Chapter 3: A Deal With the Devil

Richard Ryan slapped his cards down on the table in disgust, his handsome features marred by the ugly frown on his face. "That's it, Tony," he said. "I'm cleaned out. Sorry, but we're going to have to call it a night."

Tony Sciantorelli folded up his cards and leaned back in his chair. "You ain'tcher usual self tonight, Riccio, ya know what I'm sayin'?" he said in his heavy New York Italian accent. "Whassup?"

Richard sighed, for once not bothering to correct the man. Riccio was a name very few called him anymore; he wanted no one to know he had ties to the Italian Mafia. But this was less of a sore point than formerly, as he no longer had a public profile to keep up.

"It's my bitch," he said, not bothering to hide his hatred. "She had our prenuptial agreement annulled, and she's taken back her company. I've been hearing bits and pieces about her the last year and a half. She's traveling around, acting all concerned for the company."

"Yah. So?" Tony took out a cigar and lit it lazily, and they both watched the smoke rise to the ceiling.

Ryan slapped the table. "Because it's mine, damnit! Her father promised me I could have her and the company if I got my father to give him a promotion. He signed the agreement on her behalf. He assured me nothing would break it, and here she is, waltzing around spending all that money that was supposed to be mine!" His face looked purple above his collar.

Tony reflected that Ryan seemed to be losing it. Before, no matter what happened, nothing could rile up the Senator. He was known as Rock steady Ryan. Now here he was, flying off the handle at the littlest things. Tony knew why, of course. Where before Ryan could keep all his anger bottled up until he got home and could take it out on his wife, now he had nothing to relieve that tension. Ryan couldn't even go out and get a hooker, because the press was hovering over him like vultures over dying prey. He felt kind of sorry for the guy.

"Need a bitch?" he said, gesturing to his poker chip of the night. It was a pale-faced hooker who needed money for her fix so badly she'd do anything for it. And she had. Tony couldn't fault her servicing of the poker club that night, though Ryan hadn't taken his usual pleasure in her cries as they did the usual revolting things to the whey-faced hooker.

"Nah," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "I don't like blonds."

Tony blew another smoke ring, watched it drift to the ceiling. "I got another one in mind," he said. "Small, slender, long black hair…just like your ex-wife." Ryan looked momentarily interested, then shook his head.

"No. The way I feel right now, I'd probably kill her. The thing about my wife is, she was a mutant. Her special ability was healing. I could beat her black and blue one night and she'd be right as rain the next."

Tony leaned in toward Ryan. "Hey. Look, man. I know this guy, see. He found out his old lady was a mutant, and he hates muties. She didn't tell him, and when he found out he was furious." He lowered his voice. "There's this guy, they call him the Shadowman. He got lots of money stashed somewhere, and he pays for information about mutie freaks. Pays well. Well, my guy went to him, told him he had a wife who was one of them freaks. The Shadowman investigated the guy's claim, went and had his bounty hunters go and get the woman. When it was proven that she was a mutant, he paid the guy fifty thousand dollars for turning in a mutant."

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't want anyone I know personally to fall into the hands of the Shadowman, but if you're that mad at her you could probably work out a deal with him. He can be found in Warehouse 3 down on Canal Street, by the docks."

"What does he do with the ones he finds?" Ryan leaned forward, all interest.

"Most of the time they're found dead, the victim of a drive-by, a mugging, a car accident. Some never turn up again. Just disappear. My guy did find out when he went back to the Shadowman and asked for his wife back. He changed his mind, see. But whatever he found out drove him mad; he jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge the next night."

Ryan ignored that. "I don't care what he does with the bitch as long as I get my money," he snarled. "He can have his joy of her. I hate her. You know something, Tony, I feel better. Can I use your chip tonight? I'll go see this Shadowman tomorrow."

"Sure." And Tony leaned back in his chair and lit another cigar. He remembered Ryan's wife, though he'd only met her a couple of times, mostly at the beginning of their marriage, and he thanked God he'd never won one of the games in which she was the prize. She had looked the decent sort, pretty and quiet, and obviously devoted to Ryan. She was one of the few women in Washington who had married for love, not money. Tony thought it was kind of a vile trick her father and the former Senator had played on her, signing away her money in exchange for a promotion and money. But it wasn't his business, he thought as he puffed on his cigar and listened to his hooker shriek behind him at whatever Ryan was doing to her.

