Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter Twenty-Four ( Chapter 24 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Shiv gives his apology; chaos ensues once Ivan realizes what he lost
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.03.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 7.8K | Visits: 438 | Status: Completed
Shiv gives his apology; chaos ensues once Ivan realizes what he lost
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.03.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 7.8K | Visits: 438 | Status: Completed
Right Here
Chapter Twenty-Four
Static flung himself and his disk through the hole atop of the gas station, sweeping into the building with Richie’s name flying off his lips. As he jumped to the floor, he jogged into the main section of the front area, noting that the couch was empty–that things were still in its place. He gave a puzzled expression as he tried to guess where else Richie could have gone when his police scanner began ringing out urgent tones.
Sighing, he shuffled back toward the hole in the ceiling, and plucked the device from his coat. He took flight, heading back to his house when he focused in on the dispatcher’s calm, clear tone. She was dispatching any available units, coroners and fire department for a report of a car accident on highway 407. He shuddered, figuring upon a very bad car accident when a unit on scene described five known gangbangers with suspicious circumstances in their deaths. He commented on how good that situation was, arriving in his neighborhood, his thoughts drifting away to Richie.
Where could he be? As he thought of Chuck, Felix, Larry, wondering if the blond had gone to either of their houses for the night, he listened to Hotstreak angrily tell Adam to shove his boring lectures up his ass. The two males were arguing loudly. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to know what was going on there. He would let Sharon handle it.
He knew Hotstreak wasn’t going to pull any threats or displays of powers–it was obvious that all he wanted was the blond.
It made Static’s stomach flip at the thought. How many times had he gone to Daisy’s, to wait for her while she returned from some errand, and found himself talking to her family? Of course, it was an entirely different situation–he wasn’t a well-known bang baby featured nearly daily for his trouble making actions. He was respectable, he was polite, he was ‘normal’–it just felt weird thinking of how similar Hotstreak’s situation was similar to that one.
Of course, Virgil could always sneak a call into the police; let them know the redhead was here. But he had to consider Richie’s feelings–if he did follow through with it, he knew Richie would be pissed and hurt at knowing his best friend had put his boyfriend into that situation.
Which made it even more awkward–he was already treading on dangerous ground with his best friend, no matter how many times he tried to make things better. Virgil knew Sharon had been right about pushing Richie into thinking what he thought–Richie had begun pulling away from him, and Virgil knew it was because of his constant complaining of Hotstreak. How good of a friend could he be if he couldn’t even show Richie that he’d always have his back?
Just as he’d landed within his room, he heard the dispatcher carry out the report of another car accident on the same highway–only that a caller had reported finding bodies in the back of an abandoned car.
“Ooh, that’s bad,” he muttered, pulling off his mask and jacket. He shuddered at the thought. Violence was so common in Dakota–gang violence especially. Things hadn’t changed with Ivan Evans in prison–it seemed to stay at a stand still. Bodies were found all the time.
But, admittedly, there was always the accident of children locking themselves in the trunk, looking for a place to hide. That made him even more uneasy–such accidents were so heartbreaking, and he hated dealing with situations that had kids involved.
As he wondered the content and the actions for those bodies being in the trunk, he sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
“Where would he go?” he asked himself, frowning thoughtfully. He considered racing out to the Foley’s–maybe Richie had felt lonely and homesick, and had gone there, anyway. Risking his father’s attitude for some comfort that Virgil himself couldn’t provide. It was a consideration–they were probably ignoring the phone, thinking that Hotstreak was looking for Richie. He wondered if they even knew of their son’s involvement with the meta.
He had to chuckle, thinking of how Sean would react to that.
“At least he’s white,” he laughed to himself.
He listened to the traffic of units that were working both scenes on the highway–fast response, and both from highway units, not city. He wasn’t interested in the logistics of the situation–it wasn’t something that would normally catch his attention.
He laid back on his bed, hearing Adam’s bellows getting louder. Hotstreak got louder. Robert joined in, roaring at both of them to quiet down, to not wake the entire damn neighborhood. Virgil had to laugh as he heard Robert direct them to different corners of the living room to ‘sit and think about their actions’. At Hotstreak’s answering mutter, something that could ONLY be sullen and angry, Robert gave an answering bellow.
Virgil had to laugh again, shaking his head, dreads moving over his forehead. He hadn’t heard his father yell like that–his mind drifted, wondering how Richie handled that constant pouty attitude and childish mannerisms that the older meta was capable of. But then again...Richie wasn’t known for his maturity, either.
His attention wandering once more, he heard the tail end of a unit’s request for identification of the two bodies. A normal procedure, if identification was found on the victims, dispatch would then rely proper information toward someone that could notify the families for identification and confirmation purposes.
When he realized that Sean Foley’s name was being read off in by the first letters of his name–S as in Sarah, E as in Elliot, A as in Apple, N as in New York–he felt his entire body freeze. His mind took in the rest of the information with horrified realization, his eyes widening as Maggie was also identified. He couldn’t believe it. It had to be a coincidence.
Richie had laughed at that–there were two Sean Foleys’ in Dakota. One was his father–the other worked at an insurance agency downtown. The two were constantly mixed up, and his father was constantly being pestered for payments on porn rentals from a well-known adult store.
But what was the coincidence in the addition of Maggie?
He slowly sat up, listening to more of that unit’s response. But the highway patrol officer was well trained and gave away nothing but what the dispatcher requested. Family was going to be notified–Richie was their own listed kin. They hadn’t had anyone else.
“Jesus,” he whispered, shaking his head. He could feel the blood draining away from his face. Was it really true? That Richie’s parents–bigoted, angry Sean and quiet, passive Maggie–were found dead in a car accident? Which led to another slew of thoughts–what had happened to them? Why were they in that car? What happened to that car to be in an accident–? Were they somehow connected to the previous car accident?
Something made him stand up quickly, hurriedly pulling his jacket and mask back on. He had to check it out.
“407 ain’t that far off,” he realized out loud.
“Virgil? You find him?” Robert asked, having heard him musing aloud earlier. He peered into his son’s room with a questioning expression.
“I–no. something came up, pops. I gotta–I gotta check this out,” Virgil said, gesturing at the scanner. “Tell the others he weren’t there.”
“What’s going on?”
“Real bad car accident on 407. But they all suspicious–I dunno, I just got a feeling, pops. I need to go. This feeling...it ain’t very good.”
Robert stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. Virgil refitted his mask on over his face, and hesitated for a brief moment. He raced from his room to his sister’s, knocking quickly.
“Let me borrow your cell,” he begged as his sister sat up groggily.
“Whatchu need it for?” Sharon asked crankily. Then she perked. “You found Richie?”
“I need to go somewhere...but I need something that ya’ll can contact me with, in CASE he calls,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
Sharon waved in the direction of her charging cell, and Virgil took it gratefully, slipping it into his jacket pocket. Then Static was out the window, streaming off toward highway 407.
Hotstreak had been nursing a cigarette when he saw Static flash by, and he straightened from the porch, looking over his shoulder. “Hey, where’s he going?”
“He said Richie wasn’t there. Car accident on 407.” Robert descended the staircase as he answered.
“Why’s he goin’ to some car accident?” Hotstreak asked with a frown, trying to pierce together the importance.
“I honestly don’t know. But it was important for him to do so.”
“Figures he’d take off when I need him for something,” Hotstreak muttered, killing the cigarette.
“Why don’t you head on back to...wherever you two are staying,” Robert suggested. “Leave us your number, and if Richie comes back here, we’ll have him call you. Or if we hear anything from him, we’ll call and let you know.”
“I ain’t trustin’ you with that! You’ll turn me in!”
“If we haven’t yet, what makes you think we will now?” Robert snapped at him.
“Bullshit...like you guys can be trusted, anyway.”
“You know, for someone like you–!”
Adam cut in, glaring at the redhead fiercely. “We’ll let ya know if Richie comes back. Get the hell outta here and cause trouble somewhere else! I don’t see why he even puts up with you, you fuckin’ rude ass, impolite, sneaky-ass bastard!”
“Yeah, well, I wish I was a bastard. As for everything else, thanks! Lets me know that I ain’t goin’ soft,” Hotstreak said with a malicious grin. He turned, walking off the porch. Then he turned, giving them both a sneaky expression. “By the way...love what you did to your car...”
He laughed, and hurried off down the sidewalk, intending to follow Static. Something was going on, and if it were enough for him to abandon the search for Richie, then Hotstreak was going to determine for himself if that situation was worth it.
He heard Adam’s loud cry out outrage upon discovering of the bodywork Hotstreak had done to his Lexus earlier, and felt good in that he truly hadn’t gone soft.
