2005-01-28 - 7:43 p.m.

8:38 PM

She hadn’t believed it when Vittoria had showed it to her in the garage. It wasn’t that Vittoria knew a lot about cars, but the Vatican had its stable and she recognized the quality of the cars that filled the rest of the garage. Vintage Caddys, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Rolls Royces, even an old school Ford GT. Almost every kind of exotic racecar and luxury ride was in this garage. And yet, of all of these, Suki seemed most excited about this tiny little Toyota hatchback, some odd variant of a Corolla. Even when she saw the race seats and the array of electronics inside, even after Suki told her “Never judge a book by its cover,” she hadn’t believed this dinky little econobox was a racer worth a damn. But when Suki had put the pedal to the metal, and screamed off into the City night, Vittoria screamed like a Vatican City castrati choir.

Now, leading a pack of supped-up Mazdas and Nissans, tearing through hairpins and narrow streets at speeds she didn’t even want to guess at, Vittoria prayed as she had never prayed in her life. She swore on the Virgin Mother, on the Saints, on the sacred solid gold toilet seat of the Holy Father himself that she would NEVER, EVER get drunk or high again if they would only let her get out the car alive.

Suki flashed her a look as from the driver seat s she kicked the car in a suicide drift though a hairpin curve.

“Tell me this isn’t better than sex with less than two people!!” She yelled with a grin. “Oh wait, never mind!!!”

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD YOU’RE GOING TO GET US KILLED YOU CRAZY BITCH!!!!!!” Vittoria screamed.

Suki just pushed the pedal harder, accelerating more as the car exited the turn, the neon lights of Hollywood East blurring past her. She liked racing in this part of town best: the trendy art ghetto was full of tight corners and long boulevards, the perfect mix to test speed and skill. It was also full of corrupt cops who cared more about getting free samples from the undiscovered actress/hookers than busting the street racing clubs in the district, who were also smart enough to send enough bribe money to keep them chasing undiscovered actress/hookers.

With a squeal of tires, Suki blasted through the last hairpin with the utter fearlessness of a born race chick and spun into a sideways drift, coming to a stop a mere foot from the line of crowds watching her and screaming her name, a full minute ahead of the next car. Getting out, she strutted over to the line of street racers who were shaking their heads. Holding out her hands, she collected the sheaves of bills held out.

“Damn, woman,” a dreadlocked rasta sitting on the hood of his Jamaican-flag painted Vauxhall Wyvern. “You drop out of sight for over a month, come back and still wax our asses. You must be the devil’s mistress herself. And your little 86 must be his chariot.”

“Solomon, if you and your boys didn’t get high so much, you might be able to get within 40 seconds of beating me.”

A slim Sikh with a neon turban grinned as he handed her his money. “Girl, you get higher than a sherpa with a jetpack.”

“And STILL none of you bitches has a chance catching me,” Suki cackled, grabbing the lit blunt from Solomon’s lips and taking a toke.

“Well, if you’re so un-catchable, what about your friend,” another racer asked, this one a long haired blonde girl that looked like she just stepped out of some Midwest High School Cheerleading Team. She was looking lustily at Vittoria, who had gotten out of Suki’s car and was leaning up against it, as if fighting dizziness. “She’s a hottie. Damn, that skit’s so short, I think I can see her panties.”

Suki laughed even harder. “Candy, if you can score with Vittoria I’ll GIVE you any one of my cars. “

“Is that a promise? Or a challenge?” Candy asked her eyes twinkling.

“It’s more of a joke. You’ve got about as much of scoring with her than any of you losers have beating me in a race. Now if any of you posers want to see me spend your money, you know where to show.”

With a wave she walked back to her Tuereno and smiled at Vittoria. “you believe in my little econobox now?”

“How much of Actionhero’s tech did you pack not this car?”

“None really. I just jumped up the engine and put in some mods to help with the handling. Nothing extreme or esoteric. Nothing like Wheel’s Kirby Cycle or anything. This way there’s a chance someone with better skill or a sweeter ride could beat me. Keeps the game interesting.”

“A chance?”

“Well a snowball’s chance in hell is still a chance. Come one, let’s go spend my winnings.”

9:22 PM

Ursula Ryder finally got home after pulling another late shift at the Kensington Smith Library. For the third time. In two days. If it wasn’t gothy lit. students summoning demons to have sex with in the study rooms, it was physics nerds and unstable time machines in the AV department.

She liked being a student at the Invisible College, especially here at the City Campus. And the Kensington Smith Library had one of the best esoteric collections in the world. But she couldn’t help wondering if maybe this wasn’t the right place for her. Sure she could handle weird. Demons, monsters, arcane conspiracies that could drive a sane man mad; she took it in stride. And she had that rare skill of technomagic that only few Invisibles could master. But, looking out from her dorm room window at the party going on in the courtyards below, the party she’d been invited to but that she couldn’t summon up the courage to go to, she wondered if, socially, spiritually, she belonged here.

The students here were so full of life, so unique. And utterly fearless in the way they loved and fought and believed. She felt even worse when she thought about the legendary invisibles like Quentin Holte, Wheel, Doctor Oblvion, and Actionhero. Compared to them, Ursula felt dull, weak, boring.

