The Phantom - 5. Chapter 5

Gerry followed the white rabbit out of the bowels of the Lair to the main level and beyond. They encountered no one; the rabbit occasionally paused or backtracked, but they avoided detection. However he was doing it, Gerry was grateful for the Phantom's presence. A touchscreen monitor was beside the last door and Gerry glanced to it hopefully.

<I can go no further> came the expected words, filling Gerry with an odd sort of disconnected loss. <Go around the back of the restaurant, by the dumpsters. Wait for the sirens> he added cryptically.

Gerry touched the edge of the screen. "What about you?" he asked. He looked down as the robot butted against his shoes, circled him, and then retreated back up the hallway. He sighed. So that was how it must be.

Cracking the door open, he stepped outside, startled to see how late it now was. The main restaurant was its own building on the western edge of the complex. Gerry hurried through the strategically planted, dead-looking foliage of the 'Enchanted Forest' towards the building. His heart sounded louder than his sneakers on the path of wood shavings.

He ducked beneath the wall surrounding the patio, listening to the diners chatting merrily, following the wall around to the side and further back as the Phantom had instructed. He froze when loud, angry muttering preceded a car door slamming. The black sedan drove away and Gerry remembered how to breathe.

Creeping closer, he wondered what the Phantom had meant by sirens.

He heard screaming first and turned around to see people flooding out of the Lair. He frowned ... and caught his breath as someone wearing a gray body suit and mask walked right by the bush Gerry hid behind. The man (at least, he thought it might be a man) looked neither right nor left but walked purposefully towards the milling, confused crowd. Then he heard the sirens, mere seconds before cop cars swarmed the parking lot. There sure seemed to be a lot, and was that a SWAT truck?

The man in gray halted and ducked behind a tree as cops ran past. Someone stepped forward with a bullhorn to address the crowd. Gerry could see the man in gray pull out a cell phone. He stared at the screen, and then walked back towards the restaurant. Gerry could hear the patrons of the restaurant talking excitedly as they stood to watch. He figured all the noise would mask any loud movements of his own and followed the grayman.

Crouching behind the rolling dumpster, Gerry stayed in the shadows and watched the grayman pause in the back door. He was obviously talking to someone, but Gerry couldn't see who until they both turned, silhouetted by the light inside. They nodded, but even with masks on Gerry thought they didn't look happy. After a few more words exchanged, they checked their weapons and crept back the way Gerry had just come, avoiding the cops by cutting through the forest, doubtless heading for some hidden entrance.

That left at least one more inside for Gerry to deal with. A quick glance around showed no handy rocks or sticks to use as weapons, so he shrugged his shoulders and hoped he could get the drop on whomever else waited for him.

He stood and, with a deep breath, strode into the restaurant. The usual chaos he normally associated with restaurants was noticeably absent here, but he supposed everyone had been drawn to the front, where all the action was. The back area was larger than it looked and Gerry moved with caution, ducking behind a wire shelf and cartons of syrup for the soft drink dispenser when he saw gray. He almost laughed as the person hurrying by turned out to be a waiter, and not one of the gray suits at all.

He rather wished he was shagging a super, so that he didn't have to be here at all, and just why was he here, anyway? What did these gray bastards, obviously supers, want with him? And where was Mark? The Phantom said he'd be --

There!

A thick, aluminum door stood open, and Gerry could feel the cold slithering up his pantslegs. Someone wearing a gray body suit stepped momentarily to the doorway, evidently pacing, for he disappeared from sight a second later. Scanning the shelves, Gerry palmed a knife and a skillet, wishing he didn't feel like such a fool. He waited another cycle of pacing, each time drawing closer until he stood within easy reach of the walk-in.

The grayman appeared and Gerry swung with all his strength. The man grunted as he hit the ground and Gerry kicked him for good measure, falling on the prone form and hitting him until he stopped moving.

"Mark?" he called. "Mark!" Rising, he embraced the shivering, pale-faced man who staggered out to greet him.

"B-b-bout da-damn tim-mm!" Mark groused through chattering teeth. He planted a wobbling kick at the unconscious grey agent. "Assh-hole's got th-the k-k-keys."

In seconds, Gerry had the handcuffs off, deciding to cuff the grayman to one of the prep tables as an added precaution.

"I heard s-sirens," said Mark, rubbing circulation back into his arms. "What's going on?"

