Written by Dru1076 :: [Tuesday, 14 June 2005 17:36] Last updated by :: [Sunday, 19 June 2016 11:03]
Maple street lacked any of the trees implied by the name. Perhaps once there had been a few, maybe even a lot, but now there was no room for trees. This was the kind of place that bred men like Carlos the Breaker. On either side the street six storey apartments rose morosely into the sky, the heights to which they reached rarely varied. The colours, thought modern and trendy when the builders first finished, where now considered sombre and unattractive. But the people here were very colourful. Their clothes were bright and cheerful, many faces smiled. This place was good to those who knew how to live here. Those who knew how to mind their own business and pay their bills.
Halfway along one the crowded blocks stood a building that blended smoothly with the surrounds. But if anyone were bored enough to stand on the street and watch the activity taking place, they would soon spot the difference. The stream of people going in and out the front door was endless. No more than two minutes passed by before someone went through the door. Someone with enough time on their hands might notice that the group of five young men gathered out on the steps never left the spot, unlike the other inhabitants here who moved about so hurriedly. However, someone with too much time on their hands might stick around long enough to the young men move. It might be the last thing they remember seeing before waking up in a hospital days or weeks later … or never at all. Attention was not welcome here.
The five men on door duty were paid well for their services, not despite their lack of social skills … but because of them. In the last year thirteen people had been hospitalised. Three others had never left the basement. While Carlos the Breaker rotted in prison, the body of his business interests decaying with him, Steve "Grim" Winkler was building a reputation for himself. And he was making his bank balance healthy at the same time.
The protection money that Carlos had once collected at the end of each month now went straight into Winkler's pockets. The heroin and cocaine was cheaper from the Chinese, and Grim grew his own hydro: Four apartments wall to wall with green gold. There were other expenses though. His small army of thugs was not cheap, but essential if he was to survive. Steve Winkler was no fool. He knew that Kirkland would put a price on his head, with or without word from his boss. So Grim had made his home in this humble apartment block and turned it into a fort. A fort where you could buy anything and everything illegal.
Anything they could make themselves on site they did. The Chinese now supplied the harder stuff … the stuff Carlos had shipped into Metropolis direct from contacts in Colombia for the last ten years. The stuff Carlos had built his empire with … though he had distanced himself from the fact and blossomed into other, more respectable, methods of making money. Like racketeering and gambling.
Five heads turned as a long black limo pulled up. If any of them had been around twelve months ago they would have recognised the car immediately. Only the guy looking down from the third storey window knew who the limo represented. The man in the window turned and spoke to his boss.
"Guess who's here, Grim."
"No way! Already?"
"Don't worry about it, man," Grim's best gunman assured him, waving his hand out the window. "There's only one car."
Grim broke into an uncharacteristic fit of laughter. "This is too easy! If I take him out, that'll really put us in the big leagues. No-one will fuck with me if I break the Breaker." Then he was Grim again. "Go get the boys together."
The ride through town was a nervous one. Breaker had insisted on taking his limo, and he had a reason. Kirkland, Rudall and the driver all told him one of the vans would be safer … cops would undoubtable be looking for him. The long black limo had become his icon. It was all most people saw of Carlos Lahey. And that's exactly why he wanted to take it. Carlos didn't want ambitious scum like Grim Winkler shaking in fear at the thought of what 'Mob-Girl' might do to them. He wanted them quivering in fear at the thought of what Carlos the Breaker would tell Mob-Girl to do to them. He wanted his limo seen everywhere they went today.
Emily looked at the building where the car had stopped. Checking out all the people on the street, she was quickly drawn to the five guys eyeing the limo off suspiciously from the steps leading to the main door.
"I feel sick," Rudall admitted. "We should have brought more people."
"I can only see five," Emily told him scornfully.
"Five out here," Kirkland told her. "Only the pay master knows for sure how many guys are inside."
Realising he was right, Emily proceeded to look through the walls and explore the building and count the number of men who were armed. She searched every room of every floor in the time it took Rudall to light one a Marlboro and take a puff.
"There are twenty-seven guys with uzis under their jackets," she observed. "Twelve with shotguns as well as uzis, and thirteen guys working the labs." Smiling at the confused faces of those in the car with her, Emily added: "Trust me."
"I think they're coming over now," the driver mentioned. The five thugs on the steps were all on their feet now, all of them trying to see through the effectively tinted windows.
"Wait here guys," Emily told the experienced criminals in her company. She was slowly getting better at not damaging everything she touched, and managed to get out of the car and close the door without breaking anything.
The five guys instantly lost their aggressive stance and gaped at her. They had seen beautiful women before … but there was something about the curves their eyes were tracing that was profoundly attractive. Something about the gleam of her flesh that mesmerised the small-time hoods.
Emily had expected them to attack her. Instead they were just staring at her with wide eyes, their pants stretched … one of them even drooling. She had always been pretty. But Emily had never seen men react to her like this. She found it very rewarding to realise that just the sight of her casually clothed body could have such an impact on these foolish wannabe mobsters.
"Hello," she greeted them, adding a threatening tone to her voice. She was thinking about blasting them into ashes with her eyes when she decided to take them out with her hands. She wanted to feel them crumble under her hands. Crossing the distance between her and her prey with deliberately exaggerated movements of her hips.
