Issue #2

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"Secrets and Certainties"

by Chuck Burke

Ted Grant, clad in his Wildcat costume, stands in the doorway to his apartment. Standing in his living room are his landlord, Benny Jackson, and Benny's roommate Toby Barnes.

"What's the deal, here?" asks Benny. He turns to his roomie. "Who threw a costume party and didn't invite us?"

"Umm, I don't think that's a party costume, dude. That looks like the real thing." Toby's eye for detail sees the tight fit and quality material of the dark catsuit.

"No way! What's a superhero doing in Syracuse, Tobes?"

"I heard that he was hanging out here now." As if realizing for the first time that Ted could hear them, Toby looks up at him. "You're really him, aren't you?"

Ted reaches up and pulls the mask off. "You got me, kid. Ted Grant, aka Wildcat, at your service." He steps in and closes the door, then gestures for the younger men to sit down. "Used to be, I didn't worry too much about keeping my ID a secret, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread this around. I'm trying to make a fresh start."

Realization dawned in Benny's eyes. "Are you saying that you are the original Wildcat? But that means you're, what? Seventy, eighty years old?"

"Look, guys, how about I get out of the union suit and we talk this over with a couple of beers, all right?"

"Yeah, despite the obituaries that ran a couple months ago. Usually if someone makes the connection, I tell them that the champ was my great uncle. Most folks wouldn't know that I was an only child."

Without warning, Toby stands up, walks to the door, and without another word, walks out. Stunned, Ted and Benny stare at each other for a moment.

"Was it something I said?" asks Ted.

"I don't know. Tobes is usually so laid back that I have to check his pulse to make sure he hasn't inhaled too many paint fumes. I'll wait till tomorrow, and see if I can get him to talk."

The silence that follows is awkward, filled only with the occasional clinking of a bottle on a table. Finally, Benny speaks up again.

"So what happens now? Isn't there some rule, that nobody can know your secret identity?" Benny is on his third beer, and his thoughts aren't coming as clearly as usual.

"Like I said before, I've never made a big deal about it. If you guys can keep a secret, then no problem. If not, then I'll just have to call the Batman to come visit you late some night."

"Yeah, right. Like there's really some dude running around dressed like a giant bat. Ha!"

"He'll be happy to know that somebody is buying that 'urban legend' bull. But I'll tell you something, Benjamin: I helped train that man, and if there was ever a case of a student coming back and whupping the teacher's butt, it's him! Now, you better head downstairs, cause I've gotta get to sleep!"

"Let's see, where's the list of confiscated vehicles that are going up for auction." She clicks the screen with her mouse a few times. "There it is. Vans? No. A Jaguar? Would fit the motif, but I doubt he'd go for it. I saw that Caddy, too bad we shot off two doors." She moves her finger down the screen, searching. "Ah ha! There it is. Now, a call to little brother, and we'll be all set."

"Good morning, Toby. About time you got up, anyways. I've got a little job for you, if you think you're up to it."

"What sort of job. I can't take on anything big right now."

"This shouldn't take more than a day of your time. I'd like it finished by the end of the week. Think you can handle it?"

"Indoors or out. I don't think I could do much for you outside this week."

"Indoors. If you need, I can even find a space for you."

"Let me guess. Another freebie, right?"

"Well, it has its rewards, but not monetary. You up for it?"

"I suppose. I'll drop by tonight."

"Sheesh, what a place! A shrine to all the damned jocks. A shame they can't put the same kind of money or effort into something for the real students." Muttering to himself, the man in the long coat conducts a systematic search of the huge sports complex. Any access passage that can be reached from the main corridors or the seating area is committed to memory, locks are rigged for easy passage through a handheld computer's infrared relay, and tiny, hardly noticeable pitons are driven into the concrete structure in key places.

"There we go." he says as he prepares to leave. "Wish all the jobs could be this easy. Now to lay low until Saturday. Wonder what they do for fun around this town."

"That's right, baby bro. A bit of payback, you might say."

"If you knew what I know, you would be thinking a whole different kind of payback."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, never mind. I'll do the stinking job, if only to keep you off my back. But one of these days, I'm going to fill you in on some facts about this guy!"

The speaker is a young woman, holding her eight-month old son. Behind her, fire rapidly consumes the run-down apartment building that she has called home for the last year.

"You don't need to, miss. I'm just glad I was able to snag him off the balcony. Now, the important thing is, do you have somewhere to stay?" The dark-clad hero accepts a blanket from one of the responding firemen, and wraps it around mother and child. "This place isn't likely to be a home for anyone again."

"My parents live up on the North Side, but we don't talk. Not since they found out I was pregnant." Tears welled up in the woman's eyes, and Wildcat realized that she was probably not even old enough to be out of high school.

