When you happen to be surrounded by dozens of muscular, balaclava-clad thugs in the corner of a particularly dark room, it’s probably safe to say that matters have fast spiralled into what you could comfortably call a ‘bad day.’ Commissioner Grant’s problems, however, lay distinctly elsewhere.
‘And you say that he did all of this?’ He demanded incredulously of a nearby officer. The officer scratched her head thoughtfully in answer.
‘Well, they were more or less out cold when we arrived,’ she said, nudging one of the brutes with a hesitant toe and watching his head loll onto a rope-bound chest. ‘We just sort of… cleaned up.’
She deftly stepped to one side as a piece of debris tumbled conveniently from the shattered ceiling. The Commissioner sighed heavily, and settled down into one of the few bullet-ridden armchairs still standing whilst dust drifted about them like snow.
‘Do you know how much paperwork this’ll throw up? The tabloids are going to have a field day.’
‘He did give us Flimsy Fingers on a silver plate, sir,’ a small voice reasoned from over his shoulder. ‘That one’s been giving our boys the slip for years.’
Commissioner Grant snorted bitterly.
‘I’m glad that you’re keeping an eye on the big picture, Lieutenant, and not the three consecutive house-fires he caused in the process, the wrecking of some very expensive vehicles in a completely unnecessary high speed chase, lord knows how much damage to that bank, a count of breaking-and-entering to follow, four GBHs on Flimsy’s men and enough ‘breaches of the peace’ to cut a dirty great black-hole in the entire system, not to mention one very angry call from a particularly old lady complaining about someone indecently parading themselves in a very tight pair of spandex trousers.’
He took a deep breath. God, but he needed a cigarette.
Lieutenant Travis considered all this for a second, and then ran a hand through his ill advised comb-over wearily.
‘To be fair, they were breaking and entering first, right? And I’m sure that we’ll be able to remove the bath-tap from his nose eventually.’
Commissioner Grant groaned, and finally caved in.
‘Is he really the best we have?’ It was hard to keep the hopeless pleading from his voice as he fought vainly with a battered lighter.
Lieutenant Travis merely gave him a level stare.
‘He’s the only one, sir. No-one else wants to know.’
Grant puffed like a nervous chimney-stack until they were nearly entirely doused in thick, choking fog while he mulled this horrifying thought over despondently.
‘Damn, but I wish there was another way,’ his voice muttered bleakly from beneath the folds of grey. The only response was of one of Flimsy Finger’s henchmen moaning softly into the night.
‘Right now sir, he’s all we have,’ another replied unenthusiastically.
There was silence for a good, long while.
‘Then I suppose you should make the call, Lieutenant,’ the first answered eventually. He tried to take a deep, steadying breath but promptly choked on the smog. ‘And - and if the Mayor asks, what we’re about to do never happened. Understood?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of breathing a word, sir,’ Travis agreed softly.
***
Pacing up and down the abandoned rooftop impatiently, Commissioner Grant reached for yet another cigarette as he tried to block out the awful wailing that currently hurtled across the city skyline; it sounded rather like a cat being dragged steadily and painfully over a cheese-grater while both were unceremoniously hurled from the top of the nearest cliff.
‘He’s late,’ the Commissioner snapped angrily over the din. Lieutenant Travis spun a bowler hat nervously in his hands before checking his watch once again.
‘He’ll come. He always does.’ He replied without any conviction.
‘For heaven’s sake, the Mayor might not have that long, Lieutenant.’ The Commissioner growled. ‘He’s strung up back there with that madman right now! Goodness only knows how much time he has left before one of them cracks.’
In his frustration he fumbled upon the wrap he was trying to light, and it span off the edge; his string of curses unfurled fruitlessly into the oily murk.
‘What’s with that thing, anyway?’ He asked, jerking a thumb irritably toward the dented, rusty gramophone shrieking behind them. Travis awoke from his reverie.
‘Oh, that? It annoys him.’ He answered simply.
The Commissioner blinked very rapidly.
‘So you want to… to tick him off? Am I getting this right?’
Travis cuffed his beetroot red nose idly and nodded.
‘Didn’t you ever think that a, ah, cell phone or some-such would suffice?’
‘You have his number, do you?’