OooooooooooO
Static arrived at the first car accident–much to the surprise of those working the scene. A fire engine rumbled with life nearby, flooding the area with lights powered by a portable generator, a couple of firefighters spraying foam onto the liquids that spilled from the overturned Navigator. The Y was being closed off, and what traffic there was at three thirty in the morning was backed up. A lone highway patrolman was redirecting traffic, and city units were clustered around the area. From his position in the sky, Static could see that the Navigator had been going at a high rate of speed from the intersecting highway onto 407–it had been trying to make a turn, but there was an indication of a collusion, an over-correction, and it’s final roll between the Y.
He looked down at it, shaking his head slightly at the bullet holes that littered the expensive vehicle’s body, at the human bodies that were covered with yellow tarp. There were five in all–in various locations around the vehicle. Two were in the tree line just beyond the road, two around the Navigator, and one lying against the other road.
Aaron Lewis, the balding police chief that he and Gear had worked with in the past, was talking with one of the highway patrol units nearby, gesturing at one of the bodies.
Static swallowed hard. He hated what guns could do to a human body. The weapon was fully capable of rendering soft flesh and hard bone into mangled messes.
Scenes like these were gruesome, and they were always hard–it was times like these when he wished Gear were with him; the blond was able to keep him focused, pointing out the forensics of each body, deducing the actions taken–whether they were defensive or offensive–and what the motive was in each death.
Horror and grief filled him once more as he realized that Gear’s parents were further up the highway–stuffed in the trunk of some vehicle.
He coasted downward, and landed away from the track marks of the vehicle’s roll pattern. Lewis looked up and over at him, then waved him over.
Instantly focusing on the middle-aged man, Static hurried over, filtering out any other thoughts that were bothering him.
Lewis waved at him, and the two walked over to one of the bodies nearest the overturned Navigator.
“You ready? It ain’t pretty,” Lewis warned, crouching with a hand on the tarp. Static nodded, a forceful jerk of his head that sent his dreads bouncing forward, and the chief pulled the tarp back slightly.
The gangbanger’s face was missing–Static had to flinch at the sight of burst skull fragments that decorated the dirt around him, the emptiness of the man’s mouth, nasal cavity, and for the fact that loose skin flapped within the gentle morning breeze.
He was thankful that it was still too dark for others to see the sight–it was truly gruesome.
“I’m willing to bet this is Gummer’s work,” Lewis said, familiar with all bang babies in Dakota. He looked down at the face with a frown. “All these guys worked for Ivan Evans at one point–we know them all. What I don’t understand is why Gummer would turn against them.”
Static realized, with a lurch of bile in his tightened throat, that he was talking about Shiv. He looked back down to see how the chief was able to recognize that just from the explosion of the man’s face. But he didn’t have the analytical depth and perception that both Lewis and Gear would have. All he saw was a mangled mess of dull color and unnatural positioning.
“All these guys were Ebon’s crew?” he asked, his voice catching slightly as he glanced around. “What about the accident up south?”
“That one...I’m not sure about the story on that one,” Lewis said, covering the face once more as he straightened. “The Escort was parked off a dirt trail just off the highway–abandoned. The keys were still in the ignition. Whoever performed the job was sloppy. I wasn’t able to identify the bodies in the trunk, but whomever murdered the couple had done a very poor job. Gunshots to the head and upper torso–they were in the process of taking them apart. Very sloppy. You might want to skip that scene, Static. I know how you are with that.”
Static tried for an indignant face, but the graphic thought of Maggie and Sean being shot and dismembered had his stomach lurching. Grief filled him, then. He hadn’t known them very well, but they were Richie’s parents. How was his friend going to react once he found out what happened to them?
“The vehicle has blood inside–we’re not sure if it belongs to these guys, or someone else. We have a witness in custody–he was driving by the scene when he was approached by a...” He paused to look at his notes. “ ‘A purple haired guy with a sword.’ Gummer. He was with a blond teenager–”
Horror once again filled Static’s entire being. Richie? With Shiv? With or against?
“–I swear I know this kid from somewhere, but I can’t really–anyway, he was with a blond teenager. Both were on the run from two black men–one of them fits the description of Ivan Evans, but the guy’s in prison. Probably just a lookalike. The witness is still here if you want to question him, Stat–Static?”
Lewis had been pointing in the direction of a nearby patrol car–by the time he realized that Static had left his side, the superhero was already standing at the back door, talking to the still shocked man. Lewis put his notes away, walking over to hear that Static was retrieving a description of the blond teenager from the man.
At Static’s agonized expression, the soft exhalation that could have been a curse, the African-American was leaning against the car door, looking close to exhaustion. Lewis eyed him undecidedly.
“You know him?” he asked.
Static had to watch the scene for a few moments, trying to get his thoughts into order. How had Richie gotten into this mess? How–? What had happened? Had somebody picked him up as he went searching for Hotstreak? How was Shiv involved? Ebon’s crew? Confusion muddled his thoughts, and he was finding himself stuck with his bewilderment. He wanted to believe that Richie wasn’t involved–how could the blond have been when Static had left him at his house!
He needed to find him–he needed to know if he were okay. Here, he’d been so afraid that Hotstreak was going to hurt him, he hadn’t even thought of other factors! How could there have been other factors when–
He thought of that day when those teens in the maroon Blazer had taunted Richie on the way home from school. Was Ivan sending his cronies to continue their terrorism through his crew members? Had some specific request been called from Ivan to do something utterly terrible to his friend? He was in a flurry of questions, all of them unanswerable.
He pulled away from the vehicle, wanting to look at the other accident.
If so...did Richie know his parents were dead? Was he somehow involved?
He heard Lewis calling after him, but the chief’s words went ignored as he took flight.
When he found it, he saw that the bodies had been unloaded from the trunk–the Escort’s front was damaged, and the officers were already piercing it together with the one with the Navigator, for the paint scrapes and indication of damage matched both scenes.
He leapt off his disk, ignoring the annoyed stares that were being sent his way. Many members of law enforcement had resented him because of his status, and because of his age.
He’d learned to let things roll off his back, and learned when to take part in a confrontation. Mostly, his mind was focused on the mystery of Richie, and his involvement with both scenes. The coroner was preparing to load the two bodies onto stretchers, and he had one of them pause, unzipping the black body bag.
Staring at the death expression on Maggie Foley’s face, Static looked away. He had no doubt, now.
But what was this scheme calling for? What was its purpose?
Confusion made him dizzy as he zipped the bag and walked toward the Escort. There was nothing within to give him any indication of what had happened–it just added to his puzzlement.
Turning away from the scene, trying to pierce it all together, his eyes wandered the various vehicles that littered the side of the road. Gawkers, not very many due to the early hours of the morning, were trying to take in the scene from the open windows of their cars. The blue and red strobe lights from the police cars lit up the night.
As he wandered off in a daze, trying to connect the dots, he realized he was looking at Hotstreak. How the meta had followed him, how he knew where he’d gone, Static didn’t have a clue.
But he walked straight toward him, ignoring the perturbed expression on the meta’s face as he realized how much attention they were gaining from those nearby.
“Richie was involved,” Static told him, his voice sounding cold and stiff.
Hotstreak stopped looking so annoyed, his facial features screwing into that of disbelief. “What? You said he was at YOUR HOUSE!”
“THOSE ARE HIS PARENTS THAT ARE BEIN’ LOADED!” Static heard himself scream, pointing at the van. “THAT’S his parents...both of them. An’ the ones up north, we gotta witness sayin’ that RICHIE was with SHIV. You wanna tell me what I don’t know?”
Hotstreak stared at him. Static could have been speaking an entirely different language as the words sunk in. His dark, narrowed eyes glanced over at the coroner’s van, taking in the last stretcher that was being loaded. Static could swear he heard the gears turning in the redhead’s skull as he processed his words.
Finally, Hotstreak gave him a scowl, shifting in his light, hooded jacket. The hat he wore made shadows dance over his easily recognizable features, and Static heard the murmurs of those that knew who the meta was. Sensing this, wanting to leave before any more attention came to him, Hotstreak glanced around.
Static continued to stare at him. He was at a loss of what to do–police helicopters were roving about, their searchlights spreading throughout the trees along the highway surrounding the two accidents. With a frustrated sigh, feeling numb, Static cast out his disk, charging it.
“How’d you get out here?” he then asked, figuring he’d follow along the highway to look for clues.
“Car. Where ya goin’?” Hotstreak muttered.
