Chapter Eleven
"Fear this, pencil neck!"
Black Canary caught the Scarecrow just to the side of his nose with her fist. He staggered backwards, blood spurting from his left nostril. The gun flew from his hand, snapping taut the tube that tethered it to tank on Crane's back. The gun and Crane hit the floor at almost the same time.
"But how?" Crane asked, his words muffled by the hand over his mouth and nose. Blood was seeping past it and running down his chin.
"Nose plugs," Canary told him. She was wheezing a bit, still trying to clear the thick gas from her lungs. Briefly she wondered if the lightheadedness she was feeling was due to hyperventilation or if the gas had secondary properties that could be absorbed simply by breathing it in. No matter, she thought. If he's unconscious he can't give any suggestions and in a few seconds, that just where he'd be.
A shot rang out and a bullet ate into the wall near her.
Canary turned to see the henchman struggling to rise, his gun outstretched in front of him. He still looked dazed, but no telling how long that would last. She jumped behind the table as another shot past by her. Throwing her shoulder under the table ledge, she pushed upward and flipped the table on its end. A ten gallon vat, half full of liquid, slid off the table and hit the floor. The liquid spread quickly across the waxed, hardwood surface. Test tubes, beakers and other glassware shattered as they landed. Crane was reaching forward with his non-bloodied hand, whimpering like a wounded puppy, as if trying to use telepathy to keep any more of his equipment from being destroyed. A Bunsen burner, still lit, landed on the expanding pool, igniting it.
"Noooo," Crane wailed.
Two more shots bit into the thick wood of the table.
"That's four," Canary said to herself. "How many shots you got?"
She crawled behind the table to the end furthest from the fire. From her jacket pocket she pulled two Canary Cries, palm sized metal disks, cut to produce a high-pitched screech when flying through the air. She peeked around the side of the table to pinpoint where the gunman was and was almost rewarded with a bullet. He was a professional; that much was clear. He knelt on one knee, the gun in front of him and both hands steadying the barrel. As soon as she popped her head up, he would be ready to fire.
Canary crab-walked back to the other side of the table, behind the fire. She flung the disk at the wall behind her where it ricocheted over the upended table towards the man's general position, its screech cutting through the air. When he fired a shot at the projectile, she sprang up and spun the second one at him. He was turned slightly away from her and didn't have time to react before the disk hit him above the ear. It wasn't much, but it was enough to knock him off balance.
Canary vaulted over the table, twisting around the dancing flames, and body slammed the thug. He swung at her with the butt of the gun, grazing her temple. She grabbed his wrist in both of her hands, twisting to keep the barrel of the gun pointed away from her, and brought her elbow up under his chin. His teeth clamped down hard and he issued a muffled scream. She twisted again, turning the man's wrist at an unnatural angle. He dropped the gun.
"Smart move," she said. She let go of his wrist and balled her fists together, putting all her weight into the punch. For the second time, he lost consciousness.
Quickly, Canary stood and surveyed the fire. It wasn't huge but it was spreading quickly. On the other side of the flames, Jonathan Crane was backed into the corner, eyes wide in fear.
"Now that's funny," she said and ran out into the hall to get the fire extinguisher. The chemical foam made short work of the flames.
As she was tying up the two men with cords she'd torn from curtains, the front desk clerk cautiously stuck his head in the door.
"I've had complaints," he started but stopped once he completely took in the scene.
"Get the police in here," Canary told him. "Tell them these men were responsible for a string of recent murders. Also tell them one of their men is handcuffed on the roof across the street. They need to check with Commissioner Gordon before releasing him."
The man disappeared almost instantly.
Black Canary rubbed at her temple where the gun had grazed her. She could feel a thin trail of wetness and knew she was bleeding. She then reached into her nostrils and pulled out the twin cones of black foam, leftovers from the old days when she possessed the power of a sonic scream. She used to keep these earplugs to hand out to any one she was working with so they wouldn't get caught on the wrong end of her "canary cry". Even though her power was now gone, she never could bring herself to get rid of them.
Not exactly designed for clogging ones sinuses, but they worked.
"Oracle," she said. "They're all wrapped up." She waited a moment for a reply before repeating, "Oracle, are you there?" Another pause. "Oracle?"
But the com was dead.