No, not his business at all.

The Lincoln wouldn't fit down the narrow alleys on Canal Street, and Ryan cursed as he found himself compelled to get out and walk the remaining distance to Warehouse 3. It was a grey, squat building, rather well-kept, in contrast to the rundown condition of those around it. He walked into the warehouse, shaking the mud and rain off his Armani loafers. "Hello?" he called into the near darkness.

"That door behind you, close it you will," came a midnight, sepulchral voice from somewhere above him. He closed the door, and as he did so, a single bright light came on. "If it is business you have with the Shadowman, stand you in the light and your business state. Otherwise leave you will, and not return."

Ryan stepped into the light, shaking slightly at that low, basso profundo voice echoing around him. There were too many hard surfaces here that sound could bounce off, and the acoustic effect made it hard to pinpoint the origin of the voice, but he guessed it was somewhere above him and off to the left. He faced the ominous darkness and said, "I hear the Shadowman pays well for information about mutants," he said, trying to keep his voice from quivering. "I have one for him."

"Indeed," said that voice again, and this time the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, for the voice was accompanied by the strong feeling that something had turned its full attention on him, and it wasn't a kind regard. Ryan felt all of a sudden as a rabbit might feel under the gaze of a hawk who was not particularly hungry but might at any moment kill it for the sake of having a meal at hand later. "And who, this mutant would be, you are trying to turn in?"

"My ex-wife." Or would be ex when the divorce hearing rolled around, in a month or so.

"Why coming here you will be, this information to be giving?" the voice rumbled. "And truth you will speak, or leaving here you will not be."

"I need the money," he said, "And I want to be rid of my ex-wife."

"Money you do not need," the voice spat in thinly disguised disgust. "Money you want. When expensive clothes you wear, money you do not need."

"Want, then," Ryan was going to agree with the voice. Anything to ensure he would leave here alive.

"Your ex-wife, hate her you do," continued the voice. "Reason, you have not. In the news you have been, divorcing you she is, for hurting her you were. The Shadowman hunts not for innocents. The Shadowman hunts not for mutants unless benefit there is. What ability has she, that the Shadowman should expend time and resources in chasing one who has no wrong done?"

"She heals," Ryan's heart sank. He couldn't see any way Sara's power could benefit the Shadowman.

"Repeat," said the voice, and Ryan felt like cringing now. The Shadowman's attention had only half been on him before, if this new intensity was any indication.

"S-she can heal injuries done to her body, and on others," he said.

There was a sound, like a sigh, of satisfaction. "If truth you are telling, worth the time it is. Picture of this woman have you?"

"N-no." Why hadn't he thought to bring a picture? Of course it would be needed to hunt Sara down.

"Is lucky you are, her picture all over the front pages is," said the voice, this time with a hiss of scornful amusement. "Contract accepted is. Money to you will be delivered when she captured is."

The attention began to draw away from him, but he found some strength in him for a "Wait."

"For what?" came that voice, and now accompanied by displeasure.

"H-H-How much money will you give me for her?"

The voice hissed. "Fifty thousand U.S. dollars."

"How will it be delivered?"

"Too many questions ask you," the voice had a hint of menace. "By mail, it will."

"You do not have my address."

The voice hissed, in amusement this time. "Think you we know not who you are? Senator, you were, brought low by scandal. And mutant you are, and far from innocent. The Shadowman, considering has been, bringing you captive into the fold. Not now, as you a greater gift than your small talent are bringing."

"One more thing," Ryan said.

The voice growled. It was a sound out of a nightmares, but Ryan stood firm. "One last, only," it hissed.

"If what you plan on doing to her will hurt her, can I watch?" He could barely restrain himself from licking his lips. Sara screaming in agony by his doing, just as she thought she was beyond his reach…oh, that would be sweet. He could live the rest of his life if he could know she died in pain and knew it was his doing.

The voice was silent for the longest time, and then it spoke again. "Watch you wish, when use her we do?"

"Yes," he said, getting excited.

"Interesting you are," the voice said at last, thoughtfully. "Most informants uneasy are, when here are coming to information give, and not wishing they are of knowing what is to happen. Total strangers are they and yet still not desirous of knowing the future they are. Strange, you are. Follow the light, and to the Shadowman will you be brought."

