THE CASE OF THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS

"You come highly recommended," our latest client said.

She was a very tall woman - at least six foot tall in her bare feet. She was even taller in a pair of high-heels. She was wearing a long green dress and a black hat that featured an eccentric halo of dark spikes. Her face was both beautiful and icy cold.

I didn't know her name. At least not yet.

Every now and then, a client doesn't want to meet at the office. There can be good reasons for that and I try to be accommodating. So when a man with a vaguely German-like accent phoned and asked me to meet someone he described as 'the mistress', I accepted before asking where she wanted to meet.

That might have been a mistake. The restaurant where we finally met was one of the most expensive in town. The menu didn't have any prices, because if you had to ask then you shouldn't be eating there. I figured I would order something small. Domino Investigations wasn't as broke as it used to be. In fact, we'd been doing pretty well for the last couple of years. However, I could still remember the lean times. I only splurge when I'm buying guns or lingerie.

The guns are for me. The lingerie is for Marie.

"Who recommended us?" I asked. That sort of thing can tell you a lot about a client.

"Bjorn Svenson," the client replied as she picked up the menu.

I think I blinked in surprise. "Bjorn? He's been dead for years."

The client scanned the menu. "Eight years, actually. After what you people call the Great War, Bjorn tried to return to the life he had before. However, the war stirred something within him. Eventually, he went abroad again. He fell in with some like-minded men who also had not yet had their fill with fighting and killing. They became mercenaries and reavers. The blood of Bjorn Svenson's ancestors ran strong in him and he came to enjoy a life of pillage and slaughter. He eventually met his end on the docks of a city called Alexandria. Bjorn and his comrades found themselves in battle with the local lord. As is so often the case, some common folk were caught in the middle. With a single sweep of one of your modern machine-weapons, Bjorn killed a mother and her children just to block an alley down which he was being pursued. And yet that was to no avail - he was shot in the back as he tried to flee."

"All in all, not a glorious death," the client finished off-handedly. She was still looking at the menu.

I gave my client a long, hard, look. "I never heard the details of how Bjorn died," I told her.

The client shrugged and put down her menu. "It is the truth and often the truth can be hard. Your decision to share your bed with him is nothing to be ashamed off, he was a handsome and virile man, but he had a darkness within him. Eventually, it consumed him."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. Even weirder, Bjorn was dead years before I became a private investigator. How the hell could he have recommended me?

And just how did the client know that Bjorn and I used to knock boots?

An unctuous waiter appeared next to our table. "Ladies, are you ready to order?"

The client glanced at me. "I will have the mushroom soup and a slice of the beef that you call a 'steak'. My servant here will have the same."

So much for ordering something small. And I didn't really like being called a servant. And ordering for someone else at a restaurant is a bit peculiar. It's an older custom that I've seen elderly men do when they're with family members or a woman. In fact, I know one old-fashioned guy who does it all the time. His name is Lensherr.

I had to give the waiter credit. He didn't even blink. "And how do you want your steak, madam?"

The client frowned. "On a platter will be sufficient."

Again, the waiter rolled with it. "Pardon me, madam. I was perhaps not clear. How would you like your steak cooked?"

"I'll have mine raw," the client answered. "However, I think it would be best if you charred my servant's meat. Your cook may decide what is sufficient."

The waiter glanced at me. I just shrugged and said, "Rare."

Then the waiter quietly vanished.

"What's your name?" I asked bluntly. I was getting more than a little fed up.

"Call me Hela," my client said.

I nodded my head politely. "And how can Domino Investigations help you, Miss Hela? Or is it Mrs. Hela?"

"Address me as Hela," she said very flatly. "I need no honorifics."

Okay, the client was maybe nuts. I considered getting up and walking away.

But... by then I was curious. That's an occupational hazard when you're a PI.

"How can I help you, Hela?" I rephrased carefully.

"There is a man I want you to find. He is a healer among your kind. I understand he is known as Donald Blake and that he resides in this city. Learn what you can about him and then report back to me."

It was after business hours. I went straight back to the apartment I share with Marie. Then I described to her the meeting with Hela.

"This sounds like a weird case," Marie said with a frown.

Marie is my partner and girlfriend. She's a knockout with a full-figured and long-legged body that's the stuff dreams are made of. Her eyes are green and her dark-auburn hair has a spectacular white streak down the middle. Her smile is so breathtaking that it's been known to make me completely lose track of what I was saying or doing.

"I won't argue with that," I admitted. "I figure the client is some sort of European nobility. Her English is pretty good, but there's a bit of an accent. And the way she talks and acts... it's like she's from another world."

"Are you sure about taking this case?" Marie asked. She was obviously worried. "I mean... yeah, we trace people all the time, but the client sounds like trouble waiting to happen. What's she paying us?"

I pulled a small silk bag out of my jacket and pulled loose the drawstring that held it closed. Then I dumped the contents onto the table where we were sitting.

Marie frowned at what looked like a pile of glittery stones.

"What's this?" she asked.

There was a glass of whiskey in front of me. I picked up one of the larger stones and used it to scratch a deep score into the glass.

"Raw diamonds," I told Marie. "The client says we'll get this many more once we give her our report."

Marie let out a long, low, whistle.

Rule number one of being a private investigator is to check out your client. However, we drew a blank on Hela.

"Nothing?" I asked slowly.

Marie and Sooraya - she's our Afghani secretary - both looked embarrassed.

"Nothing much," Marie corrected. "Hela showed up without a reservation at the Carlton Hotel yesterday afternoon. She then checked into the Presidential suite. The guy already in the suite was a big-shot banker from London. He apparently left at Hela's request after meeting her. She barely has any luggage, but has about a half-dozen servants who all seem to be men and women from Norway or Sweden or somewhere like that. As near as we can tell, the only thing she's done while in town is her meeting with you last night. There's no record of how she arrived in town. She doesn't have a car garaged at the hotel or anywhere nearby, and I can't find anyone who saw her either at the train station or on the docks. So far, she's paid her bills in raw gems and gold nuggets. That was a problem until people realized how much money is actually involved. When she deals with hotel employees, she always speaks to them in their birth language. So far, she seems to be fluent in English, French, German, Italian, and Spanish. She says a lot of strange things and - like you - everyone figures she's half-crazy nobility from some backward part of Europe."

Then Sooraya took over. "I can find no reference to the name 'Hela' in any of the social registries or compendiums of important families. I think it's reasonable to assume that it is not really her name. I've put feelers out among the local journalists to see if anyone knows her by description. I also asked some questions among our contacts on embassy row, but nobody there seems to know her."

"It's like she appeared yesterday from out of nowhere," Marie added grimly. "I think she might be running some kind of con."

"A con-artist who hands out diamonds and gold?" I asked.

Marie shook her head irritably. "I don't claim to know what kind of game she's playing, but nobody on the up-and-up leaves absolutely no trail behind them."

I couldn't argue with that.

"What about Dr. Blake?" Sooraya asked me.

That was my cue. "Dr. Donald Blake is from a small town in Minnesota called Northfield. I couldn't find much of anything about Blake's family - not even his mother and father. Blake moved here six years ago to attend college, and then medical school, at State University. After Blake graduated as a sawbones, he did his residency at Saint Bethany's here in town. Then he went to work for a church-funded clinic that gives medical help to the poor."

"That's admirable," Sooraya said with an approving smile. I had to agree.

"People describe Blake as a big, adorable, hunk of a guy. He has a limp and uses a cane, but he was like that when he first showed up in town and nobody knows how that happened. When you get down to it, he doesn't seem to have much of a social life. And he's the kind of man who doesn't talk about himself."

"That's not much," Marie said thoughtfully, "but he's sounds like a guy with secrets."

I nodded. "The two most important people in our case do have hazy pasts."

"Any idea why Hela wants the skinny on Don Blake?" Marie asked me.

I shrugged. "Not a clue. Not yet."

Marie sighed.

"But Blake is in the phone book," I added. "So's the place where he works."

"No way it's going to be that easy," Marie told me with a shake of her head.

She was right.

Dr. Blake had a room in a brownstone on the western edge of downtown. His apartment wasn't that far from the clinic where he worked. Given the time of day, Blake wasn't likely to be home. So Marie and I decided to check out the clinic.

Getting out of the car, I took a few seconds to look around.

"It's been a while," I told Marie.

"This is your old neighborhood, isn't it?" Marie asked.

I guess there was a smile on my face as I nodded. "Mom and I moved to town when I was just a kid. We lived not too far from here in a walk-up apartment. The place didn't have hot water. Mom used to heat water on the stove in a big pot and we'd wash with that."

I wasn't trying to impress Marie with my tough upbringing. After all, when she was a kid her morning bath took place in an offshoot of the Mississippi. My memories of me, mom, and that tiny apartment aren't something I regret. Mom and I were together and that was what mattered.

Mom's been gone for quite some time. As we walked across the street, I felt that old pang of sadness. It's the natural order of things to lose your parents, and that's a pain that everyone who lives long enough will eventually carry with them. It's another of those things that ultimately puts us all on the same level.

The clinic was crowded with desperate people. The staff - nurses and doctors both - looked harried as they tried to quickly and efficiently deal with too many patients. Marie and I both looked way out of place. For one thing, we were too well dressed.

The nurse who met us at the reception desk gave us a hard look. I imagine the clinic had a free-loader problem. We looked a bit too prosperous for a clinic that was intended to help the poor.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked.

I scanned the reception room. Mostly it consisted of frightened and worried-looking families. There were a lot of children present, and all too often they seemed to be the focus of each family's problem. A few lone men - a combination of half-drunk brawlers and guys with work injuries - were interspersed throughout the crowd.

There was a lot of crying.

A lone doctor stood out - literally. He was a good head taller than anyone else in the room. He had blond hair, blue eyes, a powerful build, and he was leaning heavily on a surprisingly crude-looking cane as he reassured a distraught mother.

"Let me guess," Marie asked the nurse. "There's no way Dr. Blake can get free for just a moment?"

The nurse snorted. Then she made a gesture with her hands that encompassed the chaos around her.

Marie glanced at me. I nodded. Without another word, we left.

"Well, if we have to tail him, Blake will be hard to lose," Marie said to me with an wry shrug.

"He's big as a house and pretty easy on the eyes," I agreed.

We were on the opposite side of the street from the clinic, not too far from where the car was parked. This part of the neighborhood was filled with small store-fronts. We were standing in front of disreputable-looking Chinese pharmacy. Even when I was a kid, I knew there was something shady about the place. Judging from the furtive and slightly desperate look of the customers walking in and out, it seemed likely that the primary drug being peddled was still opium.

Marie nodded towards a diner that I vaguely remembered. It was located between the clinic and where Blake lived. If the good doctor were to walk straight home from the clinic, he'd pass right by.

I checked my wristwatch. It was just after four.

"He should get off in an hour or two," I said doubtfully. Given the crowd in the clinic, I wasn't sure if I really believed that.

