Annie looked up as a shadow fell over her. "Yes?"
"Pardon me, ma'am." The blue-eyed fellow in an Egret uniform gingerly held out a photograph. "If you would be so kind…?"
"Wait your turn, stupid!"
"Yeah!"
"Your eyes are like a doll's!"
The soldier flinched as even more of the swarming crowd of children turned upon him. Meanwhile the young starlet went back to signing another poster. Once finished she handed it over to the owner, who laughed happily and went racing back to the stands where her mother waited. Annie then studied the officer, who looked severely out of place standing on the edge of all these furious tater tots. Judging by the way he kept fidgeting, it was not lost on him how strange this looked. The kids in turn glared at this much taller challenger for their hero's attention.
Riots had started over less. She decided it was best to get him out of here quickly. "Hand it over, soldier boy."
"Thank you!" He hesitated, sweating in his olive-gray uniform. "And can you please make it out to… um, 'My #1 Super-Fan, P.P.'?" he queried over the outraged hubbub.
"Sure…" Annie responded evenly.
He proffered her picture with a smile of pure relief.
"… for twenty bucks."
His grin froze even as she reached over the heads of her shorter fans, snatching up the photo. The star of 'Glorious Annie – Symphony of Star Stuff' proceeded to sign with a teal-colored fountain pen topped by a large golden star. As she was doing so, Annie watched her admirer paw through his uniform, coming up with a wallet and hurriedly counting out the requisite amount. He offered the bills, which she took in return for the autographed copy. The poor fellow then beat a hasty retreat before he could lose any further money or dignity.
Sitting in the seat reserved for her, 'Annie of the Stars' glanced around the studio where her latest television program was being filmed. They were on break before the next scene, which meant she had to fulfill the duties of the Canopy Kingdom's most beloved child star. Other members of the film guild hustled around while moving props or shouting questions. The studio's huge bay doors were open, allowing sunlight to come flooding in from the street outside. More performers strolled in and out of the backlot on their way to work, along with caterers wheeling in meals or executive assistants demanding to make themselves heard.
By now such things were commonplace for her. While outwardly no more than a child herself, Annie had been a part of the film industry for longer than anyone, from seasoned grips to heralded directors. Her aquamarine locks were combed down to cover the eyepatch and done up in pigtails this time around. A simple change of hairstyle was sufficient to throw most people off. There were still plenty of ways to remain anonymous in this world even with the advent of moving pictures and photographic evidence. Not like she needed anyone catching on to her being an eternally youthful nemesis of Skullgirls throughout the ages.
And speaking of anonymous…
"Hey, boss, is it my cue yet? I'm ready to pounce!"
"Keep your hair-shirt on, Baywatch! We'll call you when it's time. MAKEUP!"
"Actually, it's Beowulf, sir."
"Like anyone cares! Shake your tail-feathers, ladies, the big dance number's up next! Where's Tiffany?! Anybody seen Tiffany? What? Called in sick?! Nobody said anything to me! MAKEUP!"
Still signing autographs, the sharp-eyed actress watched her co-star Beowulf get brushed off by the director for the umpteenth time today. Although maybe 'co-star' was too fine a term to describe what he did around here. Maybe 'glorified set-piece' would be more accurate. The former pro-wrestler and national idol turned third-rate actor glanced around as people with better things to do hustled on by without sparing him a look. He still wore that humiliating wolf outfit she felt certain someone from the costume department had designed as a cruel joke. Only Beowulf's face was visible, a testament to poor living. With bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin, the big lunk shambled dejectedly over and plopped himself down on a crate across the way where he sat with chin on hand.
His bleary eyes lingered woefully on the eager fans still clamoring to get her autograph. When the latest happy customer went racing by with her prize he perked up and said something to her, probably asking if she wanted his signature too. But the kid ignored him completely. Beowulf slumped on his improvised seat with a glum expression.
Annie took note of his distress. Poor guy. She worried what would become of him when it came time for her to abandon this roll and quietly assume a fresh one. Annie resolved to treat him to dinner after work. Small recompense, but little things like that could matter a great deal at the end of the day.
