BLOODSPORT
Written by DJ Laughlin
PRELUDE
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A concrete floor, four sheetrock walls, a yellow-spotted ceiling—that was all there was to that gray, forbidding room. The room, formally the loading dock for a grocery store long since folded, held piles of empty crates and boxes, and white trash was strewn here and there. Almost all other times, the place was lifeless, save for the occasional hungry rat, but today it held a crowd of Möbians composed of sundry creatures outside the majority of Echidnas. Some were here to get a fast buck, the rest to see the spectacle.
A clearing about three meters in diameter was formed in that riffraff body, and the chatter died instantly as one stepped forward, his hands held high for silence. He was an Echidna, large and heavyset, wearing a pair of rose-colored glasses and a spiteful sneer upon his face. He was the Announcer.
"You have heard of dignity," the Announcer began in a voice clear and deep, pausing dramatically between phrases. "Honor, self-worth—you've been told you must have them to survive, but you know it's all a lie! How can you have dignity in this place!?"—the Announcer's voice worked up to a throat-rending intensity—"Do you want to get old, to become gray and wrinkled, to get eaten inside out by cancer, to get your brains turned into a sponge!? We should never have been born, but there's nothing to stop us from leaving early, is there!? No there isn't, and that's what two here are going to do tonight! And, what more dramatic way is there to leave than to have your body bruised, your bones broken, your…blood…splattered…on the cement!"
A sanguinary cheer erupted from the crowd as two more Möbians strode into the clearing. The Announcer continued to bellow: "This is what Bloodsport is all about! Two fighters who have their entire pathetic lives for this very moment, this chance to escape! In this circle, there is only one rule: no surrender! There are no decisions, TKO's or calling it quits; the fight doesn't end until one is dead! The loser dies, and the winner lives to die another day! Now, FIGHT!"
At the Announcer's command, the fighters rushed together. They struck with fists and feet, accompanied by a hellish cacophony of thuds and agonized cries. In three minute, an unfortunate was dead.
CHAPTER ONE:
A Wolf in Echidnaopolis
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The past six months had been hectic: the Wolfpack had long been trying to crack one of Robotnik's strongholds in their area and it was only a month before that they had finally succeeded. During the campaign, Lupe had slept an average of only three hours a night, not counting the nights she did not sleep at all, and so she had become increasing listless and irritable, often falling asleep during war councils or losing her temper at the slightest offense. In the course of one battle, Lupe had taken a lonely artillery position when she suddenly slipped away, learning later that an entire squad of SWATbots had advanced and been driven back over her foxhole. It had been a miracle that she had not been caught…or stepped on.
When the guns had been silenced, Lupe had failed to re-establish a healthy sleep routine. She had continued to burn the midnight oil to develop strategy the Eggman and the fresh counterattack she was sure was coming. Her appearance had suffered as she neglected grooming, her raven-black hair flecked with gray becoming a tangled mess and her fur matted and disordered. She had also become moody, and her articulation had deteriorated from mumbling to grunting. Her condition had become even worse when she was soon to tired to eat and choose to skip meals, and her body had been already screaming for sleep.
Her state had reached a climax one day as she had dragged past some of the other members rough-housing. She wouldn't have joined them because she had too much work to do, but before she could have left Raynard had stopped her and insisted that she participate. Lupe had declined politely, but Raynard, not to be denied, had tried to convince her with a little shove, causing Lupe to lose her balance and fall squarely on her tail. Raynard had chortled a half-hearted apology and extended his hand, but Lupe, infuriated, had seized his hand and thrown him upon the grown, straddling him and grabbing his collar. The others had tried to intervene, but Lupe was not the leader for no reason and had easily fought off all attempts. She would had seriously hurt Raynard if Canus' bulk had not thundered out of his kitchen, pinned Lupe's arms against her sides and slammed her against the wall, holding her there as Lupe had stormed and kicked all the stress and frustration out of her system.
After Lupe had calmed down, Canus had begun to reason with her: "Lupe," he had said, "You need a furlough like you never have before; you are going to kill yourself or someone else if you do not get some rest. We will be fine by ourselves for about a month, so go to town, book a plane and go somewhere to relax, or I'm going to kill you myself."
That was why Lupe found herself on a transport shuttle destined for Angel Island, a place she had heard of from her puphood and always wanted to see. She had met its latest Guardian, Knuckles Echidna, before, but never in the latter's natural habitat, usually at Freedom Fighter conferences instead. She wondered if she would meet Knuckles there, but doubted it. Regardless, she would be catching up on sleep and eat the whole time.
From her position on the shuttle, Lupe had a clear view of the island as they approached. Angel Island is a wondrous sight; it is a broad cone turned on its top, and what was the base was covered with what was in essence a mini-continent, with it own river, forest, city and even desert. However, the most fantastic thing about it is that it flies; because the shuttle was flying an interception course instead of directly approaching was how Lupe got such a good view of the island. What price would Lupe give to see again that flyover of Angel Island!
She didn't stop at the baggage claim; the only piece of luggage, allowed as carry-on, she carried was a backpack containing currency, toiletries and a change of clothes. Anyway, she didn't care to dally in the terminal because it felt as if everyone was staring at her, but she didn't blame them; one of those Echidnas would draw the same reaction in her own country.
As the doors slid open, the distinctive smell of sea-salt pierced Lupe's nostrils. Lupe stepped out and looked at the sky, an upturned bowl of lapis lazuli with a fiery gold sun at the bowl's apex. Shimmering white skyscrapers reached look handfuls of fingers grasping for the precious stone. A flock of geese flew overhead, and the honking call rung like bells in Lupe's ears. First impressions are important, and Lupe was indeed impressed.
Yet, if there are first impressions, there are second impressions. Lupe's gaze fell from the sky to the pavement and the clamor and bustle of the city sidewalk, and Lupe feared to enter. First, she had few companions back at Great Canyon, leaving everyone more than a fair share of elbowroom, and she was used to that, so in that dense crowd she might feel boxed-in and nervous. Second, a thing of such magnitude as a city needed some pattern for it to run smoothly, and she as an outsider may not know this code, which put her in danger of breaking the code and drawing the scorn of those around her. Nevertheless, the only thing to be done was to take the plunge.
The experience was not nearly as bad as Lupe thought it would be. She did do her share of jostling, but no one else seemed to care, not even giving her a look. Apparently, Möbians on the street had better things to do than to stare at others. Assured that she was not causing trouble, she began scanning her surroundings for a temporary residence, a search rewarded by a sign reading "Amanda Inn."
The place was not very spectacular, the only nice thing about it being the low rate. The lobby (where Lupe overheard a resident nickname the inn "Fleabag Hotel,") was just a cracker-box room with aged chairs, a sunken couch and a cracked help desk, and Lupe's room was yet worse. Even the key was antique, a heavy steel thing with a head and a rod with square teeth at the end, contrasting with the electronic "keys" of more advanced hotels, and it even got stuck in the lock. The room itself was spartan, its only luxuries an old television with three channels and a shower that the attention of no maid for what seemed to be a couple years. Most would have claimed the bed was too hard, but with fatigue stiffening her joints, Lupe would not have cared if it were a slab of concrete.
Gratefully stretching her sore and tired body prostrate over the bed, Lupe embraced a pillow for support and fell immediately to sleep.
CHAPTER TWO:
Meeting the Guardian
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Lupe cracked an eye open and stared at the clock on the bed-stand: five past noon.
¡Ay caramba! thought Lupe. She must have been exhausted, for it had been two in the afternoon when she had first laid down yesterday, meaning that she had slept for over twenty hours.
One need had been met, so now was to meet the other: hunger. Lupe's stomach felt wrung tight, and Lupe wondered if a growl had awakened her. Fortunately, she could see through a dirty window a homely-looking restaurant just across the street. After taming her tangled locks with a comb and shoving twenty Crown into a pouch, she left her room and strode down the stairs as quickly as grace and dignity would allow.
The restaurant was a cozy little Grecian café run by a gray-bearded Echidna and his daughter, and it had tables both inside and out. Lupe choose the latter setting, wanting to smell the salt air again and have the warm equatorial sun warm her shoulders, but soon forgot these reasons as soon as she saw the menu and its doctored photos of scrumptious food with mouth-watering captions.
If she had not already been starving herself, she would not have order something so meat-heavy as the hamburger with bacon added, but weight-watching was ironically the reason for her self-indulgence; the day before she left she had taken a shower, and looking down she ribs as if he flanks were washboards. She had heard the horror stories of girls who had lost too much weight, but she always dismissed them as poppycock…until she herself experienced an unpleasant anomaly in her hormone cycle. Yet, like in most good cafés, Lupe still had to wait some time for her food (though such waits are well-rewarded,) so she selected a complimentary newspaper to pass the lag.
Lupe was soon reminded of the consequence of lacking a formal education. She did retain a limited reading ability, gained as a necessity, but she was long jealous of those who could and did read out of pleasure, such as her good friend Sally Acorn, who never seemed to be more than three feet from a book. Lupe could remember a time when she and Sally were together, and the latter was voicing her sympathy for the former because of "all the great material" the former was missing. Lupe loved Sally as all a friend, commander and princess, but she cared for no one's sympathy, especially that of a friend. Finally, exasperated, Lupe had exclaimed, "Miss Acorn! I can read as well as you can!"