The party of thugs made no attempt to avoid her. In fact, they moved forward to get closer. They had no idea of the danger they were in. In the past the five of them had taken down some very big boys together. Three of them had black-belts in various martial arts, and the other two pure street-fighters. What could they possibly have to fear from a girl?
"Whatever you want, Babe, Tony's got it for you," one of them said, introducing himself with an air of confidence.
"Do you guys know who I am?" she asked, stopping directly in front of the speaker and looking into his dope-reddened eyes.
"I know you're the best thing I've seen all day, sweetie."
Emily enjoyed the look of lust in his eyes for a moment, putting her hand on her chest to draw his eyes there. Not the needed much assistance.
"You've never seen anything as good as me," Emily informed him.
There was a low electric whine from the limo as a window slid down to reveal Carlos. "Get one with it," he told her, "We didn't come here so you could pick up guys."
A little annoyed by her fathers interruption to her fun, Emily turned back to the one called Tony, and jabbed her little fist into his face. Even though she hadn't put any shoulder into it, the force of her blow was still a little extreme. Tony's head exploded like a hand-grenade, calcium based shrapnel peppered the stonework and shattered a few windows. As the dead man fell, his legs dropping straight out from under him. Two of the others had been hit by the pieces of skull, and they joined him half a second later to lie motionless … motionless except for the blood oozing from warlike wounds.
Watching the other two expectantly, Emily was disappointed. They were utterly stunned, and incapable of thought let alone movement. Taking one, and then the other, by the chin, she lifted them and held them a foot off the ground.
"Nothing personal," she told them, shattering their skulls against each other and dropping them unceremoniously onto the bodies of their friends.
The guy who had been watching from the window hadn't stuck around long enough to see the five 'security' guards taken out. But the two snipers who had been ordered to the roof saw the whole thing. They were too confused by the whole thing to realise that the smartest thing to do would be to warn everyone else on Grim's pay-roll, then make a hasty exit. As it was they both fell back on their combat training, and opened fire.
Emily felt something like a raindrop on her cheek. Then another on the left side of her forehead. She looked up, but there weren't enough clouds to make rain. Then she saw a flash on the roof, and felt another drop tickle her chest. A second flash preceded another wet impact on her chest. Looking down, Emily saw that something had torn her shirt and left a smear on her breast. While she was watching another hole was torn in her clothes, another metallic smear appeared on her flesh.
"They're shooting at me!" she realised, a smile forming on her face as more bullets rained down on her. "I could get used to this," Emily thought aloud, leaping up into air and hovering before the confused gunmen. She watched as another bullet came tearing toward her, contacting her neck and rebounding down to the street.
"That's enough of that," Emily old them, looking hard at one and then the other. Leaving the remains of the snipers smouldering on the roof, Emily allowed gravity take her gently back to the sidewalk.
Carlos was getting out, Kirkland and Rudall not far behind him. Everyone had their guns out. Both of Breaker's boys were staring at her in open amazement. They had been more than a little sceptical of what the newspaper had revealed to the world that morning, but not a trace of doubt remained.
"Shall I go in and clear the way?" she suggested, already walking up the
"Are the guys on the roof?"
"They were pretty much already there."
"Good. That asshole's not getting away. Tell them to shoot anyone who leaves until I give the all clear."
The best paid of Grim's thugs picked the handheld radio up off the table. "Snip and Cut, you there?" he asked it, pushing the button as he spoke. Waiting a moment for a reply, he tried again. "Something's not right, Grim. They don't answer."
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the building, and floor shook. Then a far-away scream, followed by another, tore through the halls to reach them through three floors. The floor vibrated again, and Grim looked about in confusion.
"What the fuck are they using? Grenade launchers?"
"Wait here, Boss. I'll check it out." Grabbing his gun from the holder under his arm, the determined killer opened the apartment door just as the familiar sound of Uzi's going off like popcorn. He sent the two guys on Grim's door inside to guard the Boss, then took off toward the stairs. He got down three flights faster than the elevator would have managed, his sure feet not missing a beat. On the ground floor he entered the hall and was astonished at what he found. The twenty men he'd sent down to greet them were scattered everywhere. Some of them were just legs gangling from jagged holes in the wall. Most of them were just legs … or arms. Only two bodies appeared to be whole, though both of them were twisted up like pretzels. The walls had been a pale shade of green the last time anyone had bothered to notice. But now the floor, ceiling and walls were all red.
Tearing his eyes away from the horrific scene, the brave gunman took a few steps and threw up his expensive buffet breakfast. A shotgun blast and painful scream from somewhere upstairs brought him back to his senses just in time to see three men walking through the front door. He recognised all three of them instantly, and his colt came up to point shakily their way.
"Breaker …" he snarled, and his finger closed on the trigger. The reliable handgun kicked back I his hand, and Carlos ducked vainly to the side.