"No idea, and I don't care. We need to get out of here."

"No shit, mate." He caught Gerry's arm. "Fucking cops are how I got here. We can't trust them."

He nodded. "Out the front, then. We can be tourists for a few minutes. Are you okay?" he added as Mark stumbled.

The reporter shook his head. "No, but getting better every minute. Damn cold is all." He felt strangely okay, but that could just be the shock talking. He'd never seen a man killed before, nor had his life threatened so eloquently. He hoped it was the shock. He'd hate to think he didn't care about some bastard biting it not a few feet from him.

They turned and walked as nonchalantly as they could out to the restaurant, moving with purpose to avoid notice, not that too many gave them any attention at all. They mingled with the crowd outside, gradually working their way to the edge. They reached the entrance to the parking lot, beginning to breathe more easily with freedom so close at hand, when someone tried to pull into the driveway.

Gerry and Mark froze for a second, then bolted, recognizing the big, black sedan. The engine roared, tires squealed, and the headlights chased after them down the street. With all the gawkers, traffic on the road was slow and they made good time at first, but they couldn't run forever. Mark was freezing and cramped, and they'd had a long, hard day.

"Oh, fuck ...!" wheezed Gerry, pointing. "Another one!"

Arm on the building beside them, Mark shivered and swore. "N-Now what?"

The area of town they were in was too open, too many ways for them to be surrounded. "Shit, shit!" he muttered, trying to think. They needed to get to a less busy intersection, and the closest one. "That way!"

Gerry dived into the taxi even before it came to a full and complete stop. He slid in to the far side so that Mark could get in, shouting, "Drive! Drive!" as he slammed the door. They both turned to peer out the back window, thrown heavily around as tires squealed on pavement.

"Are ... they still ... following?" Mark demanded.

"I ... I don't know," Gerry replied, panting.

Leaning forward, Mark cupped his head in his hands, trying to stop breathing so hard. He felt like vomiting and that would be something awful to pass out in the middle of that!

The taxi made a wild, skating turn around a corner, banging the two newsmen together. Jerking his head around to swear at the driver, Gerry saw a large, black sedan tearing past, unable to make the same turn.

"Shit!" he swore and turned around to look behind them. He lost his grip as the taxi jigged and swerved again, narrowly avoiding another of the black cars.

"Shit!" Staring ahead to the street beyond, he swore again, clawing his way forward to lean between the seats. "Unplug it!" he shouted at the driver.

Creepy, mismatched eyes met Gerry's, one eyebrow lifted in inquiry.

"Unplug it!" he cried again, clutching the passenger seat's headrest as the taxi screamed around another corner, down an alley, and across a parking lot. Gerry closed his eyes and prayed as the driver zoomed through a stopped intersection, weaving around traffic.

"Augh!" Trying not to squeal like a little girl as they spun through traffic, Gerry hung on tight, waiting for an opening. How did this guy have -- let alone keep! -- a valid driver's license?

Behind them, Mark fumbled for his seatbelt, hand over his mouth to keep from retching. This was insane!

Gerry lunged forward, between the seats, inexpertly jerking at the connectors on the dash. The taxi's meter disconnected, turning off all lights on the dash. He had no idea what language their driver swore at him with, too busy yanking his legs out of the mess he'd become embroiled in to reach the front seat. He almost slammed into the dash when the taxi jerked to an abrupt, screeching halt, tearing the seatbelt buckle right out of his hands.

The driver glared at Gerry, briefly, but intensely enough that he held his breath for a second or two before his shaking hands could click the buckle together.

"They're tracking us," he managed to say almost calmly. "Do you have a phone or anything else electronic?"

The driver's ID in its holder proclaimed his name as Coyote. He frowned. "You need to get out of my cab."

"Good idea," said Mark weakly from the back.

"What?" Gerry blurted. "But, we need --"

Shaking his head, Coyote slammed his foot back on the gas, shooting forward just as a black sedan came around the corner. Mark and Gerry bounced back in their seats, making near-identical, mangled yelps of surprise.

"I'm sure they have my license plate number by now," Coyote said matter-of-factly as he steered the taxi down a series of winding back streets that the larger car couldn't maneuver through. "You need to get out of my cab."