Though initially surprised by Lupe's paroxysm, Sally had smirked and nodded understandingly, and Lupe had then further claimed that she could prove her statement. Snatching the book out of Sally's hands, Lupe had opened her mouth to read aloud, but no words had come. Lupe had thought that the book had been written in another language; the characters had looked familiar, but she did not recognize even one. Lupe had bitten her lip in fear that in her emotion she may have forgotten how to read.
Sally, shaking her head and chuckling, had said, "Lupe, I understand that you want to be impressive and all that, but there is a process to these things. First, turn the book right-side up."
Lupe chuckled abruptly and soon became lost in the long lanes of other memories, other moments with other friends, yet all following the same wonderful theme.
A voice interrupted her mind-trek: "Do you mind if I sit here?"
"I don't care," Lupe mumbled, refocusing on the print.
A few minutes past, then the voice said, "That must be a real interesting article you're reading there. What's it about?"
Lupe was not about to admit that she was stuck on a word in the political cartoon. "Do you mind?"
The voice grumbled an apology, and Lupe tried to continue reading, but she couldn't as she wondered why the voice sounded so memorable.
"Hi, Knux," Lupe heard the waitress say, "the usual today?"
"Sure," the voice answered.
Her curiosity piqued, Lupe peeked over the top of her paper to see sitting opposite her an Echidna with fur the color of blood. "Knuckles!"
"You were expecting maybe the prince, Lup?"
"Lupe!" Lupe articulated. She resented the way ignorant Philistines mispronounced her name, move over the nickname Sonic Hedgehog had coined once: "Fruit-Lup."
"So sorry. So, what brings the great Wolfpack leader to my little flying chunk of real estate?"
"A furlough. What are you doing here?"
"Lupe, I live here."
"I meant the restaurant."
"Oh, I eat here all the time; food's a bit overpriced but second to none. So, what made you decide to take a break from it all?"
"We had just finished a campaign against Robotnik at the cost of throwing a monkey wrench into my general health. Finally, my second-in-command threatened me with permanent rest if I didn't find any of the temporary kind."
Knuckles guffawed. "I know how that is. When I am working too hard, the guys basically break out the gag and straitjacket, but you look alright to me…except that those clothes look like you've slept in them."
"I did, and nearly slept my life away."
The waitress at this time brought Lupe's order. Holding back the animal urge until after the waitress had left, Lupe proceeded to consume the food with a ruthless and mechanical attention, not giving any article any mercy. The sandwich simply vanished, and Lupe was about to decimate the onion rings when she noticed Knuckles staring as wide-eyed as an owl and grinning like a chimp.
"What?" she asked.
"You, that's what. I never saw anyone that dedicated about eating a meal before. You were really living up to your species. 'Wolf,' get it?"
Lupe opened her mouth to respond and belched…loudly.
Knuckles lost it, laughing uproariously and banging his fists on the table. To make matters worse, everyone who was in earshot was looking at Lupe, causing her to feel very small. Some heckler leaned over and asked if the burp had been a dry one, and Knuckles began banging his head on the table. Feeling very red in the face, Lupe excused herself and hid out in the bathroom.
"Have you taken care of the body, Rancid?"
The Announcer was sitting behind a naked desk, the center of a small and sparsely decorated office.
"Sure, boss," answered the fox standing opposite the Announcer. "Drove all the way 'cross town to ditch it in a dumpster."
"No witnesses, I assume."
"There ain't anyone up that time of night, and if anyone was up they couldn't ID me because I had a mask on and was driving a stolen car."
"Good thinking. This fight club has produced lucrative dividends for us and the higher up; I even got a call from the very top saying gongrats for a good job. Along those lines, I think that we should introduce an occasional variation to the fight to keep the spectators interested: handicaps, three-way, tag-teams…"
"Catfights?"
"What?"
"Catfights, two girls fighting."
"I know what it means," the Announcer snorted and then showed an arch expression of understanding. "Oh, I understand, you naughty boy."
Rancid rolled his head spasmodically, grinning lecherously.
"There's a small problem with that, though," the Announcer continued, snapping his fingers repeatedly, "that girl, what's her name…?"
"Melissa-Di?"
"Yeah, that's her name. The problem is that Melissa is the only female member we have."
"I thought we had another."
"No. Don't you remember dumping her off the docks last week?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm dumping so many bodies I can't keep track of them all."
The Announcer grunted an acknowledgement, handing Rancid a couple pieces of paper. "Well, in the meantime, deliver the paper to this address."
Rancid read the written address, and his eyes popped wide open. "Boss, this is the police station!"
"Yeah. So?"
"So!? Meaning no offense, boss, but I think you've flipped."
"Why?"
"What if they see me?"
"I'm sure they will; they're not blind. Just act like a normal Möbian and drop off the paper, and they won't think twice about you."
"Y-yes sir." Rancid could help the feeling of impending doom.
CHAPTER THREE:
Arousing Suspicion
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The first destination on Knuckles' itinerary was the police station; he said he would introduce Lupe to some friends he had there, besides it was only a block away. The station's five stories seemed dwarfed by the skyscrapers on all sides of it, but if the station was a dwarf it was a very proud one, having a dramatic shape, being wider at the base than at the top, and Romantic front steps guarded by a pair of gold gryphons.
The receptionist, a heavy-browed creature which Lupe later learned was a Chameleon, directed them to a large office where sat rows and columns of desk where at each sat a Möbian flanked by stacks paperwork. Knuckles led Lupe between pairs of desks, saying "Hey, Joe," or "Mornin', Kelly," or "Yo, Jane, how are the kids?" to the right persons, destined for a lonely oak door in the office's far wall.
When they had successful navigated the desks to the oak door, Knuckles turned to a petite Dingo who had her own desk situated separate from the others and directly beside the oak door. "Hi, Mandy." he said, "Is the constable in today?"
"Eh? Oh, sure, mate," the Dingo replied in a sharp twanging accent, "But I think 'he's a-talkin' wi' somebody."
"He is, is he? Hmm, how about I peek in on him and if he tells me to get lost I make him breath out his ears."
The Dingo Mandy grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I would like that very much."
"I'm sure you would," Knuckles chuckled, opening the door slowly. "Hey, Remington, I hope I'm not interrupting some...?"
Knuckles bit his tongue as he realized that he might have walked in on an awkward situation: An Echidna in a green single-breasted uniform, red but a far darker shade, was trying to comfort an elderly Echidna woman sobbing into a handkerchief. Remington, the former, looked a bit consternated: "Yes, Knuckles?"
Knuckles' reply was obeisantly timid. "Uh, e-excuse me; I-I was just going to chat for a bit. I didn't mean to intrude."
"Oh no, you didn't, young man," cut in the woman, suddenly exercising self-control. "I was just leaving."
"Really, I don't mind."
"Thank you, but I have to make arrangements for..." she choked again. Lupe stepped forward and wrapped a loving arm around the old grandmother's shoulder, saying, "I'll lead her out" and guiding her charge out the door.
"Again, ma'am, I'm sorry," Remington added after the departing two. "Who was the Wolf, Knux?"
"Lupe, a friend from my Freedom Fighter connections. If the question isn't too personal, do you mind telling me what that was all about?"
Lupe maneuvered the old lady through the rows and to the front door. The elder thanked the younger before descending the steps and the younger wished the elder well. Lupe returned to Constable Remington's office, but after she had laid a hand on the doorknob, she paused and listened as the two inside talked together gravely.
"So," said Knuckles, "you're saying we have an illegal fight club in town."
"That is exactly what I'm saying. Every week for the past nine weeks we have had a body turn up, brutally beaten to death. The victims all had one thing in common: they each were trained in some form of marshal arts. Think about it, Knuckles; you're a fighter, so you can understand what drives these people."
"I certainly do. In fact, I'm sorry I hadn't heard about it before."
There was a tense silence. Lupe could imagine the Constable glaring.
"Knuckles, this is serious," Remington said flatly. "Nine lives have been lost, all for a game! And the families, Knuckles. It is the hardest thing in Möbius to tell the victim's family that he had been coaxed into pointless mortal combat and lost and that I cannot give swift justice, if any at all. The crying parents, the tears of the siblings, the tots just sitting there and staring in bewilderment—I hate it! I hate it all! I hate the people who did this! I..."
"Hey, dude! Chill! Remember your blood pressure."
Remington let out a long deep sigh. "The reason I joined the Peace Force was to help people who can't help themselves, but I never thought I would go mad over it. It is simply intolerable that I should be so helpless."
"Don't you have any clues?"
"No. Well, yes, of sorts. Here…"
Lupe heard the fluid crackled of paper. Cracking open the door just wide enough to see, Lupe saw a sheet of paper, positioned as if glowering at her over the Guardian's shoulder, and on the paper was a drawing in red ink of a hand grasping a blood-soaked dagger with the blade pointing downward.
"Not much for subtly, are they?" Knuckles commented dryly.
"Copies of this paper had been found at five of the victims' houses. We assume the others have been destroyed."
