The waitress was staring at me again. I could feel her eyes on me from across the small, sparsely populated restaurant, as she absently wiped down a table. I didn't mind. She was attractive enough. Not long out of high school, I'd say, with dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. Her name was Tiffany, and this sweet southern flower had not yet fallen prey to the typical brain-challenged knuckle dragger who would ensnare her in a dead end marriage, while whatever dreams she once had of the future slowly turned to dust with the arrival of the inevitable brood of children. It was a sad, and all too common story.
Her soft footsteps approached my chair. "Is everything all right, sir?"
I turned on my thousand-watt smile. "Tiffany, everything is perfect. The gumbo was divine, and every bit as good as you said it would be. And having it served to me by a vision such as yourself? How could a dining experience get any better?" I swear she actually blushed a little, standing there in front of me. Ah Tiffany, I thought, what fun we could have together.
She shuffled her feet slightly. "Are you waiting for someone," she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I am. A man I hope to do some business with, if we can come to an agreement. He should be here at any moment."
"Okay," said the effervescent Tiffany. "Let me know if you need anything."
"I most certainly will," I said softly as I watched her walk back to the nondescript counter. A full minute later, a man pushed open the door to the diner. He was tall and moved with the uncanny grace of a big jungle cat. One that was always on the hunt. He projected an air of danger that made people draw back in fear. They were right to be afraid. He spotted me when he walked inside, although I had no doubt he had been looking over the establishment for some time. The man was a professional, after all. He strode up to the table and took the chair opposite of me. I took one last look around to make sure no one would overhear our conversation. The place was nearly empty at this time of day. We sat and stared at each other, while he studied me with a killer's eye. What the other one was doing, I wasn't quite sure. "You've lost the eye patch, I see," I said.
He tapped his right eye. "Next-gen cyber optics," he said. "In my business, it is wise to keep on top of new technologies."
"Preaching to the choir, brother." I said.
He waited a beat, then said, "You're a dangerous man to be around, Prometheus." His speech was clipped and straight to the point. Shades of the military man he used to be. "The rumor swirling in the underground is you are the one who whacked Green Arrow and that girl in Star City. They also whisper you were the one behind the attempt on The Ray last month."
"A terrible thing wasn't it," I said. "I understand he is still powerless. A shame." My face betrayed nothing.
"Yeah," said Slade Wilson, the immortal mercenary as he sat back in his chair. "Look, I don't suppose you brought me here for the cuisine. My contact said you had a proposition to put forth. My accountant assures me half of my usual fee has been deposited into one of my Cayman Islands accounts." He leaned forward again. "So, what's on your mind?"
I smiled a crooked smile. "St. Roch has a pest problem. Too many birds flying about. But that's my game. All I want you to do is provide a distraction."
Wilson's eyebrow arched. "You're paying me to set a smokescreen? I think I should be insulted."
"The diversion has to look like a legitimate threat," I said. "And what name screams threat better than Deathstroke?"
"I guess," he said. "Who is the target?"
"Your objective is Hawkman," I said. "I want him engaged to the point where he cannot interfere with my true operation. A man of your skill should be able to keep one second-string flying hero occupied for awhile."
"And I don't have to kill him?"
"No. I would prefer that you didn't. Make him bleed. Hurt him, maim him if you want, but leave him alive."
Slade Wilson steepled his fingers under his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "You're going after Hawkgirl," he said. I made no reply. "Man, you must be crazy. It's not enough the League is looking for your sorry carcass, you want the Justice Society to come down on you too? Not to mention what Hawkman will try and do."
I grinned. "What's life without a little risk," I said. "Actually, I have a bet with Shadow Thief that our favorite reincarnated prince will go crazy after this episode. Seeing his fated love brutally slain before her time should drive him over the edge. It will be interesting to see how far."
"Yeah, it will be very interesting. Right up until the time he sends his big fucking mace smashing into the side of your skull. You want to play suicide games, it is none of my business, so long as I get paid."