He gave the tall, bewildered black man in his front seat a generous smile. This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, where he'd whisked someone around the city a step ahead of their pursuers. He'd learned long ago that he was better off not knowing.

"Here." Stopping threw all three roughly against their restraining harnesses. "Out."

Mark had his seatbelt unfastened and was halfway out the door before Coyote finished speaking. Gerry fumbled for his wallet, but the driver waved aside the offer of money.

"Good luck!" he called, and screeched away.

Mark dragged Gerry behind a dumpster. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely, crouching there with one hand on the dirty, brick wall. He thought they were on the East-End, but wasn't sure. If they were, they really, really needed to get out of there.

Gerry groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. This was probably the worst day of his life. "Fuck the fucking Phantom! This is insane."

Eyes narrowed, Mark glared at his friend. He looped his fingers in the front pocket of Gerry's jeans and yanked him down behind the dumpster. "Stop it!" he hissed. "You want to save your boyfriend's pretty, little behind, or don't you? Pull yourself together!"

"I don't have a boyfriend!" Gerry wailed, hands going to his head. Cold fingers brought back some kind of clarity and he frowned at Mark. "Hey! What do you care what his ass looks like, anyway?"

"Oh, yeah?" Mark smirked. "Then what's that in your pocket?"

"Huh?" Gerry blinked, hand dropping to his pocket. "Oh." He withdrew the flash drive. "I dunno. The Phantom gave it to me."

"You found him?"

"Not sure. He found me, though, at the Lair. Told me to take it." He curled his fist around the plastic case. "We didn't really have much time to talk."

"But you talked to him, right? This's good news!" He pressed his palm to his aching head. He wished he could say the same.

"You really don't look so good," Gerry observed.

"That's good," Mark replied, "because I feel like shit. Well, where now?"

"We walk, I suppose. Got any cash on you?"

"Not much."

Gerry sighed. "Well, won't kill us to sleep on the street a day, I guess. We need to get somewhere we can rest, and then somewhere I can look at whatever's on this thing." He shoved the finger-length piece of plastic back in his pocket and threw an arm around Mark.

"Come on. There's got to be a bus stop around here somewhere. We can ride around and try to figure out where to go. At least we can get you warm."

"Appreciate that," Mark agreed wearily. He tucked his hands in his armpits, rueing the loss of his suit coat. He could care less about the tie.

They threaded their way through the litter in the alley, moving quicker as their eyes grew accustomed to the low light. Weariness came on them quickly, making their steps falter. When Gerry saw what looked like an actual street, he turned down it at once, heading for the sleazy burger joint on the corner. They could hole up there for awhile and get their bearings.

They stayed until the restaurant closed at ten, leaving a generous tip in exchange for directions towards the better part of town. They didn't speak much, too tired.

"Thanks," Mark muttered.

"For what?"

"Didn't want to die," he answered with a shrug.

"Me, neither."

"Oh, I don't think they meant to kill you."

Gerry gave his friend a probing look. "Why not? They were certainly going to kill you."

"Something about the mob," Mark explained. "Those greys are paying them for something, but they mentioned not having to. Once they had you." He looked up at Gerry. "Would've thought the Phantom was setting you up."

"But he seems to be helping us, instead. I don't now, Mark, I'm too tired to think about this very clearly."

"Me, too."

"Say, Mark," said Gerry after a moment. A smile played with the corners of his mouth.

"What?"

"Uh, not to alarm you, but I think we're being followed."

"Jackass," Mark snorted, but as Gerry kept looking back over his shoulder, Mark's skin prickled. Nerves that had just started to settle flared back up and he glanced around unobtrusively. "Is it ... them?" he whispered.

Gerry kept a wary eye on the flickering shadows along the alley behind the buildings they walked in front of. "I'm not sure. I don't ... think so. Um, that guy at the burger place, didn't he mention something about some guy with a sword or something? Drank blood and all that?"

"That guy was drunk off his ass," Mark replied. "But that doesn't necessarily mean there's not some crazy psycho haunting these parts."

"Oh, good," chuckled Gerry, though the joke wasn't really all that funny. "As long as it's just that." He wished he'd kept that knife, but he hadn't thought it'd be appropriate to walk out of the restaurant with something so obviously a weapon.

He turned up a cross street by the laundromat. "Maybe we can shake him the next street over."