"It's worth a try," Marie agreed hesitantly. Apparently she had the same doubts.

Actually, the food in the diner wasn't bad. And that gave me an idea as Marie and I dawdled over cups of coffee as we kept an eye on the clinic. The diner was probably the best place to eat in the area, and it wasn't located too far from where Blake both lived and worked. He might be a regular.

"Say," I said to our waitress as she refilled our cups. She was a pretty little slip of a girl with brown hair and eyes. "You wouldn't happen to know a doctor from the clinic? His name is Blake."

She instantly smiled. "Doc Blake? Sure - he's in here all the time."

"He's a handsome fellow," Marie added with a knowing smile.

The waitress chuckled. "Tell me about it! But he's seeing one of the nurses at the clinic and she watches him like a hawk. I can't say I blame her."

"So what's he like?" Marie continued, her voice dropping slightly. She was doing a great job of making the conversation seem like harmless girl-talk.

"Polite and a good tipper," the waitress said as her smile turned into a grin. "What more can a waitress ask for?"

Then the waitress gave us a speculative look. "What's your interest?"

"I heard he might need some secretarial help," Marie lied smoothly.

That seemed to dispel any doubts that the waitress was having about us. The Depression made job-hunting a top priority for a lot of people. Even if you had a job, you were still worried that it might vanish and you'd suddenly find yourself scrambling for your next meal. And a lot of people were working two or more jobs in order to make ends meet.

"I tried to catch him at the clinic," Marie continued earnestly, "but he was pretty busy. And I don't want to show up on his door-step - even a decent guy can get the wrong idea if a gal does that. Is there a place where I can talk to him?"

"Well... there is something," the waitress said after a moment's thought. "He goes to a gym - it's called 'Clark's' - that's not too far from here. You might find him there after work."

Clark's was a run-down gym not too from the clinic and the diner. And that meant it wasn't too far from Blake's apartment. I knew the place. Once upon a time, it had been pretty well respected. It was the gym where hard young guys who were rising local boxers went to train. Trainers and fight promoters used to haunt the place, looking for talent-on-the-rise. But that had been twenty or thirty years ago. Mr. Clark had passed on and now the gym was more than a little run-down. Nowadays, the guys who were likely to practice at Clark's Gym were either has-beens or never-weres.

That's why it hurt to see Jack Murdock there. Marie actually bumped into him as we walked in the door.

Jack's reactions were still good. He snagged Marie by the shoulders and kept her from falling.

"W-whoa! Slow down d-d-darling!" he said with a smile. I noticed that he was being a little slow taking his hands off of Marie. On the other hand, she didn't seem to mind. She has thing for tough guys with a kind streak.

Battlin' Jack Murdock was a middle-weight who'd seen better days. Years ago, he came damn close to making it into the national circuit - and maybe even getting a shot at the title - but that didn't work out. Nowadays, there were more than a few gray hairs in the stubble on his cheeks and chin. Years in the ring had left a pattern of small scars scattered on his face and particularly around his eyes. His ears were cauliflowered. And his nose had been broken so many times that it was likely that he had problems breathing through it.

Jack originally came from New York city - Hell's Kitchen to be specific. One story is that he and Mattie had to leave New York in a hurry. Apparently Jack somehow got crosswise with the local mob. Another story had Jack leaving because of a broken heart. I've never met Mrs. Murdock, and Jack absolutely will not talk about her.

It chilled me to hear Jack stuttering. He didn't used to do that. A lifetime spent taking hard knocks to the head can do bad things to a man.

"Jack, how're you doing?" I asked softly. Jack hadn't noticed me since he still had his eyes - and paws - on Marie.

Jack finally looked past Marie.

"N-N-Neena?" he said in surprise as he finally let go of Marie. There was no mistaking the delight in his eyes.

There was a long pause. Then Jack took me in his arms and kissed me on the top of my head. I hugged him back... hard.

"How do you two know each other?" Marie asked.

The three of us were in the manager's office of Clark's gym. It turned out that Jack was making some spare cash running the place for the Clark family. We were clustered around the office's only desk and there was a bottle of Irish whiskey and a trio of shot-glasses on the desk itself.

"Jack taught me how to fight," I told Marie.

Jack gave Marie an elaborate and skeptical shrug. "I just showed Neena a few p-p-pointers," he insisted. "Sh-she was a n-n-natural."

Jack's charm was already having an effect on Marie. He has a way with people. Back in his younger days, I hear he was pretty good with the ladies.

"There were some boys in the neighborhood who were a little on the rough side," I told Marie. "They were a gang, but they were strictly small-time and mostly harmless. But then a guy took over who had ambitions. He decided he should run the neighborhood. In the process, he and some of his guys developed a mean streak."

"Billy Doul was his n-name," Jack reminisced. "A lot of bad th-th-th-things happened because of him."

I continued the story. "Anyway, I was just a kid when Billy made me an offer. I said no and he started slapping me around the street. Jack saw what was happening and sorted Billy out."

"He was a b-bit more r-respectful of the ladies after that," Jack chuckled.

"So I hear," I said as I reached over and affectionately squeezed Jack's hand. "Anyway, Jack here said he wouldn't always be around, so he offered to show me the basics of the womanly art of self-defense."

"I don't ap-p-prove of women hitting people," Jack told Marie, "but I really d-don't approve of the kind of men who h-hit women."

"What happened to Doul?" Marie asked, her eyes bright with interest.

"He eventually talked some other guys into actually trying something serious. They tried to rob a bank, but the cops heard about it first and were waiting for Billy and his crew. Billy's boys went to jail. Billy stopped a bullet and got an appointment with a cheap undertaker."

"Which one of you told the cops what Billy was planning?" Marie asked with a tiny smile.

Jack shrugged as he refreshed our glasses. I just smiled mysteriously.

Then I looked at Jack. "We hear there's a guy who comes here. He's a big blond fellow. He's also a doctor."

"D-D-Don Blake," Jack said with a contemplative nod. Then he knocked back his drink.

"What do you know about him?" Marie asked.

Jack gestured at me with his empty shot-glass. "H-h-he's one of you. Y'know, p-p-powers and all that."

Marie and I exchanged glances.

That was interesting. The ordinary folk of this town have a good grasp on the idea of people with powers. Given the sheer number of people like that who live here, that's inevitable. But a fighter like Jack tends to know more than most - it sort of ties into how fighters see the world.

"What's the deal with Blake?" I asked.

"H-h-he's stronger than man's need to sin," Jack replied with a roll of his eyes. "Normally he h-holds back. I could tell from the way he worked the b-bags. A lot of g-guys are like that. It's usually s-something in their h-heads. They just d-don't want to cut loose. Then one d-d-day a fella named Temple - a b-b-bad man - wanted to spar with Don. I was in the office, otherwise I would'na let it happen. Temple likes to f-find guys who're green and cut them up. But he misjudged Don. Misjudged him bad."

"What happened?" Marie asked as she leaned forward.

"The way I heard it, T-T-Temple started throwing low punches and going for Don's eyes with the eyelets of his gloves whenever they clinched. It's the-the-the usual dirty stuff Temple does to scare new guys. But D-Don didn't scare. He got mad instead."

Jack refilled his glass. "I h-heard some yelling an-and went into the gym to see what was happening. Temple was d-down - and he l-l-looked bad. It was Don himself who bandaged Temple up. One of the guys helped Temple get home."

Then Jack let out a long, tired-sounding, sigh.

"Don had a bruise or two, but h-he was fine. I-I took him into the office and asked him some questions. He admitted to being stronger than m-most. Said it was because he was raised on a farm, but I knew it was m-more than that. Temple's a jackass, but he's a decent fighter, and Don just took him apart. One of the g-guys who s-saw the fight later told me that Don knocked Temple right across the ring with his last punch. Temple hit the canvas hard and didn't m-move. E-everyone thought he was d-dead."

"I t-told Don that from then on he c-couldn't get into the ring unless he ch-ch-checked with me first. Don agreed to that. I was also gonna tell Temple to stay outta the gym, but he's never come back since Don took c-care of him. So I guess I owe D-Don for that."

I let out a long breath and glanced at Marie. She just shrugged.

"Does Blake ever talk about family?" I asked.

Jack shook his head.

"Does he have a girl?" Marie followed up.

Jack nodded. "Cute little thing. She's a nurse. N-never caught her name."

"Friends?"

Jack shrugged. "He kinda k-keeps to himself."

Something occurred to me. "Blake has a limp. He ever say how he got it?"

"No. I always figured it was an accident on the f-farm. Y'know even before the Temple f-fight a lot of guys didn't want to sp-sp-spar with Don. Doesn't seem r-right to get in a ring with a man who has trouble mo-moving. N-now guys know there a o-o-other reasons to stay away from Don."

"So who spars with him?" Marie asked suddenly.

Jack chuckled. "Me every n-now and th-then, but mostly with Matthew."

That made me raise an eyebrow. "Matt? How old is he? The last time I saw him he was just a kid."

Matt was Jack's son.

Jack laughed out loud. Then he turned his head towards the door.

"Hey, Matt!" he bellowed. "Get in here! Th-there's someone you wanna s-see."

After a few seconds Matt Murdock walked in the door. He must have been out of sight when Marie and I walked into the gym. He was wearing sneakers, shorts, and an armless t-shirt. There was a light sheen of sweat on his face and body.

"Yowza," Marie side-whispered to me.

I could see her point, but...

The red-hair was the same, but to say the least, Matt had grown up since I last saw him. He was now a full-grown man. I did some quick math in my head and realized that he was something like twenty years old. And he now had an extreme case of lean good-looks. In fact, he was the kind of guy who makes a women forget what our mamas told us about being good-girls.

Matt's eyes lit up when he saw me. "Neener!" he said in delight.

I didn't mind. Matt had a little bit of a lisp when he was a boy. That was what he called me when I babysat him. After that, it just sort of stuck.

Time flies. It flies and you get on with your life. I grew up, left town, did some shady stuff, worked for a secret part of the government, came back to town, became a bad-guy, gave up on being a bad-guy because my fellow bad-guys were idiots, married a good man, lost that good man, killed a lot of people to avenge that man, spread my legs for a bad man because he was sexy as hell and I needed to forget a lot of things, told the same bad man to kiss my ass and left, started a private eye business, hired a secretary who'd made the same mistake I did with that one blasted bad man... and then I fell in love with my secretary who, as it turns out, can do things with her tongue that actually are illegal in most states.

Time flies. And so much can happen in a dozen-or-so years. Jack wasn't the man he used to be. Little Mattie was all grown up.

And I was beginning to realize that I'd left too much behind, without so much as a backwards glance. I suddenly didn't feel good about that.

Both Jack and Matt said that Blake probably wasn't going to show up that night. Jack had to go back to running the gym, but Matt said he'd join us in the diner across the street for a cup of coffee. He had to take a shower first.

"Just think," Marie told me dreamily. She had a cup in both hands and was staring off into the distance. "Right now, he's naked in the showers. There are soap suds everywhere. His hands are roaming all over that young, firm, and oh-so-pretty body."

