Princess Tutu Fan Fiction ❯ The Madrigal: Princess Tutu and the Secret Six II ❯ Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Early the next morning, as it hit the papers, a letter did indeed come to the local precinct with no return address, (of course,) and the writing was very blocky and indistinct. It said the following:

 

“This world is dirty. Dancers are all dirty. They gyrate and pivot, make suggestive moves. It's all about sex. You can't tell me no. Yes it is. They make me hot. They make me think dirty thoughts. Dirty thoughts are wrong. I don't want to be dirty. Yes, I will kill them all. I will kill them all: all their lust, and flaunting; their tight clothes and parts show. They all must die. I did the first girl. She made me feel real dirty, and I had to not be dirty. I did what I did to not feel dirty, and then I made sure she never made anyone dirty again. He made me feel dirtier last night, and I did not want to feel it anymore. I got rid of the dirty, and made sure he never made dirty again. I wanted feet, but I could not take them. I want a nice collection. I want all feet that cannot make dirty! All dancers are my targets. All shall pay…pay for making dirty.”

This was followed up by the word “dance” again in a circle with a diagonal line through it. Though it was only two ballet dancers, they figured that any purveyor of any kind of dance was now in danger. One officer attempted to lighten up the somber mood by saying, “That guy gives a new meaning to `Saturday Night Fever.'”

As a result, the man became known as the “Saturday Night Killer.” Along with the report, and some advice from the police for the dancers, (never go alone, avoid solicitations from the man in the sketch included with the article, set a personal curfew to not be out when he might be, avoid anyone that looked like that man asking anything about the dance,) the police already set a $25,000 bounty on the killer's head. This immediately caught the attention of one Johnny White Wolf. “Well, it looks like it's time to go to work,” he thought to himself.

 

Johnny White Wolf was a native of the area, both figuratively and literally. He was an Alleghany Native American, about the age of 35. He may have been close to middle age, but the years had been kind to him, and he kept in phenomenal shape. He did not waste his body with smoke, drink, or carousing. Besides, in his line of work, he had no time for that. He may have gone into saloons and houses of ill repute for the sake of a case, but he never really partook, considering that any inebriation could cause him to miss a clue or a word spoken at the right moment that could mean the difference between his payday and the poorhouse. He had spent ten years in the United States Army as a cavalry scout. He spent some time as cadre training the Green Berets at Fort Benning, Georgia, acting as opposition forces to train against. He therefore knew what they knew; he just did not have to go through the same hype to learn it. He had fought in the first Gulf War, and had taken part in many other covert operations that the scouts might be called upon to participate. He had medals that he could not say how he obtained, or else he would then have to kill whoever heard. That training, combined with what he had learned growing up on the reservation, had taught him how to be observant, quiet, stealthy, and quite the killer. He had thought about joining the police, but he had heard how hard these men work as they put their lives on the line for the people on a daily basis for peanuts. This did not sit well with him, and thus, he decided the money was in bounty hunting. They had a few limitations on them that the police did not have. Yet, there were things that they could do that the police could not get away with legally, and that suited Johnny better. He spent a year with some of the best in the business learning the trade, and now he was making the cash.

 

He milled around his modest flat pondering. His apartment was well furnished with leather couches and the finest entertainment system to be had. He had sparse carpeting, because he liked the floorboard look that the place came with. All around were keepsakes from his heritage and his time in the Army, including both the U.S. Flag and his tribal flag, both set to be crossing one another. Along with that was a copy of the cavalry guideon of the Second Squadron, First Cavalry Regiment set a little lower, and in the middle. The unit had been the oldest regular army unit left during his time, predating the Civil War. In fact, it was his regiment that fired the first shots at Gettysburg. He cried the day he heard the unit was deactivated and mothballed, but at the same time, he knew that was the way things were in the Army. He went to his bedroom that contained a shag rug comfortable to the feet, another entertainment center, and a four poster king-size brass bed. He found the first article, grabbed that day's paper, went to the rather modern looking desk, turned on his computer, and began to pour over what was known, including the description given by that Princess Tutu. The first thing he had to do was connect to whatever files he did not have to hack into to gain some information, while at the same time getting in contact with other colleagues on the other side of the country, (no need for competition!) He also began to run the sketch against every police file he could gain access to, and every place that would keep any kind of faces on file. He wondered if the Magpie would have to rough a few people up to get some information, but he certainly hoped that this man did indeed run into the Magpie because, if he did, that man would have wished the police had caught up with him first.

