"If I were a rich man-" Tevye's clear tenor rang out in the beat-up van. The evening sun shone bright, filtered into beams by Brockton's usual cloud cover. He tapped his fingers on the wheel while he drove, singing along to the old CD player. When Clark remained quiet, Tevye gave him a playful knock on his shoulder.
"Come, sing, sing!"
Clark rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. "Tevye, you know I can't."
"It does not matter if you can hit the notes, or if you can not. Music is from the heart, from the very center of yourself." Tevye chuckled. "An expression of joy, Clark. Sing!"
The van hit a pothole, its poor suspension lifting both of them from their seats despite Tevye's slower speed. The roads of Brockton Bay had never been well kept, the city too poor to replace the gradual damage of use, let alone continual cape fights. Tevye let out a string of curses in Yiddish, though his good mood did not seem disturbed. It did stop him from commanding Clark to sing again, the older man just humming along with the song instead of belting it out. Tevye loved to sing along with the musical, but he never remembered the lyrics.
Clark settled into his seat, and resumed his earlier activity: listening to the voices of the city. Thousands of sounds, thousands of conversations, all to be cataloged and an attempt made to understand. He tried to focus on anything that might mention more about the fight, or if he had been discovered.
It had been a week since the battle at their apartment. Panacea had healed those blinded by Purity's blast, while Armsmaster had taken statements. A tidy end for the terrifying fight. Clark found it odd that Armsmaster was now the only Protectorate cape to patrol in or near ABB territory, though New Wave members did sweep through on occasion. He still could not puzzle out why, and he had not thought to see Armsmaster's identity in their brief meeting. Perhaps the PRT was preparing for the upcoming gang war, and wanted to keep the rest of their heroes well rested?
His ears picked up a conversation between mechanics, down by the docks.
"That Laserdream, huh? Damn, those New Wave chicks are built different. Three on one and she drives them all off, I mean, did you see that video? Mike, hey Mike, I asked if you saw that thing. Mike!"
"I heard ya the first time! Bob, she's too young for you by half. Besides, she probably had help from that new stranger people are talking about."
"Oh, here we go with that same old stranger bullcrap. There's a rumor about a new stranger every week, what makes you think it's real this time?"
"I'm telling you, he's real! My cousin, he's on the force, he says some new stranger capes the one really responsible for those Empire murders!"
"Will you shove it, Mike? I swear, that PHO site will rot your brain if you spend too much time on it. Pass me that wrench, will you?"
From there, the conversation devolved into more work-related topics, and Clark tuned out. Much of the eavesdropping he had done this week had given similar results. Small rumors of a stranger or thinker working for the ABB, but nothing concrete. He had heard Crystal mention meeting 'The Question' in her debriefing with the PRT, but not much more than that. She had not given up his secret identity, if she knew it. She had told them of his ability to project his voice, but the PRT had little ability to link that persona and power set to the information gathering he had done for Oni Lee.
He tuned his ears back to Lung. The tattooed boss had a distinct gravel and accent that made it easier for Clark to catch amidst the noises of a city. At the moment, it sounded as if Lung was in the midst of another recruitment drive. For all the fear he had generated from having Oni Lee kill those Empire capes, he seemed to have little desire to capitalize on his victory. If anything, Lung has a tinge of grumpiness to his tone as he recruited, as if he did not wish to be dealing with this in the first place. Clark could not parse the words Lung said, as he spoke Cantonese at the moment, but he could match the tone and meet of the phrases to the ones he had heard repeated in Japanese, Cantonese, Mandarin and English that week - 'Join the ABB. Be protected against the Empire. Get discounts at the brothels. Don't join and I'll personally kill you'. Clark could tell that the last part of the speech was always Lung's favorite. A chance for him to get creative in his threats. He never spoke the same ones twice, remarkable given how many he had spoken to over the last few days. By Clark's reckoning, the ABB was now up to nearly one hundred 'official' soldiers, without including the various enforcers, dealers, bouncers, and lower-level members that filled out the gang. Double Lung's earlier number of fifty. Still almost nothing compared to the Empire's thugs.
Lung had never expressed desire to take over the city, or even expand beyond his hold at the docks. It had been months since he had had a good showing to his name, popping up to scare away his enemies more than to fight them. Despite the terror he inspired for every in person meeting, Lung was…
Lung was lazy.
Clark pondered the thought, as Tevye hit yet another pothole, the foul stream of curses flowing forth once more. Lung sat at his well-made desk, sent for women and food, and did little else. Clark wondered how he kept in such good shape, given that the only exercise he had seen Lung do was beat those who disobeyed him.
"Hey, Tevye?" Clark said. "What was it like when Lung first arrived?"
Tevye looked at him, a strange expression on his face. He turned down the music. "Clark, my friend, why do you ask this? It is not a light subject, and good men do not dwell on bad deeds."