I winced. "Marie... he's just a kid."

That wasn't true, of course. But - for Pete's sake! - I used to make peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for Matt! I helped him with his homework!

"We should take Matt home and ravish him," Marie suggested. Now she was looking at me, with a wicked smile on her lips. "Maybe we could separate Doc Blake from his nurse and bring him along. Do you think the Doc is a all straight? Just imagine him and Matt together. I think Don would be the top, but you never know..."

I winced again. "Okay, now you're just being evil. Stop pretending to be such an incredible slut."

Marie just shook her head. "You've seen those two. All rules are out the window when you run into men like them."

By then Marie had a hand underneath the table and was toying with the fly of my pants. God knows what would have happened next if Matt hadn't walked in the door.

Matt had a fried-egg sandwich and coffee - something his dad always ordered. He and I spent a few minutes chatting. At first we mostly talked about people from the neighborhood, but then we caught up on current events.

It turned out that my little Mattie was in college.

"A law degree?" I said in surprise. Matt had always been a bright kid, but that was impressive.

"I hear you're a private eye," he said with the same big grin he had back before he could shave.

"Yep. Marie here is my partner."

Then Matt gave me a steady look. "Some folks say you do cases that involve people with powers."

Matt knew about me - thanks to my blue-white skin color and the patch-effect around my eye, most people know right off the bat that I'm different. Back when we were kids, I tried my best to explain powers and people who had them to Matt.

"Yeah," I said.

"Dad said you were asking about Don Blake," Matt said carefully.

"We've got a client who has some questions about him," I replied just as carefully.

Matt just shrugged. "Don's a decent guy. Yeah, he has powers and all that, but he's really not a part of that world. And he's serious about helping people. Do you know about the clinic where he works?"

"Yep," Marie said. "He and his friends are doing good work. But what do you know about him?"

Matt frowned. "Neena... I'm not sure I want to..."

I held a hand up. "Tell you what. Why don't you just tell us what he's like in the ring?"

Matt considered that. Then he nodded. That was the sort of thing fighters are always willing - hell, expected - to talk about.

"He hits hard," Matt began ruefully. "And even then you can tell that he's holding back. His limp makes him a little awkward, and I've been able to work with that, but it can be tricky. While you're too involved in trying to footwork some kind of position on him, he just winds up and hits you. He's favors his right-hand, but he's good at setting-up with his left. And you have to remember that his left jab is wicked fast. Once you get used to the fact he doesn't use his left much, he smacks you with it."

Matt paused.

"Anything else?" I asked.

Matt seemed to consider his answer before replying. "He's like dad. Every time you think you know all of his tricks and moves, he comes up with something you haven't seen before. If I had to guess, I'd say Don's done some pro-fighting. Maybe a lot of pro-fighting."

Marie frowned at that. "But wouldn't you have heard of him if that was true? And your father should definitely know about him."

Matt shrugged helplessly. "Apparently not. Dad and I've talked about it. He figures that Don probably fought in a state-wide semi-pro circuit back in Minnesota - back before whatever happened that crippled him. There are a lot of small circuits like that. Some darn good fighters who can't leave their home-state because of a job or their family fight in them."

I made a mental note about that. Pro-fights exist by selling tickets - which meant they have to be promoted and advertised. Maybe we could follow up on that.

Matt was gone - off to the library from some studying. Marie and I were walking back to our car.

"You're in danger," somebody said from a nearby alley.

Yeah. That really happened. I know it sounds like a bad pulp story, but life likes to throw you curves like that.

Marie and I automatically spread out. I was closer to the mouth of the alley, so I put my shoulder to the alley corner and checked it out. Marie got all the way out to the curb. I had a hand on the .45 in my shoulder-rig. Marie had her right hand in her purse.

The shabbily-dressed figure standing inside the alleyway just looked at us. It was the Tinman. He's fairly well-known around town, and most people figure he's just a derelict. About half of his face is covered with battered tin mask. He'd lost that part of his face back during the Great War.

Marie and I actually worked a case for him a while back. In the process we learned a lot of things. One of them was the Tinman's actual name.

"Hello, Dr. Strange," I said politely.

The good doctor nodded at us. "Hello, Domino. And you too, Marie."

As soon as we got back to the office, Sooraya made a tsking sound in Dr. Strange's direction. Then she dragged him to the bathroom and pushed him inside. Handing him a worn robe, a washcloth, and some soap, she told him to undress and give her his clothes. Then he was to use the bathroom sink to wash up.

When the door opened again the doctor looked a lot better. He handed Sooraya his roughly folded clothes.

"I'll get these washed and be right back," Sooraya told him primly. Then she left the room, holding the Doc's fragrant clothes at arms-length.

"Sooraya is an incredibly forward young lady," the doctor grumbled as he sat down in the office easy chair.

Marie put a tray in his lap. It had a plate with a sandwich and some coleslaw from the local diner.

"So are you," he informed Marie.

"Eat your dinner," Marie ordered.

The doc morosely picked up his sandwich.

Then, because I just couldn't resist, I asked, "So what's up, doc?"

Marie rolled her eyes.

"You know I understand that reference, don't you?" Doctor Strange told me. There was a touch of acid in his voice.

"That makes it even better," I shot back.

Marie perched a thigh on my desk as she listened to Strange and I banter back and forth. That made her skirt ride up enough to show one of her knees - and a pair of shapely calves. She was wearing silk stockings. I watched with some interest to see how Stephen would react to that.

He might be maimed and sort-of crazy, but Stephen Strange was still a man. I keep hoping that someday he'll find his way back from Belleau Wood. Doing something as mundane as checking out Marie's gams would be a good start.

Stephen didn't even blink, although he did dig into his meal. He had to hold his mask in place as he chewed.

"Why are we in danger?" I asked once he was done. Meanwhile, Marie pulled the tray off of his lap and handed him a cup of coffee and a straw. Stephen used the straw to sip the coffee. Most of it went down, but a trickle wandered out of the lower edge of his mask. Marie used a handkerchief to wipe it away, then handed the handkerchief to Stephen so he could take care of any other leaks.

Stephen took the straw out of his mouth. "That woman you're working for - Hela - and the man you are investigating - Donald Blake - are more than they seem. You are encountering impossibly powerful forces. You must be very careful."

Drumming my fingers on my desk, I stared at Stephen. I didn't really know how he knew so much about what Marie and I were doing, but if there was one thing I'd learned about Stephen Strange, it was that he had a way of knowing things. He also tended to be right.

"What kind of 'impossibly powerful forces' are you talking about, Doc?" Marie asked. She was back to leaning on my desk.

Stephen shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Just then, our client opened the door and walked into the room.

Hela was dressed more-or-less as I'd seen her before: high-heels, a long green ankle-length dress, gloves, and that eccentric hat with the halo of black spikes. But now she was also wearing a sheer black veil that covered her face and neck. However, her eyes were visible. The veil actually went well with her hat.

Stephen looked over his shoulder at Hela - and then went very still. Marie flinched. I involuntarily put my hand near the in-box on my desk. I keep a revolver stashed there.

I imagine we all looked like kids who'd just been caught playing a game of "show me yours and I'll show you mine".

Working the green gloves off of her hands, Hela looked us over. Because of the veil, the expression on her face was muted. However, her eyes seemed amused.

"What news?" she asked.

Then she glanced at Stephen. He was still peering over his shoulder at Hela, and his face was set and grim.

"A mage," Hela said thoughtfully. "I thought Midgard was done with your kind. Tell me, mage, why is your spirit still trembling to the roar of the great guns? That was long ago as your kind counts years. Are you truly so frightened of death?"

Something told me that I didn't want Hela focusing her attention on Stephen. So I immediately started talking.

"We've tracked down Doctor Blake," I began quickly. "We have the address of his apartment and where he works. He apparently comes from the small town of Northfield, Minnesota and moved here about six years ago. He has a medical degree at State University. He's currently working at a clinic that helps poor people who otherwise couldn't get a doctor's help. He works out at a local gym and does some boxing. He may have been a professional fighter somewhere along the line. He has a girlfriend who's a nurse at the clinic where he works. Everyone we've talked to seems to like him, but they also say that he mostly keeps to himself."

Hela stepped forward and put a long-nailed hand on Stephen's shoulder. Her nails dug in and Stephen winced, but his jaw tightened and he didn't make a sound.

"Are you interfering in my affairs, mage?" Hela asked Stephen. Her voice was mild - yet somehow still beyond cold.

Blood began to stain the shoulder of Stephen's robe.

"Blake has powers," I added coldly as my hand crept closer to the gun. I had to get Hela's attention.

Hela's eyes almost met mine and I quickly looked away. I couldn't help myself. In my time, I've handled some tough costumers with a smile and a wise-ass comment. But I knew - I just knew - that something like that would be disastrous if I tried it with Hela.

"Please... let him go," Marie added tensely.

Hela glanced at Marie, but did nothing else. Marie seemed to wilt under Hela's gaze.

Then Hela looked back at me.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look Hela in the eyes.

As real as if it had just happened, I remembered the Russian who jumped me in Boston. I was only barely an adult, and I was already working for a hush-hush part of the State Department. I was following some men who might have been working for the Russian government, or might have been working to overthrow it - my bosses wanted to know which. It was after dark when the Russian cornered me in a quiet part of town. He had a knife. In the resulting fight, I took his knife from him. It ended up in his chest.

I stood over the body, his knife in my trembling hand, as he gasped and spluttered blood. It took a terribly long time for him to die, and I watched every second of it.

He was the first man I'd killed.

Even today, after all these years, I sometimes see the Russian in my dreams - his eyes begging for just a few more seconds of life.

It took everything I had in me to speak.

"Hela, the only person who manhandles people in my office is me."

Hela released her grip on Stephen. He let out a hiss of relief. Hela's dark nails were red-stained with his blood.

And then Hela smiled. I swear, her teeth were like chips of sharp white diamond.

"What kind of power does Mr. Blake have?" Hela asked curiously. I had the impression that there was something about her question that amused her. She began idly wiping the blood away from her nails with one of her gloves.

"He's strong," I heard myself say. "A man challenged him to a boxing match and Blake almost put him in the hospital."

Hela nodded. "To be expected. Does he have any flaws? Something that makes him less than others? There should be something like that."

Her voice shaking, Marie took that one. "He's lame. He uses a cane to get around."

That answer seemed to please Hela.

"This woman he's with... is he sexing her?"

I shook my head. "We don't know."

"Find out. Does he have any companions?"

The image of Jack and Matt Murdock flickered through my mind.

"He's friendly with people, but nobody we've talked to seems to be close to him," I said.

Maybe I was lying to my client. I certainly wasn't telling her the complete truth. Something was telling me that I didn't want Jack and Mattie to catch Hela's attention.

Hela slowly nodded her head in a manner that suggested she was satisfied with my response.

"Investigate the woman," she told us.

Then she turned on her heel and left.