His lips were twitching up into a smile when there was strong breeze and something flashed past him. As the blur of colour came to rest it blocked the gunman's view of his target. When he focused on this sudden intrusion, he stepped back. He recognised Emily from the photo he had seen in the paper, but found that the portrait hardly did her justice. He, along with everyone he'd spoken to about it, had dismissed the story as bullshit. But as he saw the bullet drop from Emily Lahey's hand and land on the floor he quickly came to believe every word.
Emily strode up to the dumbfounded man, and put a hand on his chest. With just the movement of her arm she lifted and pinned him high to the wall. The helpless killer tried to say something, perhaps to plead for his life, but the increasing pressure of her feminine little hand made it impossible to breath let alone talk.
"Now, why would you want to shoot at my dad?" she asked, tilting her head. Pushing forward she forced her hand through his ribcage, and the wall behind him while she watched his face contort in agony then go blank. Pulling her arm out of the tight fitting hole, she let him slide to the floor. She'd been a little put off by all the blood that splattered during the course of events. But since her clothes were already ruined by bullets she wasn't worried about the new colour.
Grim was growing increasingly nervous, though no one could have guessed from his steely composure. The sounds of screams and short bursts of gunfire were getting louder by the moment. Then was a crash outside in the hall. The action was just outside his door.
"I'm not going to wait in here for them!" Grim decided, checking his Uzi and grabbing a few extra clips to shove in pocket. The two bodyguards he had with him were sweating profusely. "Let's sort this out," Grim told them firmly, stepping up to the door. Reaching out, he turned the handle slowly and pulled the door open with a jerk. His gun filled the hall with bullets as he stepped through the threshold. His two henchmen followed quickly after to flank him and add their own rapid lead to the Grim's firepower.
"You owe me a new set of clothes, loser."
The trio ceased firing and took a good look at their bullets had done. They had destroyed the hallway quite thoroughly, and filled the room with a smoky haze. In the middle of the hallway stood a woman. A completely naked woman who had been dressed in bloody rags a moment before. Grim was aroused by her body, though he found himself instinctively repulsed by the blood all over her arms.
"What the fuck?" Grim stepped back involuntarily.
"Why don't we go into your apartment?" the blood smeared woman suggested. The trio replied with a renewed onslaught of reliable bullets, and this time they knew exactly where to aim. The woman only smiled, her hands going to hips. Then she puckered her lips and blew very softly. The force of her breath lifted the men and tossed them back with explosive force. The two on the outside crumpled on either side of the door while Grim landed on his carpet and rolled another ten feet into his lounge-room.
As she passed the two moaning men near the door, Emily lifted them up in each hand and tossed them over her back down the hall. They flew, limbs flailing, until they hit the roof and crashed back down to slid along the floor. Neither one moved again.
Grim desperately whipped out his pistol, having lost the Uzi in-flight, and squeezed off a few rounds. The disbelief on his face as her flesh repelled the lead clearly amused his super-powered attacker. She approached, slow enough that had time to empty his clip, and grasped his gun. When her hand moved away Grim looked at his gun. She had squeezed the barrel closed.
"All-clear, Dad!" she called out.
Carlos the Breaker walked in. But the sudden appearance of the man Grim had feared all his life didn't draw his eyes away from the woman standing over
"Hello there, Grim. How's it hanging?"
Carlos looked around, nodding with approval. "Nice place. I see you've been spending my money well."
"Don't talk, Winkler. I don't want to hear you beg." Carlos looked the fallen man over. "Impressive, isn't she? You've met Emily, haven't you Grim?"
Recognition sparked in Grim's eyes. He had gone to school a year ahead of Breaker's daughter, and had seen here more recently at company parties. His disbelief intensified.
"I think you know why this happening, Winkler. So I won't waste my time lecturing you."
Taking the satisfaction fro himself, Carlos lifted his gun laden hand and fired three shots into Grim's legs. Expressing his anger, Carlos emptied the rest of the gun into Winkler's stomach and held his hand toward Rudall. Rudall knew what his boss wanted, and handed over his gun. Carlos emptied this one into Grim's chest, and finished off with a cap through the forehead.
"Time we were going," Kirkland observed without looking at his watch. "The cops will be here any minute.
"Like that's a problem," Emily reminded everyone, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Let's go, just he same," said Carlos, holstering his gun and giving Rudall back his piece. "We've got more people to see today."
Looking at herself, Emily was disgusted at the state she was in.
"I'll catch up," she told them. "I'm going to get cleaned up."
Without waiting for a reply, or asking where they were going, Emily lifted both feet and flew through the closed window of Grim's apartment.
Perry White looked uncertain.
"I don't know Clark. The prison officials claim that it was some sort of stealth helicopter attack."
"It was her."
"Why hasn't Superman made an announcement on television?"
"You should have seen him, Mr. White. He's in no condition to make a public statement." The truth was that Clark couldn't get back into his shrinking super-suit. Without it, nobody would recognise him.
"Well what's he doing about it then?"
"He said he would call me."
"Lois tells you that all the time," Jimmy joked, drinking a soda. He'd gotten them for everybody, but no-one else seemed to be thirsty.
"Shut up Jimmy," Perry told the clumsy photographer. "Is that all he said, Clark? I hope this girl doesn't turn out like General What's-His-Name."
"Whatever. The point is that she could take out the whole city if all this is true. Superman must be able to do something."