"Heh. Hawkman is staying at the Stonechat Museum," I said. "He doesn't seem to get out much."
"Alright," said Wilson. "I'll need about three days to recon and plan an attack."
"Three days," I mused.
"I believe in being prepared," he said.
"Fine," I said. I slid a device across the table to him. "Put this somewhere on your body, preferably in a sensitive area. When you are ready to carry out your plan, push the button. It will alert me that you are underway. When my task is finished, I will activate an identical device on my end. You will feel a slight tingle. You can break off at that point, and go spend some well-deserved cash." I was under no illusion that Wilson would take my word. He would dismantle the signal device at the first opportunity. I just hoped he could put it back together again.
"Great," he said. Wilson palmed the signaler and made it disappear so fast, even I almost didn't see it. Deathstroke got up to leave the table. "I hope you're better than your reputation," he said. "I don't want two Hawks to deal with out there." He said it with all kinds of menace in his voice, too.
"Not to worry, my man," I said with as much insincerity as I could muster. "Kendra Saunders is on the way to her next life. She just doesn't know it yet." Slade Wilson, one of the deadliest men on the planet, but I like to think, not the most dangerous one in this diner, snorted, and walked toward the door.
After the exit of the Terminator, I wondered how I would spend three days in this humid, festering pit of a town. I could always go back to the Ghost Zone, but I needed to work off a little nervous energy first. The sound of softly approaching footsteps gave me a wicked idea.
Two days later, I finally sent Tiffany home. We had holed up at the Craddock Hotel. She had been enthusiastic and open to new experiences, but by the end, she was nearly drained. And I had a few last minute details to take care of before the fireworks started. I watched as Tiffany stumbled down the street on a pair of long, but shaky legs, then clicked the Cosmic Key and left for the Ghost Zone. The good staff at the Craddock would be outraged that I stiffed them with a hefty bill.
Late in the afternoon, I returned to St. Roch, ready for action, and made my way to the apartment building where Kendra Saunders currently resided. I was still amazed that any superhero would be stupid enough to live in a simple apartment building. I was cloaked so as not be seen by anyone on the street. I used the scanners in my helmet to confirm that Saunders was not in her apartment. It wouldn't have mattered, but it was a bit easier this way. I hoped the Terminator was on time.
Ninety minutes later, I felt a slight electrical pulse crawl across my left nipple. Deathstroke was ready. Ten minutes after the signal, an explosion from the direction of the Stonechat Museum ripped apart the normal sounds of the city. I smiled and started for the apartment building. Unseen, the Cosmic Key opened the front door despite the locks and security system. I quickly gained the stairwell and moved towards my target's apartment.
I let myself into Hawkgirl's home, again using the Cosmic Key. I had been watching her long enough to know she was usually gone at this time of day, but with Hawkman fighting for his life, she would have to come back here to get her gear. Another explosion rattled off in the distance. I sat in the most comfortable chair and waited, slowly twirling my electrified nightstick.
It was not long before I detected the sound of running feet pounding down the corridor outside. I eased myself up, and stood over to the far side of the room. The door burst open and Saunders rushed inside. She headed straight for the padlocked room at the back of the apartment.
She was pretty in a way, with her short brown hair and slim physique. Not at all like the Amazons or the other inflated heroines I'd run across. Saunders couldn't have been taller than 5'6. She always looked bigger to me. It must have been the wings. I watched as she hurriedly slipped out of her civilian clothes and began to don her uniform. Nice. I let her get everything on except the wings and that idiotic looking helmet, before stepping to the door and switching off my cloak.
"Hey, pretty bird," I said. A smile tugged at my lips and an extra shot of adrenaline raced along my spine. She whirled toward me, a look of surprise quickly melting into fierce determination. The room was haphazardly strewn with various archaic weapons. She reached over and grabbed a six-foot spear.