The laundry on the other side of the block has some fancy new coin-operated washing and drying machines. Sooraya was back with Stephen's clothes fairly quickly.

Still in the borrowed robe, Stephen was lying on the office couch, with a pillow under his head. Marie had bandaged his shoulder. There was a glass of whiskey balanced on his chest. A straw protruded from the glass.

"What happened?" Sooraya gasped after she saw Stephen's condition.

"Our client paid us a visit," I said grimly.

Marie looked at me. There was a coldly determined look on her face. "We've gotta drop this case."

"You can't," Stephen told us quietly.

"Why not?!" Marie shot back angrily.

"Hela is far too dangerous," Stephen replied with a wince as Sooraya double-checked his bandages. "And quite inexorable. Give her what she wants. Do absolutely nothing to offend her. As soon as she loses interest in your investigation, walk away and forget about her."

Marie gave me a desperate look.

I didn't know what to say. I'd looked into Hela's eyes. I had no idea what the blazes she was, but every instinct I had said that Stephen was right.

"Hela wants to know about the girlfriend," I heard myself say. "We'll do that."

It wasn't hard to get the name of Don Blake's girlfriend. We just asked around.

Her name was Jane Foster.

That evening, we parked our car near Don Blake's apartment and waited. It was cool, but not cold. The night sky was so clear that, despite the city-lights, we could see the stars.

"I think Hela is some sort of psychic," I told Marie. She was curled up in the front seat beside me, her head resting on my shoulder.

"She made me see something," I continued. "Back in the office, I looked into her eyes and she showed me the first man I killed. So, yeah, she can do at least some psychic stuff, but I think she's more than just that."

"What?"

I just shook my head. Once, Marie and I simply assumed anyone we ran into who was out of the ordinary was just another mutant - this town is loaded with them. But in the last few years we'd seen some very strange things.

Then Don and Jane come strolling down the street. They were both laughing about something. They way the walked next to each other - the expressions on their faces and the casually intimate way they talked - told you that they were a couple. A sense of goofy happiness seemed to flow off of them.

Jane was a medium-size dark-haired girl who was about the same age as Don. She was pretty, but not a knock-out. The long coat she was wearing mostly concealed a nurse's uniform, and she came up to about mid-chest height on her man.

"She's actually not short," Marie observed. "She just looks small compared to Blake."

I nodded in agreement.

At the door to the brownstone, the two of them exchanged a kiss. Then Blake opened the door and Jane didn't hesitate to follow him inside.

"And... fade to black," Marie said with a smile.

Then she turned serious again. "Dom, I really don't like this case."

I shook my head. "Tell me about it. Whatever Hela is, she's a nasty piece of work. I'm not sure I want to work for her, but Stephen thinks we shouldn't cross her."

Marie didn't argue with what I'd said. That was a measure of how seriously we took anything said by Stephen Strange.

"What we're doing is pretty straight-forward," Marie added thoughtfully. "Just surveillance and research. It's leg-work and Hela really doesn't need a pair of professionals for this job. You said she has flunkies. They could have done most of this. And, come to think of it, if Hela is some sort of psychic, what does she need us for? Couldn't she just do some Emma-kind of witchery and get all she needed from that?"

"We don't know what Hela really is," I countered, "and we don't know why she's so interested in a strong-as-hell doctor from Minnesota who has a limp and a charitable streak."

"Y'know, maybe we need to ask Stephen a few more questions."

"Good idea," I said as I turned on the engine.

As we drove away, there was a rumble of thunder. Then it began to rain.

Stephen was still back at the office. Sooraya had stayed late in order to keep an eye on him. He was working the crossword puzzle from the evening paper when we walked in the door.

Outside, the thunder still rolled. However, the rain was gentler than you might have thought.

Marie and I started with the questions. The answers we got were insane.

"Hela is the Norse goddess of death," Stephen told us. Then he went back to working the crossword puzzle.

Marie and I gave each other a long look. Sooraya didn't seem very surprised. She just kept on organizing some old case-files. She was born and raised in a place where supernatural explanations were a part of the -day-to-day world.

"Well, we asked," Marie told me with a shrug.

"Okay," I said as reasonably as possible. "So Hela is the goddess of death. Who's Don Blake?"

"The Norse god of thunder - his actual name is Thor." This time, Stephen didn't even look up from his crossword puzzle.

I considered that. Then I asked what I hoped was another reasonable question. "So why is Thor pretending to be a doctor here on Earth?"

Stephen replied immediately. "He is being punished for arrogance. I suppose a lesson is to be learned as a prince acts as a caregiver for mere mortals."

For a second, I thought I saw something bitter and mocking - maybe self-hating - on what was left of Stephen's face...

"Where does Jane Foster fit into this?" Marie asked. "Is she the goddess of something?"

That finally made Stephen look up. "Jane Foster? Who's she?"

"She's Donald Blake's... Thor's... girlfriend," I supplied. "She's a nurse at the clinic where Thor... Blake... works."

Stephen frowned. "Perhaps she is just a young lady who has made Dr. Blake's acquaintance?"

Marie tried to hide a smile. "I imagine they're acquaintancing the heck out of each other right now."

Right about then, another god walked through the door.

"For pity's sake," I heard Stephen mutter.

"Sir, we are closed," Sooraya informed our guest politely. "However, we will be open tomorrow at eight. May I take a message? Or would you care to make an appointment?"

The guy standing in the doorway was big and blocky. He had dark hair and a Fu-Manchu beard and mustache. There were scars on his hands and face that suggested he was no stranger to violence. He was dressed in an off-the-rack black suit and he looked a little uncomfortable in it. His boots didn't particularly match the suit - they were brown leather with some kind of fur uppers. He was also carrying an umbrella and that definitely didn't look right.

The big guy looked right passed Sooraya, taking inventory of everyone else in the room.

And for the second time that day, my hand crept closer to the hold-out pistol I keep in my in-box.

"Which of you is mistress here?" he asked. He had a guttural, but penetrating voice. It was the voice of a a man who doesn't do a lot of talking, and means everything he says.

I made a gesture with my left hand. My right hand was still near the in-box gun. "That's me. And the secretary you're ignoring is right when she told you that we're closed."

He declined to take the hint. "You are following a man named Blake. You will cease doing so. And you will tell me who you are working for."

Like Hela, his English was good. Like Hela, there was a trace of a familiar-yet-strange accent. The same kind of accent, as a matter of fact.

"Wow, is that not going to happen," Marie told him coldly.

Sooraya quickly retreated towards Stephen. Stephen put his whiskey on a nearby stand and slowly got up from the couch, his robe flapping around his skinny legs.

"Tell you what, why don't you get the hell out of my office?" I said tightly. I'd just about had my fill of big-mouthed foreigners who liked to give orders.

Something went flat and cold in the stranger's eyes. Another guy appeared in the door behind him. He was taller than the first guy, but more slender. He was wearing a garishly forest-green suit and was also carrying an umbrella.

And there were at least two more people in the hallway. One was a giant fat guy wearing - I'm not kidding - a red suit. There was also a woman in a long and dark dress. And there were more fucking umbrellas. I was beginning to worry about the umbrellas.

"Watch your tone, woman," the guy doing the talking said tightly.

"Domino..." Stephen said hesitantly.

"Hey, y'know what, sugar?" Marie snarled at the guy who was talking to us, "You can just go to hell."

Stephen grabbed Sooraya and dragged her to the far corner of the office. She didn't resist. They then did a dance where each tried to shove the other into the corner and get protectively in front. Under other circumstances, it would have been funny.

I pulled my revolver out of the in-box. Something was telling me that there was no point in half-measures.

The umbrella in the big-mouth's hand somehow turned into a huge mace. The umbrella of the guy-in-green turned into a sword. I didn't bother to notice what happened to the umbrellas of the other two people, but I figured it was much the same.

Marie immediately punched the guy with the mace right in his face. Then she grabbed him around the shoulders and hugged him - her bare cheek pressed up against his chin. His eyes glazed over as her power went to work, but he didn't collapse.

The guy dressed in green was moving towards Marie and he was damned fast. He was also handling his over-sized pig-sticker like he knew what he was doing. I shot the green-suit guy in the face. His head rocked back - and then he glared at me. The bullet furrow along the side of his face was cascading blood, but it looked like the bullet had bounced off of his cheekbone.

It all went downhill from there.

Marie and I were tied to a pair of chairs. Actually, it's tough to completely secure somebody that way. You have to know what you were doing. Unfortunately, our captors knew exactly what they were doing.

We weren't going anywhere.

I wasn't a hundred-percent sure, but I suspected we were in the basement of an abandoned shop that wasn't too far from the office. The guys who'd beat us up put bags over our heads before they dragged us out of the shambles of my office. They only took the bags off after we were safely tied down.

Sooraya and Stephen were standing against the far wall. Stephen had his arms protectively around Sooraya. A tall and dark-haired beauty was watching them. She was the lady I'd seen in the hallway outside my office. Now she had a sword in one hand. I was pleased to note the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on her face. Marie put most of them there, but I'd contributed the black eye that she was now sporting.

To say that she and her friends could fight was an understatement. They were deadly in close-quarters. Especially since all four of them had weaponizable umbrellas.

The big guy with the mace and the guy in the green suit weren't with us. I'd shot them both repeatedly and Marie had use her power on the big guy. With any luck, both of them were in the process of painfully bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere. However, I wasn't willing to bet on that.

In the center of the room was a table. The big, fat, red-headed, and bearded guy from the hallway outside my office was sitting at it. He was eating a meal that seemed to consist of three chickens, a bucket of fried potatoes, and a half-dozen big bottles of beer. He looked the best of anyone in the room - he'd hung back from the fight.

As I watched him eat, I suddenly realized that I was hungry.

I spat some blood onto the floor - I had a split-lip.

"Who the hell are you assholes?" I snarled.

The fat guy glanced up from his food. "You are here to answer questions, not ask them."

He had that same damned accent I'd been hearing a lot of lately. Frankly, I was now at the point that I kinda hoped to never hear it again.

I laughed. "Hey, fatso, do you know where you can shove your questions?"

The fat guy sighed and nodded towards the tall dark-haired woman.

Pulling a dagger out from somewhere, the dark woman walked over to Marie and I. I tested my ropes again...

Nothing.

The dark-haired woman quickly and efficiently cut Marie's dress off of her body. That left Marie in her underwear and shoes.

"Her friend called me fat," the fat guy said. He really sounded hurt.

The dark-haired woman neatly cut the join of Marie's bra. Then she used the knife to flip the bra open.

"Do I look fat to you?" the fat guy continued morosely.

"Yes," the woman told the fat guy. Then she kicked Marie's high-heels away.

Marie didn't look particularly scared. In fact, she just looked disgusted.

"Really?" Marie told the woman irritably. "Stripping an uncooperative prisoner is what they teach you in the first day of interrogation school. It's as subtle as teenage boy on his first date. I didn't think you were such an amateur."