As she was thinking this, a gleaming black sedan pulled into the studio and slowed to a halt, its engine growling.
Several people took note of this besides her. Murmurs came from showgirls and stagehands alike. Somebody tapped on the director's shoulder to draw his attention to this occurrence. He was just drawing breath to demand an explanation for such an intrusion onto his domain, when the front passenger's seat opened, and a figure stepped out.
Things got quiet after that, and everyone went back to minding their own business. The person in question threw a cool look around to make sure of this before slamming the car door shut. Annie continued to attend to the demands of her fans who took no notice of there being anything wrong. At the same time, however, she kept a watchful eye on the newcomer as he came sauntering in her direction.
She knew him. His name was Marco or Mickey, something like that. She settled for just calling him Mickey in her head. He was a low-level goon for the Medici charged with collecting dues from local businesses who wanted to stay on the mafia's ostensible good side. Wearing black pants and a tacky salmon-colored shirt, the little twerp weighed 90 pounds soaking wet but he walked like he owned the place, a laughably wispy moustache on his lip and enough grease in his hair to make smoking cigarettes an invitation to self-immolation. A gun shouted for attention in its holster strapped to his side.
Uncaring, Mickey walked to within a few feet of her. He didn't so much as flick an eyelash in Annie's direction. Instead the grunt made his way to an office set into the wall behind her. He grabbed the knob and strode in without bothering to knock. "Hey, old man!" came clearly right before the door slammed shut behind him.
This routine was nothing new. It was that time of the month, when the Medici demanded tribute from their quivering vassals. All the same, Annie couldn't help but feel suspicious. What's with the expensive set of wheels? Usually Mickey just came ghosting in from the lot and scooted out after collecting the money, pausing now and then to flirt with the dancing girls or intimidate the best boys. That kind of ride was outside his pay grade. Something was going down, and she didn't like the smell of it.
Moments later, a deep voice shouted, "WHAT?!"
Right then the office door opened and Mickey came strolling back out hoisting a thick envelope. "I said, you're light, Pops."
As he rejoined them the producer Max Blomqvist emerged in pursuit. With pinstriped shirtsleeves rolled up to show off thick hairy forearms and a half-finished cigar tucked in his jaws, the studio head more closely resembled a dockside foreman than a mover and shaker in the moving picture business. Slightly shorter than Mickey but twice as broad, he would have had no trouble picking up the Mafioso and snapping him over his knee. But he restrained himself, though it cost him dearly if the look on his face was any indication. Blomqvist's chubby features had gone pink from the top of his bald pate to the tip of his nose, a curly white mustache twitching furiously beneath it.
"You didn't even count it, you little punk!" Max swore as he stormed past Annie and her followers. "That's the same amount I gave you last month, to the penny!"
"That's what I mean." Mickey turned to face the incensed producer with a disdainful frown. "See, you gave me the old value. But things have changed. Lorenzo wants more. So how 'bout you dial down the volume and listen to what I gotta say? Cuz believe you me," and he gave Max an unfriendly stare, "I am not joking around here."
The mention of Lorenzo Medici's name served to cool Max's fury like a sudden cloudburst. He clenched his fists and glowered through a cloud of smoke. "How much?"
A smirk caused the side of the goomba's mouth to twitch. "Twenty-five thousand."
The cigar fell and hit the ground in a blaze of sparks. "Twenty-fi… that's over DOUBLE what I'm paying now!"
"Hey, you can count, that's great! Now wadda ya say we quit wasting both our time and you just hand me the dough pronto. I got other stops to make today, and I don't like being late."
In the background Annie had stopped signing autographs. None of the children complained; even they had noticed the oppressive air that had settled over the formerly lively studio. People took a wide berth around the two men. A few of the more attentive parents had come over to lead their offspring back to the audience bleachers. The TV star continued to watch carefully. Even Beowulf perked up and was peering around in a clueless manner, clearly wondering what the fuss might be about.
"I'm calling this in," Blomqvist snarled through clenched teeth, face twisted with rage. "I want to hear from someone more important than you that this is legit! Otherwise you're not getting another dime out of me!"
He spun about towards his office, and as he did, Mickey reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Pops. You got any idea who's sitting in that car over there?"