Clark hung his head, a small amount of guilt in him. "Sorry, but with last week's attack and all, I just get worried. I know he said we're protected, but Empire's just got so many capes, and-"
"Ach, the Empire." Tevye spat out the window at the mention of their name. "Alright. I will tell you, but we will talk no more of this. I wish to attend Shabbat tonight, so I do not wish to dwell on such terrible thoughts. Let me remember."
Fingers tapped on the wheel once more as Tevye sat in silence. Clark waited. The older man liked to be certain in his account before he told a story, and did not like interruptions.
"He came a few years back. Tziporrah had just graduated highschool. We used to pay protection to the Three Hands, some small time Japanese gang. They had a cape, named himself, oh, I don't know, something I never could pronounce. Big fellow, could walk through a brick wall as easy as paper. Lung tore him in half. Left his torso on the street as a warning. Told the gang that they followed him now. Nobody really disagreed. Those in the better neighborhoods, they forget that we knew of Lung first down, in the old Japantown." Tevye paused his story, stopping at a red light. He shook his head. "Killed a few other capes nearby too. Went to all the other Asian gangs, gave them the same offer. Join or die."
A wry chuckle escaped him. "There's less gang activity now here anyways, he only took those he liked. The rest of them just drifted away or got caught."
Clark blinked in surprise at the brutality of Lung's earlier recruitment strategy, compared to the relative kindness he showed now. Lung had not even killed a single new recruit yet.
"He fought the Protectorate after that," Tevye continued.
"Which heroes?" Clark asked.
"All of the PRT that was here. That was back when Challenger was here as well, so we still had her. It was, uh, let's see… Armsmaster, Dauntless, Miss Militia, Challenger, Assault and Battery. Oh, Velocity too I think." Tevye said. "It's bad, I know. To welcome a tyrant like him. He asked for much more in protection, well, until you helped out. And the way he treats his women, the less said the better. It's no good."
Tevye pulled up to a stop sign, and paused. He turned to face Clark. "This is not a deal we are happy to make. But this is the way it goes, yes? We have to make deals to survive. I want you to do your best to help us, Clark, and you have done well. Everyone is given different strengths, and your abilities are a wonderful gift. I'm proud of you. But you're no golem to hold the gates. There is no shem on your head. Stay safe, Clark. You cannot fix all the world's problems yourself. Let the warriors fight it out, and we shall survive as we always have."
He pressed the gas, and the van moved on once more. The two of them had been out on deliveries all morning, a way to keep some cash flow for the bakery while it was rebuilt. The already razor-thin margin the Shusters operated on before was stretched to its limit, but the lack of protection money to pay to Lung made up some of the difference.
The reassurances of Lung's prowess did relax Clark, but he listened in for Krieg's voice all the same. The Empire lieutenant had been broken out of his transport enroute out of Brockton, on the same night Laserdream had defended the apartment. The Empire had come out in full force for the break-out attempt, and while none of the Wards or Protectorate members had died, there had been some discussion in the news of if the Wards should have been allowed to defend the armored car in the first place. Clark did not read the paper enough to know all the details of the debate - he felt more concerned about the fact of the escape in the first place. He knew he should not consider it personal, but he could not help but feel that every attempt he made to improve this city resulted in nothing, or worse. Krieg had been arrested off of his information, and though he could no longer live a public life, he roamed the city streets once again. Clark just hoped that the gas-mask wearing cape did not hold a grudge.
The heavy, German-accented words of Krieg took some effort to find, but Clark found them all the same. If he had heard their voice before, it was easier to narrow in on it from the cloud of noise that he heard at all times. Clark had started to control his hearing better, even with that damned sunlight that seemed to make it harder to focus.
"-their deaths! It falls on us to defend this city from degeneracy. It falls on us to fight back against the unholy Asiatic hordes at our doorsteps. We cannot allow our city to fall into the darkness of race-mixing! We must stand up to these subhuman monsters! We must unite for a new world, a better world!"
Bile rose in his throat, and Clark stopped listening to the speech. He had heard it a few times now - the Empire Eighty-Eight had more speeches than Lung and the ABB. Lung had little in the way of ideology besides his simple thoughts of 'Might makes Right'. The Empire lived in its ideology, thrived in it. Not all members felt as strongly on all issues as the true believers, sure. But all members knew the opinions and views that the Empire espoused. If they joined, they signaled acceptance of its beliefs. Clark felt little sympathy for people who accepted a belief that advocated genocide.
The Empire's skinheads outnumbered Lung's multi-ethnic gang almost three to one, even before the recent recruitment drives by both. The deaths of Rune and Othala were used as propaganda. Fear of 'good and innocent' white women ruined by evil immigrants. Clark did take some satisfaction in the fact that most seemed to forget Victor. For all the evil that Andrew Christiansen had caused, no one seemed to care much about his death. A strong, powerful enforcer of the Empire, taken down in his sleep. It did not play for propaganda as well as Rune and Othala's deaths did. Clark had even heard of Kaiser's overtures to other white nationalist gangs across the states and Canada, offers of recruitment to other capes. He hoped none would accept. With Night, Fog, and Purity now officially back in the fold, the Empire had recouped it's losses to Oni Lee. Any more parahuman recruiting would swell it to a terrifying size, one that Clark suspected even Lung could not fight back.