Then she looked at the fat guy and said, "I've been naked in front of other people before. Hell, I used to work as a stripper. It's not a big deal."

The dark-haired woman actually smiled. The fat guy rolled his eyes and comforted himself with a chicken leg.

The woman shrugged and said, "You're brave."

Then she looked at Sooraya. "On the other hand, this young lady is obviously terrified."

Still in Stephen's arms, Sooraya shrunk back. I felt my mouth go dry as I tried to think of something to say. Once upon a time, Sooraya had been a slave for a man - a thing - who had made an art-form out of pain and degradation. She took years to partially recover. Now a lot of bad, bad, memories were suddenly coming back to her.

"Stop this," Stephen said in a startlingly firm voice. "This child was abused by a demon long ago. If you play your tricks with her, you will do a kind of damage to her that is unworthy of you."

The dark-haired lady bristled. "Don't tell me what to do, mage. You don't know who I am and what I am capable of doing!"

Then Stephen looked the dark-haired lady dead in the eye. "You are a noblewoman, a warrior, and a merciless foe of your lord's enemies. Tell me, is this frightened girl an enemy of your lord and your people? Does she deserve your fury?"

There was a pause after Stephen spoke. Incredibly, the dark-haired lady looked away.

"Who are you working for?" the fat guy said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Kiss my ass," Marie hissed at him.

"Go to hell," I growled.

"F...f...fuck off," Sooraya gasped out. "Fuck the fucking fuck off you fucking fuckers! I won't tell you anything!"

Then Sooraya hugged Stephen close and buried her face in his chest.

Marie looked at me. "Whoa... potty mouth. That's your fault."

I stared at Marie. "Really?! You're blaming me?! You swear like a sailor in front of her! All the time!"

Still looking at the fat guy and the dark-haired lady, Stephen sighed in exasperation. "They have a contract with Hela," he told them. "They are also loath to break it as a matter of professional honor. And Hela will destroy them if they do."

Shit... uh... I mean crap.

"Now, Lady Sif and Lord Volstagg," Stephen continued firmly. "Be true to who you are and let these people go."

And then they let us go. And some people say there are no surprises left in the world.

Marie was wearing a fur-trimmed coat that was about the size of a truck. Volstagg had given it to her.

"Flee," Sif advised us after she and Volstagg walked us up some stairs and out onto the cold street. "Hela is too much for you. If you are indeed merely hirelings, I suggest you get as far away from her as you can, and then pray that is far enough."

I didn't say anything. Neither did Marie. I had the feeling that Sif was right, and I could tell that Marie felt the same way.

Volstagg actually nodded amiably at us before he and Sif left us. "Do your best to keep your heads down. Otherwise you might lose them altogether."

He chuckled at his own wit as he turned away. He didn't seem to be holding a grudge.

Then Sif and Volstagg wandered off, vanishing down a poorly-lit section of street.

I looked at Stephen. "You're a man with a silver tongue," I said. I think there was some awe in my voice. Being reasonable almost never works in our line of work.

Stephen just shook his head. "They are not evil beings."

Then he grimaced. "But Hela is a different story."

As we talked, Sooraya flagged down a passing cab.

I looked at Marie. "You touched the big, dark, guy. What did you see?"

Marie's power works that way. In fact it should have leveled the big guy, but it was obvious that those four particular opponents weren't playing by the usual rules.

Marie tiredly rubbed her temples. "Stephen's right. Those four aren't bad-guys. They're from somewhere else, a place that isn't like our world. They have a code they believe in and a king they serve. Hogun - the guy I touched - he's... well... he's someone you'd want by your side in a tight spot. He didn't want to hurt us. He just wanted us to back the hell off, and that was as much for our good as anything else."

"They're keeping an eye on Don Blake because he really is Thor - and he's their friend. They're busting some rules being here, but they're willing to risk getting in trouble for him."

Then Marie looked me in the eyes. "We're in over our heads, Dom. What do we do?"

"We keep working the case," I told her. "It's all we can do."

I told Sooraya that I wanted her to leave town for a day or two. The case was becoming way too dangerous.

She refused, of course. Then I played my hole-card. I told her that her baby and husband might also be in danger. That convinced her. Stephen walked her home.

No surprise, but a pair of cops were waiting at the office. I told them I didn't know who had attacked us or why. Then I vaguely suggested that it might have something to do with an old case coming back to haunt us. After that, I distributed a few bucks. Both the cops and their questions vanished.

That's just how this town works.

It had turned into an unseasonably cold evening; a preview of winter. Marie and I went home for the night. The manager of our apartment building hadn't turned on the furnace, so it was pretty cool in our apartment. We painfully flopped onto the couch and I slipped my hands inside the vast coat the Marie was wearing. Thanks to the job Sif had done on Marie's outfit, all she had on underneath was her panties.

"Oh!" Marie gasped at the coldness of my hands. Then she smiled, opened the coat, and wrapped me up in it. Volstagg's coat was more than big enough for that. And it was actually pretty warm.

We spent the night like that, on the couch and keeping each other company.

"Jane? I was wondering if we could talk."

Up close, I could tell that Jane Foster was actually a few years younger than Marie or I. We'd followed her from the clinic to a local doughnut shop. I assumed she was picking up a morning snack for the staff.

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously. She was dressed in her nurse's uniform, but the weather was still cold and she had a heavy coat over it.

I flashed my PI license. "My name's Dom. This is Marie."

She gave me a thoughtful look. "I've heard of you."

That made me hesitate. Domino Investigations is becoming fairly well known. I like to think that our rep is a good one, but it's not always a positive thing when people have a pre-existing opinion of you.

"Glad to hear it," I said neutrally. "I was hoping to ask you a few questions."

Actually, we were trying to get a feel for Foster herself, but that isn't exactly something you admit.

"What kind of questions?" Jane asked warily. She was examining our faces closely, probably cataloging the cuts and bruises we'd picked up from our scrape with Mr. Hogun and his friends.

"It's about your boyfriend," Marie broke in.

Jane's eyes went a little wide. "Don? What's wrong? "

Actually, I was pretty sure he was in deep trouble, but I couldn't exactly just up and tell Jane that.

"We have a client who's interested in Dr. Blake," I said carefully, trying not to say anything too revealing. "How long have you known him?"

"About six months," Jane said more-or-less guilelessly. "Look... what's this about?"

I looked at Marie. She shrugged at me.

"We've been hired to look into him," I said. "Nothing hostile - they just want information. We have every intention of talking to Dr. Blake, but as you probably know, he's a busy guy. We were hoping you could give us some background."

Jane's eyes went hard. We were losing her.

"We don't mean any harm to Don," Marie said softly. And that was true - we didn't mean him any harm at all. Our client on the other hand...

I told my conscience to sit down and shut up. It called me a nasty name that rhymed with "bore". The nature of the PI racket is that sometimes you take money for some questionable things. In this case, I was fairly sure that our options were limited to the point that we didn't have much choice.

"And we don't want to get him in any trouble," I added. "Look, just answer a few questions and we'll be on our way. And as soon as we get a chance, we'll talk with Don himself."

"How long have you two been together?" Marie added gently.

Jane was trying to look at both of us simultaneously. "Don and me? I mean... uhm..."

"Sugar," Marie said with a wide smile, "it's no secret at all that you and blondie are keeping each other company. And I'd say he's a fine catch."

You could see a decision appear on Foster's face. She would play along, trying to learn what she could about us. That's actually a common reaction from people we question. What they don't get is that we're pros and they're amateurs.

"We started going out just after he joined the clinic," Jane said.

"What's he like?" I asked.

"Your friend thinks he's a fine catch," Jane told me with a smile. "She's right. So who's your client?"

I tried to look regretful. "Sorry, but we can't talk about that. It's against the rules. I'm sure there are things about patients that you're not supposed to talk about. It's much the same thing with us."

"So are you and Don serious?" Marie added quickly. She had a "just-between-us-girls" look on her face. It's scary how good Marie can be at that sort of thing. Its one of the reason she's with me out on the street and no longer sitting behind a desk.

"I think so," Jane tried to say as blandly as possible. She might as well have held up a neon sign that said, "I'm in love!"

I hoped that wouldn't backfire on her.

"Ever met any of his family?" Marie asked with a raised eyebrow. "You've been together for six months. Maybe it's time for that."

Jane shook her head. "They're from another state. And Don doesn't talk about them. I think he doesn't get along with his father."

I gave Jane points for not being specific about Blake's home state. But she slipped a bit when she mentioned Blake's father.

"Does Don have any friends?" I asked.

Jane shrugged. "Just other people from work - they're more acquaintances than friends. Look, if you just tell me what you're looking for, maybe we can cut to the chase. I have to get back to work."

Then she picked up a box of freshly-made doughnuts that had been put on the counter in front of her. They smelled great.

"Maybe you could help set up a time and place when we could talk to Don?" I asked. Actually, it wouldn't be too hard to catch Blake on his way back and forth to work, but we were trying to appear on the up-and-up with Jane. And harmless people don't worry about introductions and appointments.

"I'll let him know you want to talk to him," Jane said. "You're in the phone book, right?"

"That'll work," I said. Then I got out a business card. Jane had her hands full with the box of doughnuts, so I tucked the card into the pocket of her coat.

"Thanks for the help," Marie said with another smile.

We picked up a couple of doughnuts and shared them as we talked out on the sidewalk. We could see Jane walking down the sidewalk, heading back to work.

"Well, she's got it bad," Marie observed. Then she took an unlady-like bite from her doughnut.

I swallowed some of my own doughnut. "Yeah. It's got to the stage where she's putting out for Blake. Jane strikes me as the kind of girl who takes that sort of thing seriously. Blake might even be her first and only. I'd say she's hearing wedding bells."

Marie frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think Blake feels the same way?"

I shrugged. "Seemed like it when we saw them the other day, but lots of guys have that look in their eyes right up until the moment a girl starts looking at white dresses. Then they panic and head for the hills. It doesn't help that there's something odd about Blake's background."

"You mean the part where he's literally supposed to be a god?" Marie asked with a grim chuckle.

"Yeah. I'm still not sure what to make of all that. When I was growing up, old Mrs. Beste down the block used to tell me and the other kids stories about Thor and Odin and all the..."

I paused.

Marie cocked her head at me. "What?"

"Odin is Thor's father," I said slowly.

Marie gave me a sharp look. "And Jane said something about Don being on the outs with his dad."

I nodded.

A thoughtful look on her face, Marie considered our options. "Is there any way we can work with that?"

"I'm not sure," I said slowly.

"Is it time we talked to Don himself?" Marie asked. She's not a telepath, but she's becoming good at reading my mind.

"Yep," I said.

We were waiting at the gym when Don Blake walked in the door. He had a clothes bag with him and a pair of gloves slung over his shoulder.

Matt was lifting weights over in the corner. He and Blake exchanged a nod. It was Matt who'd let us know Blake's usual schedule at the gym.