Clark looked down. "He's working on it."
Perry leaned back in Jimmy's favourite armchair. "I hope you've got stiffer stuff than that soda, Jimmy."
Emily was home in a flash. She'd left her bedroom window open before they'd left so she wouldn't have to damage anymore doors. The butler, concerned by the sudden noise upstairs, opened the door to Emily's room just in time to see her feet disappear back out the window. He raced over to see Emily arcing up into the clouds.
It took no time at all for her to find the limo. The traffic was bad today and her father had gotten far on the way south. With a cloud drifting under her feet Emily focused through it on the long car. The metal faded to reveal the plush interior, and the men who enjoyed its air-conditioned comfort. With a little tweak inside her ears she was listening to them.
"… ation will get out of hand, Breaker."
"Nonsense. She's my little girl."
"Not anymore," Kirkland observed. "Did you see what she did to those people?"
Carlos grinned. "She's great, isn't she?"
"She's too much."
"Would you rather have Superman back on our case? Be grateful another mob didn't do the job on that tight-wearing retard, or we'd be in a very different position. Remember gentlemen, Emily's on our side."
"Carlos, you're not thinking this through …"
Just as the conversation was getting more interesting, a police car passed the limo going the other way. The cop driving it swung his head around, and Emily heard him read the number plate. The guy riding shotgun grabbed the radio and called the dispatcher. But as he let his finger off the button there was a flash and a spark from the centre console. Uncovering his eyes, the cop looked at the melted radio with his mouth open.
"You don't think?"
His partner never got to reply. Emily turned her sparkling eyes to the back of the car, looking through the boot to find the petrol tank. Another blast of her heat-vision ignited the contents, and the car exploded into a violent ball of fire that lifted the back tyres from the bitumen. The vehicle came down hard, the paint already beginning to char in the intense heat, and lurched into the other lane … colliding with a delivery van and rebounding back into the oncoming traffic. It rested in an insurer's nightmare, cars already backing up past the end of the block in each direction.
Impressed by the mayhem caused by her steady glare, Emily caught up with her father. She flew along above the car, just high enough to avoid being seen, her eyes scanning the area for more cops. Marking them as she found them, she decided to make sure none of them saw her father's limo. If any of them got within a block of her father, Emily attacked swiftly and mercilessly. Lashing out with her destructive eyes every now and then she escorted her father all the way to the south suburbs. Realising she had made a pattern leading to this part of town, Emily looked west and blasted a few more patrol cars hoping to turn the immediate attention of investigations in that direction.
Sam "The Lion" Leonard had been a boxer until he found a better way to make a living. The good thing about it all was that he still got to fight … and in his new field the rules of sportsmanship didn't apply. Being as good as he was had built a frightful reputation for him on the street (Which was as good as a Harvard degree when you worked for the Breaker) and Sam had been promoted quickly through the ranks of thuggery. By the end of a ten year period, Sam Leonard was as good as made. He was in charge of borderline territory, which was dangerous … and paid accordingly. But when Breaker had gone down, the opposition made a hasty assault. But they didn't come with guns unholstered … they came with sweet-talk and hard cash.
"We'll take twenty percent less of your income than Carlos," they had told him. That line of their long proposal got his attention. They closed the deal with: "Why make money for a guy in a cell, Leo? You and I need it more than Mr. Lahey."
Now, not even a year since changing sides, Leo was on top of the world. His new contract gave him much greater freedom on his turf. The Lion was king of the jungle … well, part of the jungle … and his shit didn't stink. The local P.D. was paid off monthly, and the old boss was locked away for life. At least, he had been. But now Carlos was out … consequently Sam was on edge. And when he was on edge he always went to Marvin's for a choof. He didn't like to smoke up alone.
"I'm telling you: Breaker will lay low," someone was saying. "The cops will be all over the place this morning looking for him."
"That's not his style," another, older man disagreed. Sam's old boxing coach, who had grown up on the same street as Breaker, was the one who had introduced him to Carlos. The aging man, once unstoppable in the ring, had been disappointed by Sam's weak loyalty. That didn't stop him, however, from taking a huge pay-rise and moving south. "He'll come as soon as he knows what's been going on."
"But Charlie," the young hood insisted, "This guy's the most wanted man in the country. He'll probably take off for Rio or Spain or something."
"Are you finished chopping up?" Sam asked irritably.
"Sorry, Boss," mumbled Marvin, getting back to his job.
"If he comes, I'll kill him myself," The Lion declared. "His best guns are long gone, and the fat bastard's getting old."
Charlie nodded his head. There was a real chance here for Sam to make the big time. The wise ex-coach had kept his ear to the ground ever since Sam cut his deal with the other devil, waiting for word of war. But Marcus Kirkland had effectively taken control of Breaker Lahey's interests (Neither of Carlos's two sons had any desire to enter a life of crime … they were both off at university somewhere) and the man was a number-cruncher … not a killer on par with his employer. Marcus had done a good job financially, but the physical side of Breaker's empire had been dwindling steadily. Even old Charlie had written him off. The break-out had come as a huge surprise, but Charlie thought it was too-little too-late. "Carlos has had his day."