Maybe I should have just gone to City Central U. At least there I could compare myself with the white bread sorority chicks and at lest con myself into feeling like an Invisible.

It was then that she noticed the red light on her answering machine was blinking. Hitting the recall button she froze as she heard the message

“This call is for Ursula Ryder. This is Vittoria Verta from Man of Mystery, Incorporated. We were calling to set up an interview with Ms. Ryder anytime tomorrow….”

9:50 PM

After hitting two more clubs, and some more bodies, Gonzo had decided that the message had been sent sufficiently enough. He and the Girl shared a quiet smoke, sitting on the hood of the Lambo, watching the cops and paramedics clean up the mess they had left at Robotheque.

“You know, Gonzo,” the Girl said. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time. “

“I’m glad you’re having fun. But I’m still worried about the ninjas.”

“Why? Whoever sent them got the point we were trying to make. And itsw not like they succeeded.”

“It’s not that. Its just I’m worried about the heat that Man of Mystery, Inc. is now going to attract.”

The Girl looked at him closely. “You’re worried about Suki.”

“Yeah. Look, when ‘Hero put this shit together, he never realized it would get so damn big. Now his corporation is in the middle of every weird piece of crap that happens in this city. If he were still alive and running I wouldn’t worry because well, it’s Actionhero. But now, that its just Suki I’m worried. I think I should see if any other Invisibles want to stick around.”

“Well, it looks like I should take a holiday then.” The Girl grinned.

“Seriously? You want to stick around?”

“Of course. I owe ‘Hero something, or at least his estate. He did give me that Triumph after all.”

Gonzo grinned. “I didn’t think you were the selfless type.”

“I’m not. Her Majesty Super Secret Service does owe me an extended vacation, for all the shit I’ve had to shovel. And besides, the Pound is kicking the Dollar’s arse so I can actually afford to buy pretty things and have a hell of holiday. Now, how about you buy a girl a bit of nosh?”

They got up and got in the car. Gonzo: “How come I have to buy if your currency’s kicking my currency’s arse?”

The Girl, with a smile: “Because I have a cute butt?”

10: 31 PM

Peter “The Wolf” Mahoney, scientist, researcher, monster hunter, professional protagonist and male model teen heartthrob, made the last adjustments on the vest. It was authentic BPRD issue, a gift from Actionhero. Every time he put the vest on, he could almost hear Actionhero’s voice.

“What the fuck do you want to get involved in the Life for? Are you high?”

He walked to the front of his house and picked up the kit bag of weapons. From her den/office, his wife, Heather “Ladyhawke” Mahoney stepped out.

“What are you going to do, come back to your house in the ‘burbs with a fucking balrog tied up in the back of the Subaru station wagon? Look over at your neighbor Bob and wave and say ‘Hey there Bob. Rough day at the office. How’s the insurance game treating you?’”

“You leaving?”

“Sure hon. I’ll be with the team checking out that werewolf sighting.”

“You dressed warmly enough?”

“Yes, hon.”

“Pack enough ammo? Did you need the crossbow?”

“You know I have done this before.”

“I’m just saying,” Heather smiled. “I don’t want to have to you whine and cry if I have to clean you up with peroxide. Again.”

Pete looked at his wife and them smiled himself. She was so beautiful. He really was the luckiest man in the world to have found her.

“You’re way too well adjusted to be a monster hunter. You’re going to ruin the image.”

“One more thing. Can you pick up some formula for the baby on your way back?”

11: 11 PM

Silky Sakai stepped out of the cab and looked up at the gleaming towers of City Center with a smile. Actionhero had always hated City Center, calling it the corporate whore’s face of the City. Sure, he did business with the multinationals and shadowy government agencies there, but he hated the place and had set up Man of Mystery, Inc. in Old Downtown as a kind of gesture of defiance. Silky, on the other hand liked City Center. It had started in the 60s and had somehow, though countless renovations and remodelings, had kept some of the futurism cool of the era, a new Babylon for new gods. It was always the new in City Center, the envelope always being pushed. New buildings, companies, players, tech. vendettas and games coming up and ending hard at hyperspeed at any and all second. Screw never sleeping. At City Center, you didn’t even dare blink.