“...I’m going...to look...for anything else along the highway. Maybe...maybe somethin’ was tossed from a car, somethin’–I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how Richie got out here, I don’t know how he’s connected with Shiv–I don’t know. Don’t ask me anything.”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes, but it was obvious he was agitated by what he was hearing. He glanced over at the van, then turned to walk away, heading back to his car. He turned before reaching it.
“I’ll follow you!” he shouted as Static took to the air.
He was still feeling numb as he coasted at a comfortable height along the highway–it was nearly four in the morning, and the sun wasn’t ready to break over the horizon yet. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for–he was operating on manual.
As Static searched for anything that could give him a clue as to where Richie was, running over possible places Richie could be if he were with Shiv (the question was if he were willing or not ), he realized how calm he was of the situation. It was overwhelming, pensive–laced with unanswerable questions. And Hotstreak had reacted calmly, casually–did he have a hand in anything? Why react so damn calmly?
He had to wonder if Hotstreak were involved–it was natural of him to think that way. Unable to take the meta in as a sort of equal, an ally–how in the hell was he supposed to accept him as his best friend’s boyfriend when he couldn’t even accept him in those terms?
Grinding his teeth, he was about to speed off when he saw something just off the shoulder of the road, leading into the trees. Making a wide U-turn, he coasted closer to the ground, drifting into the shadows of the trees. He jumped off his disk, using his powers to light up the area.
Tire marks. A vehicle out of control–out of sight from the highway. Was it somehow involved with the other two accidents? Venturing closer to those marks, he stared down at their chaoticness.
Static surveyed the surrounding area, shaking his head–the vehicle had definitely been out of control. He could barely see it from where he was standing–from what he saw of the back end, it was a Range Rover. It matched the description the witness had made. The deep grooves the tires had made in its unrestrained turn were twisted, ravaging the earth. He followed the trails into the woods, giving a cautious glance around. No one had found the vehicle yet–if he hadn’t seen the tire marks off the shoulder from the air, he doubted anyone else would see it from the road. Now that he thought about it, there were brake marks further back on the highway, but none in this area. The vehicle had careened straight from the highway and into the dirt, braking very late beyond the shoulder.
Apprehension grew deep within as he hopped onto his energized disk, and he sailed over to the Rover. The lights were still on–this was indicated by the single brake light that hadn’t been crunched like its partner. Both doors were open–he guessed that whomever was inside had made a sort of hasty escape from whomever was doing the chasing. He saw the various footprints in the dirt–along with indications of someone putting up a struggle.
His heart dropped as he viewed these marks, taking even breaths–he heard Hotstreak’s vehicle pull up to the shoulder, and without glancing over, waved at him to stay back. Creeping up to the Rover, he peered at the driver’s side–saw the broken back window, with obvious indications of gunshots that had penetrated the glass.
He swallowed hard, hovering closer to the vehicle, scared to look inside. There was blood in the dirt–his breath caught in his throat. Blood dripped from the seat, from the metal of the doorframe... he didn’t want to look. He was too afraid he’d see Richie in there, ravaged by the hateful weapons that had made his life hell. He didn’t want to see Richie’s corpse, didn’t want to know what had happened. But he continued forward, siding up to the driver’s side as Hotstreak ran around the vehicle, giving no regard to preserving the scene. Just as Static peered inside, spotting the single person within, Hotstreak had the passenger side door opened. The redhead stopped short with a startled expression.
Both fell into both stunned silence at seeing Shiv in the passenger side seat, soaked in his own blood. His arms were pulled over his stomach, head hanging forward. Static realized the smell just then–the thick, metallic smell of blood, of body fluids and released innards–the closer he looked, the more he realized why Shiv’s arms were around his gut. His thin t-shirt was wet and ruined by the multiple gunshots that had penetrated his upper and middle torso–just above the thin limbs were the obvious texture and colors of his own intestines.
Static’s hand slapped over his mouth, and he had to retch, sailing away from the vehicle. Blood rushed to his face, and thunder pounded throughout his head as he forced himself to stand, bending to rest his hands on his knees.
Hotstreak glanced over at the electric bang baby in the throes of shock, and dropped his own stunned eyes back to what he saw. While he was also bothered by the sight, his own stomach twisting and churning violently, the material wrapped around Shiv’s upper right shoulder told him what had happened to Richie’s hoodie. He wanted to reach over and snatch it from the bang baby–to somehow touch a part of his Richie in desperation.
Horror, panic, and helplessness assaulted him, then–what had happened to him? Who had him? Who would go to these awful lengths to get him?
Thousands of questions, many of them unanswerable, shot through his mind. His hand dropped from the door, and he began to back away, feeling that awful haze of shock shimmer over his eyes.
Just as he was pulling his hand back, clammy, wet fingers wrapped around his wrist. At first, he didn’t register that Shiv had reached out and grabbed him–that even as his intestines spilled over his lap and pooled out the door, the bang baby was still alive.
Hotstreak couldn’t help it–he screamed in surprise and horror.
Static looked up with bewilderment at hearing the older meta’s scream. He was instantly flying over the vehicle, fearing the worst of Richie when he realized he was looking at Shiv holding onto Hotstreak’s arm–and the redhead was struggling to get the guy to let go of him. With a superhuman grip that was natural of those in their death throes, Shiv held onto him, the tendons of his thin arm flexing with each movement Hotstreak made in trying to escape.
Blood spilled from his bluish tinged lips, and his eyes were wide–but horribly unfocused. Almost dry in appearance. They stared blankly at the cursing redhead, crimson flecking over his cheeks as his breath came in troubled sputters.
Static was frozen with horror at seeing this inhuman act–he wasn’t sure if he were actually seeing this, or if this was just some terrible joke.
Realizing that Shiv was speaking, that the sounds were mixtures of gurgles and hisses, he forced himself out of his shock and moved closer, reaching out to grip the thin arm. A numb part of him wanted to give him that reassurance that he was listening. Here, the smell was stronger–he held his breath, his other hand moving up to cover his mouth and nose.
Shiv’s thin, grayish-yellow face turned to him–Static felt wild emotion blow up within him. He’d seen this guy with grins, with cheer, with taunts and maniacal happiness–never would he forget how scared the Asian was with his oncoming death. It didn’t even seem like him at all.
“...Sorry...! C–couldn’t–s–say sorry!” he was sputtering, his teeth covered with red. Hotstreak stopped struggling, staring at him in silence. “D-didn’t w-w-want to do it...! I...I t-tried to make i–it b-better!”
Static felt his chest tighten. There was a familiar sting to his eyes as he continued to stare in silence at the dying meta. His eyes dropped to the multiple wounds that tore up his thin frame. How he’d lived...how long he’d been sitting there...so much blood....
“...Where is he?” he asked quietly, afraid of how tight his voice was.
“Took ‘im to...3....3905...o-on Hidden Valley...road...to...L-Lake. D-Dakota. Cure. He–He wants the cure!”
“Who?”
“I–Iva n! S-someone else t-took his place. Jerome. H-His name’s Jerome!”
Static felt his blood run cold; disbelief made him still. Ivan Evans was back on the streets? Had he missed something?
Shiv’s fingers tightened on Hotstreak’s wrist, the redhead wincing. The Asian was focused on him, dark, thick smelling blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
“I’m....sorry. Tell him...I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t–I d-didn’t w-want to.”
“He’ll tell ‘im,” Static heard himself say, forcing himself to raise his voice. It sounded hoarse, not like him–but he wanted to reassure. Losing this meta in this way, this form–he felt almost as if he were losing a friend. “He’ll tell him, okay? You did good, man. You did real good.”
Shiv made a jerking motion, almost a nod–his features relaxed slightly upon hearing this. His fingers released Hotstreak, and his shoulders slumped. Breath fluttered past his blue tinged lips in harsh, staccato wheezes until they finally ceased.
Watching the other arm drift away from a ruined torso, Static realized that Shiv had finally died. It was hard for him to accept that he’d waited for an undetermined amount of time just to tell them what had happened. And while a part of him wanted to race off to the address he’d numbly memorized, another part of him wanted to make sure the dead meta would be taken care of. To somehow pay respect.
He and Hotstreak stared in silence at the slumped figure in the Rover–both were at a loss of things to say. Traffic continued to flow just beyond the trees, a helicopter’s rotors beating the air in the distance. The smell was vile–but what kept the two riveted to the scene was those passing words, that final gesture.
Feeling his throat tighten with remorse and sorrow, Static forced himself to look away from Shiv’s ruined body. He looked over at Hotstreak, who was pale and still as he stared, whose left wrist still bore the imprints of Shiv’s bloody hand print.
Static reached out, grazing his shoulder with his fingertips–Hotstreak looked at him sharply, taking a few steps back, blinking his eyes into focus.