"Tell you what. Let's see if they'll talk now. I've never known anyone turn away their own family when things were this bad." He turns, and spots a familiar face in the crowd of officials speaking to the fire chief. "Lieutenant Walker! Come on over, would ya?"

Abby Walker excuses herself from the other officers and makes her way through the crowd of firemen and onlookers. "Wildcat. Planning to show up the fire department now?"

"Why not. I can't do a better job than the police in this town. But I need to ask a favor." He indicates the woman standing behind him, huddled in the blanket, trying to soothe her baby. "She just lost everything here, and needs a ride to her folks' place. She said they're on the North Side. Can I take you away from work for a half hour to give us a lift?"

Abby lifts an eyebrow. "Us? You mean that you're going, too?"

"She needs someone to act as a peacemaker with her folks. I guess they had a row when she found out they were gonna be grandparents. So, what do ya say?"

"I was just about to go off duty. Why not? I'm parked up by the corner. Five minutes?"

"If they don't need her for any reports, you bet. Thanks, Walker."

"Call me Abby."

"Penny for your thoughts, big guy?" Driving through the darkened streets, Wildcat's silence has struck Abby as unusual.

"Just thinking about family, and what I've missed." is the quiet reply.

"Not too late. You're not too old to settle down and have a family. Or is that against JSA regulations?"

"Eh? No, there's actually a couple of folks in there with families. It's just that, well," he falters for a moment. "Never mind. Too much to explain."

A silence follows that is as deep as the snow drifts piling up outside. Finally, Ted tries to lighten things up with a change of subject.

"What's new down at headquarters?"

"Nothing much. Syracuse isn't much of a big-time crime town. Only hot item I have right now is providing security for the WAC convention this weekend."

"WAC? The Weapons Advocacy Coalition?"

"That's the one. Their annual convention is up at the Carrier Dome this weekend, and there have been threats made against their chairman."

"That's no surprise. Cameron Dallas has been a pretty vocal critic of the new gun control laws. His being an Oscar-winning actor hasn't helped, it just makes him an easier target."

"Well, I don't want anyone hitting the bullseye on him in my town. I'll be up there with him through the whole thing. Maybe I can talk him into supporting some of our local efforts to get guns off the streets while I'm at it."

"Go right ahead. Be less I have to worry about." Wildcat points to a parking lot coming up. "You can let me off there."

Among the milling crowds is a bemused Ted Grant.

Like a hunter's paradise here. Paula Crock would be having a field day, he thinks, reminded of his old nemesis the Huntress. Rifles, scopes, targets, bows, everything you could think of.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please." a loudspeaker systems booms out over the crowd. "The keynote address by WAC chairmen Cameron Dallas will be starting in about ten minutes."

"Better get my butt over there. Better watch out for Abby while I'm at it." Getting to the end of the stadium where the stage is set up is easy, since everyone is moving that way. Ted allows himself to be carried along with the flow of the crowd as he scans the three tiers of seats that rise above the floor. Where would I set myself to take a shot at that stage? he asks himself. The seats are clearly visible, but it would be easy enough to crouch behind a row of this hard plastic benches until the last minute.

Ted recalls a talk he had with Abby the night before. She told him that they had cameras set up on the large scoreboard that hung over each end of the stadium. From that vantage point, they can spot anyone in the seating area, even if they try to hide behind, or even under, the seats.

"Only one place left, then." muses Ted as he makes a circuit around the stage itself and assures himself that nobody is hiding under or behind it. He shoulders his way through the crowd, making his way to a doorway leading to the outer corridors of the Dome. Finding a deserted refreshment stand, he ducks behind it and strips out of his street clothes, revealing the midnight blue catsuit underneath. He sheds his boots, and pulls his headpiece out of the knapsack he is carrying. "Now, to make my way to the roof."

"Enough light shines through this thing that I should be able to spot an assassin. Assuming I'm right about his plan, that is."

Sure enough, just five feet from the shadow of the hanging scoreboard above the stage, Wildcat spots another shadow. As the actor's rich voice rings out, he sees the shadow below him move.

"Now, the big question: if I were designing this thing, where would I put a maintenance hatch?"

He finds it on the other side of the scoreboard. He slips through, avoiding the attention of his prey. He swiftly unwinds a long cord from around his waist, and snaps one end of it to a strut on the scoreboard. The other end he wraps around his chest twice, before buckling it to one of the loops. He then swings carefully from strut to strut, until his next swing would reveal him to the figure lurking above the crowd. Slowly, he peers around the big display panel, and spots a figure clad in orange and silver. His face is hidden by an almost featureless silver helmet that covers his entire head. The figure scans the crowd below through the scope-like apparatus that is the helmet's only feature.