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. An insistent knock that made everyone look up.
"Who the fuck is it?"
"It's Dave, man! Open up!"
One of the less stoned men unlocked the door, allowing a short guy with orange tinted glasses into the house.
"Did you guys hear?" he asked excitedly. "Breaker Lahey just hit Grim Winkler's with an assault team! Mercenaries or something, man!" Dave shook his head. "Some real fucked-up shit …"
"What? Where's this coming from?"
"Reliable sources, Marv. My cousin lives out east … he reckons he lives three building up from this joint and he could hear hand-grenades and a shit-load of gunfire going off."
Sam's eyes narrowed and he tensed his jaw. "Let's get armed and dangerous."
Marvin pulled the key to his armoury out and tossed to one the bigger men. "Are we going to wait for him at your place?" he asked Sam hopefully.
"No. They know where to find me here. I don't wanna have them shooting up my house."
"There's nobody here," Emily heard Rudall saying.
A search of the house where the limo had stopped with her super-senses told Emily that they were right. There was nothing moving in the place but roaches and rats.
"If he's not here, there's another place I know. One of his dealers is just near here."
"Let's wait for Emily," Carlos decided. He didn't want to go anywhere without his best bodyguard.
She decided to let them know she was around, and whooshed down to land comfortably on the lawn. "I'm right here!" she told them.
The back door opened and Carlos leaned his face into the opening.
"Get in," he suggested, gesturing the movement with his hand.
"I've been following you for ages. I might as well keep flying." Before she was finished her sentence Emily had her arms out and both her feet off the ground. "Let's go to that dealer's place!" she called down, clearing the powerlines and accelerating straight up.
"How the hell did she know about that?" Kirkland wondered, looking at her growing smaller until she was a tiny dark dot above the clouds that he couldn't make out. There was a man at every window, even out back. Charlie had ordered a few out onto the street, and Sam approved it with a nod of his head. Everyone had three clips, and at least two guns. Marvin was wishing he had bought those hand-grenades when the dealer offered them, but it was too late to worry. They'd just have to use more bullets to make up for it.
They didn't have as long to prepare as they had thought.
"There's a limo!" one of the heavily armed gang members announced, jabbing his arm toward to the end of the street.
Emily spotted a crowd on the lawn of a house nearby before the limo had even moved. She was almost sure it was the place, and when her dad's driver turned the limo into that street Emily was certain.
"There sure is a lot of them," she mused, drifting down toward them.
They all turned and looked down the street at the approaching car, lining it up with their guns. When Emily entered their line of sight the gang members were more than a little startled, all of them opening their eyes wider to the sight of a flying girl. The only person they had ever seen flying like that was Superman.
"What the fuck?" and "Damn" seemed the only thing anyone could say as she slowed to hover over the road.
"Haven't ever seen a girl before?" she asked the mob, drinking in their astonished faces with satisfaction. When she started blasting them into neat piles of ash with dazzling beams from her eyes, they started blasted her with their arsenal of weapons.
Well, they tried to blast her. But Emily easily avoided the bullets, maintaining her own assault while she flashed all around them in blur. Landing on the lawn she watched her father's car pull up at the curb. The back window wound down. There was no sign of anyone out front of the house except Emily.
"Come here a minute!"
Carlos sounded urgent, so she crossed the sidewalk and leaned in the window.
"Don't kill any more people, okay? These guys are gonna work for me, and they can't do that in body-bags … or ashtrays."
"How am I supposed to protect you if I can't take them out?"
"Just remember that these guys were on our side not long ago, and they will be again. I don't want to train a whole new workforce."
So Emily wandered toward the house with these instructions in mind. As she approached the door, it was pulled open and man with a shotgun appeared. But as the pellets slashed into the air his target flashed out of their way then suddenly stood right in front of him.
"That wasn't very nice of you, shooting at an unarmed girl." He raised the gun to her stomach, but her finger entering the barrel caused a backfire that ruined the gunman's hands and knocked him off his feet. Emily floated over him into the house, greeted by an expected hail of bullets. She took a shallow breath and turned her head around the room, gently knocking everyone off their feet. In less time than it took to drag the hair from her eyes, Emily darted about and disarmed all of them. A pile of mangled guns formed on the floor. She went through the house faster than a bolt of lighting, destroying every gun she saw.
Breaker and his two henchmen entered a moment later to find Emily tapping her foot on the floor and watching her fearful group of hostages like a hawk.
"Hello, gentlemen," Carlos grinned, taking a quick look around. "It's good to see all of you again. I believe you know my daughter?"
Most of them didn't even know the Breaker had any children.
Sam Leonard cowered as the Breaker turned a steely gaze his way.
"What's this everyone tells me about you, Lion? I heard you had a new contract … that you've been giving my money to others."
"Breaker … I …"
"Oh shut-up. Nothing you say will save you now, you fucking weasel." Carlos looked at Emily. "Remember what I said before?" he asked her. "Well I changed my mind about this one." He pointed at Sam, who looked at Carlos's young daughter fearfully.