Knuckles scrutinized the drawing some more, then said, "Alright, Remington, I'm with ya. I'll keep an eye out for anything suspicious."
Lupe silently vowed vigilance as well, but she wanted to do more than just watch. The Constable's account had moved her nigh to tears and desire to have her hands around the necks of the perpetrators of this outrage. Great Moons of Möbius! How can anyone be so cruel, so spiteful, so...!
Nausea smacked Lupe like a freight train. She gripped her stomach, realizing that today was the first time in a long time that she had such a large dose of rich food, and now her viscera, unused to such intake, was going to reject. Fear mounted as Lupe felt her face wax red-hot and her legs start to wobble. Man! The last thing Lupe wanted to happen was to have to literally spill her guts in the police station.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" Mandy asked, rising out of her chair to help Lupe. "You've just turned three colors at once."
"I-I'll be okay; I just..." Lupe lurched, her mouth salivating, "I just need to sit down."
Lupe squatted down into a modified lotus and closed her eyes, taking deep regular breaths, concentrating against the rising tide of bile. She fought it, sweated, and succeeded just the instant before it all went. She sighed, relieved, thankful she had been spared a second embarrassing moment.
Lupe reopened her eyes, and locked her vision on the front door to steady where unwieldy sense of balance. She had been so badly shaken by her close call that she didn't immediately perceive a presence in that doorway, but after a while recognize the angular figure of a fox, young and unkempt, obviously fresh off of the streets. That the fox was nervous was also obvious, for he dropped his sunglasses twice before getting them on his face. The fox's behavior reflected negatively on Lupe's instincts, instincts sharpened by association with scoundrels and despots.
Hesitating just a moment, the fox skulked to and stopped in front of a desk manned by a green-furred Echidna, tossing something on the desk and bending down to say something to the Echidna. The fox did not loiter, but began to sneak back to what he treated as an escape from a deathtrap, but upon reaching the door, he suddenly stopped, and every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. Fearfully, the fox gawked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Lupe. Most people would have turned away out of politeness, but Lupe wasn't about to care about etiquette, and stared back at the fox like a preditrix sizing her prey. The fox wilted under Lupe's scrutiny, and shuffled coweringly out the door.
Lupe was victorious, but the victory was empty in truth. Exactly against whom did she just win? She had just invited herself to a fight to which she knew neither the rules nor her opponents. She could read by that fox's demeanor that the rascal was as guilty as a dog in its master's trash. This might have been a one-time confrontation, but Lupe never started something she wouldn't finish, and she would finish it even if it meant forcing another confrontation.
An opportunity presented itself when the green Echidna who had been the recipient of the mysterious paper rose to leave, and Lupe hoped that if she followed him, she could learn some more about this situation.
Rancid fumbled with his cell phone. "Boss, delivered the message and said the fight the fight was going to be in the back of the old clinic at nine."
"Good," the Announcer's voice grumbled through the receiver. "I assume that everything went smoothly then."
"N—yes!"
There was a long pause. "Rancid, what happened?"
"Well…I…oh…"
"Rancid, SPIT IT OUT!"
"I think she knew what I was doing!"
"What 'she?' What do you mean?"
"The Wolf! In the police station!"
"Why me? Now, Rancid, calm down and tell me what happened."
"Well, I gave McIntosh the message like you told me to, and I was going to leave when I saw a She-Wolf across the room staring at me, and I didn't like the way she was doing it either."
"Did she stop you?"
"Uh, no."
"Have you seen her before?"
"No, she looked like a foreigner."
"Then she was probably some stupid hick how doesn't know her manners, or she was just offended by your presence which I understand perfectly. Now, are you done?"
"Yes."
"Then hang up; I don't have the money to waste on your silly chitter-chatter."
"Bye, boss."
The skills Lupe had learned in the wild scouting against Robotnik proved invaluable in following the Echidna, but still the going was hard; it is difficult to follow someone in a crowd. Thankfully, the crowds were far less dense than the ones Lupe had experienced when she had first arrived, but she still had to dodge the odd pedestrian without arousing suspicion. Yet, despite being very careful, Lupe nearly blew her cover a couple of times.
One incident in particular happened at a bus stop: her quarry had just passed it and the bus parked there when a Dingo, obviously the bus driver, leaned out of the bus and shout, "Hey, Dustin McIntosh! No ride today?"
The Echidna Lupe had been following turned and smiled. "Nope, I feel like walking today."
"Have it your way then. How 'bout you, miss?"
Lupe froze when the driver spoke to her. Thinking quickly, because she knew Dustin was looking at her, she answered, "Ah…no, I'm walking too."
Lupe worried that the coincidence in McIntosh's and her mode of transportation might alert Dustin and she would be arrested for stalking a police officer, but Dustin simply laughed as the Dingo complained about an insufficient paycheck because no one would ride his bus. "Blame it on your driving," Dustin teased, leaving.
Lupe turned to the driver a last time. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, so is my mother, but don' sweat it: I'll get a victim sooner o' later." The driver clicked at Lupe, and as his bus pulled away with a hiss and a grind, Lupe breathed a sigh of relief. Near thing as it was, she had come away with a valuable piece of information: a name, an important step to solving a mystery.
It was at this time when Lupe noticed a significant change in her surroundings. They were no longer in the place of tall proud white buildings, and these buildings had a dark unfriendly feeling, plywood blocking some windows like grotesque eye-patches on an Augus-eyed giant. These were the slums, the sad by-product of the polis. Immediately, Lupe felt as if she didn't belong, and even her azure clothing and gold-colored armlets must have stuck out from the gray like a sore thumb. The contrast hit her as she passes a couple of children sitting in the gutter, their lacking the carefree innocence that children should have but instead having the world-weariness of see too much misery. Lupe's heart ached to see life without hope. It was no wonder why pushers, pimps and the like made the fortunes that they did; the pathetic shreds of happiness that the crooks marketed was all the happiness the slum-dwellers had.
Lupe shook herself of the thoughts, knowing that she could really do nothing and she had other problems to deal with, and the one currently demanding her attention was going through the front door of a weather-beaten apartment building, quite unoutstanding from it depressing neighbors. Breaking into a jog, Lupe slipped through the door, tiptoed past the landlord sleeping in his office, and follow Dustin up the three flights of stair to his apartment. McIntosh stopped in front of the door marked 314 (the "4" was upside down,) completely oblivious to his stalker just down the hall. He paused a bit, staring at the inverted number, and entered his apartment.
Good, I know where he lives, thought Lupe, but she was left in a quandary about what to do next. The idea of walking up, knock on the door and saying, "Excuse me, I saw you at the police station talking to some freak and you've been acting funny ever since, and I was wondering for you could tell me why," did not appeal to her; the locals were probably suspicious folk and would not appreciate her asking questions. There was only one option, and that was to wait…patiently.
CHAPTER FOUR:
Duty Calls
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Though her lupine ancestry endowed her with a longsuffering patience for developments, Lupe could not believe that had sat at the end of that hall the rest of that day. There was a window at her back, and the light coming through it had faded from yellow, to gray, then to the dark blue of night, leaving cheap lights to combat the darkness. Lupe had nearly fallen asleep a few times, fighting her eyes open just before she slipped away. A few others had entered and exited the hallway, but they had paid no mind to the Wolf at the end, probably assuming she was a drunk or druggie trying to sleep off an influence.
Finally, her patience was rewarded with Dustin emerging from his apartment. Dustin was dressed rather differently from his Peace Officer uniform in fatigue-print sweats and a muscle-shirt, and didn't appear to notice that another Echidna, female and of small build, with a bundle in her arms followed him out.
"Where are you going, Dustin?" she asked, surprising Dustin. "Somewhere," he stammered, "to get some extra cash."
"But where are you going? You are not going to push, are you?"
"No, I'm not pushing, but I can't really tell you how I am going to get the money, Mary-Da."
"You must be doing something dangerous if you are not telling me what it is."
"Darling, I don't have a whole lot of choices. We need money now; I can't meet our most basic needs on my officer wages. Our clothes are rags, we don't have the food to last the weekend, and the rent is so backed up that the landlord..." Dustin bit his tongue, but not soon enough to hide the truth from Mary-Da. "The landlord said he'd kick us out," she finished.
"Yes, we have a week to pay up or go."
"Dusty, do you must but please be careful; however much I don't like the idea of our baby growing up in a refrigerator box, I would rather to have him there than to have him with a father in prison or without a father altogether."
Dustin nodded, "Don't worry; I'll be careful." He smiled, and he lifted a fold of the bundle to reveal the cherubic face of a sleeping baby. Then, with a final kiss on his beloved's lips, he said farewell.
Mary-Da watched her husband depart the hall, and then reentered her apartment, unaware of Lupe slipping past her as silently as a shadow.
Wherever McIntosh wanted to go, he did not seem to want to get there quickly. Lupe noted his demeanor as she closed to a preferable distance; she thought that the hung head and drooped shoulders were reminiscent of a condemned criminal on his way to The Chair.