"What do you want ," she asked. One had to admire the flashing fire in her eyes.
"Just your life," I replied. "What's the big deal? You'll just be reborn again."
"Screw you," she said and thrust the spear at me. The tip looked wicked sharp, and with the alien Nth metal enhancing her strength, it might have punctured the armor woven into my costume. If I had let it skewer me. I swung my nightstick up to meet the spear. The hardwood shaft of her weapon shattered. Hawkgirl threw the butt of the spear at me, then scooped up a handful of nearby shuriken. I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Can't we talk about this," I asked. Her answer was to fling the throwing stars in my direction. I blocked the one headed for my face with the nightstick. The other two thudded into my armor. One stuck. I could feel a sharp point against my skin. Saunders used the moment to snatch up a flail. She charged and swung for my head. I ducked and took the blow on the shoulder. The concussive force was going to leave a nasty bruise. She followed up the attack with a punch. The spikes wrapped around her fist grated against my ribs. Enough of this, I thought.
I sent my elbow crashing into her nose, and heard the snap of breaking cartilage. I brought the nightstick up hard into her midsection. She staggered backward in pain and surprise. I dropped the stick, jumped up, grabbed the top of the doorframe, and planted two feet into her chest. Saunders flew back and slammed into the far wall. Recovering quickly, she pitched a dagger at me. I dodged and heard it whistle past my ear. "I'm going to eviscerate you," I said. "And leave you here for your boyfriend to find." She snarled and charged toward me with a short-bladed sword in her hand. I cycled up a Teflon-coated, flesh-shredding projectile in my gauntlet. I raised my arm and shot her in the shoulder. Hawkgirl screamed in pain and dropped the sword. She was a fast healer, but her right arm was now useless.
I picked up my nightstick, and using moves copied from Lady Shiva and stored on a mini-disk that fed the information straight into my nervous system, battered Hawkgirl to the ground. Shock and trauma had finally sapped the fight from her. I plucked a long knife from one of the racks along the wall. I reached down and turned her over, so we were face to face. "Look me up in the next life," I said. She spit a glob of blood and mucus across my faceplate. "Heh," I smiled and slid the blade between her ribs. She shuddered, gasped three times, then the light faded from her eyes.
I stood and surveyed the chaos our struggle had caused to the room. Weapons and broken things lie scattered from wall to wall. A slowly spreading pool of blood was growing under Hawkgirl's corpse. I reached down and collected a couple of items, engaged my cloaking device, and left the apartment.
I hit the street and made my way toward the Stonechat Museum. It wasn't hard to find because of the large pillar of smoke hanging over the building. The loud crack of a gunshot told me that Wilson was still on the job. I reached inside a compartment in my costume, and thumbed the signal device which told Deathstroke it was time for him to leave. When I reached the museum, I was astounded that two men could wreak so much carnage. Stonechat was basically a smoking ruin. Who knew the price of all that history suddenly turned into fire and ash?
Hawkman was on his knees in the middle of what was once a botanical garden. He was panting and bleeding from a dozen wounds. In his hands was a large mace. A shattered shield was strapped to one arm. Deathstroke had been as good as his word.
I walked up close, but stayed out of mace-bashing range. I switched off the cloak. "Hey hero, hard day at the office?" He looked up at me.
"I know you," he said. "Prometheus." He struggled to his feet. " Come to pick up Deathstroke's scraps? Come on, there is still some fight left in me."
"Wow," I said. "Color me all impressed. Every inch the warrior prince. But who said I was here after you?" I reached behind my cape and tossed Hawkgirl's helmet onto the ground at his feet. "Missing a partner? A friend? Your love?" I could not see his entire face, because of the hawk head helmet he was wearing, but his jaw did drop open. He looked at me again, and I thought he might take a swing with the mace, but he didn't. Without another word, Hawkman swooped up into the air and flew off in the direction of Saunders's apartment.
I laughed, clicked the Cosmic Key and went home.
DA END