“Let’s go,” Static said gruffly. “We gotta find Rich. We can’t let Shiv’s efforts go in vain, man.”
Hotstreak nodded, a forceful jerk of his head. He glanced once more at the body, then shook his head as he strode away from the vehicle. Static glanced Shiv’s way once more, his fingers shaking as he fumbled for Sharon’s cell phone. He called Lewis as Hotstreak paused in mid-stride, and started vomiting.
Once he was sure Shiv was going to be found, Static put the cell away, forcing away his grief. They still had to save Richie–he’d mourn later.
OooooooooooO
His mid-section hurt. There was a heaviness to it that felt unnatural–black spots crowded his vision, and every part of his body pulled with a soreness that made it difficult to walk. His arms felt oddly light, unnaturally cool, painfully tingly–while he was vaguely aware that Ivan was trying to staunch the blood flow with his own Sean John shirt, that “Pickle” didn’t want to pull the metal cuffs out from the broken edges of his skin, he wasn’t aware of anything else. It felt as if he were being pulled through various memories, with things blurring in, constantly changing. One moment he was cursing at Hotstreak for yanking him along behind him, the next he was whining to Virgil about how his stomach hurt.
The mixture of voices–Ivan’s, Pickle’s, the girl–confused him. He was aware, in a far part of himself, that he was in danger. But he couldn’t remember why. Couldn’t process the actual facts or realizations.
At this time, Ivan was cursing up a storm the more Richie continued to bleed–realizing even more that the teen was sluggish, obviously out of sorts. The injuries he’d received throughout the night had made obvious impact, and Ivan knew, without needing anymore proof, that the blond needed medical attention. Something that he couldn’t give.
Desperation made him angry as he yanked the teen behind him, S leading the way into their new location. A four-story Indian casino and hotel, it had been abandoned as those in charge had lost the funds needed to keep the place running. Still in good condition, with a majority of the slot and gambling machines removed, it boasted of tacky, bright colors and wide, spacious areas.
Plenty of room for various transactions, business meetings and, of course, storage for both drug and weaponry that had been smuggled into the country, purchased with blood money.
S lead the way into the first level, then up the dead escalator to the wide ballroom that they used for their gatherings. As Ivan dragged Richie alongside him, he saw that D and V were missing–that a good majority of the newly arrived crates of cocaine were missing. Kangor stood there with several others, looking at them with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. His eyes took in the lack of entourage, the mussed looks and Richie’s state.
They drifted over the four, searching for the others.
Ivan saw the lack of order that the crew was standing in, wondering where D and V were. He looked at the teen curiously, her dark hair being swept from her face as she turned to face them.
Kangor walked over to Ivan, giving Richie a troubled look as the teen leaned on the black man for support. “Dey left you a message,” he reported gravely, pointing at the table nearby. “Said for you to listen to it immediately.”
“Who?”
“V... Where’s Shiv?”
“Shiv fucked up,” Ivan growled, pushing Richie off of him. “He had to pay the price.”
Kangor gave him a startled expression, then nodded jerkily in response as he backed off.
Pickle gave a suspicious stare at the table top–Ivan saw that the only thing on top was a Sony brand CD player.
Ivan looked at S, who turned with a sharp twist of movement to the table, turned on the CD player, and activated the button needed to play the CD within.
“Ivan,” V’s voice said musically from the recording, “I regret to inform you in person that D and I have decided to pull out of our deal. It cost more to cover your tracks rather than continue to risk our hides dealing with you. Your little stunt on the highway today just proved to us that you are incapable of intelligent thought–that we risk more while you go gallanting about to ‘protect yourself’ than we would with common business risks. As a result, we have severed all the lines that we’d established over the past six months–our clean up crew will take care of the mess we may have left behind, and I also regret to inform you that Jerome Williams will be needed elsewhere. Hopefully you don’t get too angry about this–we’ve grown fond of your little gang of friends, and would like to see them again, sometime. Perhaps work a little on your anger–think things through when you come to an obstacle. Who knows? Perhaps a little time spent thinking will spare you the grief later. It was a pleasure getting to know you–knowing that there are more psychotic people in the world have reassured us that we are NOT the only monsters out there.
“Take care. S. You know what to do. Please don’t report back–we will be informed of your completion by report. Take care, all.”
For a few silent moments, the room was thick with disbelief, momentous puzzlement and charged tension. Eyes flitted away from the CD player to Ivan, who stared at the contraption, his dark skin breaking out in a light sheen of moisture. S, with a casual glance at the black man, took the CD out of the player, and searched her pockets. She withdrew a lighter and burned the underside of the CD, the smell wafting in the air.
Richie leaned against Ivan once more, confusing the silence with a memory of class, lost in the reflection of watching the minute hand and hearing the scrape and scuff of students shifting in their desks.
A small sound broke the silence, then. A grinding sound that brought all panicked eyes to Ivan. Full lip were pulled into a grotesque baring of teeth, and said teeth were grating loudly as Ivan stared with a murderous expression at the CD player.
Amid it all–S smirked.
“What. The. Fuck,” Ivan ground out, his voice thick with rising fury and disbelief. Several of his crew members stepped back at the explosive words. Kangor looked at him cautiously, his body tense, readying to move. Ivan looked at S. “What the fuck was that? What the FUCK did that MEAN?”
S shrugged a shoulder, one hand snaking into her Levi blazer. Eyes dropped to the lethal double-bladed hatchet that dropped from the back of the blazer, resting against one jeans-clad leg. The blazer was slowly removed, revealing a corset-type shirt with delicate roses and lace. At this moment, many of the guys grew uneasy and began, with shifting glances at Ivan, to move toward the doors. She kicked off her high heels, flexing her toes against the carpet.
Picking up her hatchet, she began tapping it against one hand as she eyed them all.
“Run, little mousies,” she whispered with a low giggle.
“Oh, fuck this,” Kangor muttered, withdrawing his Beretta from the back of his jeans.
S made a cackling sound as she whirled, throwing the hatchet at him first. Fast reflexes took the Jamaican out of its flight path, his braid flicking through the air as he dove to the floor, aiming at her.
Gunshots rang out, and chaos began as some turned to fire their own weapons toward the teen, and others began running.
Ivan stood still for several shocked moments–his eyes stared blankly at nothing. As S dove behind the table, kicking it over to buy her some cover from Kangor’s shots, Ivan stood within the middle of the room, faintly wondering where he’d gone wrong.
Slowly blinking, he took in the sight of Kangor shooting at S, at his crew members running. Things seemed to move in slow motion. Glass shattered as bullets hit the windows that faced Lake Dakota–casings were dropped onto the tackily colored floor. Flashes of color moved as his crew performed their own bravery or lack of as S withdrew throwing knives from somewhere on her corset.
Everything...his plans, his future, all that he’d worked and gained–it was all swirling before his eyes, in a release of blurred sound and color. He had lost it all, and for what?
All the time and effort spent in buying a powerful standing within the Midwest, and it was all lost within hours. Mere hours.
Maybe he’d valued too much power–maybe he’d been too insecure. Took too many chances in protecting his valued nest and gaining–whichever had been too much, it had all been brought down.
Fury made him growl even louder, and he dropped his hold on Richie, withdrawing his own Glock semi-automatic from the back of his jeans. Covered in blood that wasn’t his, he was out for more, to somehow quell this rage that boiled up within him. He shoved Richie to the floor, and began shooting at anything that moved, screaming with savage fury.
OooooooooooO
When he halted his flying, he heard the gunshots–the screams. Static felt his face tighten at the sound of those hated sounds. He had no idea where in the building they were coming from, but they were multiple, they were obviously intent on killing. Those screams weren’t for some lucky gambler.
He heard Hotstreak pull up behind him, panting lightly. The guy didn’t use his powers to fly often, and Static didn’t want to waste time wondering why. He felt the fleeting heat that radiated from the bang baby, wincing as he covered his ears to protect the sensitive skin.
Hotstreak said nothing–he listened to the sounds, then rushed off without Static.
“Wait! Wait!” Static yelled, running after him, then pausing as he caught sight of the vehicles that were parked near the casino’s valet area.
He held his hand out, easily picking up an Escalade, and sending it smashing atop of a black Lexus. He made sure to disable all the vehicles in this manner, certain that no one would be needing them to make an escape. Glancing over, he saw that Hotstreak was blasting one of the boarded entrance doors apart. Cursing, thinking of how foolish and impulsive the redhead was acting, he withdrew Sharon’s cellphone, and dialed Lewis.