"Deadshot. Of all the mooks for this job, you're that last one I expected." Upon hearing the low, growling voice of Wildcat, the assassin called Deadshot glances up and brings a wrist-mounted gun to bear.

"Wildcat! Nobody said anything about you being here. Guess I'll have to charge extra for this job!" Wildcat leaps upward to wrap his hands around one of the guidelines holding the scoreboard in place as the masked gunman fires. The shot strikes a light panel, sending a shower of sparks down onto the crowd below.

"Hope this safety line is up to the load," mutters Wildcat as he launches himself down at the now scrambling Deadshot. "If not, they'll be cleaning us both up with a sponge." He hurtles into the killer, knocking loose the long-barreled rifle he had been preparing. "Hope you had the safety on that thing." he quips, only half in jest, as they tumble head over heels in the air. He grips the legs of the one-time foe of Batman as he feels the rope around his chest tighten.

"Damn you! This was supposed to be a simple job! One shot, and that preening peacock would be out of the picture!"

"I don't get it, Deadshot. I'd think you would be a supporter of this guy. He's against gun control, and that's gotta be something you favor." Wildcat ducks as Deadshot twists and swings at him. A hammer fist over the top of the head slows the criminal down.

"I don't care about his politics. I shoot who I get paid to shoot, and someone wanted him out of the picture."

"Mind telling me who?" To emphasize his desire for information, Wildcat applies a bit of pressure to a sensitive spot on his opponent's spine. At the same time, he starts swinging his body on the safety line, aiming himself for a projecting maintenance platform.

"Never! I'd never work again if I tell you, and that's assuming she doesn't have me killed before the bail hearing!"

Concerned more with getting something solid under his feet than getting information, Wildcat focuses on directing his swing toward the platform. Drawn by the shots, sparks, and the falling rifle, police are already appearing at the doorway where the platform meets the wall. A few more pendulum-like swings, and Wildcat latches onto the platform with his feet. Eager hands reach out to grab him and his quarry, quickly carting the deadly marksman off for questioning.

"You sure know how to give a girl a heart attack, you know that?"

"Didn't mean to, Lieutenant. I'm glad you had officers up here in a hurry, though."

"I'm glad you're smart enough not to try that stunt without a line. I've been on the scene for one body that hit that floor." She gestures downward, where the minute figures of conference attendees are still milling about. " That's enough for me. Now, I suppose you're looking for a ride home again?"

"For once, no. But if you need me downtown, I could use a ride there."

"Come on downstairs."

"I had to pull a couple of strings for this, but I do know the original owner won't be needing it for at least 12 to 15 years." Abby pulls down the back of the trailer, forming a ramp. "Go ahead, it won't bite. Even if it does look like it might."

Wildcat steps up into the trailer, as the lady cop shines a powerful flashlight into its darkened interior.

"Whoa! You saying what I think you're saying?" Wildcat slowly backs out of the trailer, guiding a low-slung, black motorcycle down the ramp. When he reaches the bottom, Abby tosses him a key ring.

"Yep. The Mayor and the Chief agreed to it. I told them we had a bonafide superhero hitch-hiking around town, and they thought that we should do something to remedy that. I just provided the legwork. That, and talked my baby brother into providing a little paint job." She shown the flashlight over the front cowling of the cycle, where the airbrushed image of a black panther's head was visible under the highly polished surface. "I trust you have some place to keep it, right?" She smiles and gives the hero a broad wink.

"I'm sure I can think of something." He climbs on, inserts the key and turns. He is greeted with a low-pitched rumble. He grins back at the officer. "Care to join me for a little ride?"

Swinging a leg over the back of the bike, she whispers into his covered ear. "I thought you'd never ask."

Who says nobody writes self-contained stories anymore? Right?

Oh, wondering who was having those little conversations throughout the story? You've probably figured it out, right? If you haven't I'll fill you in next time.

What's up with Toby? Allergic to cats? Opposed to professional boxing? Or is there some connection that hasn't been explored yet? Only time will tell.

What's coming up? Next issue will feature one of those guest shots I mentioned. No fair telling you who, but she's one of my favorites among the spandex set.

To those who have E-mailed me or posted messages to the mailing list about the series, I offer my thanks! Praise is always appreciated <grin>, and it's good just to know someone is reading this!

So what do you think? Good stuff? Trash? Please let me know what you think of the story so far, and any ideas you might have for the future. Wildcat has a new lease on life, and he's going to enjoy it.

Email me at cjburke@lycos.com

Chuck, aka

da 'Cat!