 

The description that was given was a man in his mid to late twenties, collar length brown hair with a slight wave to it, and thin eyebrows. He stood about 6'1”, and weighed approximately 175 lbs. He had a normal nose that turned up just so, a small mole on his right cheek, perfectly white and straight teeth, deep blue eyes, lips slightly on the thin side, but not out of the ordinary. He had a square jaw and a cleft to his chin. At this, he started to run some records, but things were not coming up. He then remembered one contact he had met on line, and she had been able to help peg some connections and clues for him. Considering that she did not want her location pegged, (for obvious reasons,) he had to go through rigmarole to get to this contact. Still, because the contact had helped bring success before, he did not hesitate to go through it. After some time, he was able to contact Oracle directly. On her homepage was some artwork depicting a beautiful woman set in position on the Oracle of Delphi, and he went right to her chat room. He was fortunate for two things—she was there, but she was alone. He began to converse with her, “Oracle, the bird has landed once more.”

“Heckle or Jeckel?” came back on the screen. They were going through a sort of challenge and password they had set up to let her know he was the real deal. “Heckle,” he answered, “I have a big one.”

“What are you chasing?” she asked.

“I am chasing a serial killer that just came on the scene.”

“What has happened?”

“The police have just started to call him the Saturday Night Killer.”

Oracle fed this into her server on her end, and came up with several articles. She then went for the one that was closest to the action—The Fawcett City Gazette. She then typed, “I have an article from the area where it's happening. Please give me a few minutes to get the gist of it.”

After about five minutes or so, she came back, saying, “Yes, I would say you have a big one. What can I do for you?”

“I need you to run his face against anything that might contain records containing that face, and maybe corroborate that with anything like what is in the article. If you find anything, please get back to me.”

“It shall be done—the nearly all-seeing Oracle is on the watch!”

He thanked her, and jumped out. He did not want to take a chance on anyone even having the remotest chance of tracing anything to her. He loved the fact that she did all this pro bono. He wondered why, knowing that she could make a lot of money for the information. On the other side, Barbra Gordon, (Oracle,) began to ponder as her machines did their thing. She printed up some hard copies, and wheeled herself over to Bruce who had just went through some extremes training with Tim, and said, “We have a big one here, and I need all the help I can get.”

“Is Cap on this?” asked Bruce.

“I would assume so,” she responded.

“If that is the case,” inserted Tim, “then that means that the Kinkan Avatars have to be on it as well.”

“I would be surprised if they were not on it!” responded Bruce.

Tim rolled his eyes and said, “If the Swan Sisters catch this guy, they just may help him feel more `dirty:' like under six feet of it!”

 

On campus, Johansen called for a special assembly of all the students. When they were all gathered in the auditorium, he took the lectern and said, “I have heard talk and rumors circulating through the school, and especially through the dance department. First, I want to assure you that every measure is being taken to keep you safe. Second, this has been limited to Fawcett City, and there is no indication that it is headed our way at all. However, we must still be careful. He has started on dancers, and by the looks of it, he is not shy about his targets. We do not know if he is going after anything related, or the arts in general, although he has made specific reference to the dance. To be on the safe side, some temporary rules shall be set. No one is to go off campus alone, even if it is in the vicinity of the school. There will be a curfew set at sundown or at the start of study hall, whichever comes first. If you need to be in the library after dark, be sure that you do not go alone. It is advisable that you be on campus, because we shall be closing the gates at the curfew time. It will be announced the precise time each day. Unfortunately, this shall also be enforced on the weekend until this is resolved.”

There was a big groan from everyone on campus. The headmaster waved for the crowd to calm down that he might continue. He then said, “I know this is hard, and I know some of you would say, `but I don't dance.'

I know this is hard, but we cannot make it so that only the dancers suffer, nor can we hang them out to dry. This is why this is going to have to be for everyone. If you are not back in time, you will be expelled from school. I am sorry, but this is to ensure that you have the right motivation to be back on time. In addition to all this, unless you have a pass to be in the library for study time, once you are in the dorm, you are not to leave it, even when study time is over. They assure us that they have every man on the case, and they hope to get this settled quickly. Thank you for your time, and try to have a good day in class.”

However, four students came together to talk.

 

At lunch, the six, (the other three coming at Billy's request,) with Rachel, came together to discuss the matter. “Boy, this really sucks!” said Billy.

“I would agree, this would make things difficult,” said Fakir.

“If we needed to be off campus, not just for this case, but for anything else, how would we do it?” asked Ahiru.