Lupe had heard every word in that squalid hall, and she had never before realized how fortunate she had been. She was certainly not wealthy, having sacrificed to stay true to her Freedom Fighter Oath, but that poverty was by choice, while that of Dustin was by circumstance. The Wolfpack had a socialist approach to managing funds (which works far better in close-knit group than in entire governments,) along with most other Freedom Fighter groups, so there was enough for everyone. However, today Lupe had seen those who had no help when things got tough, and pity was awakened again in her heart, eating at her innards like a parasite. There is a feeling that all men hate, and that is helpless compassion, seeing another's need and knowing that one is helpless to meet it. Lupe shook herself again to remain concentrated on her quarry, a task increasingly difficult with the growing night.
One by one, the stars began to look upon Möbius, their little eyes of light peering form their land of darkness. Had this been any other place, the stars would have been absolutely beautiful, but in the slums they appeared to be a vain attempt to decorate a dunghill. The effect of night made the streets, lit in the yellow light of low-pressure sodium lamps, to be even more a kingdom of fear and lost hope. This was the time where the few decent folk disappeared behind closed doors and opened the way for the pushers and streetwalkers to slither from her hellholes to ply their illicit trades. Lupe now had to split attention between following Dustin and watching her back to prevent a mugging.
Dustin left the sidewalk to enter a dark alley going behind a building shaped differently from the others, being short, wide and long, with unusually large windows though they were now covered. Next to what had been the building's front door was a large sign broken by vandals except for the letters ICAL CLINIC. Imagining the letters MED in front of the existing letters, Lupe read MEDICAL CLINIC, guessing it to be yet another unfortunate victim of the cruel community. First scanning the alley for danger, Lupe stalked up to the ex-clinic's lit back door, hoping for another clue to the mystery.
"Hey, you!"
A growling voice made Lupe jump. Looking up, she found herself staring wide-eyed into the face of the largest Dingo she had ever seen. She recomposed herself, and answered coolly, "I'm just curious an taking a look around. What do you think you are doing sneaking up on people minding their own business?"
"Hey, beaver, it's my job."
Lupe tolerated the insult mercifully. "Well, would you consider telling me what's going on here part of your job? It would save me the trouble of finding out for myself."
"Not that it's any of your business," the Dingo grumbled, "but here is where Bloodsport is having a rumble tonight. Why would you care?"
"I just think that it might be very interesting, thank you. How about you just let me in and see what a Bloodsport rumble is all about."
The Dingo glowered at Lupe. "Why should I?"
"You should because you owe me an apology for calling me a beaver, you overgrown vulgar lout."
The Dingo positioned his imposing bulk between Lupe and the door. "Make me."
Lupe shrugged. "If you insist on doing it the hard way…"
The fight was badly lopsided, but in fact the lean was in Lupe's direction; she was a trained and true fighter while the Dingo was just a thug, plus Lupe had the advantage of three unquestionably virile males to practice on at home. Lupe interrupted herself with a lightning-fast strike, squaring her shoulders and charging into the Dingo's midriff. The Dingo fell onto his back, and Lupe quickly followed up with a chop to the jaw, ending the fight as quickly has it had started. Lupe panted a moment and then, brushing her forelock from her eyes, strutted through the door as if nothing had happened. The fight had drawn little attention, and no one who did notice seemed to care, at which Lupe was amazed. Maybe fights were so common in this neighborhood that there was no shock value, yet there was little of anything interesting at all about a fight lasting four seconds.
A crowd of about fifty was gathered in the center of the room, milling like a beehive, and in the crowd there were a couple pockets of about ten each handing money to someone whom Lupe assumed to be a bookie. Lupe originally thought that Dustin was in one of those pockets in an attempt to get some fast cash, though she could not see him there. However, she soon found him leaning against a wall and staring intently at the floor, and she wondered why he should be there. Lupe found it even more unusual to see that another Echidna, a deep scarlet one pacing back and forth like a wild thing, diametrically opposite of Dustin, and that Dustin and the other Echidna were the only ones exhibiting such isolation.
The noise in the room silenced. Lupe dove into the crowd, deftly maneuvering her body through the density to the rim of the space being formed. She saw a heavy-set Echidna, wearing a dirty white shirt that did not hide the central bulge, with his arms at full length to clear an area. He then stood in the middle with an abominable regality, like fat Nero presiding over his Christian persecution, and surveyed the crowd with a hateful, spiteful sneer. That he should standing in such contempt and self-conceit was intolerable to Lupe.
"Back when we took Science 101, we were taught the Theory of Evolution," the Announcer began coldly, "And that theory is that we are continually getting improving, becoming a higher race and achieving utopia. We are here because we that's not true!"
He had shouted the last three words as an agreeing cheer erupted, and his now snarling voice dripped with venom. "There is no evolution! There is only devolution! The city is plummeting into the very depths of corruption, and we no longer care about anything anymore except how much damage we can do! That is why we're here, to see who'll be the damaged and who will be the damager!"
As actors on cue, the fighters entered the arena, the scarlet Echidna Lupe had seen earlier and, to Lupe's horror, Dustin McIntosh.
"You know the rules, boys:" the Announcer smirked, "To the death, no quarter given or taken. Now, FIGHT!"
The Announcer cleared the arena, leaving the fighters with no restraint. The scarlet Echidna opened his attack with a head-destined jab, which Dustin parried and answered with a crescent kick to the hip, hitting yet inflicting no damage. The fighters circled, giving timed and strategized strikes to test strength and weakness. Suddenly, Dustin lashed out with a flying roundhouse kick, knocking the scarlet Echidna onto his back, but the scarlet Echidna gained his knee and decked Dustin. Both fighters got to their feet and braced for a second barrage.
All around her Lupe could hear the jeering and bloodthirsty screaming of the crowd, but Lupe could not enjoy the brutality before her and watched in morbid horror as a punch of the scarlet Echidna found Dustin's spleen. Dustin cried out and dropped his guard, and the Echidna cut to Dustin's face and flipped Dustin with a Flying Mare, kneeling on his victim's chest and setting to work with weighted fists. Lupe flinched at the dull thuds as if she was taking the blows herself, covering her ears and hoping—praying—for the carnage to stop. The sound of steel-packed fists meeting unprotected flesh, Dustin's shrieks, the loud approving of the audience—the noise was driving Lupe mad.
The scarlet Echidna kicked Dustin's body away, nearly flooring Lupe and five of her neighbors. The crowd leapt back from the projectile that landed and skidded a couple feet. Lupe and another few bent over Dustin to see his disfigured face, blood running from his ears and nose, and his hands reaching vainly for his head. Lupe could just barely hear as Dustin sputtered his last words: "I just wanted to help my family."
The crowd rushed the victor, except for some head-shakers, who had betted heavily on Dustin, and Lupe, who remained by Dustin's side, groping for vital signs to no avail: Dustin McIntosh was dead. Lupe felt a volatile mixture of sadness, revulsion and anger: sadness that a misguided but good man should be so barbarically murdered, revulsion at the perverse delight of the crowd and anger at the injustice of the entire thing. Lupe planted grasp her face and the searing tears, fighting breaking down as she remembered that maudlin scene in the hall; she must know only a thumbnail of their trouble. There may be no words spoken over the dead, as she had none to say. Lupe scowled sideways at the excited throng surrounding the victor receiving a black-leather suitcase, vowing as a Freedom Fighter not to let the crime go unpaid, and as she vowed an idea struck her, and whether it was inspired by God or lunacy she may never know. She straightened, and strode to the thinning crowd in hope of executing, as she recalled Remington phrasing it, swift justice.
She sought the Announcer and found him making his way to a side door. Breaking into a jog, she caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
"What do you want?" the Announcer grumbled impatiently over his shoulder.
"I want to know who's in charge of this fight club," Lupe replied, acting as hard-bitten as any Deb.
"I am the one in charge. What's it to you?"
"I want to join, that's what."
Instantly, the Announcer's countenance changed to a friendlier, more eager and business-like tone. "Oh, is that so? What is your name?"
"I am known only as Lupe."
"I see. Well, Lupe, we don't accept just anyone off the street; we want experienced hand-to-hand fighters."
"I am experienced, and I've fought the king's wars in the desert. I could take on anyone thrice my own weight in a wrestling match, straight or not; in fact, I used to be a pro."
The Announcer looked skeptical. "Prove it."
Lupe shot a look back to the door and the Dingo who was suppose to have been guarding it. The Dingo had awakened, and now was sitting up and was gingerly holding his head. "Do you see him?" Lupe pointed out the Dingo. "I kayoed him in two moves."
A wicked grin turned the corners of the Announcer's mouth. "Come with me to the office, and we'll talk business there."
CHAPTER FIVE:
Danger Signals
----------------------------------------------
The Announcer's preferred mode of transportation was an extravagant five-door black limo. Lupe sat in the back seat with the Announcer, though she had scooted herself as far over from the Announcer as she could without falling out of the car. She watched as they passed the scattered denizens of the night engaged in their tasks, legality regardless, of hopelessness. It wasn't fair, Lupe thought, that such a wicked one should live in luxury while those who tried to do right had to suffer poverty. Neither spoke a word throughout the entire trip, the gentle purr of the engine being the only noise.