They were silenced by an abrupt yell of from one of the nearby tower blocks, and Travis looked over the precipice to see a fat, dumpy woman leaning out of a window in her pinny, shaking a fist at them and swearing profusely.
‘Turn that racket off, will you?’ She hollered loudly. ‘Some of us are trying to get to sleep!’
Travis rolled his eyes.
‘Police business. Get back inside, ma’am,’ he yelled back to her. She bypassed red and went straight on to puce, but before she could say another word a second window had opened above where a girl with the face of a horse poked her head into the night suspiciously.
‘Ere, what’s going on then?’ She crowed. Her face screwed up into a grimace when she heard the wailing song. ‘Cor! And what on earth’s that?’
A third window was thrust aside, and yet more faces peeped out into the dark beneath over-large dressing gowns.
‘Oi, you aint going off and doing that again, are you?’ Bellowed one despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.
‘I think ‘e is, Robert,’ crooned his neighbour.
‘Perhaps you should send your lads round to ‘ave a word, Vera,’ he answered nastily.
Lieutenant Travis shook his head in despair, and held up his hands for calm.
‘Look, why don’t you all just -’
There was a sudden, insistent tugging upon his sleeve.
‘Lieutenant! Look!’ The Commissioner breathed.
‘With all due respect, sir, I really don’t think -’
‘Look!’
The Lieutenant looked.
Abruptly seizing the moment, the elderly gramophone appeared to be sizzling off all by itself; meanwhile, the Commissioner’s misplaced cigarette flew up over the edge to bounce playfully upon his forehead and into his open hand. Travis froze.
‘Couldn’t have said it better myself, ma’am,’ taunted a peevish voice from somewhere above, and the windows slammed shut as one. ‘Evening, Commissioner.’
Travis glanced up.
‘Took your time, then?’ He said with half a smile.
There was the cloying stench of sulphur and a puff of smoke, and then one particularly dark shadow hurtled out of the gloomy blackness to land neatly at their feet. Or so they should have, at least; this effect would have been somewhat more impressive had they not stumbled and fallen flat on their face in the process.
‘Tarot at your service, sir’ the shape said in a muffled voice as it attempted - and failed - to scramble to its podgy feet. It was like watching an upended tortoise.
‘Tarot?’ Asked the Commissioner apprehensively; taking in the figure crumpled painfully before him, he didn’t seem quite able to believe his eyes.
The masked, bulbous shape wore a familiar dark scarlet suit complete with the long, high-collar purple cape that everyone knew, but bulging beneath a taut utility belt was an enormous beer-belly and considerable love handles. Travis helped him up and dusted him off, but there was little you could do to make such a leviathan seem any more appealing. Not helping his cause, Tarot laid a palm to the large stitch in his side.
‘Nice to meet you, sir.’ He said primly once he had his breath back; he held out a gloved hand to the Commissioner, who shook it carefully and with only a couple of fingers. ‘You called?’
‘Ah. Yes. Well, I… er…’ The Commissioner began, evidently regretting his decision entirely. Eventually, though, he didn’t seem able to help himself.
‘I - you’re not exactly as I thought you’d be.’ He said in a rush.
Tarot chuckled good naturedly, and his rotund belly rumbled like that of a giant red jelly.
‘Not quite what I used to be, I’m afraid. Can’t seem to keep the weight off like in the good old days. Ah, the good old days…’
He seemed to go off into his own little world as he reminisced for a second, and only came crashing back when the Lieutenant coughed meaningfully and insistently at his side.
‘Hrmph, what? Ah, yes. Not quite as spry as I once was. Anyway. Where was I?’
There was the rustling flap of material as someone else alighted swiftly beside them, and the Commissioner began to fear that he had gone completely mad. Their latest guest appeared to be a little boy in an oversized costume, trying not to trip in boots that were about five sizes too big.
‘And who are you? Tomboy, or something?’ Asked the Commissioner woozily.
Tarot looked momentarily surprised. ‘Oh no. That’s… Dave.’
Dave beamed.
‘I can fly!’ Said Dave, spreading the wings of his meagre cloak like an eagle. Tarot patted him on the head fondly, if in exasperation.
‘Of course you can, Dave,’ he said, and then watched Dave run around the roof making aeroplane noises. He turned to the others apologetically. ‘He’s a good boy really. I mean, he’s a pretty special kid.’