After making contact with the police chief, letting them know their location, he hopped onto his disk, sailing up into the air. Hands out, he used his magnetic powers to pick up one of the destroyed vehicles from below, and send it crashing through the floor to ceiling windows that made up the third floor. At the destructive display, and his heart thundering with apprehension at what they were going to find, Static swept through the broken window.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Static flung himself and his disk through the hole atop of the gas station, sweeping into the building with Richie’s name flying off his lips. As he jumped to the floor, he jogged into the main section of the front area, noting that the couch was empty–that things were still in its place. He gave a puzzled expression as he tried to guess where else Richie could have gone when his police scanner began ringing out urgent tones.
Sighing, he shuffled back toward the hole in the ceiling, and plucked the device from his coat. He took flight, heading back to his house when he focused in on the dispatcher’s calm, clear tone. She was dispatching any available units, coroners and fire department for a report of a car accident on highway 407. He shuddered, figuring upon a very bad car accident when a unit on scene described five known gangbangers with suspicious circumstances in their deaths. He commented on how good that situation was, arriving in his neighborhood, his thoughts drifting away to Richie.
Where could he be? As he thought of Chuck, Felix, Larry, wondering if the blond had gone to either of their houses for the night, he listened to Hotstreak angrily tell Adam to shove his boring lectures up his ass. The two males were arguing loudly. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to know what was going on there. He would let Sharon handle it.
He knew Hotstreak wasn’t going to pull any threats or displays of powers–it was obvious that all he wanted was the blond.
It made Static’s stomach flip at the thought. How many times had he gone to Daisy’s, to wait for her while she returned from some errand, and found himself talking to her family? Of course, it was an entirely different situation–he wasn’t a well-known bang baby featured nearly daily for his trouble making actions. He was respectable, he was polite, he was ‘normal’–it just felt weird thinking of how similar Hotstreak’s situation was similar to that one.
Of course, Virgil could always sneak a call into the police; let them know the redhead was here. But he had to consider Richie’s feelings–if he did follow through with it, he knew Richie would be pissed and hurt at knowing his best friend had put his boyfriend into that situation.
Which made it even more awkward–he was already treading on dangerous ground with his best friend, no matter how many times he tried to make things better. Virgil knew Sharon had been right about pushing Richie into thinking what he thought–Richie had begun pulling away from him, and Virgil knew it was because of his constant complaining of Hotstreak. How good of a friend could he be if he couldn’t even show Richie that he’d always have his back?
Just as he’d landed within his room, he heard the dispatcher carry out the report of another car accident on the same highway–only that a caller had reported finding bodies in the back of an abandoned car.
“Ooh, that’s bad,” he muttered, pulling off his mask and jacket. He shuddered at the thought. Violence was so common in Dakota–gang violence especially. Things hadn’t changed with Ivan Evans in prison–it seemed to stay at a stand still. Bodies were found all the time.
But, admittedly, there was always the accident of children locking themselves in the trunk, looking for a place to hide. That made him even more uneasy–such accidents were so heartbreaking, and he hated dealing with situations that had kids involved.
As he wondered the content and the actions for those bodies being in the trunk, he sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
“Where would he go?” he asked himself, frowning thoughtfully. He considered racing out to the Foley’s–maybe Richie had felt lonely and homesick, and had gone there, anyway. Risking his father’s attitude for some comfort that Virgil himself couldn’t provide. It was a consideration–they were probably ignoring the phone, thinking that Hotstreak was looking for Richie. He wondered if they even knew of their son’s involvement with the meta.
He had to chuckle, thinking of how Sean would react to that.
“At least he’s white,” he laughed to himself.
He listened to the traffic of units that were working both scenes on the highway–fast response, and both from highway units, not city. He wasn’t interested in the logistics of the situation–it wasn’t something that would normally catch his attention.
He laid back on his bed, hearing Adam’s bellows getting louder. Hotstreak got louder. Robert joined in, roaring at both of them to quiet down, to not wake the entire damn neighborhood. Virgil had to laugh as he heard Robert direct them to different corners of the living room to ‘sit and think about their actions’. At Hotstreak’s answering mutter, something that could ONLY be sullen and angry, Robert gave an answering bellow.
Virgil had to laugh again, shaking his head, dreads moving over his forehead. He hadn’t heard his father yell like that–his mind drifted, wondering how Richie handled that constant pouty attitude and childish mannerisms that the older meta was capable of. But then again...Richie wasn’t known for his maturity, either.
His attention wandering once more, he heard the tail end of a unit’s request for identification of the two bodies. A normal procedure, if identification was found on the victims, dispatch would then rely proper information toward someone that could notify the families for identification and confirmation purposes.
When he realized that Sean Foley’s name was being read off in by the first letters of his name–S as in Sarah, E as in Elliot, A as in Apple, N as in New York–he felt his entire body freeze. His mind took in the rest of the information with horrified realization, his eyes widening as Maggie was also identified. He couldn’t believe it. It had to be a coincidence.
Richie had laughed at that–there were two Sean Foleys’ in Dakota. One was his father–the other worked at an insurance agency downtown. The two were constantly mixed up, and his father was constantly being pestered for payments on porn rentals from a well-known adult store.
But what was the coincidence in the addition of Maggie?
He slowly sat up, listening to more of that unit’s response. But the highway patrol officer was well trained and gave away nothing but what the dispatcher requested. Family was going to be notified–Richie was their own listed kin. They hadn’t had anyone else.
“Jesus,” he whispered, shaking his head. He could feel the blood draining away from his face. Was it really true? That Richie’s parents–bigoted, angry Sean and quiet, passive Maggie–were found dead in a car accident? Which led to another slew of thoughts–what had happened to them? Why were they in that car? What happened to that car to be in an accident–? Were they somehow connected to the previous car accident?
Something made him stand up quickly, hurriedly pulling his jacket and mask back on. He had to check it out.
“407 ain’t that far off,” he realized out loud.
“Virgil? You find him?” Robert asked, having heard him musing aloud earlier. He peered into his son’s room with a questioning expression.
“I–no. something came up, pops. I gotta–I gotta check this out,” Virgil said, gesturing at the scanner. “Tell the others he weren’t there.”
“What’s going on?”
“Real bad car accident on 407. But they all suspicious–I dunno, I just got a feeling, pops. I need to go. This feeling...it ain’t very good.”
Robert stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. Virgil refitted his mask on over his face, and hesitated for a brief moment. He raced from his room to his sister’s, knocking quickly.
“Let me borrow your cell,” he begged as his sister sat up groggily.
“Whatchu need it for?” Sharon asked crankily. Then she perked. “You found Richie?”
“I need to go somewhere...but I need something that ya’ll can contact me with, in CASE he calls,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
Sharon waved in the direction of her charging cell, and Virgil took it gratefully, slipping it into his jacket pocket. Then Static was out the window, streaming off toward highway 407.
Hotstreak had been nursing a cigarette when he saw Static flash by, and he straightened from the porch, looking over his shoulder. “Hey, where’s he going?”
“He said Richie wasn’t there. Car accident on 407.” Robert descended the staircase as he answered.
“Why’s he goin’ to some car accident?” Hotstreak asked with a frown, trying to pierce together the importance.
“I honestly don’t know. But it was important for him to do so.”
“Figures he’d take off when I need him for something,” Hotstreak muttered, killing the cigarette.
“Why don’t you head on back to...wherever you two are staying,” Robert suggested. “Leave us your number, and if Richie comes back here, we’ll have him call you. Or if we hear anything from him, we’ll call and let you know.”
“I ain’t trustin’ you with that! You’ll turn me in!”
“If we haven’t yet, what makes you think we will now?” Robert snapped at him.
“Bullshit...like you guys can be trusted, anyway.”
“You know, for someone like you–!”
Adam cut in, glaring at the redhead fiercely. “We’ll let ya know if Richie comes back. Get the hell outta here and cause trouble somewhere else! I don’t see why he even puts up with you, you fuckin’ rude ass, impolite, sneaky-ass bastard!”
“Yeah, well, I wish I was a bastard. As for everything else, thanks! Lets me know that I ain’t goin’ soft,” Hotstreak said with a malicious grin. He turned, walking off the porch. Then he turned, giving them both a sneaky expression. “By the way...love what you did to your car...”
He laughed, and hurried off down the sidewalk, intending to follow Static. Something was going on, and if it were enough for him to abandon the search for Richie, then Hotstreak was going to determine for himself if that situation was worth it.
He heard Adam’s loud cry out outrage upon discovering of the bodywork Hotstreak had done to his Lexus earlier, and felt good in that he truly hadn’t gone soft.