The Announcer's office was in a nicer part of town, or nicer than the place where they had been, a kind of up-town slums. Lupe observed that the office was little better than her hotel room, larger with a little more décor; desk, chairs, shelf of books and a picture of—Lupe turned her head from the image with revulsion. Of the chairs in the room, there were three, two plain ones in front of the desk and a posh leatherback behind the desk. The Announcer invited Lupe to take a seat in one of the plain chair while he sat in the leatherback and produce a bottle from an ice-chest.
"Care for a drink?" he offered, popping off the steel cap with the appropriate tool. Lupe grimaced as the rank gummy smell of Jack Daniels reached her nose.
"Ah…no, thank you."
"Well, more for me then. At least Rancid isn't here, because he would guzzle bottle after bottle until he passed out."
"Who's Rancid?"
"He's my right-hand man…of sorts, but he's more like a pain in the neck. He was supposed to be at the fight though, but he must have bumped into a couple of hookers along the way. That kind of stuff delays him about…um…forty minutes," the Announcer laughed uproariously while Lupe forced a chuckled. The Announcer continued, "Anyway, now to business. I can tell just by looking at you that you must be in good shape."
Maybe a few weeks battling SWATbots could cure that bay window of yours too, Lupe smirked privately.
"Good shape is the first step to survival in this club, and do you have some competition! We have some of the meanest, toughest fighters around: muggers, rumblers, hitmen, etc. These are the last of the gladiators, baby. People being bloodthirsty as bats is what keeps our little operation afloat because we have the most violent fights. Despite the good look, missy, I honestly doubt you will last more than two fights; I defy any fighter to last more than five, but who cares 'cause there's nothing to live for after all."
The Announcer's statement had that too-familiar ring of despair, but the reason for Lupe's feelings contrary to her usual compassion is that the Announcer remained so arrogant. The Announcer lit a cigarette and went on, "For your end of the bargain, you only purpose to this club is to fight and nothing else. There is only one rule: two fighter's enter, only one comes out, and you must do whatever it takes to finish your opponent. The winner is compensated with a quarter-million Crown…"—the Announcer took note of Lupe's wide-opened eyes—"Yeah, that quite a load, isn't it? But really doesn't matter because you're not going to live long enough to spend it. Come to think of it, the loser really wins, because he gets to end this pathetic life."
Obviously, you have never heard of Hell, but the though had barely crossed Lupe's mind when she heard the door creak open then slam shut.
"Rancid!" the Announcer yelled to behind Lupe, "What the devil are you doing!? Get in here!"
Lupe swiveled to look at the door, which was plain with no window, preventing her from seeing the person behind it. The door remained closed even though the Announcer demanded twice more the person called Rancid to enter, and the Announcer, grumbling, stood and stormed out of the office without even an apology.
"Rancid, what is going on?" he demanded.
Rancid tiptoed to the open door and shut so that Lupe couldn't hear their conversation. "Who was that?" he whimpered, sounding like a frightened toddler saying there were monsters in the closet.
"Lupe, our latest fighter. Why?"
"It's her, the one I saw!"
"What do you me—you mean that She-Wolf that was staring at you at the police station?"
Rancid nodded vigorously, eye-whites flashed.
"Hmm," The Announcer scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what she could be doing here."
"I don't know."
"I was thinking out loud, Rancid; I wouldn't trust you for the right answer. She is either on parole or something or an informer for the cops. The first choice is the more likely one, but we shouldn't take chances. Back in the office, Rancid, and don't let on that we suspect anything."
"But, boss, she'll recognize me for sure. What if she…?"
"Don't be a wuss, Rancid! With what I have planned, she won't live long enough to tell anyone."
Lupe had resisted the temptation to search the desk, not wanting to be caught spying so early into her personal operation, a decision she was glad to have chosen since the Announcer returned just a moment later, followed by Rancid. She did immediately recognize the fox, and knew that the Rancid recognized her by his clumsy attempt to light a cigarette with shaking hands.
"Sorry about that wait," the Announcer said insincerely, resuming his position while Rancid took the chair next to Lupe. "Any questions?"
"How do I know when to fight when and where?"
"Ah, we need to tell you the essentials if you are going to be there, right? On the day of your fight you will receive one of these," the Announcer held up a paper whereon was the well-known drawing of the bloody dagger. "Rancid will give you the time and location when he makes the delivery."
Lupe side-eyed Rancid, and Rancid, grinning sheepishly, hastily stuck the end of the cigarette—the lit end—into his mouth, his face contorting in pain. Lupe acted as if she didn't see and looked again at the Announcer. "Thank you. I am staying at the Amanda Inn, room 283," she said and left, grateful to away from such odious company.
The Announcer leaned back in his chair, contentedly puffing his cigarette. "Well, Rancid, it seems that you are going to get that catfight you asked for."
"'Ow's tha', both?"
"Rancid, let go of your tongue and listen to me. Early in the morning, I want you to take a note to Melissa-Di and say that she has a rumble at the warehouse on the wharf opposite Angel Zone tomorrow night at ten. I want her to be Lupe's opponent."
Rancid knew it would be a dumb question, yet he asked anyway, "Why?"
"That Wolf doesn't stand a chance against Melissa. I've seen her train, and she is as tough as a wolverine and twice as mean. She could rip off a horse's head if she had half a mind to. She'll have Lupe's heart. I hope miss Lupe sleeps well, because tonight will be her last."
Lupe stood motionless in front of the office building, finding the cold breeze characteristically comforting. It was that time of night which no one was about, not even the drunks, so Lupe though she was safe enough to walk back to her hotel, proceeding with arms folded to combat the chill.
Lupe questioned her actions: Was she just a bit rash? She would admit she had preformed impulsively, being so angered by McIntosh's death that it may have clouded her reason, and she knew zeal without knowledge was very dangerous. Lupe felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered that she was on Angel Island to rest not gang-bust. This crazy scheme of hers may be her last, and what if she did die? All the police would have of her is a corpse, what the autopsy would show and where the body was found. Lupe imagined that sadness would prevail, especially Lobo's.
Lobo, dear Lobo. He was not a member of the Wolfpack, having to watch the cub as Lupe had been called to lead her brethren into battle against Robotnik, so the rarely saw each other so that Lupe continually drank from the bitter cup of lover's loneliness. Lupe's mind portrayed Lobo with their two cubs posed as if for a photograph. How would it be for the little one if mother was never coming home? Oh, what a tragedy that would be! Lupe wanted Lobo now, to talk to him, to tell him the things she had always wanted to say, because she may never see him again, at least not in this life. One simply doesn't know the friends he has until he is without them.
Lupe shook herself, feeling the onslaught of panic; she must not lose her nerve.
Lupe suddenly realized that she was no longer in the slums but farther uptown, strolling past a gymnasium. A wandering mind makes time nothing to it owner. The lights inside the gymnasium indicated that it was open and operating, and Lupe decided that some rigorous exercise while clear her troubled mind.
Upon entering Lupe saw that she would not be alone. In a far corner, there was a female Echidna, a deep ultramarine, pounding away at a punching bag, muscles rippling as she unloaded haymaker after haymaker. Her dreadlocks, tied into two braids, fought their own fistfight in their owner's motion. Her flow was a like a river, fast, free and flowing smoothly, guards and strikes indiscernible.
The Echidna's perfection in form was alluring Lupe, and Lupe felt herself drawn to the destructive beauty as a moth is drawn to a candle. Lupe approached slowly, all attention on the hypnotic motion, stopped within five feet of the echidna and admired the precision and power of the Echidna girl.
Suddenly aware of Lupe's presence, the Echidna spun around, braced for a fight. "Who are you!?"
Lupe retreated a step, holding her hands up non-threateningly. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."
The Echidna did not move. "What do you want?"
"Nothing, señorita, except to be allowed to admire your skill. I am Lupe, and I have an extensive fighting background myself, so I can hardly be faulted for appreciating your ability."
The echidna, though still suspicious, relaxed her guard. "My name is Melissa-Di," she stated quietly, "I've been a kickboxer ever since I was little."
"That's apparent."
Melissa-Di made no answer, turning back her original murder of the punching bag. Lupe shrugged, knowing that the conversation was over, and sat on a nearby bench to stretch out. Lupe wrapped her arms around her right leg and pulled it up as far as she could, carefully as to not aggravate a bad knee earned in her pro years, when she noticed a sketchpad next to her on the bench.
Lupe prayed a small penance for nosiness, flipped open the cover and could not believe her eyes. On the first page was a pencil drawing of a unicorn, if it could be called a drawing, more like a photograph, nay, a dream. Lupe half-expected the beast to gallop off the page, snorting proudly. In the right bottom corner of the paper was a name written in perfect loop-cursive: "Melissa-Di." Succeeding pages held other drawing, each more beautiful than before. One was a rose still wet from the morning dew, crystalline droplets glistening like round diamonds, and another was a dove dozing on a weathered branch, its wing draping its voluptuous milky body as a nightgown. However, one the last page instead of a drawing there was just a bunch of light lines and the rolled remnants of eraser. Lupe could just perceive a figure, yet…
"What do you think you are doing!?"
Melissa-Di's exclamation startled Lupe, causing to lock contact with Melissa's deep violet eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry," Lupe apologized, cursing that she should be caught off-guard. "I was admiring your art…"
"Is there anything else you would like to admire?" Melissa-Di snarled. "Do you perhaps like my hair? What's keeping your paws from that, huh?"