Marie was waiting at a nearby table. A stream of hopeful boxers kept wandering over, trying to make time with her. Marie had bounced them all with a combination of grace and good humor. One guy did seemed inclined to get a little pushy, but a couple of the other guys told him to cut it out. That was good. If Marie had to hurt someone, it would put a damper on our plan.

I was dressed in gym gear and working a speed-bag. Blake blinked when he saw me. There aren't too many ladies who hang out in gyms.

Stepping back from the bag, I wandered over to Blake. He watched me approach. He seemed more curious than anything else.

"I wanna spar," I told him.

He blinked in surprise. I was pretty sure he'd say no, but that was as good a way as any to start a conversation with him.

Then he surprised me.

"Of course," Blake said with a slow nod. "Just give me some time to change."

Wow. Even his voice was sexy.

"This is a gym - not some d-d-damn circus!" Matt proclaimed in his father's voice.

"Yeah, that sounds just like your dad," I told him resignedly.

"M-M-Men fighting women? Wadda wanna do? Make us look some kinda c-c-crazy l-l-liberals?" Matt continued.

Damn, he was good.

"Look, this might not be a good idea," Matt finally said in his own voice.

"I can handle a doctor with a limp," I said dismissively.

Matt gave me a long look. "I once said something like that. It was just before I fought Don for the first time. It took two weeks for my face to heal."

Blake came out of the dressing room. He had on shorts and boxing shoes. Without his cane, his limp was a little more pronounced. And you could see that one of his knees was strangely contorted.

And he had no shirt. No shirt at all.

To quote Marie: yowza.

I turned to Marie. "Lesbianism was maybe just a phase."

She smiled. "You'll be back."

Matt just looked at us and shook his head.

"Ready?" Blake said as he walked up to me.

I wasn't wearing a lot of clothes and Blake's eyes trailed over my body. Actually, I didn't mind. Guys are guys - and when it comes to things like that, men just more open about how they look at the opposite sex. And besides, it's great when someone actually looks at me when Marie's also around. She's normally the center of that kind of attention.

I heard Matt let out a little growl. Marie put a hand on his shoulder.

"Down, boy," Marie told him with a laugh. Matt looked embarrassed.

Then I stepped into the ring with someone who might be the god of thunder.

Like everyone said, Blake could hit hard. Harder than Logan. Harder than Hogun and his buddies. Harder the Fred Dukes. I had a sneaking suspicion that only Bruce Banner's hopefully-gone-forever alter ego was maybe stronger than Don Blake.

The good doctor almost KO'd me in the first round. I barely managed to snap my head back in time and not take the full force of a very fast left jab. As it was, my legs went wobbly, white spots danced in front of my eyes, and everything seemed to go out of focus. I frantically danced backwards until I slammed into the ropes, then I deliberately slid off to the side. Thanks to his limp, Blake had a problem pursuing me. That just barely gave me the time I needed to pull myself together.

I felt like an idiot. Matt had warned me about Blake's left hand, and then I went and almost fell for it.

I was landing a lot more punches than Blake. The problem was that they didn't seem to be doing anything. I might as well have been poking at a telephone pole. Meanwhile, I spent a lot of time ducking, dodging, and weaving in order to avoid catastrophe. After the first five seconds in the ring, I knew that I definitely didn't want Blake to land a solid punch on me.

It was like boxing with a freight train.

Even then, I could tell that Don wasn't giving the fight his all. And that was scary. Damn scary.

And then... about halfway through the second round.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF THE RING!" a familiar voice yelled.

Oops.

Battlin' Jack Murdock was angry. And a pissed-off Jack Murdock was a sight to behold.

"You," he said, pointing an uncompromising finger at Blake. "Wh-wha-what did I t-tell you about getting in the ring?"

"You have to approve," Blake said with what sounded like genuine regret in his voice.

"D-d-d-d-d-d-damn right!" Jack shot back.

Then he looked at me. "I musta m-m-missed the part w-w-where you bought a m-m-membership!"

"I'm a guest of a member," I protested carefully.

"Guilty," Matt said with a raised hand.

The made Jack pause. Then he shook his head. "Matt, I d-d-depend on you to show some s-s-sense when I ain't around," he growled.

Poor Matt looked suitable crushed.

"Look, Jack..." I began. I wanted to take some of the heat off of Matt. Hey, once you've babysat a kid, you never really stop.

Flames didn't shoot from Jack's eyes, but it was close enough that I suddenly felt the need to shut up.

"What's wrong w-with you, Neena? M-M-Men fighting women? Wadda wanna do? Make us look some k-kinda c-c-crazy l-l-liberals?"

It took everything I had not to laugh. I tried my best to look contrite. Matt had more practice than me. He managed to keep a perfectly straight face.

Then Jack glared at Marie.

"Hey! I didn't do anything!" she immediately protested.

That had no effect on Jack.

"Women as p-pretty as you!" Jack grumbled accusingly. "Everyone's b-brains turn to m-mush when y-y-you're around!"

Then he looked away from Marie - she looked really relieved.

"Blake!" Jake snarled. "Hit the showers! Matt, you too! Neena, put on some damn clothes and get out of here! And take your pretty lady-friend here with you!"

Then Jack stalked away. Anger followed him like a dark and particularly pissed-off cloud.

I looked at Blake. "Good fight. Hey, buy you a drink? There's a place down the block called Kelly's. I've heard they have some paint-stripper in the back room that isn't too bad as long as you hold your nose."

Blake gave me a long look. Then he chuckled and slowly nodded his head.

"Certainly," he said to me.

I've downed drinks in far better places than Kelly's, but it just happened to be the closest speak-easy. And my description of the whiskey was fairly accurate. Some of the neighborhood boys brewed it in their bathtubs. It wasn't exactly what you call finely crafted and properly aged.

"Marie and I are private eyes," I told Blake once we'd all somehow choked down the first shot.

"I know," Blake said as he skeptically examined the plain bottle that we were drinking from. There was stuff floating in it. "Jane told me about you. You asked her questions about me."

Then he put the bottle down and looked at us. "Jane doesn't trust you. Or like you."

"Can't say I blame her," Marie said as she hesitantly picked up the bottle and poured herself another shot. "Nobody likes to have strangers poking their noses into their business."

Blake looked us both over carefully. "What do you want to know about me?"

"Our client hired us to check you out. They didn't say why, and we didn't ask."

Leaning back in his chair, Blake examined us with narrowed eyes. "What have you found?"

I looked Blake over for a second or two before responding. "You're supposed to be from Minnesota - a small town called Northfield - but we can't trace anything about you back to there. You moved here about six years ago and attended school at State University. After you got your medical degree, you went to work at the clinic. You have an apartment, a pretty girlfriend, a hobby that involves beating people up, and almost no other traceable background. Frankly, Doctor Blake, you're kind of suspicious."

"How so?" Blake asked.

"We can't find any real information about your past," I admitted. "You simply seemed to appear in this town. And since then, you haven't left much of a footprint. I used to work for the government, Doctor Blake. When we bumped into people without a past, we got interested. It usually meant they were hiding something. Maybe they were on the run from the law. Maybe they were in the country illegally. Maybe they were spies. Maybe they'd simply walked away from their old lives for reasons good or bad. Which is it with you, Doc?"

Blake looked into his glass for a while. "You're right. I've left my old life behind. I disagreed with my father and he cast me out."

"Would your father's name happen to be Odin?" I asked cautiously. In the light of day, this particular part of the conversation suddenly seemed so ridiculous...

"And your real name is Thor?" Marie added.

Now Blake was looking at both of us very closely. "Why would you think that?"

We didn't want Blake to know about Stephen, so we improvised.

"We bumped into some friends of yours - or at least we think they're friends," Marie said. "A tall and handsome lady, a dark and forbidding sort of guy, another guy who reminds me a lot of Errol Flynn, and a third guy whose belly is as big as a Buick. We had a disagreement and there was a fight. Unless they did a great job of lying, I'd say they're honestly worried about you."

Now Blake looked astounded. "Really? They're here? When did you see them?"

"Last night," I replied.

Blake smiled and shook his head.

Marie kept talking. "Look, Doc, is it too much to suggest that you get out of town? You know... dig a hole, jump in, and fill it in behind you? Our client is kinda scary."

"And you can't tell me who your client is?" Blake asked.

Marie and I both shook our heads.

The conversation didn't go much longer than that. In the end, Doc Blake didn't tell us much. He didn't confirm that he was Thor or that his dad was Odin. He also didn't deny any of it.

Outside of Kelly's, I squinted up at the sun. It was a bright and clear day, but it still seemed to be getting colder.

"Now what?" Marie asked.

"Report to the client and hope she's done with us," I said with a shrug.

"Hope..." Marie said without much conviction. It was like she didn't believe in the word.

"Hope is generally a lie," somebody told us.

This case was filled with people who approached us completely out of the blue.

This one was tall, but slender. His shoes and dark suit were expensive - way too expensive for that part of town. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his hair was dark and slicked back in a style I've never liked. His most outstanding feature was a pair of emerald-green eyes.

He was handsome, but there was something about his face that I found unappealing. Something sardonic and smug. I could tell that he thought a lot of himself and didn't think too much of anyone else.

And he had that same damn accent we'd been hearing a lot of lately.

"Let me guess," I said as I looked him up and down. "You're the god of weasels?"

Marie looked away as she choked down a laugh.

"Hardly," he said with a slow smile. "However, I can help you. I have some vital information pertaining to your case."

"How do you know about our case?" Marie asked suspiciously.

The stranger kept smiling at us, "I'm a part of this... mess... you've found yourself trapped within. Hela, Thor, and the other strange people you've encountered? I'm one of them."

"What do you want?" I asked bleakly.

The stranger frowned thoughtfully. "Let's see... a series of abjectly degrading sexual acts? Your first-born children? Or perhaps the still-beating heart of a treasured family member or a true love?"

Marie and I stared at him. I casually put my hand inside my coat, my fingers brushing up against the grip of my semi-automatic. Gunfire hadn't done much against Hogun and his friends, but then again I hadn't tried shooting anyone in the eye yet. And this guy's striking green eyes were an easy-to-spot target.

"Or perhaps I might help you because it suits my purposes," the stranger added hastily.

I still kept my hand on my gun.

"Keep talking," Marie ordered coldly.

That smug, acidic, smile was back on the stranger's face.

"Why," he said, "I happen to know a great truth. And, after all, finding the truth is what you do, isn't it? And isn't the truth what Hela desires?"

Then he began laughing.

"If you have something to say, spit it out," I ordered.

The stranger stopped laughing. Then he looked at me.

"Miss Foster is pregnant," he said. "She is carrying Thor's child. I'd say she is two months along."

We were back at the Carlton Hotel. After the desk clerk contacted our client on the house phone, I went upstairs. Marie stayed in the lobby, watching for any of the far too many freaks who were also involved in this case. The idea was that she'd call Hela's room on the hotel phone if somebody hinky walked into the lobby.