OooooooooooO
Static arrived at the first car accident–much to the surprise of those working the scene. A fire engine rumbled with life nearby, flooding the area with lights powered by a portable generator, a couple of firefighters spraying foam onto the liquids that spilled from the overturned Navigator. The Y was being closed off, and what traffic there was at three thirty in the morning was backed up. A lone highway patrolman was redirecting traffic, and city units were clustered around the area. From his position in the sky, Static could see that the Navigator had been going at a high rate of speed from the intersecting highway onto 407–it had been trying to make a turn, but there was an indication of a collusion, an over-correction, and it’s final roll between the Y.
He looked down at it, shaking his head slightly at the bullet holes that littered the expensive vehicle’s body, at the human bodies that were covered with yellow tarp. There were five in all–in various locations around the vehicle. Two were in the tree line just beyond the road, two around the Navigator, and one lying against the other road.
Aaron Lewis, the balding police chief that he and Gear had worked with in the past, was talking with one of the highway patrol units nearby, gesturing at one of the bodies.
Static swallowed hard. He hated what guns could do to a human body. The weapon was fully capable of rendering soft flesh and hard bone into mangled messes.
Scenes like these were gruesome, and they were always hard–it was times like these when he wished Gear were with him; the blond was able to keep him focused, pointing out the forensics of each body, deducing the actions taken–whether they were defensive or offensive–and what the motive was in each death.
Horror and grief filled him once more as he realized that Gear’s parents were further up the highway–stuffed in the trunk of some vehicle.
He coasted downward, and landed away from the track marks of the vehicle’s roll pattern. Lewis looked up and over at him, then waved him over.
Instantly focusing on the middle-aged man, Static hurried over, filtering out any other thoughts that were bothering him.
Lewis waved at him, and the two walked over to one of the bodies nearest the overturned Navigator.
“You ready? It ain’t pretty,” Lewis warned, crouching with a hand on the tarp. Static nodded, a forceful jerk of his head that sent his dreads bouncing forward, and the chief pulled the tarp back slightly.
The gangbanger’s face was missing–Static had to flinch at the sight of burst skull fragments that decorated the dirt around him, the emptiness of the man’s mouth, nasal cavity, and for the fact that loose skin flapped within the gentle morning breeze.
He was thankful that it was still too dark for others to see the sight–it was truly gruesome.
“I’m willing to bet this is Gummer’s work,” Lewis said, familiar with all bang babies in Dakota. He looked down at the face with a frown. “All these guys worked for Ivan Evans at one point–we know them all. What I don’t understand is why Gummer would turn against them.”
Static realized, with a lurch of bile in his tightened throat, that he was talking about Shiv. He looked back down to see how the chief was able to recognize that just from the explosion of the man’s face. But he didn’t have the analytical depth and perception that both Lewis and Gear would have. All he saw was a mangled mess of dull color and unnatural positioning.
“All these guys were Ebon’s crew?” he asked, his voice catching slightly as he glanced around. “What about the accident up south?”
“That one...I’m not sure about the story on that one,” Lewis said, covering the face once more as he straightened. “The Escort was parked off a dirt trail just off the highway–abandoned. The keys were still in the ignition. Whoever performed the job was sloppy. I wasn’t able to identify the bodies in the trunk, but whomever murdered the couple had done a very poor job. Gunshots to the head and upper torso–they were in the process of taking them apart. Very sloppy. You might want to skip that scene, Static. I know how you are with that.”
Static tried for an indignant face, but the graphic thought of Maggie and Sean being shot and dismembered had his stomach lurching. Grief filled him, then. He hadn’t known them very well, but they were Richie’s parents. How was his friend going to react once he found out what happened to them?
“The vehicle has blood inside–we’re not sure if it belongs to these guys, or someone else. We have a witness in custody–he was driving by the scene when he was approached by a...” He paused to look at his notes. “ ‘A purple haired guy with a sword.’ Gummer. He was with a blond teenager–”
Horror once again filled Static’s entire being. Richie? With Shiv? With or against?
“–I swear I know this kid from somewhere, but I can’t really–anyway, he was with a blond teenager. Both were on the run from two black men–one of them fits the description of Ivan Evans, but the guy’s in prison. Probably just a lookalike. The witness is still here if you want to question him, Stat–Static?”
Lewis had been pointing in the direction of a nearby patrol car–by the time he realized that Static had left his side, the superhero was already standing at the back door, talking to the still shocked man. Lewis put his notes away, walking over to hear that Static was retrieving a description of the blond teenager from the man.
At Static’s agonized expression, the soft exhalation that could have been a curse, the African-American was leaning against the car door, looking close to exhaustion. Lewis eyed him undecidedly.
“You know him?” he asked.
Static had to watch the scene for a few moments, trying to get his thoughts into order. How had Richie gotten into this mess? How–? What had happened? Had somebody picked him up as he went searching for Hotstreak? How was Shiv involved? Ebon’s crew? Confusion muddled his thoughts, and he was finding himself stuck with his bewilderment. He wanted to believe that Richie wasn’t involved–how could the blond have been when Static had left him at his house!
He needed to find him–he needed to know if he were okay. Here, he’d been so afraid that Hotstreak was going to hurt him, he hadn’t even thought of other factors! How could there have been other factors when–
He thought of that day when those teens in the maroon Blazer had taunted Richie on the way home from school. Was Ivan sending his cronies to continue their terrorism through his crew members? Had some specific request been called from Ivan to do something utterly terrible to his friend? He was in a flurry of questions, all of them unanswerable.
He pulled away from the vehicle, wanting to look at the other accident.
If so...did Richie know his parents were dead? Was he somehow involved?
He heard Lewis calling after him, but the chief’s words went ignored as he took flight.
When he found it, he saw that the bodies had been unloaded from the trunk–the Escort’s front was damaged, and the officers were already piercing it together with the one with the Navigator, for the paint scrapes and indication of damage matched both scenes.
He leapt off his disk, ignoring the annoyed stares that were being sent his way. Many members of law enforcement had resented him because of his status, and because of his age.
He’d learned to let things roll off his back, and learned when to take part in a confrontation. Mostly, his mind was focused on the mystery of Richie, and his involvement with both scenes. The coroner was preparing to load the two bodies onto stretchers, and he had one of them pause, unzipping the black body bag.
Staring at the death expression on Maggie Foley’s face, Static looked away. He had no doubt, now.
But what was this scheme calling for? What was its purpose?
Confusion made him dizzy as he zipped the bag and walked toward the Escort. There was nothing within to give him any indication of what had happened–it just added to his puzzlement.
Turning away from the scene, trying to pierce it all together, his eyes wandered the various vehicles that littered the side of the road. Gawkers, not very many due to the early hours of the morning, were trying to take in the scene from the open windows of their cars. The blue and red strobe lights from the police cars lit up the night.
As he wandered off in a daze, trying to connect the dots, he realized he was looking at Hotstreak. How the meta had followed him, how he knew where he’d gone, Static didn’t have a clue.
But he walked straight toward him, ignoring the perturbed expression on the meta’s face as he realized how much attention they were gaining from those nearby.
“Richie was involved,” Static told him, his voice sounding cold and stiff.
Hotstreak stopped looking so annoyed, his facial features screwing into that of disbelief. “What? You said he was at YOUR HOUSE!”
“THOSE ARE HIS PARENTS THAT ARE BEIN’ LOADED!” Static heard himself scream, pointing at the van. “THAT’S his parents...both of them. An’ the ones up north, we gotta witness sayin’ that RICHIE was with SHIV. You wanna tell me what I don’t know?”
Hotstreak stared at him. Static could have been speaking an entirely different language as the words sunk in. His dark, narrowed eyes glanced over at the coroner’s van, taking in the last stretcher that was being loaded. Static could swear he heard the gears turning in the redhead’s skull as he processed his words.
Finally, Hotstreak gave him a scowl, shifting in his light, hooded jacket. The hat he wore made shadows dance over his easily recognizable features, and Static heard the murmurs of those that knew who the meta was. Sensing this, wanting to leave before any more attention came to him, Hotstreak glanced around.
Static continued to stare at him. He was at a loss of what to do–police helicopters were roving about, their searchlights spreading throughout the trees along the highway surrounding the two accidents. With a frustrated sigh, feeling numb, Static cast out his disk, charging it.
“How’d you get out here?” he then asked, figuring he’d follow along the highway to look for clues.
“Car. Where ya goin’?” Hotstreak muttered.
“...I’m going...to look...for anything else along the highway. Maybe...maybe somethin’ was tossed from a car, somethin’–I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how Richie got out here, I don’t know how he’s connected with Shiv–I don’t know. Don’t ask me anything.”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes, but it was obvious he was agitated by what he was hearing. He glanced over at the van, then turned to walk away, heading back to his car. He turned before reaching it.