The spotlight winked out over him, and a smaller, less bright series of lights came on, illuminating a set of steel steps going up into darkness. He mounted them in trepidation, and followed the tall, hulking black-cloaked figure down a narrow catwalk, coming out at last into a small but brightly-lit office in which a figure sat at the desk. The figure stood as the hulking black cloak said, "Ryan, the former Senator. An interesting request has he."

The man faced Ryan, and at first all he could see was the dark cape that draped the figure and hooded the face. The hands came up, hands that looked human until the hood was thrown back, and Ryan discovered that those hands did not belong to anything born on this planet.

An impressive black crest of feathers rose from what Ryan would have called a scalp if hair had grown out of it framed a face that reminded him immediately of a bird. A raptor, to be more precise, a bird of prey. Hooded eyes under fierce brows gleamed white, with narrow, slitted pupils that were nearly invisible in the milkiness of the eyes. The nose was aquiline to the extreme, looking more like a massive hooked beak. The lips were twisted in a sardonic smile.

"I will not be doing anything to you, so do not fear," said the utterly ordinary voice attached to that extraordinary face. "I heard your request. I admit, it is unusual, but I do believe I shall be able to accommodate you."

Ryan found his voice at last. "Who—what are you?"

The birdlike man paced around his office. "I am a member of a race of beings called the Shi'ar," he said. "I am what you would call here a scientist. Until recently I was a treasured member of the Majestrix Lilandra Neramani's science staff. We found an extremely rare metal on an asteroid in an asteroid belt not far form our homeworld. This metal is flexible when cooled, and indestructible so far as I could discover. I believed it would be possible to create an ultimate soldier to command the armies of the Shi'ar empire, and I sought volunteers to test my theory. The Majestrix herself took exception when the greater majority of those volunteers perished during my attempt to mold the metal to the body of the volunteers. She has exiled me from the empire. I remembered the Majestrix's human lover came from this planet, and that some of its denizens are gifted with extraordinary powers. So I brought my one success, the former prisoner Gero, to assist me in creating more like him. Gero, you see, has the ability to instantly heal himself, and despite all my efforts to succeed using another power, self-healing has been the only one that has yet worked. So the gift you have given me, that of a mutant who can heal, is a great gift, and deserving of greater reward. So, as a reward to you I shall allow you to witness my success."

Ryan could hardly believe his ears. This alien was trying to create a superhuman to lead an army of aliens! There were more of them! And the technology around the office he could see was far superior to anything Earth could boast. An image flashed into his mind; he had managed to steal a piece of technology from this alien. He hired a scientist to take it apart, discover how it worked, build more of it, patent it, and he would be rich beyond his wildest dreams. Suddenly vengeance became less important than his greed. He would come back to see his wife, but leave with the means to make himself richer than he had ever dreamed.

He agreed to keep the alien… Shi'ar?…a secret, and went home.

Gero walked into Koven's office after the slimy disgusting little earther had gone. "Master," he said, bowing clear down to the floor in subservience, "I do not believe this is a wise move. The Earther wishes to steal our secrets, our technology. You must not allow it, Master Koven."

Koven laughed scornfully. "Do you think I could not read the little man's mind? His motives are as transparent as glass. Do not worry, Gero. His greed will be his undoing. When we have the mutant human woman, activate the security system around the lab. When he tries to leave with something other than he came in with, he will die under the lasers of the lab security. Now go, and prepare the matarium tank for its forthcoming occupant."

Gero nodded and left.

Ryan was in a much more effusive mood at the next poker game. Tony eyed him with some mixed feelings as the man prattled on about how good it would be to know Sara was out of his life forever.

"So you got in touch with the Shadowman?" he asked neutrally, keeping his eyes on the cards before him.

"Yes. And he will take this bitch off my hands. I can't wait!"

Tony left the game with a heavy heart, cursing himself for mentioning the Shadowman to Ryan. Sara didn't deserve this. In the week since the last game, Tony had read everything that he could find about her and about the divorce. From what he'd read, heard, and seen on TV, she was the wronged one in all this mess. She had done nothing wrong other than falling in love and marrying a man who didn't deserve her. He had traced the fortunes of Meredith Pharmaceuticals since she'd taken control of it, and she'd done nothing but good. The company's stock was up, and Tony's own son, jobless for quite a long time, had begun working for Meredith's supply company, and had found good work and a steady job. He was thankful for that. And now he was repaying that with what would likely be her death.

But how could he undo what he had done?