A couple of tough-looking flunkies greeted me at Hela's door. They were big and had the dead-eyes of killers. Both were wearing crappy suits. One had the characteristic chest bulge of a guy carrying heat in a shoulder holster. The other - I swear I'm not joking - had a battle-axe in one hand.

They stepped aside and allowed me to enter. There were another two thugs in the suite's living room, sitting on the couch. They were morosely eating Chinese take-out as they looked at me. A Browning automatic rifle and a broadsword were resting on a coffee table. A couple of long spears were leaning against the back of the couch.

Without asking, a tough-faced blonde with a jagged scar running down the side of her face and neck searched me. She noted my M1911, but didn't take it from me. She spent a lot of time searching my breasts.

When she was done, I reaching over and checked out her breasts as well. They were medium-sized, firm, and very cuppable.

"Nice," I complimented her once I was done.

There was a tiny glimmer of a smile on the blonde's face as she stepped to the side and waved me towards a door on the far side of the suite. It obviously led to a bedroom.

Hela met me in the bedroom. She was wearing a green silk robe and a pair of fuzzy slippers. The brawny-looking guy who was dead-asleep in her bed was covered by a sheet and blanket, but I was willing to bet he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Hela's eyes followed mine. Then she smiled narrowly. "He's adequate," she informed me. "You may try him if you wish."

"No, thanks," I told her dryly. "We checked out Doctor Blake's girl for you."

Hela sat down in a chair that faced a cosmetics table. She contemplated herself in the mirror, but didn't seem inclined to adjust her makeup. As near as I could tell, she wasn't wearing any. She just seemed curious.

"What did you learn about her?" she asked. As she spoke, Hela picked up a pot of expensive facial powder and sniffed it cautiously. It must have been something that the hotel provided as a courtesy. Hela didn't seem to know what it was for.

"Her name is Jane Foster. She's a nurse at the clinic where Blake works. She was born and raised here in town and her father is a pharmacist. Miss Foster apparently has an idealistic streak - she went to nursing school and then got a job helping the poor. She and Blake have been together since he started working at the clinic. I mean that literally. They went out to dinner together right after his first day on the job."

"So are they sharing a bed?" Hela continued distractedly. Now she'd opened a lipstick and was giving it a skeptical look.

I took a deep breath before continuing.

"I'd say so," I replied steadily. "We were told that Foster is pregnant. We aren't sure if..."

I didn't get to finish what I was saying. Hela dropped the lipstick. It bounced off the table - leaving a streak of pink-red - and then fell to the carpeted floor. The expression on her face was one of complete rage.

Still wearing nothing but a robe, Hela stormed out of the room. I followed her, my heart in my mouth.

But when I got out into the living room, Hela was nowhere to be seen. She and all of her flunkies were just gone, and so were their weapons. That was impossible, I'd been right on her heels...

"Dammit!" I hissed.

Not bothering with the elevator, I sprinted down the stairs. It was quite a few flights. Marie was waiting for me in the lobby.

"Did you see Hela?!" I gasped out.

"No... what the blazes happened?" Marie asked. She was examining me carefully, and was obviously worried.

"I told her about Foster. Then she ran out of the room and vanished! She didn't come down on the elevator?"

"No!" Marie growled as she automatically looked around. There was nothing to see.

"Are you saying that bitch is a teleporter?" Marie added.

I shrugged that off.

"She's after Blake and Foster," I hissed, still trying to catch my breath. "I told Hela that Jane might be pregnant and she went nuts."

"Jane. She's after Jane," Marie said immediately. There was no doubt in her voice. Then she grabbed me by the arm and began dragging me towards the hotel entrance.

"I saw it in Hela's eyes the other night," Marie continued urgently. "It was when she asked about Blake and Foster. The thought that he was with someone bothered her. It bothered her a lot."

By then we were out on the sidewalk. I fumbled the keys out of my pocket - the car was parked across the street.

"Wait... you think Hela's in love with Blake? And she's jealous?" That really didn't fit with my estimation of Hela's character. But then again, I hadn't expected Hela to jump right off the deep end and go raging out of the hotel wearing nothing more than a robe, and with an armed band of killers on her slippered heels.

As we crossed the street, a speeding Ford barely braked to a halt in time. The guy behind the wheel honked angrily at us.

"I don't know!" Marie shot back, "but the first thing Hela asked when we told her Blake had a girl was whether or not they were doing it! That's important to her for some reason!"

We piled into the car.

We braked to a halt in front of Blake's apartment. The front door was shattered open, with fragments scattered across the stairs, the sidewalk, and the room inside.

Then one of Hela's bruisers went flying out of a window. Covered in drapes, he crashed to the sidewalk. He was the guy who'd been carrying a battle-axe. He still had it in his hand as he staggered to his feet.

"Hela!" I screamed as we jumped out of the car. "Domino Investigations hereby resigns from your case!"

Then I double-tapped the guy with the battle-axe in the sternum. Much to my surprise, he went down.

Stephen Strange wasn't going to be happy with me. I'd wandered about as far from his advice as possible.

We could hear the sound of a fight coming from Blake's apartment. Marie sprinted to the window and jumped inside. I took the door.

There was a tumult of bodies in the apartment. It looked like Don Blake was fighting a squad of Hela's thugs all by himself. Marie dove into that fight, grabbing one of the thugs by his wrists from behind. He stiffened and then collapsed.

The blonde girl who'd so ambitiously searched me back at the hotel had Jane in a head-lock and was dragging her towards the door. Standing in the apartment doorway, I leveled my weapon at the blonde.

Then Hela reached around from the other side of the door, grabbed me by the shoulders, whirled me into the room, and viciously slammed me against the brick wall.

I let out an anguished scream as I felt bones break.

"Your resignation is accepted," Hela told me. She was definitely amused. She also had me pinned to the wall by my shoulders.

I awkwardly put my .45 against the bridge of Hela's nose and pulled the trigger.

Hela let go of me and I fell to the floor. I could feel broken ribs shifting around in my chest and, dear God, that hurt.

Part of Hela's face had been blown off. I could see red meat and bone, but Hela was still on her feet. She launched a kick at me. I barely rolled away in time. Her foot connected with the door-frame. That side of the frame and a chunk of the brick wall tore loose and scattered across the sidewalk and street outside. Dust and debris filled the air.

I shot Hela in her exposed inner thigh. I got lucky - that's something I do - and that blew open the big artery in her leg. For most people that would be a death sentence, but I was willing to bet it wouldn't work that way with Hela. On the other hand, she did loose her balance and stagger off to the side.

At that moment Don Blake - Thor - tore loose from his attackers, and picked up a table that was piled high with books. The books flew wildly through the air as Blake swung the table at the blonde who was clutching Jane Foster. The edge of the table connected with the blonde's head. Then the blonde flew across the room, her head at a decidedly strange angle. Jane tumbled loose. Hela ignored me as she lunged for Jane. Blood was cascading like twin waterfalls from Hela's face and leg, but she didn't seem to care.

Don vanished under a swarm of weapon-wielding bodies. Meanwhile, Marie intercepted Hela with a diving tackle. I tried to scream at Marie to forget the fight and run, but I was choking from the dust in the air. The blood trickling into my lungs was also a problem. I was pretty sure that Hela had killed me. It was just a matter of how long I could move and fight before the lights went permanently out.

Marie was on her knees, with her arms wrapped around Hela's blood-soaked legs. She was trying to overbalance Hela, but that wasn't happening. Hela was simply too strong. Marie's hands were in contact with Hela's bare skin, but that also didn't seem to be having much effect. That did leave me with a reasonably clear shot at Hela's upper body. I was too hurt to be tricky, so I put a shot into her chest. I saw another gout of blood.

Snarling at me, Hela reached down and grabbed Marie by the hair. She yanked Marie to her feet, effortlessly breaking Marie's grip. Then Hela put Marie in a hold that would end with Marie's neck broken.

I shot Hela in the shoulder. More blood... and it did delay her.

In the background, Don had grabbed a guy by the legs and was flailing him against the apartment floor. The floor was breaking into splintered wood while blood and body-parts flew through the air. And while that was happening, more of Hela's guys were still trying to swarm over Don. Hogun and Fandral came through the window and pitched in, mace and sword swinging with awful precision.

Then a guy with a two-handed sword - the damn thing was almost as tall as he was - staggered over to me began to swing the sword at me. I was moving so slow. I tried to aim at him, but everything hurt, there was blood and dust in my eyes, and I couldn't get a clear sight-picture.

In desperation, I fired the last shot in my M1911. I don't know if it hit or missed.

That was it. I knew it. I was done and, even worse, so was Marie.

Suddenly, a length of gnarled wood flew across the room and caught the sword-slinger who was about to kill me in the forehead. The sword-guy went down and out. Then, of all people, Matt dashed across the room, grabbed me, and began dragging me away. He was the one who'd knocked out the guy with the sword.

At the same time, Volstagg stormed into the apartment, racing past me and Matt. He slammed into Hela like an over-sized bowling ball. Both Hela and Marie went flying. Volstagg rebounded backwards and ended up flat on his back.

I hazily remembered that I was in my old neighborhood. Jack and Matt lived not that far away.

A head bounced and rolled past me. Sif had just decapitated one of Hela's gang. She moved purposefully past me and towards Hela, kicking the head out of her way. Meanwhile, Blake - Thor - broke yet another bad-guy across his knee. I could hear at least a dozen bones splinter to pieces when he did that.

Hela used her arm to block a sword-thrust from Sif. Then she back-handed Sif across the room. A wall caved-in around Sif when she hit it.

Matt gave me a long and scared look. Then he tucked me against the wall, grabbed that stray hunk of wood - I suddenly recognized it as Don Blake's distorted and ugly cane - and whipped it at Hela herself.

Maybe I imagined it, but it seemed as if Blake noticed Matt's throw. Then he yelled something in a language I didn't know. It sounded like an order.

There was an awesome sound, like God's artillery pounding the world flat. It was so loud that it was beyond the mere concept of noise. For an odd, fading, moment I wondered it that was what Doc Strange heard in his dreams.

Then I realized what I was actually hearing.

It was thunder. The kind of thunder only heard at the end of the world.

Matt's throw leveled Hela. She ended up flat on her back and the right-side of her chest was caved-in. And even then she was stirring.

I somehow managed to get on my knees. I shakily tried to reload my handgun, but everything was beginning to fade in and out.

Then a huge armored hand appeared on my shoulder.

"Stop," a gruff voice ordered. It wasn't very loud, but it carried vast authority. How the hell any of us could hear that simple command after that massive howl of thunder was a damn good question.

Everyone froze. Even Hela - although from where she lay, I could see a glare on what was left of her face. I also seemed to me that her face was beginning to knit together.

I glanced up. A tall figure loomed by my side. My vision was failing, but I had an impression of a broad build, ancient armor, gray-white hair, and an eye-patch.

And then I collapsed.

It's amazing what Don Blake's dad can accomplish with a blink of his one eye. Marie and I were more-or-less healed of our worst injuries, although we both still hurt like hell.

