THREE

 
 

IT WAS HER. It was damn-well her. Rex ducked into a shop doorway, his fingertips pressing the ice-cold glass behind him as he leaned against the window. He couldn't believe his luck.

  With the fight over, a few of the crowd had loitered around the overturned Studebaker, and the police had finally turned their attention to moving it and Jerome out of the way. Rex skirted the scene carefully, checking the faces around him in case McCabe had sent some of his thugs in.

  So far, so good. First step was a drink. Rex turned away as Jerome's body was pulled from under the front of the car, and jogged down the alley into which he'd been thrown in the crash. In the gutter ahead he saw his hat, damp but intact. He bent down and flipped it onto his head, and when he looked up, Rex saw her.

  There, at the end, just turning a corner, was a woman with long brown hair. Rex came to a halt behind the pile of wet newspapers that had saved him, watching. Could it have been her? Surely not. Just a broad, taking a shortcut. Looking at her outfit, a working girl too.

  Then she turned to look back down the alley, towards Rex. It was her. Cheeky bitch. She'd taken off, ditched the suit, and come back to watch the cleanup. She saw Rex, she must have, he was as large as life in the middle of the alley, but she just turned and disappeared around the corner. Rex flexed his fingers. This was a gift. No suit. Quiet back streets. Perfect.

  He trailed her for a while, keeping his head down. He wasn't good at following discreetly – there wasn't much call for it in his particular line of work – and after an hour of hustling across downtown, it was obvious that the girl knew she was being followed and was trying to shake him off. A series of double-backs and dead-ends had led him a merry chase indeed. It was hard to get genuinely lost in Manhattan, or to get stuck in a cul-de-sac as there was almost always an alley or a passageway out.

  But Rex's luck held. The bitch had taken a wrong turn down a dead alley. Rex smiled and stuck to the damp wall. Perfect.

  Although... Rex's smirk vanished. Shit. What if she had been looking for a quiet, empty spot to fight? No. She wasn't wearing the suit. Rex flexed his biceps under his trench coat. They were tight and he wasn't a small man. And without her fancy rockets and suit of armour she was a tiny broad. A tiny broad in high heels and a red dress.

  His smirk returned. Odd clothes to wear under the rocket armour. Rex laughed. Who knew what she got up to when off duty. Perhaps they were a set of working clothes. That wouldn't surprise him.

  Maybe she'd taken a knock to the head in the big fight and had concussion or some such, because coming back to the scene of the battle was a dumb move, lady, very dumb, especially after taking her helmet off in front of everyone. Now she was tottering around on those big heels, and she looked cold too, and frightened. But it was her. He'd taken a good, long look, imprinting her face in his memory. She was his meal ticket. He wasn't going to lose her now.

  Rex laughed. His head felt light. He peered down the alley, and saw she was still walking away, slower now. She seemed to be looking around, looking for a way out. This was it. He was about to "save" New York City, and after handing over the city's most wanted he'd have the mayor and police chief right in his pocket. McCabe would come begging and his illicit empire would be able to expand, unimpeded. With freedom to eliminate the competition, within a few months he'd be in control of the whole goddamn city. He could buy a new car and a new driver.

  He pinched the collar of his coat up, and pulled his hat back a little so the rim didn't obscure his vision. She was trapped like a rat.

  As he walked forward the clouds opened again, Mother Nature dumping her load on the already saturated city. He wondered how difficult it was going to be to kill a person with his bare hands. He'd shot people, of course, and in his younger days with McCabe he'd dealt out a variety of punishments with a selection of handheld weapons. But he was unarmed now. Jerome had insisted on being the triggerman and Rex had indulged him. He'd killed chickens and rabbits with nothing but his hands before, back on his uncle's farm upstate. He'd been a teenager and it was easy, and now he was twice the size and the bitch was tiny – a thin, fragile girl. He balled his wet fists, feeling the solidity of his knuckles under his tight skin. This was going to be a piece of cake.

  When the girl eventually stopped casing the alley and turned at the sound of Rex's footsteps, she actually looked relieved. Her shoulders slumped, and her chest heaved as if she exhaled a heavy sigh, which Rex couldn't hear past the steady patter of the rain. She took a few steps forwards and opened her arms out, like she was going to say something real important, and then stopped as she saw that Rex hadn't slowed. She stood for a second, her arms still sticking out sideways, and then took a step backwards. Her mouth pulled down at the corners and her lower lip quivered as she spoke.

  "Do you know the way back to Fifth and Soma? I'm not sure which way I've come. I just need to get home."

  Rex stopped, and held his arms straight against his sides. He tightened his fists, feeling the uneven trim of his nails dig into the fleshy pads at the base of each thumb. The rain skittered around the brim of his hat, and he could feel the liquid roll backwards as he tilted his head.

  He hadn't expected her to talk. He hadn't planned on her making any noise at all, as a matter of fact. Her face was small and while her mouth was wide, the palm of one of his large hands would practically cover her entire face.

  The girl took a half-step back again, getting both feet solidly underneath her. Her dress sure was damn short, and the heels were way too high. While it made her look taller and exaggerated the stretch of her legs, clutched together her knees were pushed forward like two ugly wrinkled grapefruit.

  "Please, I just need to get home," said the girl. She pushed her hair off her forehead with the heel of one hand, pulling the skin on her face tight as she did so. "Please, I have a headache, I just need to get home."

  Rex moved his head and the water in the brim of his hat finally reached bursting point and trickled over the edge and down in front of his face. He was taking too long. He had to quit thinking about it, and quit letting her gas on, and just do it, now, or it would be too late. It was like anything important. There was a moment, a brief alignment of the stars when the time was right; when that happened, if you were in the right place at the right time with the right idea, you could do anything. That's what his uncle had always told him, up at the farm. Anybody can do anything. Don't think, do. Rex hissed a breath out between clenched teeth and took a step forward.

  The girl seemed to stagger backwards, now with both hands rubbing her forehead. When she looked up, her eyes seemed to spin a little. She looked like she was going to faint.

  "Please, Fifth and Soma, which way is it?"

  Rex clicked his tongue. "Don't know what you're talking about, lady. Ain't never heard of no Soma Street. You really are lost."

  Dammit! This was part of it, now he was sure. She was a goddamn supervillain, and even without the stupid rocket suit, she was dangerous. She was playing him. The confusion, the conversation, it was all an act.

  Don't think, do.

  Rex pushed off from the ground with the toes of his right foot, moving at something between a jog and a fast walk. He raised his fists, and swung back, and the girl dropped her hands. Before he could get a hand over her mouth like he wanted, she screamed.