-age partisan during the war. Now she did whatever the Agency felt was necessary. They were just and good and there was no worry beyond that. It didn't faze her in the least to share a berth with a Negro girl. Later, it would become clear that she seldom questioned anything Faraday said or did. Marie took the top bunk and she took the bottom but couldn't sleep, too much excitement and the coffee didn't help matters much.
In the dim blue of almost-morning she'd laid still in her dress slip and stockings, newly afraid she looked like a buzzard's nest. The dark wasn't complete and they probably guessed she was asleep when the door slid open. Faraday appeared and swayed with the train beneath his feet. He braced himself in the aisle and Marie slid out of her bunk and disappeared for some time. She counted the hour down in her head and Marie came back. They didn't talk too much except that Marie asked her name. Amanda was the reply, except most folks called her Wally.
Cleveland did not take a compartment or share with Faraday. He sat up and read pulp serials in the forward car and drank Seagram's and orange juice. He too didn't seem to ask too many questions.
Later on she would realize Faraday had her share to give the appearance of being Marie's maid but right then she stared out the window at the snow that seemed to go on forever and felt heat ringing her neck and shoulders. No more dead tree, frozen stiff Midwest. She'd folded her arms behind her head and decided not to return. Whatever Faraday had in mind was fine and when that ran out…a girl could always find work somehow, somewhere.
-#-
There was a knock at the living room window. She laid her hands flat on her lap before standing, her frame having grown fuller in the past year, she moved slowly and with more deliberation. Quarter of twelve, the girl was late.
Waller crossed the modernist room, almost devoid of any personal items save a worn book at the corner of her side table, Ellison's Invisible Man. Faraday had thought it looked interesting, bought it for three-fifty at the station when he dropped her off.
She read it back and forth, the landscape ebbing and flowing with warmth and greenery as the B&O Capitol Limited sped through the countryside. The whole way down she'd massaged her stomach and fretted. Her older sister Hattie took her in those six weeks and she'd checked out again. She left word of her whereabouts and every month she wired one-hundred dollars but she could not bring herself to visit.
The apartment was nice; the Negro quarter of the city was even nicer. No shortage of nightlife. She'd taken evening classes at Howard and earned an Associates' degree and made social calls and the rent was paid.
But every now and then she bolted upright out of her sleep and ran to the toilet, heaving. In the hall was a painting and in the corner was a black and white snapshot. You could not tell that the child's eyes were blue but they were. She'd called him Ralph.
Waller pushed up the window and the lady garbed in purple ducked in cheerfully. She looked soft and seemed to glide almost, she also appeared confused, "I hope I haven't got the wrong place."
Waller's voice was flat and she was no-nonsense, the glamour and excitement of meeting costumed individuals having worn off long ago. Every day she walked that glassed corridor with Faraday, checking off the inmates by name and condition. She thought he might be gassing Savage too much and too often but like Marie and Cleveland, she kept her opinions to herself, "I've been working in that office for eight years. I assure you, you're in the right place."
She picked up a pair of steel-rimmed glasses and peered over the first of a couple of files that had rested on the coffee table, "The Cat Woman, alias unknown, jewel thief, fugitive, etcetera…"
The sporting woman grinned mischievously, "Is that all they've got to say about me?"
"You're not here to discuss you, remember?"
Cat Woman huffed but that adventurous glint did not leave her eyes for even a moment, "You called on me. A friend of a friend said you wanted to…trade? Is this okay…I mean, at your home?"
Waller held up the manila folder, not particularly moved, "They won't look for you here. Anyhow, your boy-friend is in trouble."
Cat Woman made a sneering face, "He's not…what about him?"
"Simply put? They want him. You'll no doubt guess why. With someone of his…prominence…in custody… To say that it would be a 'boon' to the Agency's efforts is an understatement."
Cat Woman placed her hands at her hips, "And what will you get out of this? Isn't this your so-called bread and butter?"
Waller's face softened for a moment, "I do my job and I do it well but that does not mean I…enjoy it. The reckless ones…I get it. But him…I know all about what he does. And it's…not the same."
"As…?"
"Well, you for instance. What you do, it's selfish. If I were worth my salt I'd report you and your whereabouts to my superiors post haste."
Cat Woman crossed her arms, "So what's stopping you?"
Waller gave a long sigh, tired, very tired, "That Bat Man's fighting to the devil and he believes what he's doing is right. You can see that. I can see that. He's rough, to be certain. But I don't have a grudge, not a real one. I'm as vested in protecting this country from usurpers as anyone else I work with, but I'm not blind."
"So why come to me? Why not go to him?" the Cat Woman asked defensively.
Waller smiled sadly, "I know you've been dancing in the dark with him for these few years. We've watched. They've planned to get to him through you. And woman to woman and all of that hoopla, that's…dirty. The very fact that you showed up proves what I already know. You want to protect him, perhaps from himself."
Cat Woman's face was blank behind the mask and she waited a beat before replying, "What…do you want to do to me?"
Waller looked at the files before tossing them back down onto the tabletop, "I'm warning you. That's all."
"Why?"
Waller shook her head, "I might want to protect someone else from themselves just the same…"
Cat Woman was silent a long time, "What then?"
Waller went to her hall closet and pulled out a large portfolio, "These."
Cat Woman's eyes widened as she set the folder down and opened it, spreading blueprints around her, "These are… This is…what does Lex Luthor have to do with this?"
Waller watched as the other woman took out a button camera and photographed the large sheets, "He has something, a very small something, but it's enough to stop that…alien."
Cat Woman appeared amused, "What can stop that behemoth?"
Waller felt a hint of her old, fresh self, "Why don't you get on your horses and go have a look-see?"
Cat Woman closed the portfolio and looked up at her, "I…thank you."
Waller nodded, "Every morning I go in at the crack of dawn and I go in through the servants' entrance. I go out the same way. They'd riot in Dixie if they knew I was there."
"What for, if it's so…rotten?"
Waller shook her head and wouldn't answer right away, "I'm his right hand. And he's got work to do…with or without me. I know my place."
Cat Woman nodded, seeing. She knew what it was to love someone who loved something else, "I don't suppose it'll be safe for me now."
"Would it be any hotter than it ever was?"
Cat Woman sighed, "My neck is one thing…his…he'll damn sure make it worth my while."
Waller moved to reopen the window, "Goodbye."
Cat Woman gave a half-hearted salute and slipped back out, "'Night."
Waller shut the window and the curtains and stood still before saying it aloud, "Godspeed."