Still, Purity had not been seen since the apartment fight. Clark thought back to his taunts, and felt some guilt. Perhaps her family supported the Empire, perhaps they were innocent. To claim to visit torture and death on them… it did not sit well with him. The fact that he had done nothing but spur violence since his attempts to help did not sit well with him.
The van parked, and Clark drew himself from his thoughts. Tevye slapped him on the shoulder as he disembarked.
"Don't stay out too late!" Tevye said. "As always, if you want to come to Shabbat, you are welcome. Best of luck at work!"
With a wave from Clark, the old baker drove off, leaving him in downtown. He had helped out a bit with deliveries for Tevye, as the man's back had got worse with the weather, but Clark had taken on a second job to help pay his own way. He did not earn much, but he felt that he did some good with it, at least.
He wove his way through the small crowds, onwards towards his final destination. An old theater sat in one of downtown's small parks, plastic sheets hung up to protect it from any rain. Gold letters, written out on a stained red banner, read 'Parian's Puppets of Wonder'. Children and their parents already filled some of the stands, with more on their way. Clark made his way through them, heading towards the backstage where his boss waited.
Parian gave him a thumbs up as he entered. The short parahuman took time to communicate with body language, as her porcelain mask hid any facial expressions and tone. Clark respected her enough not to peer past it. She deserved her secrets. Even if he did find the golden, curly wig and the Victorian doll costume more than a little creepy.
"I want to wait a few minutes past when we said we'd start, let a few more people come through. Looks like a decent audience tonight." She sewed at the seams of a four foot teddy bear as she spoke. "You did those vocal warm-ups before you came, right?"
"Absolutely," Clark lied. His super-ventriloquism came easier to him now, and he found he had a knack for voices. The job was just a natural way to use his powers.
"Good. I don't know how you do it, but you're just a natural. Thanks for helping out with all this, even if we do only earn pennies." Parian finished with the repairs on the teddy. She patted the stuffed animal on the shoulder, and the teddy marched off towards their small theater's even smaller costume department.
"The script's on the table. It's Sir Teddy against the Mighty Monarch tonight. It's a new one, so I hope you don't mind that."
For some reason, the name 'Monarch' made Clark furrow his brow, but he shook it off. "Should be no trouble at all, Miss Parian."
"Good. Right, you read through the script, get familiar with it. We'll start the play at, oh, half past five? Maybe a little later if people are still arriving. Now get reading, I've got a few more last minute repairs to make."
The script itself did not contain much complexity. Sir Teddy had clear inspiration from the classic Robin Hood of the 1930s, a movie Chava had forced him to watch when he had first arrived in Brockton. Some things changed - Sir Teddy used a sword, not a bow, and the Mighty Monarch combined both Guy of Gisborne and Prince John, but the overall plot remained familiar. With only seven total characters, Clark did not have too many voices to come up with. Instead, he listened to the chatter of the audience members. The children chattered about the upcoming play - Parian's puppet shows, with their imaginative, animate stuffed animals had proved a hit with the upper-class parents of Brockton. She mostly preformed downtown, but Clark did not blame her - a parahuman that stepped into one of the gang-controlled areas usually meant a fight, and the seamstress did not seem to be one to get into conflicts. Clark had started with the show on Monday, and between his power-enhanced ventriloquist voices for the characters and their cute appearances, attendance for Parian's shows had only increased.
From the conversations between the children outside, it sounded as if those who had attended earlier in the week had invited their friends from school. The earlier performances had been simple, twenty or thirty minute affairs that Parian gave a twenty-five percent cut of the profit to Clark. For Friday, she had decided to do a full hour and a half performance, as it wasn't a school night and more could attend.
For a moment, Clark listened in to a conversation between two adults - fathers of two kindergarten best friends.
"-the announcement? It's a bold one, after all that business with Fliescher Pharma and that villain."
"Hey, it's not like that was his fault. Besides, it wasn't even his company. He makes some good points, too. Gangs killing gangs in our own suburbs? Brockton's been getting worse, that all I'm saying."
"I don't know, I'm still not sold on him. Christner's a decent man, he's steered us well so far. What's got you so happy to throw in with him?"
"Anders is the right kind of mayor for people like us. People like you and me, y'know?"
Clark stopped listening. He stopped reading the script. His head lifted up, eyes scanning about the city, looking for a tv, a computer, his ears trying to hone in on a voice he had only heard through news reports, trying to find -
There.
On a TV display in an electronics supply store, Clark watched a rerun of the morning news. Max Anders, CEO of Medhall, was running for mayor.
The pictures of him at Victor's wedding. His meeting with Purity. The connections with Krieg's company. Clark knew Anders had ties with the Empire. He did not know how deep, or how close. But as he watched the Medhall CEO spout his intentions for office, Clark knew that his victory would empower one of the strongest Neo-Nazi gangs in America. He had to stop him. He just did not know how.