Mark nodded and strode along with him. There were actual houses and apartment buildings here, the street not as well lit as the other, but they could see the traffic light down a couple blocks.

Squeezing between two large vehicles to cross the street, Gerry came face-to-face with another person. They both shouted out in surprise at the same time, Mark echoing them as he bounced off Gerry's suddenly halted back.

There was a hiss, like aerosol, and then Gerry really yelled, flinging himself backwards. Mark dodged, chasing after the receding footsteps, and sending them both crashing to the ground. They rolled, Mark coming up straddling the other body, hands entwined in his shirt. He really wanted to hurt somebody for what he'd gone through that day, but he deflated as soon as he saw whom he'd captured.

"You're just a kid!" he said, pushing him away. He picked up the keys, studying the little bottle attached. "Mace. Damn, that r-really -- Augh! Oh, holy fuck!"

Huge hands plucked him off the ground, swinging him around. All Mark could think was that somehow the Grey Matter agents had found him and he really, really was going to die now. Metal gleamed in the streetlights and he felt a certain calmness and resolve descend upon him, but he couldn't help struggling anyway.

"Wait! Wait, Redcap!" The little boy jumped and grabbed the man's arms. Frankly, Mark thought he was suicidal.

Chris Colling worked at the pharmacy a few blocks over and was on his way home. He'd hoped he'd see the reclusive Redcap. Since their first meeting, the man had often shadowed him to see him safely home, and Chris never minded feeding him as payment. He even wished there was more he could do or give, but the big, red-headed man either didn't understand the innuendo or ignored it. Chris wasn't sure if he'd ever be bold enough to come right out with it, not that he didn't think himself half-crazy for these irrational thoughts anyway. Or should, right? But there was something about the knife-wielding barbarian that short-circuited his brain.

"It was an accident!" he insisted, swinging from one huge bicep, and didn't that just provide the perfect opportunity to grope? "Nothing happened!"

Gerry crawled out between the cars at the sounds of struggle, but his tearing eyes couldn't make out much. Everything was a blur. He decided to stay put. If it was the greys, maybe they hadn't seen him.

"Mace him!" Mark hollered. "Mace him!" Of all the times to use mace, why not now?

Much to Chris' relief, Redcap dropped the stranger, turning to pat Chris on the head, as if making sure he was all right. Chris flung his arms around the man's waist in a hug, murmuring his thanks. It was so sweet of him to try and protect him.

Mark stared at this bizarre sight just a moment too long. Then the teenager and the ... "You're Redcap," he breathed, fighting lungs that had suddenly decided the air was too thick to pump. He'd take Grey Matter agents over this guy any day! He shivered, tensing in apprehension as the wild, bearded face stared down at him. From this angle, Mark couldn't see his eyes, but he'd been told this guy was a loony.

No sudden moves, no sudden moves, he told himself.

"I'm really sorry," said Chris, offering the older man a hand up. "Are you okay? You startled me, didn't mean to mace your friend. Are you from around here? You look kind of familiar."

Dumbly, Mark accepted the hand, standing but keeping the kid between him and the giant. "I'm, uh, Mark Marshall, um."

Chris sucked in his breath in a startled, delighted squeal. "The news guy?" he asked excitedly. "Oh, my God, I watch you, like, all the time!"

"Ah, that's, um, nice," Mark mumbled.

"Oh!" exclaimed Chris. He covered his mouth. "Then I must've maced Bruce! Oh, no!" He ran over to where Bruce sat, gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you all right? No of course not, Chris," he chastized himself.

He turned to address Redcap. "Will you help me get him home? I'll clean him up!" He couldn't believe he'd maced one of his idols. He looked, but he didn't see a camera, quickly discarding that information in his eagerness to fix everything.

"I work at a pharmacy, I know just what to do."

"Kid," said Mark, "this isn't a good idea. Thanks, but we need to deal with this on our own."

"But!"

"I'd appreciate washing my face," gasped Bruce.

"Great! And I'll make dinner. Or pizza! Let's order pizza!" He stared up at them with large, sparkling eyes.

Mark and Redcap exchanged long, measuring looks. Mark wasn't sure if the madman was laughing at him or growling at him, but, either way, he'd dare those Grey Matter cretins to take him on, and the sooner they got that stuff off Gerry, the better off he'd be.

"Okay, kid," he agreed. "Lead the way." He really hoped he wouldn't regret this.