He indicated towards the idling sedan. Now everyone, Max included, turned their attention to this slick set of wheels.
"Lorenzo knows he's asking a lot. But he also knows… that it's worth it! This is all for your benefit." The slimy shyster draped an arm around the producer's shoulders. "Which is why he sent along somebody to address any complaints that might pop up."
He then pitched his voice louder so that it carried to every corner of the set.
"That's BLACK DAHLIA in there, man."
Upon mention of the name, any remaining residual noise vanished in a heartbeat. The silence that followed made this bustling movie set seem like a church. Or a cemetery. No one dared speak. Even Annie tensed at the recognition of danger.
A sound emerged: a slight buzz. It caused several people to flinch or cry out. Before their eyes, the rear window of the car rolled down. Not even halfway, but enough for them all to see the veiled face looking out at them. There was nothing else. Not even a whisper. And yet several people in that lot felt themselves closer to death than they had ever been. One of them was Max Blomqvist if the way his body sagged was any evidence.
The Dahlia turned her attention on him so that the big man began to tremble. Barely visible through the thick veil there emerged a slow smile. One eye gleamed with terrifying promise.
"I'll get the money," he whispered in a defeated croak. "I'm sorry."
A pause. Then the darkened window slowly rolled back up to leave nothing but their own reflections gazing back.
"Good job, chuckles." The gangster at his elbow gave a malicious laugh. "Hop to it, alright?"
Max set off towards his office at a rapid pace. For her part Annie was thinking furiously. Would the top assassin of the Medici crime family really consent to be a ride-along for a bottom feeder like Mickey? The chances of that were low. But at the same time, the odds that anybody in this town would invoke Black Dahlia's name without her consent just didn't exist! Especially if they worked for the Medici. Those guys knew, better than most, what that woman did to people who made light of her publicly. Judges had been found slaughtered along with their families. Entire buildings were burned to the ground with everybody inside! There was a rumor members of the Renoir royal family had been successfully targeted by her. Sweet hominy, the Dahlia killed a Skullgirl on at least one occasion, and Annie knew full well just how perilous that could prove to be!
So as implausible as this might sound, no one was going to call them on it. Some risks weren't worth taking. Curiosity only went so far before it killed the cat and everybody who ever cleaned its litterbox. The smart move was to just pay the money and shut up.
"HEY!"
"Oh, grapefruit!" Annie hissed.
Across the way Beowulf had risen to his feet and was striding forward, still in that sorry excuse for a costume. Shouts and warnings came from all sides. A few of the kids started crying at the top of their lungs. Blomqvist came running back waving his arms yelling, "WAIT!"
The big doofus didn't react to any of this. He just kept right on walking. Straight towards the car. "Who do you think you are, trying to muscle us?!" Beowulf bellowed. "The Wolf Pack's not afraid of any… Blue Dolly! Why don't you come out here and fight me like a man!"
"You crazy faccia brutta!" Mickey screamed. His air of smug superiority had vanished. In its place was a fear that spoke far more to his true nature. "You wanna die?! Don't go near that car!"
The shaggy dolt just lifted his head and howled loudly without breaking stride. He was almost there. In response, Mickey pulled his pistol and aimed it straight at Beowulf's head. Somewhere a woman screamed.
Another shriek sounded over the bedlam and the gun clattered harmlessly to the ground. Mickey clutched his hand to yank something loose. It fell beside the gun, revealed to be a star-topped fountain pen with blood dripping from its nib. One of the kids who wasn't screaming looked curiously at Annie, who stood grim-faced and empty-handed in their midst. At the same time, Beowulf reached his destination, yanking open the door to reach inside.
When he came out, a pillbox hat sporting a veil fell to roll across the floor.
"Alright, now show me what you're made… of…"
Beowulf tilted his head curiously.
"Say, do I know you?"
The woman he held by the wrist looked too stricken with fear to respond.
"Tammy… no, wait… Tiffany!" Her captor snapped his fingers inside his big furry mitten and smiled down at her like a maniac. "You're one of the dancing gals! Hey, I thought you were sick?"