“I’ll follow you!” he shouted as Static took to the air.
He was still feeling numb as he coasted at a comfortable height along the highway–it was nearly four in the morning, and the sun wasn’t ready to break over the horizon yet. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for–he was operating on manual.
As Static searched for anything that could give him a clue as to where Richie was, running over possible places Richie could be if he were with Shiv (the question was if he were willing or not ), he realized how calm he was of the situation. It was overwhelming, pensive–laced with unanswerable questions. And Hotstreak had reacted calmly, casually–did he have a hand in anything? Why react so damn calmly?
He had to wonder if Hotstreak were involved–it was natural of him to think that way. Unable to take the meta in as a sort of equal, an ally–how in the hell was he supposed to accept him as his best friend’s boyfriend when he couldn’t even accept him in those terms?
Grinding his teeth, he was about to speed off when he saw something just off the shoulder of the road, leading into the trees. Making a wide U-turn, he coasted closer to the ground, drifting into the shadows of the trees. He jumped off his disk, using his powers to light up the area.
Tire marks. A vehicle out of control–out of sight from the highway. Was it somehow involved with the other two accidents? Venturing closer to those marks, he stared down at their chaoticness.
Static surveyed the surrounding area, shaking his head–the vehicle had definitely been out of control. He could barely see it from where he was standing–from what he saw of the back end, it was a Range Rover. It matched the description the witness had made. The deep grooves the tires had made in its unrestrained turn were twisted, ravaging the earth. He followed the trails into the woods, giving a cautious glance around. No one had found the vehicle yet–if he hadn’t seen the tire marks off the shoulder from the air, he doubted anyone else would see it from the road. Now that he thought about it, there were brake marks further back on the highway, but none in this area. The vehicle had careened straight from the highway and into the dirt, braking very late beyond the shoulder.
Apprehension grew deep within as he hopped onto his energized disk, and he sailed over to the Rover. The lights were still on–this was indicated by the single brake light that hadn’t been crunched like its partner. Both doors were open–he guessed that whomever was inside had made a sort of hasty escape from whomever was doing the chasing. He saw the various footprints in the dirt–along with indications of someone putting up a struggle.
His heart dropped as he viewed these marks, taking even breaths–he heard Hotstreak’s vehicle pull up to the shoulder, and without glancing over, waved at him to stay back. Creeping up to the Rover, he peered at the driver’s side–saw the broken back window, with obvious indications of gunshots that had penetrated the glass.
He swallowed hard, hovering closer to the vehicle, scared to look inside. There was blood in the dirt–his breath caught in his throat. Blood dripped from the seat, from the metal of the doorframe... he didn’t want to look. He was too afraid he’d see Richie in there, ravaged by the hateful weapons that had made his life hell. He didn’t want to see Richie’s corpse, didn’t want to know what had happened. But he continued forward, siding up to the driver’s side as Hotstreak ran around the vehicle, giving no regard to preserving the scene. Just as Static peered inside, spotting the single person within, Hotstreak had the passenger side door opened. The redhead stopped short with a startled expression.
Both fell into both stunned silence at seeing Shiv in the passenger side seat, soaked in his own blood. His arms were pulled over his stomach, head hanging forward. Static realized the smell just then–the thick, metallic smell of blood, of body fluids and released innards–the closer he looked, the more he realized why Shiv’s arms were around his gut. His thin t-shirt was wet and ruined by the multiple gunshots that had penetrated his upper and middle torso–just above the thin limbs were the obvious texture and colors of his own intestines.
Static’s hand slapped over his mouth, and he had to retch, sailing away from the vehicle. Blood rushed to his face, and thunder pounded throughout his head as he forced himself to stand, bending to rest his hands on his knees.
Hotstreak glanced over at the electric bang baby in the throes of shock, and dropped his own stunned eyes back to what he saw. While he was also bothered by the sight, his own stomach twisting and churning violently, the material wrapped around Shiv’s upper right shoulder told him what had happened to Richie’s hoodie. He wanted to reach over and snatch it from the bang baby–to somehow touch a part of his Richie in desperation.
Horror, panic, and helplessness assaulted him, then–what had happened to him? Who had him? Who would go to these awful lengths to get him?
Thousands of questions, many of them unanswerable, shot through his mind. His hand dropped from the door, and he began to back away, feeling that awful haze of shock shimmer over his eyes.
Just as he was pulling his hand back, clammy, wet fingers wrapped around his wrist. At first, he didn’t register that Shiv had reached out and grabbed him–that even as his intestines spilled over his lap and pooled out the door, the bang baby was still alive.
Hotstreak couldn’t help it–he screamed in surprise and horror.
Static looked up with bewilderment at hearing the older meta’s scream. He was instantly flying over the vehicle, fearing the worst of Richie when he realized he was looking at Shiv holding onto Hotstreak’s arm–and the redhead was struggling to get the guy to let go of him. With a superhuman grip that was natural of those in their death throes, Shiv held onto him, the tendons of his thin arm flexing with each movement Hotstreak made in trying to escape.
Blood spilled from his bluish tinged lips, and his eyes were wide–but horribly unfocused. Almost dry in appearance. They stared blankly at the cursing redhead, crimson flecking over his cheeks as his breath came in troubled sputters.
Static was frozen with horror at seeing this inhuman act–he wasn’t sure if he were actually seeing this, or if this was just some terrible joke.
Realizing that Shiv was speaking, that the sounds were mixtures of gurgles and hisses, he forced himself out of his shock and moved closer, reaching out to grip the thin arm. A numb part of him wanted to give him that reassurance that he was listening. Here, the smell was stronger–he held his breath, his other hand moving up to cover his mouth and nose.
Shiv’s thin, grayish-yellow face turned to him–Static felt wild emotion blow up within him. He’d seen this guy with grins, with cheer, with taunts and maniacal happiness–never would he forget how scared the Asian was with his oncoming death. It didn’t even seem like him at all.
“...Sorry...! C–couldn’t–s–say sorry!” he was sputtering, his teeth covered with red. Hotstreak stopped struggling, staring at him in silence. “D-didn’t w-w-want to do it...! I...I t-tried to make i–it b-better!”
Static felt his chest tighten. There was a familiar sting to his eyes as he continued to stare in silence at the dying meta. His eyes dropped to the multiple wounds that tore up his thin frame. How he’d lived...how long he’d been sitting there...so much blood....
“...Where is he?” he asked quietly, afraid of how tight his voice was.
“Took ‘im to...3....3905...o-on Hidden Valley...road...to...L-Lake. D-Dakota. Cure. He–He wants the cure!”
“Who?”
“I–Iva n! S-someone else t-took his place. Jerome. H-His name’s Jerome!”
Static felt his blood run cold; disbelief made him still. Ivan Evans was back on the streets? Had he missed something?
Shiv’s fingers tightened on Hotstreak’s wrist, the redhead wincing. The Asian was focused on him, dark, thick smelling blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
“I’m....sorry. Tell him...I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t–I d-didn’t w-want to.”
“He’ll tell ‘im,” Static heard himself say, forcing himself to raise his voice. It sounded hoarse, not like him–but he wanted to reassure. Losing this meta in this way, this form–he felt almost as if he were losing a friend. “He’ll tell him, okay? You did good, man. You did real good.”
Shiv made a jerking motion, almost a nod–his features relaxed slightly upon hearing this. His fingers released Hotstreak, and his shoulders slumped. Breath fluttered past his blue tinged lips in harsh, staccato wheezes until they finally ceased.
Watching the other arm drift away from a ruined torso, Static realized that Shiv had finally died. It was hard for him to accept that he’d waited for an undetermined amount of time just to tell them what had happened. And while a part of him wanted to race off to the address he’d numbly memorized, another part of him wanted to make sure the dead meta would be taken care of. To somehow pay respect.
He and Hotstreak stared in silence at the slumped figure in the Rover–both were at a loss of things to say. Traffic continued to flow just beyond the trees, a helicopter’s rotors beating the air in the distance. The smell was vile–but what kept the two riveted to the scene was those passing words, that final gesture.
Feeling his throat tighten with remorse and sorrow, Static forced himself to look away from Shiv’s ruined body. He looked over at Hotstreak, who was pale and still as he stared, whose left wrist still bore the imprints of Shiv’s bloody hand print.
Static reached out, grazing his shoulder with his fingertips–Hotstreak looked at him sharply, taking a few steps back, blinking his eyes into focus.
“Let’s go,” Static said gruffly. “We gotta find Rich. We can’t let Shiv’s efforts go in vain, man.”