"I don't mean to be intrusive…"
"And that give you the excuse to pry anyway, huh? Maybe you'd like my life story on the side? Alrighty, if that's the way you want it, I am an orphan whose mother was a prostitute who a couple perverts thought looked better dead. Would you like to know that that all happened when I was ten and for the past twelve years of my life, I've had sleep in a box and live off what I could find in the purses and wallets I swiped?"
Lupe knew she stood properly rebuked. "Señorita, I am very sorry that I—oh, are you crying?"
Melissa angrily hid her face, but couldn't a rolling tear from Lupe's eyes. "No!" she screamed, "Just go away and leave me alone! Go! GO!"
"Okay, I'm going," Lupe replied, "but are you sure? I am willing…"
"Just go!"
Lupe was silent for a moment, then said, "Very well, but I do pity you."
Melissa tried to reply but choked and turned her back on Lupe, sitting painfully on the bench and embracing herself like a child shielding herself from the cold. Lupe reluctantly turned and left, acerbically muttering, "That was handled well."
Folding her arms again, Lupe dragged her heels, the girl in the gym adding to her troubled thoughts. Lupe's mindless curiosity had cracked Melissa-Di's hard exterior to show a heart of pain. Spilling her heart to a stranger was unusual, but Lupe understood Melissa's outburst: Melissa had experienced a great deal of pain through her formative years, and the emotion of hurt, if not released, could only sour and fester and become that kind of a touchy toughness. Maybe the internal pressure of the hurt cause Melissa's explosion, so desperate as to share, in a subtle way, her troubles with a stranger.
The helpless compassion bit Lupe again, and now it had a face. The last words had said to Melissa-Di sounded weak, but they remained incredibly true; she did pity her. Maybe it was because of Melissa's age, or her book of drawings, or that sparkling tear on her cheek (probably not the first of its kind.) Whatever the reason may be, it made Lupe desire to help Melissa, even though Lupe may never see her again.
Before long, Lupe was trudging up the steps of the Amanda Inn, hoping for at least a couple hours of sleep. Some vacation.
CHAPTER SIX:
Trapped
----------------------------------------------
Dawn found Knuckles strolling the streets, enjoying the cool air and whistling a cheery tune. Echidnaopolis, since it is planted on an island that was always moving, had happily avoided society's consequences of smog and generally dirty air. Though he had been befuddled and slightly irked, Knuckles was not concerned with Lupe's disappearance the day before: the stereotypical Wolf was a privacy lover and so would often disappear without accountability and return acting as they were never gone. Knuckles had all confidence that Lupe would find him again if she ever cared.
He bumped into Remington. "Hey, how ya doing?"
The Constable sighed. "Not better than yesterday, I'm afraid. I got a call this morning: one of our officers while cruising outside of town found something in the ditch, the body of Dustin McIntosh."
"McIntosh. Wasn't he one of your guys?"
"Yes, a rookie who showed lots of potential. I was just going to inform his wife."
"You don't mind if a friend rides shotgun, do ya?"
"Not at all; I'm going to need all the support I can get."
Melissa-Di, after bemoaning her life for a while, had been taking out her frustrations on the punching bag, fuming. What right did that Wolf have to be poking her nose in her business!? Was the Almighty Fairy Godmother!? Melissa felt stupid for leaving her sketchbook on the bench where the entire world could see, moreover giving her biography to that Wolf. The Wolf said she pitied her, but she didn't want pity! She wanted to be left alone! There was nothing wrong with her life, NOTHING! It happens to everyone! What did some privileged uptown-chick know about slum life! She should have nailed that self righteous witch right in the…
Melissa-Di threw all her power behind the roundhouse kick, splitting a gash in the bag from side to side. Melissa, swearing, watched the sand spill onto the floor; that was the third bag this month!
Melissa-Di turned to leave, but someone happen to be in her path. "What do you want, Rancid?"
Rancid did not answer at first, being shocked at the disemboweled punching bag, and then he noticed the redness in Melissa's eye. "Melissa, have you been…?"
"Rancid! If you say a word to anyone," Melissa-Di growled, "I will tear off all your limbs and wrap them around your spine!"
Rancid gulped audibly, scrabbled in his pockets and, after a few panicked moments, produced the paper. "It's at ten o'clock, on the wharf across from Angel Zone."
Melissa-Di unfolded the paper, balefully admiring the red-inked drawing. "I'll be there."
Mary-Da was understandably shocked and overwhelmed at the news of her beloved death. She had slouched in a broken-back chair, sobbing uncontrollably, while Knuckles and Remington waited reverently on a weathered couch.
"I just can't believe," Mary-Da hiccupped, "that he's dead, but I knew it. I knew he was doing something dangerous."
Remington's interest was piqued. "What do you mean, Mary?"
"Well, when he left last night he was acting strangely, so I tried asking what he was doing but he didn't answer, but I knew it was because he didn't want me to worry."
"When did you see him last night?"
"After eight-thirty."
"And that was the last you saw of him."
"Yes, except that I looked out the window after he had left…and I saw someone following him!"
"Someone?"
"Yeah, when I looked out the window and I saw someone following him. I didn't think about it at the time because I thought she was just walking along, but now…well, you know."
"You said that the follower was female?"
"Yes, and she was a Wolf with gray fur and black-hair with a long braid."
Now Knuckles was interested. "Any distinguishing marks."
"I could barely see her from where I was in the dark."
"Was there anything you noticed about her?"
"Yeah, the way she was dressed…"
"How!?" Knuckles snapped impatiently.
"Easy, Knux," Remington warned.
"Well, I really can't say;" Mary scratched her head, "I had never seen it before. But from where I was it looked like a blue swimsuit."
Knuckles looked at Remington. "Guess who that reminds me of."
"Your Wolf friend."
"Yep."
"You know her?" Mary asked.
Knuckles froze, looking for a cop-out from such an embarrassing question. "Hey, got anything to drink?"
Mary looked perplexed at the casual question. "Yeah, only tap water and it's not very good."
"Oh, I don't care; so long it's consumable."
That said Knuckles stood and marched into the less-than-luxurious kitchen, selecting a chipped glass from the cupboard. He ignored the gray tint of the water as he filled his glass, forced himself to swallow then leaned against the sink to survey the room. No one apparently renovated the kitchen for a while, the lone table could barely seat two people, there was an enormous yellow spot on the ceiling, and no one had attempted to hide the trashcan. There was even a scrap of paper left on the floor next to the trashcan; maybe someone had thrown the litter at the can and missed. For no practical reason, Knuckles snatched up the paper, opened it…and saw something that made his eyes pop open.
Remington was continuing conversion with Mary-Da when he heard a sound from the kitchen door, the sound of a clearing throat. Looking up he saw Knuckles standing in the doorway with a glass of murky water in one hand and a paper in the other, and on the paper was the drawing of the bloodied dagger. "Again, Mary, I'm very sorry about Dustin, but I must be off. Call me if you can think of you can think of anything else. C'mon, Knux."
Once he and Knuckles were outside the door, Remington grumbled, "I should have known. I knew Dustin was poor, and that he took pride in his martial training. Of course, he would try a crazy stunt for some fast cash."
"What I'm worried about is why Lupe would be following him."
"Yes. When did you see her last, and do you know where she is?"
"Not since noon yesterday, and she never told me where she was staying."
"Well, if you see her again, tell her I need to ask some questions."
"Now, Remington, if you are insinuating that Lupe killed Dustin, then…"
"I'm not insinuating anything, Knux. The last thing I want to do is bust a friend of a friend for manslaughter, but it is my responsibility to ask questions. Understood?"
"Understood."
Lupe wanted to sleep, but a troubled mind is a disruptive bed-partner. She had instead spent the night laying in bed and staring at the so-called soundproof ceiling, mentally rehearsing the events of the day. She cried when she though of Melissa, which was often, longing to comfort that wounded heart as she as a mother would comfort a little girl with a scraped knee. Melissa was actually just a girl trapped in a mature body and an offended soul. Her look of anger and hurt had burned into Lupe's mind, and, try as she may, Lupe could not rid her mind of Melissa.
Knock, knock!
Lupe jerked to a sitting position, eyeballing the clock: 9:15 PM. How could have a day slipped by so quickly? Lupe, sleep-addled, slowly reckoned that she must have slipped away just before dawn and so had been sleeping all day.
Knock, knock!
Lupe slipped out of bed and into her bodysuit.
Knock, knock!
"I'm coming!"
Lupe opened the door, and her heart leapt into her throat as she saw Rancid holding out a paper and saying, "It's tonight at ten, the wharf opposite Angel Zone." Lupe didn't have to look at the paper; she knew exactly what was on it. Yet so soon!? It had been last night, nay this morning when she had joined the club.
"Is that all?" she asked.
"That's all," Rancid replied, "except the boss said something about cold feet getting people killed."