Smiling back at him, Emily stepped up and reached down. She rose with the Lion dangling from her arm. He was having trouble breathing with her titanium fingers enclosed around his throat, but he still kicked and punched at her. Flicking his arm experimentally with her finger, Emily heard the bone snap. A quick grasp on each of his other limbs rendered them useless, and she tossed him into the far wall. The panelling parted and he landed deep in the next room.
As poor sore Sam lifted his head, he saw Emily's foot rushing at his head. It was the last thing Sam "the Lion" Leonard ever saw.
"I have a right mind to kill all of you," Carlos was saying. "But I look around this room and I see potential. You're all stand-up guys … you just had poor leadership."
Carlos sat down.
"There was a little misunderstanding between the Lion and me. But that won't affect our future business arrangements." He looked at Marv, who was staring at Emily with his mouth wide open. "Marvin, I think you'd be a good man to have on my team. You can have Leo's turf. What do you say?"
"Thank you, Mr. Lahey." Marvin was unable to take his eyes from Emily.
"Look at me, Marvin," Carlos demanded. "When you talk to me, you look me in the fucking eye."
Marvin turned his head shakily in Carlos's direction. "Sss-sorry, Mr. Lahey."
"Never apologise to me, Marvin. If I ever feel that I need an apology from you, you'll know … but not for long."
"What do you want me to do?" Marvin asked, the question clearly one his tongue was used to.
"I'm sending a few guys down this way tomorrow. Until then, I want you to remember my little rule. You get high on your own stash … no taxing the bag"
Sirens slowly grew louder in the background.
"Time to leave," Rudall declared.
"Wait right here."
Emily wandered out over the lawn and stood on the sidewalk. Listening to the sirens, she knew she wouldn't have to wait long. Two squad cars came tearing into the street, both of them travelling sideways. Emily stepped out onto the road, staring them down. When they pulled up, all four cops got out of their cars quickly.
"Where's the gunfire?" one asked as they dashed over. Two were a little slower because they had to unclip the shotgun from the floor.
"It's over now," Emily told them.
One of the older cops was concentrating on the limo. "Hey! I know those plates!" he declared, moving over up to the drivers window and tapping.
"Did you call the police, lady?" the cop near Emily pressed on with his questioning.
"Why would I do that?" Emily asked.
"Open the window!" he cap at the car door demanded, his taps growing more insistent.
"Where did that blood come from, Miss?"
"Well, it got on me when I did this …" Emily popped his head with a quick right jab, making all three remaining cops line her up with their weapons. The closest guy moved in quick and jabbed the butt of his shotgun at her temple. But Emily was much faster than the cop, and caught it firmly in her grasp. Giving the steel a squeeze she turned the gun into a sawn-off, then the palm of her other hand shoved the unfortunate man into the next life. He was dead before he crumpled into the house across the street. Bullets and pellets were coming at her wholesale as she regarded her next victim. There was little left of her second set of clothes for the day, but Emily was not the least ashamed of the flesh now being revealed. She closed her eyes, and relished the feeling of bullets bouncing off her skin. But then there was silence.
"Out of ammo, are we?" Emily asked scornfully. "Pity." Taking a step toward one of them, she was taken by surprise as the other swung his shotgun like a baseball bat into the back of her head. She hardly felt it, the full force of the blow vibrated back up the weapon. She turned her head and blew at him through the corner of her mouth. He lifted from the ground and landed on the bonnet of his car fifteen feet away. The last cop was backing away, his radio in his hand.
As he raised it to his lips Emily became a blur of colour, reshaping with her nose two inches from his face. The cop was suddenly aware of her warm hand on his forearm.
"Give them the all-clear."
Her hand closed, compressing his arm like he was wearing a blow-up sumo suit. Sweat beaded on the cops reddened face, a painful grimace absorbing his features.
"Tell them you've got everything under control."
Realising she could close her hand further without much effort, the cop told the dispatcher that it had been a prank call. As soon as the dispatcher confirmed his call, Emily destroyed the radio. Having such control over a man gave Emily a big thrill.
"You feel like a water balloon," she told her captive, squishing her fingers around in his muscles and drawing screams from him. "I bet you'd come apart like a wet paper-bag." Tugging with inhuman speed and strength Emily turned him into a nightmarish fountain, and dropped the twitching limb to the ground. His screams amused her for a moment, but were soon silenced as she vaporised him. She did the same to the other dead cops, the ashes blowing away with the gentle breeze. Looking at the squad cars, she decided to test out her shapely new legs. Stepping up she drew back her leg and kicked the first one in the middle of the bumper. The steel twisted around her leg a bit, but she followed through and lifted the entire vehicle into the air. It soared high into the sky, crossing four rows of houses and snapping a tree before coming to rest in a pool.
"Wow!" Grinning she walked over and booted the next car harder. It exploded in flameless ball of debris, pieces of cop-car flying in all directions. Very impressed with herself, Emily hopped up into the air and hovered back to her waiting father.
"Mr. White, Clark Kent on line two."
"Put him on."
"Yes Clark. Anymore info on the Mob-Girl story?"
"Turn the radio on to WWMN."
Perry swivelled around and reached for dial. The pleasant classical music turned to static then a crackling newsreader could be heard.
