ACT X

I, Elisa Maza, sort of got back my mojo with a Scooby Doo deduction of reporter John Carter being Jon Canmore. Better than nothing.

The suspects of this particular September terrorist attack weren't I.S.I.S but three spoiled brats lacking regard for anyone in their path. To worsen matters, Selwyn Baker warned me about Jason. This all disgusted me.

We had to bring the Canmores to justice before Goliath got to them. Unfortunately, no recent photos of Robyn and Jon existed. Jason truly had protected them. Still, my comparison was enough to locate Jon's employer.

It was a crying shame WVRN hired a terrorist. I enjoyed their shows. The studio was a small space where we met the news manager Dusty, a tall dude wearing a button-down shirt, jeans, glasses and a trimmed goatee.

"So you guys aren't with the F.C.C.?" Dusty scanned us up and down

"Not quite," I answered while we displayed the badges.

"Sorry, we're busy. One of our reporters broke a huge story about gargoyles blowing up one of your precincts," he informed.

"It wasn't gargoyles," I growled, but Matt gestured to stop me.

"It was our precinct and we believe John Carter is directly responsible for it. Is he present?" Matt informed him.

"Not since transmitting the footage, but that's ludicrous! His demo reel shows he'd been reporting for years, and you're alleging he's another Timothy McVeigh?" Dusty suddenly saw the big picture.

"When was he hired?" I asked.

"He's been here approximately two and a half weeks. Human resources would have the date of hire," Dusty nervously answered.

"This major exclusive seems unusual for a fresh reporter," Matt smartly noted.

"I just mentioned his impeccable demo reel. It gave us no cause to question his source. Anyway, you know the First Amendment protects us," were his excuses.

"Don't piss your pants, Dusty. We ain't after you," I assured the poor guy.

"I can give you his contact information," He replied.

We took the dubious info to let him run a manufactured story. Demona, the Hunters' target, had to have better answers so Nightstone Industries was our next stop. By now she was a less menacing yet dangerous human. Puck cast a spell on Demona that transformed her into a human being instead of stone by day.

Nightstone's headquarters was a twelve story building. What the hell was this company responsible for? We passed through the lobby and took an elevator to Dominque Destine's penthouse office. While we entered, a different woman on the premises caused my jaw to drop.

She was tall, blonde and wore a suit jacket tighter than it had any right to be. Her impractical skirt showed a stratospheric amount of leg and her boobs were freakishly huge; made mine look like fried eggs. She stepped out of an episode of Mad Men.

I tugged Bluestone's sleeve to break his gaze. The blonde appeared to be as surprised to see us holding up our IDs, and focused more closely on me.

"Thank God you two showed up. We've had some kind of break in and I was just about to dial 911," were her first words.

"And who are you?" I fished for a name.

"I'm Miss Correy, Ms. Destine's executive assistant," her placid voice announced.

"I now smell something burning. What happened?" Matt asked.

"Right this way," She led us to a felled safe door, burn marks adorned its edges. "I found it like this just after I clocked in,"

"You're fortunate the Calvary arrived. This looks like a B&E." Matt said smoothly after he surveilled its Tardis-like room.

"This was her private safe so perhaps they searched for something of corporate value?" Correy answered.

I once heard that crap from Xanatos. While Bluestone was hypnotized by her comic-book curves I further studied the safe's interior. It was clearly an inside job similar to Xanatos' song and dance.

"When did you first arrive in town? How long have you worked here?" Matt intently jotted notes.

"This begins my second day but I got here last Monday," the leggy blond responded.

I tugged my coat as our signal to trade positions. I so hoped he wouldn't stare at her ass. She was much taller than I, but I wasn't intimidated.

"Why are you here so early, Correy," I fairly asked.

"I'm new and wanted to make a favorable impression." She was good.

"Is your boss around?"

"I just learned of her personal leave. I don't know where she is nor can I approximate the length of her absence," she answered.

"Why didn't you have access to Ms. Destine's storage room?" I asked.

"Why would I? It's hers."

"Well do you at least have the key to the executive bathroom? Would it happen to be a unisex bathroom like in Ally McBeal?

"Oh my goodness, what kind of questions were those?" Correy responded but tensed up.

"Take in any sights or any Broadway musicals since your arrival?" I listed.

"No, I've been far too busy. What does that have to-"

"Enough. I'm mad, a little PMS'd and experienced with this form of subterfuge. Now tell us your real name!" It wasn't easy to compare this impossibly filled-out Amazon to the skinny teen in Jason's picture.

"Oh, you're excellent at your job. It's Robyn, Robyn Canmore," she confirmed with a thick Scottish brogue.

"Alright Robyn-Robyn Canmore, you're under arrest. Place your hands behind your back." Matt instructed.

In the blink of an eye Robyn executed a midair somersault and landed several feet away near a desk.

"How the hell..?" Matt reacted while we aimed our weapons.

Once her heels tapped the floor she flung projectiles that ejected the guns from our grips. No sooner than they clacked down she cleared the prior distance to repel us with a scissor kick on our chests.

When Matt charged back in Robyn kicked his knee, rammed her fist into his nose and spin-kicked him thru a large equipment stack. The last move left her vulnerable for me to tackle from behind but it was like hitting a wall. I tried to force Robyn off her feet or tire her. In my angry haste I'd forgotten how to subdue a suspect.

"What're ye tryin' here, cop?" Robyn laughed it out; taunted me.

So I bit her side. She roared, hyperextended my fingers to loosen my grip and then elbowed my face. I was still alert but Matt was out. So it was me alone versus a woman likely trained to battle way stronger gargoyles. Robyn danced in place like Muhammad Ali.

"You're under arrest, Clown Tits." I dove in with a flurry of martial arts moves that Robyn slapped aside. She slugged me directly across my jaw, spiraling me before I slammed to the floor.

"C'mon, I don't have all mornin' fer this. Now stay!" She commanded.

I was no mutt and zoomed in with more kicks and punches. She deflected everything again, neither getting winded, nor breaking a sweat and made me a rank amateur. Her fist crashed between my eyes causing me needles of pain and a sight of stars. She kicked my sternum and kneed my jaw which collapsed me to hands and knees. My mouth drooled blood then Robyn twice gut-kicked me. I slumped and groaned until Robyn fixated me with yanking my hair and her full weight on my spine.

"I said stay. I didn't turn your pretty face into haggis 'cause you ain't the enemy. Your gargoyle friends scattered like roaches. They'll be exterminated like 'em, too." She said it all close to my left ear.

I heard a faint beep. A large hoverbike crashed through the window and landed next to us. She stomped my middle dorsum then flew away through the huge opening.

"Matt! Matt, are you alive?" I called out.

"Nope! What the fuck just happened?" He weakly asked.

"RoboBitch beat the crap out of us!"

It wasn't as funny as I sounded. It was yet another failure on my part. The Canmores were gonna die by Goliath's talons. The only logical prevention was to tell him, with all sincerity, that I loved him.

END ACT X