Lupe blanched. That's it! Her masquerade had been penetrated and now the Announcer had a counter-plan to have her killed if she did go straight to the wharf. She said thank you and dismissed Rancid, closing door and sliding to the floor. She wasn't ready, though that sounded silly because she never could have been ready to kill someone. She had planned to just break up the events as they come, but the Announcer was going to see to that; even if she had won the fight and killed her opponent, she was sure that the Announcer would not let her live. She had been trapped and could see no escape.
This is it, Lupe, she thought, you've gambled and lost, and now you and maybe someone else are going to die. "Mi Dios, me socorra. My God, help me."
Lupe dragged her heels down the hotel's front steps, not wishing to rush to anyone's death much less her own. She hailed a cab, simply gave the destination to the driver and resigned herself, saying nothing more.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
To Kill…or Not to Kill
----------------------------------------------
Sometime after Lupe left her hotel room, Knuckles dialed a number on his cell phone
"Hey, Knux," Remington answered, "What have you been doing?"
"Ever since we talked earlier this morning, I have been trying to hunt down Lupe."
"Any success?"
"Yeah, of a sort. I finally got the wonderful idea of looking through the hotels, starting at the one across the street from that café we ate at yesterday, which happened to be the one where she is staying, but she wasn't in her room."
"How did you get her room number?"
"I asked the clerk for it."
"They can't give out room numbers without authorization."
"I'm the Guardian; I don't need authorization. But it didn't matter since there wasn't a trace of her."
"She could be just hiding out in her room."
"Sorry, wrong number. I went in to see."
"Don't tell me you broke in the door."
"Actually, I knocked and it fell in. Where are you?"
"At the place where they found Dustin. I'm having the detectives scour the place for clues."
"Found anything?"
"Nothing; the person who dumped the body knew what he was doing."
"Well, I've given up here, so I'll just run down there to help you guys out, okay? Hasta la vista!" Knuckles hung up and dialed the local taxi central.
The city lights waned and grew fewer until they were gone completely, and the taxi was guided by no more than its headlights. Lupe observed wistfully that the darkened fields outside looked so peaceful in contrast to her own inner turmoil, and she long to lay out in those fields and discuss her problems with the stars. Nevertheless, time and circumstance would not allow her that luxury.
The taxi closed the distance all too quickly for Lupe, and before she knew it they were at the wharf. Silently, she got out, paid the toll and sadly gazed the dishearteningly long pathways of wooden planks, at the end of the longest of which stood a warehouse with illuminated windows.
Lupe slogged down the pier, listening to her own footfalls. These were the final moments of seclusion, time to think, to cry, to pray. Lupe never thought it would end this, far away in a place not her own, no one to stand beside her. She had never really considered before now how the Wolfpack relied upon her leadership, and she feared that it would fall apart of she wasn't there to provide the glue. And what of her family, especially her two children? Could they face life without a mother, without her? Could Lobo himself face life? Lupe belittled herself, understanding her rashness.
She was now at the door of the warehouse. Hesitating a moment, she slowly opened the door to see the crowd larger than the night before; apparently the Announcer had advertised a bit more aggressively for her execution. She saw the wagers being made, and wondered about the odds. She walked, her head hanging despairingly, over to a box mercifully situated a good distance from the crowd, sat upon it, and waited.
"Well, it's about time. What took you so long, Harry?"
A Dingo leaned out the driver-side window and twanged, "Sorry 'bout that, mate, but tonight's a real busy 'un and all th' cars were booked. I was free the quickest."
Knuckles grunted, crawling into the back seat. "Well, now that you're here, could we go west on H-24, please? I tell you where to go from there."
"Sure t'ing, mate, if the proice is roight." Harry flicked the peak of his cap.
As Harry fired up the cab, Knuckles recalled that Remington had often relied upon Harry for underground information. "Say, Harry, you wouldn't have heard anything about fight clubs, have you?"
Harry cocked his head ponderingly. "Nuthin' beyond what's in the movies, mate."
"Oh, never mind then." Knuckles crossed his arms and glowered out the window. Where was Lupe? He began to wonder if Lupe had skipped town, if she had something to do with Dustin's death. Knuckles immediately banished the thought, knowing it was totally illogical: Lupe didn't even know Dustin and she certainly would not murder on a whim. Yet, why would she be following him in the first place? Maybe it was just another Wolf habit, stalking strangers for the heck of it. Knuckles' skin crawled at the thought of someone following him, maybe even Lupe herself playing a sick practical joke.
"Hey, Knux, ya alroight?"
Knuckles started back into reality. "Why do you ask?"
"I's just ya look a little sulky tonight, sulkier than usual, I mean. Y'know, the last customer was like that too. I could tell somethin' was eatin' 'er but didn't ask."
"Her?"
"Yeah, one of those Spanish-speakin' type Wolfs on the mainland, a real looker too."
Knuckles sat bolt upright. "Did she have a scar under left eye?"
"Filled in dark, yeah."
"Black hair with some gray in a braid and a blue bodysuit and sandals?"
"I t'ink so. What's wrong, mate?"
Knuckles leapt out and seized Harry by the collar, shouting, "Where is she!?"
"Ai, mate! Leggo!"
"Where did you take her!?"
"Knuckles, Mr. Echidna, mate, sir, your highness or whatever, I NEEDA DROIVE!!"
Knuckles released Harry just in time for Harry to escape a head-on collision with a dump truck. "Sorry, Harry," Knuckles apologized, "I guess I let myself get carried away there."
Harry coughed and rubbed his neck. "Nuthin' to it, mate. I've gott'n worse than that when I told people the bill.
"Look, forget about H-24; take me to where you dropped off Lupe."
"Who?"
"The Wolf."
"Oh! Considerin' yer grip, I think I better."
Lupe lifted her head when the crowd quieted and knew her time had come. She saw the Announcer take the center, and a right fury enflamed her heart with courage; he was the one responsible for this outrage, for robbing ten of their lives and God knew how many others of friends and family. Lupe was encouraged and invigorated as she realized that she might be an agent of judgment. She tuned out the Announcer's speech, really a bunch of hate-flavored nonsense, and concentrated on profound pep talk. Watch out, Announcer, because Lupe has been a fighter all her life, and did not know the word surrender.
"Hail, Announcer," Lupe mocked quietly, echoing the ancient gladiators' salute, "we who are about to die salute you!"
She strode forward, head high and proud, ignoring the gazes of the on-lookers, almost giddy with the prospect. Yet, all her levity and cockiness had vanished when she saw her opponent, an ultramarine female Echidna with her dreadlocks tied into two braids.
Melissa-Di.
Melissa-Di was dressed to kill. Her wiry body was clad in a pair of skin-tight shorts and a sleeveless shirt exposing her muscled midriff, allowing for maximum maneuverability. She had a pair of knuclaws, polished and sharpened for the occasion, on each hand, and the tips of her boots were glistening steel.
Melissa-Di was initially as surprised as Lupe was when Melissa saw who was going to be her opponent, but a look of dark pleasure soon replaced the surprise, and she clacked her knuclaws together dauntingly. "So, it's my admirer," she purred. "Now, you get to witness my skill firsthand, or should I say 'lasthand?'"
Lupe couldn't answer; she was at an impasse. The last person she wanted to fight was someone she had been pitying less than twenty-four hours before, yet that what she was going to have to do. This simply wasn't kind, forcing one to kill his loved one. Though she defied the Announcer, she admitted that he was right: Life was cruel.
The Announcer stole the moment of Lupe's thought. "Alright, ladies, remember: it doesn't end until the luckless lady's dead. Now, FIGHT!"
In the final instant, a memory Lupe had stored in the back of her memory shoot to the front: she was sitting on her father's knee, long before Robotnik stole him away, and he was instructing her: "The battle belongs to those not the fastest or the bravest but those who are the bravest and never run."
Melissa-Di's fists coiled up like a pair of vipers. Lupe brought up her own fists, remembering never to break eye contact with her opponent. They circled, poised for attack, ready for defense, awaiting an opportunity to strike. Melissa let fly a jab at Lupe's head, and Lupe, sidestepping, grabbed the outstretched arm. Melissa targeted Lupe's head again, this time with a blurring hook that Lupe blocked with her shoulder. The blow hurt regardless, striking with the power of a swung sledgehammer, and Lupe did not dare think about what would have happened if it had struck its target. Lupe twisted Melissa's arm, forcing her to the ground almost gently.
Now what? Lupe wondered. This was different than wrestling someone at home, where she could just bend the arm back until he or she cried «¡Me someto!» and the match was over. Lupe hoped she could maintain the hold long enough to form a plan of action. However, Lupe could not hold it for long; Melissa got her legs entangled with Lupe's, contracting her legs to deck Lupe. Melissa snapped to her feet, looking to crush Lupe's skull with a straight punch, but smacked cement instead; Lupe had rolled out of the whistling projectile's path. Melissa recoiled, shaking the pain out of her hand, and Lupe got to her feet and stood off, crouched for the next round.
The crowd cheered, and the Announcer scratched his chin. This fight might last longer than usual.
Unknown to everyone but himself, Knuckles Echidna had perched upon a high stack of crates, watching the fray through a window.
His cell-phone chirped. It was Remington. "Knuckles, I thought you said you were coming down here. Where are you?"
"Sitting on top a stack of crates next to the warehouse on the wharf across from Angel Zone."
"What are you doing there?"