"… ropolis Police. In all, seventeen cars have been destroyed, and thirty-four officers killed. The pattern originates at the site of this mornings' gangland battle in the eastern district, and stretches toward the southern suburbs …"
"Clark? What's going on?"
"She's killing people."
"… Commissioner Graeme Thorpe will be making an official statement at two o'clock regarding the matter. Already, there has been speculation as to whether the sudden outbreak of violence is connected to yesterday's dramatic prison break by mob boss Carlos Lahey. So far, the police department has ruled out the possibility put forward by Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent, who claims that Superman's powers have been stolen Carlos Lahey's daughter: Twenty year old Emily Lahey."
"I'm here, Clark."
"I have to go."
Emily announced her decision to escort the limo from air by jumping three hundred feet into the sky. Kirkland was standing too close, and ended up sprawled out on the grass. Picking himself up, Marcus jogged over to the car and got there just as Carlos tucked his head under the door-jam.
"Where to now?" Carlos asked him, already lowering the divider so the driver could hear.
"The driver knows the place. Fat Jimmy's."
"The bar on Truman Avenue? That place goes way back with me. It was the second front I set up … after the cops nabbed the pizza place." Carlos scratched his chin, then leaned forward toward the driver. "Let's go home, Dennis," he told him, then plucked a cigar out of the silver box set into the bar. "We've given everyone enough to talk about this morning … we'll hit the bar tonight, when there's an audience."
Listening in from on high Emily was a little disappointed, at first, that she'd have to wait until night before her next public appearance as Mob-Girl. She had never experienced anything like the power that was flowing so abundantly through her body, and found the way in which people around her crumbled at her lightest touch more than a little agreeable. Already she had developed an enthusiasm for gunfire massages.
Police cars were no-where to be seen. The limo driver had been working for Breaker's mob long enough to know where all the police stations were, and he didn't go within three blocks of any of them. And so the trip back to the eastside was uneventful, giving Emily plenty of time to just relax in the air above Metropolis and enjoy the scenery.
Metropolis was a city that truly lived up to the name. Looking left to right, Emily cast her eye over the chaotic jungle of buildings and felt a great sense of pride. No-one else on the planet had access to this glorious view without a helicopter or plane. For a moment she wondered how Clark Kent would be feeling right now. She knew that the euphoria she felt would be reversed in him. It must be very depressing for him, she decided, if the feeling of joy she was experiencing was anything to go by.
Below her the limo turned up the access ramp and onto the highway. Mob-Girl curved her course to stay with them. The pace the car was travelling seemed very slow to her, though the long black vehicle carrying her father was passing other cars as if they were standing still … using the breakdown lane more often than not.
They got back to the compound and the limo drove into the underground car park. Allowing gravity to take her low to the ground, Emily followed in behind it and landed on the concrete.
"If we're not doing anything now, I'm going out," she told her father. "I'm
not sitting in the house all day."
"That's fine, Emily. Me and the boys have a lot to discuss. We'll head to the next target at around nine, so try to be back … okay?"
"I'll be here."
Getting into her third set of clothes for the day Emily paused at her bedroom window to consider her options. Deciding to give her flying ability a good test, she floated out and soared into into the scattered clouds. She passed through them and continued to climb. Looking down she got a small whirl of vertigo, but it didn't last long. The curvature of the Earth became apparent and she stopped there to look around.
"I think I'll head east," she decided. A moment later she was cruising at mach three over the Atlantic. Far below her she saw many ships. Looking at the water she caught a glimpse of the ocean floor. Suddenly she could see it all, the deep blue water becoming transparent to reveal the mountainous seabed. Touched by its beauty Emily dove into the water to 'swim' through Robert Ballard's territory faster than any torpedo in production today.
Enjoying herself immensely Emily explored the bottom of the Atlantic. She found wrecks of all descriptions and even a few aircraft. They were hard to spot, damaged and covered with deep sea life, but Emily had no trouble. Eventually the ocean floor rose until it formed a coastline. Breaching, she flew along the surface with her fingertips slicing through the heights of the swell. As she neared the beach Emily rose into the clouds once more, travelling so swiftly that her clothes and hair were already dry.
Looking at her clothes she shook her head in disgust and swore.
"What am I going to do about this?"
They had been reduced to rags by her incredible speed. Thinking about it a moment, she realised the only outfit on Earth capable of withstanding the treatment she'd been giving her clothes was Superman's outfit. Looking over the strange land below she sighed and headed back the way she had come. Her mental map of the ocean floor guiding her back to Metropolis.
Perry White was having a hard time with this one. Every other paper had gone with the stealth chopper story on the prison break. His was the only rag running of at the mouth about 'Mob-Girl' and it concerned him that his reputation might be harmed if Clark proved to be wrong. Sure, Superman had been around for a long time. Sure he'd had trouble before. He'd also gone away for long periods of time too, and Perry was starting to think Clark was making all this up because Superman was on another interstellar mission, leaving his media contact with no stories.
Jabbing his finger on the intercom, he ordered coffee then reached for his cigarettes. When he swivelled around and to look out over the city he got the shock of a lifetime. All doubt about Clark's integrity was washed away as Perry came to terms with his eyes were seeing.