“I had a word with Mr. Johansen,” said Mytho, “and he told me that, if the three of us were to be with you, considering that we may have professional things or business to tend to, then we can be off, but you have to let him know first.”

“We could use that as cover,” said Mary.

“Indeed, it would be `business matters,'” hinted Rue, “They would just be of a different sort.”

“If worse came to worst,” said Rachel, “I could get you off and on without anyone being the wiser. You know my abilities.”

“Then we need to keep the team communicators on us at all times,” said Ahiru, “even by our heads at the bedside. We would have to coordinate things, but we could do it.”

“Still,” sighed Billy, “I think they are overreacting. It may not be as bad as they think.”

“That's not the worst of it,” said Mary, “I hear that the headmaster is putting out feelers for extra security people, just in case.”

“Now he's going too far,” said Billy, “We have to do something to calm him down.”

Ahiru said, “Why don't we just go as the six, and with you, Rachel, and let him know that things are safe…well, as safe as they can be…as safe as we can make it…I mean, that's what we do—that's obvious…we can…”

The other six there all curled their thumbs and forefingers together, cupping their hands, and all making duck calls. Ahiru groaned and rolled her eyes, saying, “I wish I could break that!”

“Why?” asked Rue, “You wouldn't be our Duck if you did,” and she gave her a sisterly hug.

“Let's go pay someone a visit,” said Fakir.

 

Just as Mr. Johansen was hanging up the phone in his office, he nearly crawled out of his skin when Raven materialized right there in front of his desk with the Secret Six. “Please, fear not dear sir,” said Tutu in her calm, reassuring way, “We have come to bring you glad tidings.”

“Princess Tutu!” he said, “I am certainly happy to see you bunch here, but I would ask for more of an announcement.”

“There was a reason,” said Black Knight, “We wanted to make it plain to you that extra security, and maybe a couple of your precautions might not be necessary.”

“Rest easy,” said Claire, “The Secret Six, and our ally here are watching over things, as well as trying to aid the authorities in capturing the murderer.”

“Well, maybe so,” said Johansen, “Still, I just want to be sure that the kids are safe. Once this thing hit the wires, all the parents started to contact us. The phone was ringing off the hook! I have to do whatever it takes to assure the parents that their children are safe. Besides all that, you shall be assured to know that you shall not be alone. I just now got off the phone with Lex Luthor, and he has pledged me 30 more men on top of the normal security from his protection agency to help take care of things at no cost to us.”

Captain Marvel wanted to say something, and it showed on his face. White Knight wanted to know what he was feeling, but in this state, his mind could neither be read, nor controlled. However, he did guess that, after hearing Luther's name dropped, it could not be good. They then told Johansen that they would still keep the vigil and left. Once they were out of anyone's hearing, White Knight asked Cap, “What is bothering you?”

“If Luthor is offering this help,” answered Cap, “know that there are strings attached somewhere. I just would like to know when the other shoe of that is going to fall, and what it shall mean.”

 

Because of the murders, the press, and the police, had not been spending as much time paying attention to the rash of burglaries taking place all around the suburbs and in Fawcett City proper. They had been felony level, but just barely. Drosselmyer had set it that way to insure that no one paid attention to it, nor could start to trace things to him. He was indeed delighted at what his dolls had done, and after the last night's take, he figured it was time to celebrate by throwing the switch that he had been waiting so long to throw. He walked up to his masterpiece and hit the switch. He stepped back as the eyelids came open, the head turned to look around, and then begin to look in wonder at all that was around her. Drosselmyer then said, “Happy Birthday, Uzzura!”

Instantly, the system inside her wooden body began to churn, attempting to learn what she had just heard. She began to mumble, and the sounds were not to dissimilar to the same sounds a baby makes when it is learning to talk. Finally, he heard, “Mum…mum…uz…uz…uz…uzzur…uzzurR 30;UZZURA-ZURA!”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, and began to dance around the room. Uzzura screeched a bit in fear, not knowing what the cajoling was about, but then Drosselmyer began to hush her and say, “Shh, no need to fear! I am your father—your maker.”

Again, the system went to work, trying to define and fit usage for the words spoken, and after some fumbling, she said, “No fear-zura! You father-maker—happy birthday-zura!”

Her mouth then formed a gleeful smile, and he picked up his modern day Pinocchio and danced around with her, saying, “You are beautiful! You are a gem.”

Once again, she mumbled, and finally said, “Uzzura a gem—UZZURA BEAUTIFUL!”

Drosselmyer himself was on cloud nine by that point, and he began to apply her education. He would insure that she would be ready to pull off the biggest job yet!

 

 

 

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