"The question is how fast you guys can get down here. Trust me, you need to juice down here like ASAP Code Red."
"Alright, Guardian, but this had better be good."
"Remington, it's to die for." Knuckles hung up and set himself to working the window open, mumbling, "'Juice down here?' Sheesh, I've been hanging around Sonic too long."
Lupe dropped to her knees to meet Melissa's charge, wrapping her strong arms around Melissa's waist and tackling her. They fought, struggled, grappled for the top-man advantage, and Lupe lost the battle and wrestled with Melissa's wrists as Melissa bent over her. Lupe tried to forget that Dustin died in this position.
Straining, arms quivering, Melissa gradually stretched out Lupe's arms into a crucifix hold and, seizing the opportunity, she bashed her head into Lupe's unprotected face. Lupe released Melissa's hands and raised her own hands to protect her face, and Melissa, grabbing Lupe by the collar, hauled her off the floor, butted her again, kneed her in the ribs, butted her a third time, and threw her bodily on the cement. Lupe, remarkably resilient, struggled back onto her feet but could not stop Melissa's mercilessly savage attack, and Melissa forced the steel toe of her boot into Lupe's stomach and then her chin. Lupe was decleated and blown backwards, and she lay on her back, choking on her own blood.
Lupe believed that her life was done; even the memory of Dustin's final seconds haunted and seemed to whisper, "This is it, Lupe; you are going to die." Lupe could see Melissa standing over, and knew there was no mercy in her contemptible sneer as Melissa raised her foot for the finishing blow. Yet, as the sole was closing, Lupe took her last chance at life, and she rolled over, grabbed Melissa's knees and stood sharply, knocking Melissa backwards and causing her head to crack against the cement.
Lupe retreated, unwieldy but knowing that Melissa was defenseless. The crowd impatiently demanded Lupe to finish Melissa, and even her own killer instinct wanted blood, but Lupe recognized that posture as Melissa cradled her head, a fetal position, a child in pain. Lupe snapped erect, and leveled a defiant eye at everyone of that cruel crowd, and she said quietly yet without an ounce of fear, "No."
That single soft-spoken word silenced all the shouting and screaming, and all stared. No one expected it, not even the Announcer. He leaned over and hissed a command in the ear of Rancid, who was standing behind the Announcer. Rancid fumbled under his jacket and handed the Announcer a semi-automatic pistol. The Announcer swung around and pumped a round into Lupe's chest, killing her instantly…if Melissa-Di was not resilient herself.
The scene seemed to play in slow motion to Lupe. She had turned her gaze to stare wide-eyed down the 45-caliber in the Announcer's hand, and she saw even the blast. Suddenly Melissa-Di was standing in front of Lupe and took the bullet in her shoulder. There was an explosion of blood, and Melissa was blown the floor again.
Then there was the sound of breaking glass.
The place was plunged into pandemonium. Almost everyone who was in the presence of mind to do anything ran in a different direction. Knuckles dropped from the window he had kicked in, landing on a miscellaneous spectator and bellowing "The calvary's here!!" Rancid dashed straight for the back door. The Announcer looked up in perplexity, searching for the source of the crash, so that he couldn't see Lupe's rush. Lupe threw all she had behind her punch, striking the Announcer in the throat and crushing his windpipe.
Knuckles fought his way through the panic, knocking several persons cold in the process, to where he last saw Lupe. "So, Lupe," he grumbled good-humoredly when, "Just what you think you have been doing this entire time?"
Lupe did not answer. She was kneeling over the unconscious body of Melissa-Di, trying desperately to stop the red flow and praying to God and all His saints.
Rancid hit the door running. He ran as fast as he could, dodging piles and hurtling crates, when suddenly he ran headlong into an aurora of red and blue lights a-flashing and the strong arm of Constable Remington.
"And where do you thing you are going?" Remington asked.
Rancid looked at the scarlet Echidna, smiling sheepishly. "Jail?"
"Good guess."
CHAPTER EIGHT:
A Time for All Things.
----------------------------------------------
The next morning, Lupe, Knuckles and Remington who was carrying a black suitcase, were walking down the hall of the hospital. Lupe had bandages and gauze on her head, shoulders and a couple other places, and definitely looked a little worse for wear in the fluorescent lighting.
"…And so ends my account of doings with Bloodsport," Lupe finished her long story to Remington. "Good riddance. I hope you have enough for your case, Constable."
"Oh, we do, ma'am, more than enough. Thanks for all your help and, please, call me Remington."
"Only if you call me Lupe."
"Deal. Oh, and I must say that I am very impressed by your courage and single-minded devotion."
"I say she was crazy," Knuckles muttered.
"You're only jealous because I thought of it," Lupe rejoined.
"True."
"Well, before I go," Remington presented the suitcase to Lupe, "this belongs to you."
"What is this?"
"The prize money for your fight, plus all the money we got off of the bookies; they won't be needing it where they're going. Consider it as a reward."
Lupe smiled and received the offering while Knuckles griped, "Now, that's not fair. I quite literally keep this island afloat, and no one walks up to me with an armload of cash."
Remington laughed and chucked Knuckles in the arm. "Come of it, Knux; everybody knows you have a Monster Emerald stashed somewhere."
"That Master Emerald to you, fuzz," Knuckles chucked back.
Remington laughed again. "Oh, Lupe, how would you like to know that you made a fan out that fox boy?"
"Oh?"
"Yeah. He keeps talking about when he gets out of jail he's going to ask you out."
"Him and fifteen other boys. I'm going to have a little explaining to do to Lobo if a scraggily street-punk like him showed up on my doorstep asking for me."
With a final laugh, Remington turned and waved farewell. Knuckles stretched and yawned, saying, "I 'bout to call it a day. Want me to take you back to your hotel?"
"Yes, but then I would like to go to the airport."
"What's the matter? Don't like my island?"
"No, lo me gusta mucho, but the past couple of days have made me realize that I should be spending my furlough with Lobo and the kids; they're only going to have me for so long."
"I get it. C'mon and I'll call us a cab. I'm sure Harry will give us a ride if I promise not to strangle him again."
"Wait. Go one ahead, and I'll catch up."
"Ya sure?"
"Yes, there is someone I would like to talk to before I go."
Knuckles casually swung his dreadlocks and strolled over to the payphones while Lupe entered the waiting room where sat Melissa-Di, also bandaged with her left arm in a sling, looking the television but not really watching it.
Lupe smiled. "¡Hola!"
Melissa turned her head and stared at Lupe for a long time. "Why didn't you do it?"
Lupe was puzzled. "Didn't do what?"
"Finish me off when you had the chance."
Lupe smiled again, sitting painfully in the chair next to Melissa. "How about you answer a question for me, and then I'll answer yours."
Melissa looked off into space and shrugged slightly. "I guess so."
"Why do you save me?"
Melissa-Di's brow furrowed as she sought for an answer. "I guess I thought I should return the favor. I mean, I never had anyone do anything for me and you risked getting your head blown of over not killing me."
"You did the right thing, in any case."
"Now it's your turn."
"Melissa, the reason I saved you last night was because the first time I saw you I cared for you."
"Why? We hardly even knew each other."
"I knew you a little better than you think. I wondered why you looked so familiar, then I realized it was because I was a lot like you."
"You were?"
"Yes, angry, bitter, et cetera. I had suffered some injustice; you see, I had lost my own father about ten years ago to the Robotizer, but I did the wrong thing and allowed my pain to rule me. I had forgotten all the lessons that he taught me, but fortunately, I had a few friends that were not going to let me go. I remember what it was like, and that was why I wanted to help you overcome your own hurt.
"Well, I must go."
"You're going?"
"Yes, I have some family to see. I'm sorry we don't have a chance to get to know each other better."
"I wish I had a family like you do."
Lupe stood, making to leave, and smirked. "Maybe you should go make some family."
Melissa stood herself. "Lupe?"
"Yes?"
Tears welled in Melissa's eyes, "Thank you."
Lupe reached out and caught Melissa, wiping her tears and pressing the suitcase into her hand, "You're welcome. Here."
"What is this?"
"A little cash to keep you afloat until you get a steady job," Lupe smiled a last time. "Farewell, Melissa."
"Goodbye, Lupe."
Knuckles met Lupe in the hallway. "Everything all right?"
"Everything is just fine."
"Good. Well, I got a cab waiting for us. Let's roll; it's the home land for you."
Yes. Home.
Melissa-Di rambled the streets of the slums she called home, sketchpad under her arm, thing what she should put on that last page, that blank page had plagued her for over a month. She also thought of Lupe, the Wolf who treated her as a daughter. Then the inspiration struck her: she would draw a portrait of Lupe, and she would write on it: "To my guardian angel. Thank you, Lupe."
She was so exited. She searched for a bench or something else to sit on, but when she found a bench, it was already occupied by a crying mother with a baby in her arms, and Lupe's words rang in Melissa's mind: Maybe you should go make some family.
"Ma'am," Melissa asked, "can I help?"
"No, it's nothing you can do."
"Not even something to eat?"
"Well, maybe that. Thank you so very much.
"No problem. What's your name?
"Mary-Da McIntosh, and the baby is Dustin Jr."