Right then the black sedan went roaring into reverse, leaving a patch of smoking rubber on the floor. Beowulf hopped clear with the terrified Tiffany held in the crook of one brawny arm. The car fishtailed wildly as it came barreling out of the studio into the adjacent street.
BOOM!
More screams filled the air as the sedan was flipped over onto its side and wobbled for a bit before upending completely with its spinning wheels sticking up in the air like a dead possum. The tour bus it had collided with screeched to a halt a few feet away.
Those who had witnessed this disaster could only stare for the most part. However Mickey took this opportunity to bolt for the open street still clutching his wounded limb. As he passed by Beowulf a tremendous arm swung out and clocked him right in the chest. Such was the force behind this blow that the goon's feet flew straight into the air. He landed so hard the breath left his lungs, leaving him dazed and whimpering.
For a while nobody moved. Then one little kid broke away from the group and went trotting over to stand beside the wolf man. He tugged on the costume, and when Beowulf looked down, the boy held up a pad and pen.
"Can I get yer audagrab?" he piped up.
A cop car showed up within ten minutes. Somebody made the call before anyone could stop them. Two police officers now stood off to one side talking to Max. Elsewhere Beowulf was in heaven, surrounded by adoring children blown away by his heroics. Even their parents looked impressed as he signed his name on anything handy whilst regaling them with the tales of his exploits in the ring during the war. Mickey and Tiffany were already handcuffed in the back of the squad car along with the unconscious driver, who turned out to be Tiffany's boyfriend. Things seemed to have calmed down.
Alone and unremarked, Annie leaned against a wall with arms crossed and lone eye narrowed in anger.
This stewing rage was directed at quite a lot of people. For starters, that idiot Beowulf for sticking his big nose in. Then, whoever called the cops, and finally, those three morons for thinking they could pull off something like this in the first place!
It was pretty obvious what happened. One of the Three Stooges (probably Mickey) came up with an ingenious plan to bilk people out of money. If they could just convince the usual clients that their monthly protection payment had gone up, then they could pocket all that extra cash with no one being the wiser. Of course, when it came to money, folks were bound to ask questions, even those long cowed by the authority of the Medici. So to make their brilliant scheme work, they needed a way to scare any naysayers into going along without a fuss. And what better way than to imply they had an infamous maniac in reserve ready to blow the heads off of whomever spoke out against the rate increase? So they rented a spiffy set of wheels, fixed Tiffany up with a cheap Dahlia mask, and went fishing. Three other places fell for the scam before it all came apart, a testament to just how much even seasoned players in New Meridian had learned to fear the sight of that veil.
Of course, when she learns about this…
Annie studied the prisoners. Tiffany was sobbing her eyes out. Mickey kept his closed, rocking back and forth in his seat like a little kid. If their drawers were still dry, it was only because they were too scared to squeeze a drop. How could they have been so dumb? Did they really think they would get away with it? The oldest of them hadn't even reached twenty-five. They were children, as much as those little tikes mobbing Beowulf. Sweet sassafras, what's the world coming to?
I shouldn't get involved any more than I am. There's too much attention as it is. I don't want anyone looking closely at me or my history.
Despite the truth to this statement, when the cops broke away and headed back to their cruiser she slipped over to join them. "Hey."
The two men turned to regard her. One was old, the other young. She tried not to get a good look at their faces, keeping her attention roaming idly about as she sidled closer. "I'd appreciate if you didn't mention anything about that in your report."
Annie lifted a finger and pointed it at the pillbox hat one of them held. With the other hand, she unobtrusively extended a thick wad of bills.
The cops glanced between each other. Then the older one held out the hat. "Here, miss," he stated casually. "Think this might be one of your props."
She accepted it, allowing him to palm the money during the exchange. Without another word, the ageless actress turned to drift quietly away. Behind her the lawmen got in their car and went speeding off. Goodbye, you three. Consider yourselves lucky. The damning evidence she tossed into a box along with other assorted costumes, there to wind up in some cheap daytime soap opera, its sordid history never to be revealed.
