Dunne glimpsed a man with bushy black hair and a bushy beard at the wheel of the Trans Am. He saw big black sunglasses and a gray fur coat.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a motorcycle flashed past the driver's side and cut in front of the Trans Am. The car swerved hard and braked, missing the motorcycle—and spinning out in a squealing, smoking circle. When the Trans Am stopped, it had spun 180 degrees and was left facing the direction from which it had come.
The white-helmeted motorcyclist spun out, too, and darted back toward the car. Before it could get there, the bushy-haired driver burst out of the Trans Am and swung a machine gun from under his fur coat.
Now that the driver was out of the car, Dunne recognized him instantly: he was the spitting image of Jeremiah Weed, black-hearted king of Scratchtown.
"Down! Get down!" Quincy threw himself into the doorway of the bookstore.
As the machine gun chattered, Dunne and Hannahlee ducked behind the closest cover they could find—a blue bus stop bench. It wasn't much protection, but at least they could see the action between the slats.
The motorcyclist zigzagged toward Weed, then bolted away at the last instant. He flew around the Trans Am, whipping into Weed's line of fire...snapping away again before he caught a round.
Fur coat flapping, Weed charged after the motorcyclist on foot, howling with rage as he fired a storm of shots from the machine gun. The rider evaded the flurry of bullets and swooped around a corner, out of sight.
Dunne held his breath as Weed ran past the bench where he was hiding...then stopped. And stood for a long moment in the street, looking from side to side, listening carefully with head cocked.
Dunne tried not to move a muscle. It wasn't easy with his hands shaking and his heart slamming like a wrecking ball in his chest.
And it didn't help. Weed turned and looked right at him, a nasty smile curling like a worm underneath his bushy beard.
As Dunne and Hannahlee scrambled to their feet, Weed stormed toward them. Before they could run, Weed lunged over the bench and grabbed one of them by the arm.
Hannahlee.
As scared as Dunne was, he stopped and turned. "Let her go!" His voice was more panicked than forceful.
"But I just got her!" Weed laughed and pinned Hannahlee against his broad chest. "I'm nowhere near done with her!"
"Enough of this," said Hannahlee. "We're not interested in playing this game. My name is Hannahlee Saylor, and I'm here to see Cyrus Gowdy."
"Then you've come to the wrong place, Saylor Girl." Weed planted a rough kiss on the top of her head. "I know everyone in town, and there is no Cyrus Gowdy here."
"You can drop the act," said Hannahlee. "We're not paying customers. You won't lose your job."
"My job? My job?" Weed guffawed. "I'm the boss of this entire town. You don't have to tell me I won't lose that."
"Please let her go," said Dunne.
Hannahlee craned her head back, fixing Weed in her blazing emerald stare. "We're here to help. I'm an old friend of Mr. Gowdy's."
"Which means nothing in my town," said Weed.
"Maybe you know me by another name," said Hannahlee. "Does the name 'Lianna Caprice' sound familiar?"
Weed leered at her. "I've just had a thought. How would you like to be one of my Rainbow Brides?"
"I was Kitty Willow on the show," said Hannahlee. "Just tell Cyrus I'm here, and I'm sure he'll see me."
"Time to go, sugar-bear." With his machine gun trained on Dunne, Weed hauled Hannahlee toward the black Trans Am. "Tonight's your honeymoon, happypants!"
Dunne watched helplessly. With the machine gun in play, he wasn't about to make any kind of move. If New Justice was a theme park, the gun's ammo wasn't real—but he couldn't be sure.
He knew everything about the place in terms of layout and background and cast...and yet, he knew nothing of its plan or purpose. Nothing of what lay behind the scenes.
Or in the guns.
Hannahlee, for her part, was as calm as ever as Weed pulled her toward the car. "Find Gowdy," she told Dunne. "Tell him to switch off the freak show."
Dunne nodded.
"'Freak show?'" said Weed. "Is that any way to talk about your new old man, lollipoop?"
At that moment, Dunne heard a roar like an animal. He turned just in time to see Quincy run out from behind the corner of a building, headed straight for Weed.
Dunne guessed Quincy had gone through the bookstore and circled around. As he charged, Weed whirled and raised the machine gun.
Dunne realized he was about to find out if the ammo was real or not.
Instead of firing shots, Weed raked the barrel of the machine gun across Quincy's face. Quincy stumbled, grabbing for his eyes...and his momentum was gone. He kept moving forward, but Weed easily sidestepped, hauling Hannahlee with him.
As Quincy grappled with thin air, trying to land a paw on his opponent, Weed plowed a booted foot into his groin. That was all it took to send Quincy howling to the pavement.
Cackling, Weed covered the last few steps to the Trans Am and shoved Hannahlee inside. "Remember one thing!" He slammed the passenger's-side door shut and trotted around to the driver's side. "I'm not the bad guy! You are!" It was Jeremiah Weed's tagline from the Willows TV show.
With that, the Weed lookalike dropped into the Trans Am, fired up the engine, and tore off down the street with the scream of tires.
So Hannahlee was gone. The one person the team absolutely could not do without had been abducted.
And, naturally, Dunne had just stood there and watched it happen.
"Little help over here?" Quincy's voice was strained, as if he hadn't quite beaten back the pain. He'd managed to prop himself up on one elbow, and that was as far as he'd gotten.
Just as Dunne was helping Quincy to his feet, the white-helmeted motorcyclist returned. He rode his cycle out of a side-street at a high rate of speed, then whipped three circles around Dunne and Quincy before sliding to a stop in front of them.
As soon as he lifted off his helmet, Dunne knew who he was supposed to be.
The rider had a boyish face with bright blue eyes and blond, shoulder-length hair. He wore his blond sideburns long, right down to his jaw, and he had beauty marks on both cheeks. At his throat, he wore a pukka shell choker, with a small, orange starfish dangling in the "V" of his denim shirt collar.
He wasn't an identical twin of Scott Savage, but Dunne recognized him immediately as a close copy of teen idol Leif Willow.
So did Quincy. "Willow alert! They took Kitty!" Quincy pointed up Main Street. "They went fataway!"
Leif frowned. "But they already have Kitty. They've had her for three months."
"Okay, wait a minute," said Dunne. "We're new in town. What's going on here?"
"You've just landed in the middle of a war," said Leif. "Good versus evil...and evil's winning."
"Is that why Weed said he's the boss of this town?" said Dunne.
Leif nodded. "He's been the boss for the past year. He and his Rainbow Brides are running the show, with help from Ballantyne Foster and Scandinavian Steve."
"Fincredible," said Quincy. "Now this is what I call a role-playing game."
"This isn't a game," said Leif. "Not even close."
"Maybe we can help," said Dunne. "Do you know where we can find a man named Cyrus Gowdy?"
Leif shook his head sadly. "I wish I did, man. This war is all his fault."
"For creating Willows?" said Dunne. "For building New Justice?"
"No," said Leif. "For dying."