She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, her bikini hiding very little of her awesome body. Getting up, Perry walked over to the window and looked down past the girls feet. She was standing on air. Perry looked up hopefully, but found no wires supporting her. Mob-Girl was hovering just six inches from the glass, smiling at him with the most dazzling teeth Perry White had ever seen.
"Oh my …"
Her hand rose, and she touched her fingertips to the windowpane. Her smile went a little crooked, and the glass became a web of cracks.
Perry backed away, only to find himself sucked toward her as the glass succumbed to her single hand. The office was thrown into chaos as the wind tore through the place. Perry thought he was going to fall, but the girl grabbed him under the arm, and tossed him back in.
Rolling onto his back, Perry looked up the length of her flawless calves and thighs. This woman was built in a way that made Perry's head spin.
"Your Clark Kent's boss, aren't you?"
"Who are you?"
"Who do you think, Perry?"
"You're the one who killed all those policemen."
"That's just the beginning. Do you happen to know where Clark is right now?"
"I have no idea."
"Come on. What kind of manager doesn't know where his people are? You must be able to get in contact with him."
"He e-mails his stuff to me. What do you want?"
"I want to know where Clark Kent is." She touched her feet to the floor either side of the fallen Perry White. Crouching down over him with impressive agility she put her face in his. "And you're going to tell me."
Perry couldn't help but get aroused. This woman had an incredible presence. He could feel an aura of power around her that was almost physical.
"No I won't."
Clark Kent's apartment overlooked the industrial estate. On a clear day you could see the smoke billowing from a forest of concrete stacks on the horizon.
With Perry's comprehensive directions Emily found the place in no time at all. It was on the top floor of an apartment block built in the mid-fifties. Emily was about to shatter the window when she spotted alarm sensors. Darting sideways she smacked through the concrete and brick wall without triggering any alarms. Dropping to the carpet, she strode around Superman's home. There was no sign of Clark. She didn't have to check every room to know he wasn't here. Her ears would have detected his heartbeat, but all she could hear was the neighbours talking about the loud crash she had made a moment ago.
"Looks like Perry lied to me," she mused. Standing in the living room Emily scanned every nook and cranny in the apartment, making the walls transparent, and found what she sought in the bottom drawer of his dresser.
"Excellent." Still in X-ray mode she walked through two walls into the master bedroom. Shoving her hand through the oak construction, Emily ripped the blue and red outfit out of hiding and held it up. It was much smaller now. Obviously the fabric was designed to stretch. It felt similar to silk, yet was not quite so smooth. when she pulled on it stretched as she knew it would.
"I'll have to remodel it," she decided, examining the red underpants that Superman strangely wore outside his clothes. They would never fit with her image. The boots were no good, but Emily preferred to go barefoot anyway. Now that rocks crunched under her feet like chunks of hard-packed flour she saw no need for them.
Flying back out into the open air Emily sought a fashion designer famous among the Metropolis social elite for his sensual and revealing garments.
Soaring over the city with the wind blasting through her hair Emily located the shop in the time it took to hail a taxi. Checking it out through cloud she pierced the walls and found the young man working thoroughly with pen and paper.
The street was busy, but Emily didn't want to get off on the wrong foot by blasting a hole in the designers fashionable shop. So she folded the super-suit and descended smoothly to the sidewalk in front of the door.
People moved away from her, staring with open bewilderment. Susan just kept a straight face, which was difficult, and took her package into the shop.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, looking at Emily over the top of her glasses.
"I need to see Frank."
"Mr. Forelli is a very busy man, as I'm sure you're aware. I can book you in for an appointment, Miss …?"
"Lahey. Emily Lahey. Not that you really need to know." Emily walked around the reception desk to the hidden door. Before the receptions picked up the handset to dial security, Emily flashed over and slapped her hand on the phone. Pieces of plastic flew everywhere, and the dial-tone stopped.
"Just relax, lady. I won't be here long."
Emily quickly worked out how to open the secret door into Frank Forelli's studio.
"What the fuck is this?" he demanded, unimpressed by the scantily clad girl barging in on his creative time.
"I have a challenge for you, Frank."
Frank sensed something different about this woman. The way she moved her immaculate body inspired an erection when he got a good look at her.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Emily Lahey. The Daily Planey call me 'Mob- Girl'."
"Check this out."
Emily put Superman's outfit on the drawing Frank had been working on.
"I need this feminised. Can you work with Kryptonian fabrics?"
"What is this? Is it real?"
"I need you to change it, Frank. I know I can count on you, your a genius. I'll come back tomorrow and see what you've done."
Frank gaped at her ass as she walked back out. Even after meeting the best supermodels in the business, Frank was astounded by Emily's supreme confidence, and deeply impressed by her sensationally glamorous build.
Fully aware how much of an effect she'd had on Frank, Emily felt her self-confidence take another leap. A man as worldly as Frank Forelli would have seen the most beautiful women in the world, and yet she had still left him staring at her like a hungry puppy.
Giving the receptionist a little wave, Emily strode out the door and leapt up into the clouds. Looking at the clock inside the train station far below, she learned that she still had hours before she should head back home. Stretching her body out she accelerated through a sonic boom and set her course back over the ocean.