Hotstreak nodded, a forceful jerk of his head. He glanced once more at the body, then shook his head as he strode away from the vehicle. Static glanced Shiv’s way once more, his fingers shaking as he fumbled for Sharon’s cell phone. He called Lewis as Hotstreak paused in mid-stride, and started vomiting.
Once he was sure Shiv was going to be found, Static put the cell away, forcing away his grief. They still had to save Richie–he’d mourn later.
OooooooooooO
His mid-section hurt. There was a heaviness to it that felt unnatural–black spots crowded his vision, and every part of his body pulled with a soreness that made it difficult to walk. His arms felt oddly light, unnaturally cool, painfully tingly–while he was vaguely aware that Ivan was trying to staunch the blood flow with his own Sean John shirt, that “Pickle” didn’t want to pull the metal cuffs out from the broken edges of his skin, he wasn’t aware of anything else. It felt as if he were being pulled through various memories, with things blurring in, constantly changing. One moment he was cursing at Hotstreak for yanking him along behind him, the next he was whining to Virgil about how his stomach hurt.
The mixture of voices–Ivan’s, Pickle’s, the girl–confused him. He was aware, in a far part of himself, that he was in danger. But he couldn’t remember why. Couldn’t process the actual facts or realizations.
At this time, Ivan was cursing up a storm the more Richie continued to bleed–realizing even more that the teen was sluggish, obviously out of sorts. The injuries he’d received throughout the night had made obvious impact, and Ivan knew, without needing anymore proof, that the blond needed medical attention. Something that he couldn’t give.
Desperation made him angry as he yanked the teen behind him, S leading the way into their new location. A four-story Indian casino and hotel, it had been abandoned as those in charge had lost the funds needed to keep the place running. Still in good condition, with a majority of the slot and gambling machines removed, it boasted of tacky, bright colors and wide, spacious areas.
Plenty of room for various transactions, business meetings and, of course, storage for both drug and weaponry that had been smuggled into the country, purchased with blood money.
S lead the way into the first level, then up the dead escalator to the wide ballroom that they used for their gatherings. As Ivan dragged Richie alongside him, he saw that D and V were missing–that a good majority of the newly arrived crates of cocaine were missing. Kangor stood there with several others, looking at them with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. His eyes took in the lack of entourage, the mussed looks and Richie’s state.
They drifted over the four, searching for the others.
Ivan saw the lack of order that the crew was standing in, wondering where D and V were. He looked at the teen curiously, her dark hair being swept from her face as she turned to face them.
Kangor walked over to Ivan, giving Richie a troubled look as the teen leaned on the black man for support. “Dey left you a message,” he reported gravely, pointing at the table nearby. “Said for you to listen to it immediately.”
“Who?”
“V... Where’s Shiv?”
“Shiv fucked up,” Ivan growled, pushing Richie off of him. “He had to pay the price.”
Kangor gave him a startled expression, then nodded jerkily in response as he backed off.
Pickle gave a suspicious stare at the table top–Ivan saw that the only thing on top was a Sony brand CD player.
Ivan looked at S, who turned with a sharp twist of movement to the table, turned on the CD player, and activated the button needed to play the CD within.
“Ivan,” V’s voice said musically from the recording, “I regret to inform you in person that D and I have decided to pull out of our deal. It cost more to cover your tracks rather than continue to risk our hides dealing with you. Your little stunt on the highway today just proved to us that you are incapable of intelligent thought–that we risk more while you go gallanting about to ‘protect yourself’ than we would with common business risks. As a result, we have severed all the lines that we’d established over the past six months–our clean up crew will take care of the mess we may have left behind, and I also regret to inform you that Jerome Williams will be needed elsewhere. Hopefully you don’t get too angry about this–we’ve grown fond of your little gang of friends, and would like to see them again, sometime. Perhaps work a little on your anger–think things through when you come to an obstacle. Who knows? Perhaps a little time spent thinking will spare you the grief later. It was a pleasure getting to know you–knowing that there are more psychotic people in the world have reassured us that we are NOT the only monsters out there.
“Take care. S. You know what to do. Please don’t report back–we will be informed of your completion by report. Take care, all.”
For a few silent moments, the room was thick with disbelief, momentous puzzlement and charged tension. Eyes flitted away from the CD player to Ivan, who stared at the contraption, his dark skin breaking out in a light sheen of moisture. S, with a casual glance at the black man, took the CD out of the player, and searched her pockets. She withdrew a lighter and burned the underside of the CD, the smell wafting in the air.
Richie leaned against Ivan once more, confusing the silence with a memory of class, lost in the reflection of watching the minute hand and hearing the scrape and scuff of students shifting in their desks.
A small sound broke the silence, then. A grinding sound that brought all panicked eyes to Ivan. Full lip were pulled into a grotesque baring of teeth, and said teeth were grating loudly as Ivan stared with a murderous expression at the CD player.
Amid it all–S smirked.
“What. The. Fuck,” Ivan ground out, his voice thick with rising fury and disbelief. Several of his crew members stepped back at the explosive words. Kangor looked at him cautiously, his body tense, readying to move. Ivan looked at S. “What the fuck was that? What the FUCK did that MEAN?”
S shrugged a shoulder, one hand snaking into her Levi blazer. Eyes dropped to the lethal double-bladed hatchet that dropped from the back of the blazer, resting against one jeans-clad leg. The blazer was slowly removed, revealing a corset-type shirt with delicate roses and lace. At this moment, many of the guys grew uneasy and began, with shifting glances at Ivan, to move toward the doors. She kicked off her high heels, flexing her toes against the carpet.
Picking up her hatchet, she began tapping it against one hand as she eyed them all.
“Run, little mousies,” she whispered with a low giggle.
“Oh, fuck this,” Kangor muttered, withdrawing his Beretta from the back of his jeans.
S made a cackling sound as she whirled, throwing the hatchet at him first. Fast reflexes took the Jamaican out of its flight path, his braid flicking through the air as he dove to the floor, aiming at her.
Gunshots rang out, and chaos began as some turned to fire their own weapons toward the teen, and others began running.
Ivan stood still for several shocked moments–his eyes stared blankly at nothing. As S dove behind the table, kicking it over to buy her some cover from Kangor’s shots, Ivan stood within the middle of the room, faintly wondering where he’d gone wrong.
Slowly blinking, he took in the sight of Kangor shooting at S, at his crew members running. Things seemed to move in slow motion. Glass shattered as bullets hit the windows that faced Lake Dakota–casings were dropped onto the tackily colored floor. Flashes of color moved as his crew performed their own bravery or lack of as S withdrew throwing knives from somewhere on her corset.
Everything...his plans, his future, all that he’d worked and gained–it was all swirling before his eyes, in a release of blurred sound and color. He had lost it all, and for what?
All the time and effort spent in buying a powerful standing within the Midwest, and it was all lost within hours. Mere hours.
Maybe he’d valued too much power–maybe he’d been too insecure. Took too many chances in protecting his valued nest and gaining–whichever had been too much, it had all been brought down.
Fury made him growl even louder, and he dropped his hold on Richie, withdrawing his own Glock semi-automatic from the back of his jeans. Covered in blood that wasn’t his, he was out for more, to somehow quell this rage that boiled up within him. He shoved Richie to the floor, and began shooting at anything that moved, screaming with savage fury.
OooooooooooO
When he halted his flying, he heard the gunshots–the screams. Static felt his face tighten at the sound of those hated sounds. He had no idea where in the building they were coming from, but they were multiple, they were obviously intent on killing. Those screams weren’t for some lucky gambler.
He heard Hotstreak pull up behind him, panting lightly. The guy didn’t use his powers to fly often, and Static didn’t want to waste time wondering why. He felt the fleeting heat that radiated from the bang baby, wincing as he covered his ears to protect the sensitive skin.
Hotstreak said nothing–he listened to the sounds, then rushed off without Static.
“Wait! Wait!” Static yelled, running after him, then pausing as he caught sight of the vehicles that were parked near the casino’s valet area.
He held his hand out, easily picking up an Escalade, and sending it smashing atop of a black Lexus. He made sure to disable all the vehicles in this manner, certain that no one would be needing them to make an escape. Glancing over, he saw that Hotstreak was blasting one of the boarded entrance doors apart. Cursing, thinking of how foolish and impulsive the redhead was acting, he withdrew Sharon’s cellphone, and dialed Lewis.
After making contact with the police chief, letting them know their location, he hopped onto his disk, sailing up into the air. Hands out, he used his magnetic powers to pick up one of the destroyed vehicles from below, and send it crashing through the floor to ceiling windows that made up the third floor. At the destructive display, and his heart thundering with apprehension at what they were going to find, Static swept through the broken window.