The office was still a wreck from our fight with Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, and Sif. The manager was sending some guys around tomorrow to take care of the structural damage. It would be up to Domino Investigations to repair and replace the furniture and equipment.

Our land-lady - a woman named Emma Frost - had already called and renewed her standing offer to take care of the rent and everything else in exchange for some very personal services from me. I don't think she really believes I'll ever go for it, but she seems to have a lot of fun asking. She gets very explicit. Emma's the only woman I know who can say "cunnilingus" and it sounds erotic instead of clinical.

My now-battered desk was missing a leg and tottering unsteadily - I'd put some books underneath the missing leg in a semi-succesful effort to stabilize it. That took care of some of the problem, but not all.

My chair was still intact, although pretty scratched up. The client's chair was missing most of its back and a lot of upholstery thanks to a long and deep sword-slash. Lady Sif was sitting in it anyway. My impression is that she's a rather severe gal who doesn't hold with too much luxury. Instead of a dress, she was wearing some kind of leather armor. I had to admit that it looked good on her.

Despite what I'd seen at Blake's apartment, the scar-faced blonde woman who'd been working for Hela was still alive. She was kneeling on the floor next to Sif. There was a dog-collar around her neck, and a chain-leash ran from the collar to Sif's hand. Otherwise, the blonde was barefoot and wearing a a simple, white, one-piece dress. I also had the impression that she had nothing on under the dress. It seemed like not enough for the time of year.

"The All-Father sends his regards," Sif told us stiffly. Honestly, I don't think she knows quite what to make of Marie and I.

The feeling is mutual.

I nodded my head. "Tell your boss that we're happy to have been of service, but please don't call us or include us in any future events that involve Asgard."

Marie nodded in pained agreement. After the fight in the apartment - and after Odin healed us - Sif and Volstagg had made an effort to explain the details of what the hell was going on. Hogun and Fandral were still being standoffish. I think Marie and I embarrassed them by doing a lot better than we should have in our fight with them.

A smile quirked across Sif's lips. Then she casually ran her hand through the kneeling blonde's hair. Not only did the blonde not seem bothered by that, she smiled in obvious pleasure and rubbed the side of her head cat-like against Sif's thigh.

It occured to me that the blonde really seemed to prefer her new boss to her old one.

"You've caught the All-Father's attention," Sif warned us. "If he ever desires your services, you will have little choice."

Great. Just great.

I pulled the bag of diamonds from my desk drawer and tossed it to Sif.

"These came from Hela," I told her. "I don't want them."

Sif nodded in approval. "That's wise. Very wise. I'll have them sent back to Asgard."

Then I reached into one of my desk side-drawers and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. I had no idea how it had survived the fight. I didn't even bother to look for glasses. I just extracted the cork with my teeth and took a long and burning slug. Then I leaned over and handed the bottle to Sif. She took a deep pull and passed the bottle to Marie. Apparently the blonde wasn't allowed to have any.

"What's the deal with Hela?" I asked.

It seemed to me that the blonde cringed slightly at the mention of Hela's name.

"She's back where she belongs," Sif replied after a moment of hesitation.

"And what about Jane and Th... uh... Don?" Marie asked softly.

"I don't know the details, but Thor has a different identity and no longer resides in this city," Sif told us. "Do not attempt to find him. Those words come from the All-Father himself. Heed them."

"And Jane?" Marie persisted.

"She is being cared for," Sif replied shortly.

Then she paused, looked at Marie and I, and sighed. "I know that is not answer enough for you two. But I swear to you that Jane is healthy and safe. So is her unborn child."

Marie's eyes narrowed. "Is Jane with Don?"

"No."

Marie put the bottle down on the floor with a thump. "Dammit, Sif! Jane's going to be a single mother. That's not easy! She'll need help!"

Sif took a deep breath. "Believe me when I say that Jane is being well provided for. She is, after all, carrying the grandchild of the All-Father. Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg have been tasked with protecting her."

I looked at Marie, "They're a tough bunch. And they're Thor's friends. They'll do their best for Jane."

After a pause, Marie nodded in reluctant agreement.

"What about you?" I asked. "Are you going to be watching Jane with the others?"

"No," Sif replied stolidly. "I'm to be punished. The All-Father has decreed that I will remain here on Earth. However, I am to have no contact with the others and must live as a mortal."

The kneeling blonde gave Sif a consoling kiss on the thigh.

"What? Why?" Marie asked irritably.

Sif actually looked a little embarrassed. "I told the All-Father that it was my idea to come to Midgard and watch over Thor. And that I used my womanly wiles to convince the others to help me. I said they were like clay in my hands."

I raised an eyebrow. Marie also looked a little doubtful.

"I needed to keep the three of them out of trouble," Sif explained. "I was hoping that the All-Father would assign them to guard Jane."

"And Odin fell for that?" I asked skeptically.

"I appears so," Sif said with the tiniest possible smile.

"So what are you going to do?" Marie asked curiously.

Sif shrugged again. "I'm not sure. And I will have to make a living somehow. I get the impression that in this age there isn't a great call for sword-maidens on Midgard."

Then she looked at Marie. "You said something that I assumed meant it is still possible to earn a wage as an unclothed dancer?"

"Uh... yeah," Marie replied slowly. "The best of the burlesque-halls downtown is called the 'Red Fox'. There's also nightclub called 'Remy's'. You can pull down a lot of tip-money there, but it has really long hours and the owner thinks he's charming. Avoid the 'Hellfire Club' - the place is a freak show and you have to do a lot more than just dance."

Then Marie looked at the blonde kneeling at Sif's feet. "Or maybe you'll fit in just fine at the 'Hellfire Club'. Your call."

Sif nodded. Then she stood up. The blonde also wordlessly got to her feet. I tried to imagine either of them in feathers, beads, fake jewelry, makeup, a pair of high-heels... and nothing else. I couldn't really see it, but the possibility was intriguing.

"Hey, what was Hela's problem?" Marie asked. There was more than a little exasperation in her voice. "Why was she here? Why did she go bonkers when she found out that Jane was pregnant?"

Sif seemed to ponder her answer for a while. Then she responded. "There is a legend - a prophecy actually. Hela occupies an important part in that prophecy. However, the prophecy does not allow for Thor to have a child by a daughter of Midgard. Hela thought that the baby in Jane's belly was a threat to that future. Maybe it is. Maybe it is not. I don't know."

"What future?" I asked.

Sif shrugged and got to her feet. "The one that will arrive no matter what we do. Hela is a fool to think otherwise."

Then, with the blonde trailing behind her on the leash, Sif began to leave.

"Hey!" Marie suddenly yelled.

Sif and the blonde turned to look at her.

Marie pointed at the blonde. "Are you okay with this? Do you want to be with Sif?"

Sif actually rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, the blonde woman smiled - her scar distorting the right side of her lips - and then turned her head and licked Sif's ear.

"Okay," Marie said grudgingly.

Our visitors left the office.

Two weeks later:

I bought a membership at 'Clark's'. Then, after a great deal of pleading, wheedling, and no little emotional blackmail, Jack finally relented and let me workout there. Matt was my usual opponent when I sparred.

Matt and I finished up a three-round session and got out of the ring. Jack handed us a pair of towels. He supervises our matches lest something happen that offends his sense of true rightness even more than my mere presence. I once kissed Matt on the forehead after a particulary intense exchange where he got the better of me. The next day there was a giant sign on the wall with a glowering message that kissing was strictly forbidden in the ring.

My revenge was to wait until the gym was full and then sit in Jack's lap, call him "Daddy" in my most sexy voice, and start nibbling on his neck. Everyone in the gym damn near died laughing. I thought Jack was going to have a heart-attack.

"M-M-Mattie, your dancing b-back too quick," Jack said very seriously. "It's taking power out of your p-punches. N-N-Neena, you're signaling your left h-h-hook by dropping your shoulder. The next match, I want to see you both working on th-th-those problems."

We both listened respectfully to Jack's words. The old bull isn't as fast and strong as he used to be, but he still knew more about boxing that both of us combined.

We toweled off. Most of the other guys assumed Matt and I were a couple, which cut down on the potential problems of having me hang out in such a male-heavy place. I'd only had to deal with a couple of guys who had more ambition than common sense.

I couldn't use the showers - I think Jack's head would have exploded at the very idea. So Matt and I put on another layer of clothes and went across the street to the diner.

Matt was using Blake's cane. He'd been carrying it ever since the fight with Hela.

Ever since Blake disappeared.

"When are you going to stop hauling that thing around?" I asked after we ordered coffee and pie.

Matt smiled, but there was something sad in it. The cane - it was a gnarled, twisted, and butt-ugly thing - was resting on the table next to him. He gave it an affectionate rub.

"Don's a great guy. Maybe someday I can give this back to him."

I opened my mouth to tell Matt that he would never see Don again. Then I shut it.

Who really knows what the future holds?

"I've got to tell you," Matt added hesitantly. "It does seem weird to carry it. Don... well... he did a lot of good things for people. I'm not sure I'm worthy to carrying this thing around for him."

I didn't even hesitate.

"You're worthy," I told Matt.

Two months later:

Marie and I were working yet another case - this time a surveillance job in New York city. Marie and I had followed a perhaps-cheating wife all the way into Times Square.

Unfortunately, the weather was turning on us. A gray front of clouds was rolling in from the west. Following someone in a snowstorm can be tricky.

"Look," Marie said quietly. Then she nodded her head towards the far side of the street.

I glanced in that direction.

Hogun had just got out of a taxi and was scanning his surroundings. He was dressed the same as when we first saw him. And he was still carrying his umbrella of doom.

He blinked when his eyes met ours. By then Fandral had got out of the other side of the taxi. He followed Hogun's gaze. Fandral smiled broadly when he saw us, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Then he quickly rechecked the area, just in case Marie and I were a diversion.

Volstagg - as enormous as ever - got out of the passenger seat of the cab. You could almost hear the taxi groan in relief. He dashed around the cab to Hogun's side and lent an arm to Jane Foster as she exited.

Jane was dressed expensively, but with a sense of restraint and taste that struck me as typical of her. Her belly featured a definite bulge.

I couldn't help but smile. When I first met Jane I'd categorized her as cute, but not beautiful. Now, she was lovely beyond words.

Overhead, there was a rumble of thunder - unusual for approaching snow. Jane glanced upwards, and in that moment I could see a terrible loneliness within her. Unfortunately for Jane, I didn't think it was ever going to end.

The man Jane had thought was hers had always been a mask over something else. Donald Blake wasn't just gone - he'd never existed. He was a man who never was.

It finally began to snow. Volstagg hurriedly escorted Jane into a store, although I had the strangest impression that the snow was not actually landing on her. Fandral was at their backs. Hogun stayed on the sidewalk, ignoring the weather as he watched us. His head was cocked slightly to one side.

Marie blew him a kiss. For some reason, I did the same. Hogun actually smiled - he strikes me as the type who allows himself one or two of those a decade. Then he turned away and followed the others inside.