Annie headed towards her dressing room. Beowulf didn't look like he would appreciate being drawn away from the adoring throngs, even for a free meal. So that dinner plan had been tabled. Although, considering today, maybe now would be a good time to start thinking about retirement…
"Annie."
She stopped as Max Blomqvist approached her. That big bald head drifted around to make sure no one was watching. Then he held out her pen. The tip had been wiped clean of blood.
"I told them I stabbed him with it," the old man remarked in a low voice. "No questions asked that way."
"Thanks." Annie retrieved the item without looking at him. They began walking together towards the set. Then, as recompense, she added, "Don't worry about Tiffany. I paid the cops. We shouldn't hear anything about it. She'll get off light, with any luck."
Max's head jerked down slightly, and he regarded her in a surprised manner. "You… I paid them off! When we were talking! I promised more if there was nothing in tomorrow's paper!"
Annie drew to a halt. Her golden eye narrowed slightly. Greed was never a good sign in an agreement. It meant someone would always be coming back for more. Right then she knew it was definitely the correct moment to start planning her show's finale. The timing could be better, but life didn't always take your input into account.
One more show. Then she would be gone.
Sitting in her dressing room, Annie of the Stars slammed a fist onto the newspaper spread out before her, regretting that she couldn't curse. At a time like this, it might just help.
She had got her wish. Their adventure yesterday was just a side-note to a bigger story. The headline said it all:
'THREE BURNED TO DEATH IN SCHOOLYARD EXECUTION!'
The picture showed charred corpses, all traces of identity erased by the flames. Their empty eye sockets stared over gaping black tar teeth. Whatever information wasn't included in the article she could easily piece together on her own. They were released on bail. No need to ask who paid it. Then they were taken to an elementary school playground in the middle of the night, where she handcuffed them to a merry-go-round, doused them in gasoline and set them on fire. But first she cut off all their fingers and left them in a bag nearby along with three dahlias. So that the victims could be identified afterwards. That way everyone would know who they were, why this was done to them, and most importantly, by whom.
The message was clear: you did not play around with Black Dahlia's good name.
Annie got up and hoisted a duffle bag with a big yellow star on her shoulder. Inside was her Star Sword, her Parasite partner Sagan, a few changes of clothes and some provisions. 'Glorious Annie – Symphony of Star Stuff' would go off the air after today's taping. The check had been cut and she was headed out. Some time spent clear of the public eye, and she would be back for another showing like nothing happened. Same as always.
A knock sounded at her dressing room door. Annie paused before going to answer. When it opened, she at first didn't recognize who it was on the other side.
"Please…"
At last it came to her: one of the cops from yesterday, the young one. He looked so bad, no wonder she hadn't known him. His eyes were red-rimmed, wide as could be in a pale, sickly face. He was sweating and shaking as though suffering from a fever. Tears poured down his cheeks. He held out a bunch of cash.
"Please… take it back!"
Annie looked at the offering for a while, then up at him.
"How much did you get for the info?" she asked in a coldly casual voice.
A gasping breath ripped from his throat, and he collapsed before her, eyes shut and racked with sobs. "I didn't… know!" he gibbered uncontrollably. "My niece… she goes to that… school! She went out… onto the playground. She saw it… she smelled it! She won't stop crying, I…!"
His voice failed him. Wordlessly he proffered the money once more.
Annie looked at this wreck. There was no pity to be found in her face at all when she spoke.
"Keep it. You earned it."
His teeth ground together audibly. "Please!" the cop begged her with tears in his eyes.
The green-haired girl stepped past him without so much as a glance. Behind her the police officer curled up in the hallway and started whimpering. Annie of the Stars walked away from her empire, as she had so many times before without a qualm. But this time a bit of regret lingered. It was her sworn duty to fight the Skull Heart and its ruinous wielders. Nothing mattered more than keeping that catastrophic power in check. Annie had let crimes occur right in front of her without bothering to intervene. She couldn't risk exposing herself for anything less than a Skullgirl.
But there were some people, some women she had met in her unspeakably long life that Annie had been tempted to kill outright. Just to prevent such monsters from ever coming close to the Skull Heart. And this one was sorely tempting.
She did not ever want to know… what a woman like that would wish for.
To be continued…