Travis and Grant exchanged worried looks. ‘Special’ was certainly one way to describe it, and both were clearly thinking that Dave was about as far from boy wonder as you could possibly hope to get and still be on the same continent.
‘I’m sure he is.’ The Lieutenant finally managed in as kindly a tone as he could muster. ‘But down to business. Tarot, there’s been an incident -’
With a strangely resolute look in his eye, the Commissioner laid an arm across the Lieutenant’s chest suddenly. Travis’ jaw clicked shut.
‘No, I’ll deal with this, Lieutenant. We… er… can’t keep this to ourselves.’
Travis bowed out, and went to attempt conversation with the human beat-box that appeared to be Dave as he balanced precariously on the edge of the building. The Commissioner, on the other hand, appeared to be doing some very quick thinking.
‘Well?’ Tarot prodded. ‘What’s going on, sir? What can we do for you?’
‘There’s something big going down this evening. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but… we have a situation. Up at the… docks.’
The Lieutenant gave him a sharp look. If the Mayor was anywhere, it certainly wasn’t among the bilges of rotting harbour ships.
‘The docks? A terrible place and no mistake,’ Tarot conferred grandly. ‘Sadly, I’ve been there many a time. In fact, I once remember -’
‘Anyway,’ the Commissioner interrupted quickly, clearly becoming more uncomfortable with every passing second. ‘There’s been a… erm… terrible accident. Caused by… the, uh, Green…’
The Commissioner said 'bear’ just as the Lieutenant - cottoning on fast - suggested, ‘Owl’. Tarot frowned.
‘The Green Owl? Er... Bear? My word! I’ve never heard of him. Is he new?’
‘Er… yes. And it’s a she, actually. She’s down there right now, but we wouldn’t dare send anyone near, she’s much too dangerous. Deathrays, and - ah - all that. I’m sure you’ll understand.’
Tarot nodded sagely.
‘Say no more, dear man, say no more. Well, time makes a mockery of us, and this Green BearyOwl miwhatsit won’t catch herself. Come, Dave! The chase is on!’
‘Er,’ said the Lieutenant in response. They turned around to see Travis looking over the edge as a lonely aaaaaaaaaaaaaah echoed down into the spiralling darkness, followed by a distant, heavy ‘thump.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the Commissioner.
‘Ah,’ agreed the Lieutenant.
Tarot, nevertheless, seemed undeterred.
‘Aha! A race!’ He cried wildly, springing into action. ‘The game is already afoot, then! Well, Commissioner, I can safely say that you have nothing to worry about. If there is a villain to be found, I shall stop him or her, you can rest assured. Goodbye, dear friends!’ And after laying a comforting hand upon the Commissioner’s shoulder for very little obvious reason other then for dramatic effect, he vanished into the darkness with a rippling of his cape.
After a long while, the Commissioner came to join Travis at the edge of the tower. There was a wordless pause for a sizeable period time.
‘I… uh… there isn’t a terrible Green BearyThing at the docks, is there?’ The Lieutenant eventually offered uncertainly.
‘Of course not.’ The Commissioner agreed. They both eyed up the small shape stirring feebly in the rubbish dumpster far, far below. The ‘He can’t fly after all, then.’
The Lieutenant ignored him.
‘But how are we going to save the Mayor now?’
The Commissioner shrugged miserably. ‘Beats me. If that’s the best we had, then I’d rather go it alone. I’d rather get the man back in once piece, personally.’
Travis nodded mutely. Things had a habit of exploding in cascades of sparks and heroic fireballs whenever Tarot went anywhere near them.
‘I guess it’s for the best, then.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘What did the kidnapper want, anyway?’
‘Huh? Oh. Money. A couple of million.’
‘Shouldn’t we pay him, then?’
‘Yes. I suppose so.’
There was another pause.
‘Something about this feels wrong, doesn’t it? It feels a bit anticlimactic.’ Travis said.
‘Yes, I know what you mean.’ The Commissioner confirmed dejectedly. They both stared into the darkness moodily, and then at the gramophone. ‘They don’t make them like they used to, I suppose.’
Both nodded in unison.
‘Want a beer?’ The Lieutenant finally said.
‘God, I thought you’d never ask.’ The Commissioner agreed.