The best part of this place was the memories, the days when he, Actionhero, Gonzo Chang and Kingsley Shackelbolt, along with anyone else from the Invisible Crew that was around, just ran the place. This was before the Yucatan or the Company or Singapore or any of it. Silky remembered fighting super-soldiers, bred in Argentine flesh farms by Nazi expatriates, Actionhero and Gonzo laying down cover fire with their rocketguns while he and Kingsley broke out with the bit of the old sword and sorcery. Then there was the time they had gotten involved in that scam with some covert ops government agency with the corny ass acronym for a name. They had saved the world from some terrorist group with another lame ass acronym name but got a chewing out by some crusty old one-eyed warhorse turned middle manager and Kingsley, just sick to death of it, turned him into a bouncing ferret. It was crazy times, insane times, where there was always some mad scientist or mutant creatures or just-under-the-radar alien invasion or threat from demonic powers to overcome. He remembered hunting for a drugged out Wheel in the New Genesis hippie commune on the edge of the Moderné and having to fight a reborn demoness passing her self off as the Goddess of LSD. He remembered jet pack swordfighting side by side with Quentin Holte against freelance terrorists on the top of the old Kirby Tower. And of course, the best part, was after every adventure, when the invasions were thwarted, the demons exorcised, and complex geopolitical threats were solved by convenient bullets to convenient heads, there was a party. They would go to the newest hottest club and walk right in, no waiting, table reserved for the City’s urban legends/celebrity adventurers (and if there wasn’t hel there was always Kingsley’s ferret trick). Kingsley with his pint or three, always complaining that the beer was better back in England, Actionhero and Gonzo singing badly and adding mad lyrics to whatever pop song was playing. And of course, the girls would come up, long legged groupie nymphs in the go-go boots and hipster fashions, asking for a drink, a story, and a bed for the night.

Silky smiled at the memories. “Glories.” He looked up again and stopped. The old Kirby Tower was long gone, he knew, a casualty of the architectural Darwinism that was par for the course at City Center. But he hadn’t know what monolithic sky scraper had taken its place. It was one of those sinister ‘80s style places, a corporate gothic that was a bit of H.G. Gieger and Blade Runner. And in blazing red letters, the name: Techyoto.

12:49 AM

Vittoria watched Suki take another tequila shot and shake her had smiling.

“Man, have I missed that. Not as good as that Quetezelcouatl stuff the Boss stole from Dr. Curare but still…” Suki said, looking over at her companion, who stood stiffly next to her at the bar, arms crossed. “Geez, what crawled up your cunt and died?”

“I’m just not comfortable in this place,” Vittoria said. After Suki’s street racing victory, they had gone to a nightclub called “L.A. Guns” where Suki claimed she knew the doorman. It was a typical Hollywood East Club, tacky and loud, like something out of an ‘80s music video or cheap B-movie softcore. What made it worse was that it was full of trashy media types: E and F list actors and actresses, just a step up form being thrillgals or joyboys trying to be discovered by making the scene, real sex workers trying to make a sale, agents and talent scouts and other assorted bloodsuckers looking for their next meal or a convenient snack, a few slumming celebs from higher up on the food chain, fanboys and groupies and film students hoping to a lucky look, the typical crowd you got in the Arts Ghetto of The City.

“You know,” Vittoria said. “I would think a place called ‘L.A. Guns’ would let me carry guns inside.”

“It’s just a name. Relax!! God, you’re way to tense.”

“I don’t think so. If I relax one of these bastards might try to grab my ass. Again. This time I would like to be able to kill him instead of just maiming him and leaving him to security. I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into not wearing a bra.”

“It’s because you look hot. You’d look even hotter if you weren;t wearing panties like I told you to. You know what? You need a drink.”

“Again, Suki, no. I don’t want to get ‘shitfaced’ tonight. Besides, if you insist on bingeing, I will have to drive.”

“The car has autopilot. Come one, Vicki, one drink.” A sly look crossed Suki face. “You know, Gonzo likes a girl who can drink.”

Vittoria looked at her. “Will you please stop bringing that up?!?!”

Suki smiled. “Tell you what, you have a drink with me and I’ll shut up about it.”

“Fine.”

Suki turned back to the bar and waited for a bartender to see her. Next to her a couple walked up and started looking at the shelves of liquors.

“Hmm, I wonder if they have anything like the Doc’s Quetzelcoatl tequila?” the girl said. Suki froze, recognizing the voice. She spun and looked at the girl. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a cartoon flamingo but Suki would know her anywhere.

“Flamenca…”

The girl seemed to jump with surprise at hearing her name and looked at Suki.

“Suki….”

“Fuck, fuck fuck….” Suki said shaking her head. “I am not in mood for any of this tonight. Why, God, can’t you give me one night off?!?!”

“No wait…we’re not….”

Suki looked back at Flamenca and continued. “What is it? Is it me? Are you here to whack me or something? Am I gonna turn around and see Mariposa with my tequila and a Hanzo Sword ready to go all Yojimbo? Is Ocelot aiming a sniper rifle right now?”

She looked at the guy standing next to Flameca. He was wearing a Brazilian Soccer team uniform shirt and a pair of Dockers but she recognized him too.

“Damn it, you brought Kiyagi too. Is the rest of the Anaconda guard here too? What, are we on some ancient Reptilian temple or a Hellmouth or some other damn thing? Is there some guy selling black technologies you’re waiting for or some kind of Invisible thing? Tell me it’s not some kind of Invisible thing.”

“Look,” Kiyagi said. “We’re not here on a job….”

“Whatever it is,” Suki said, not listening. “I don’t care. I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want to have to break out swords or guns. I’ve already done that today. I’m good. Let me just get my drink then and I’ll get out of your way. And if its me you’re after, come one, let’s just do this thing later when I’m in the mood for ultra violence okay?”

Vittoria leaned over Suki’s shoulder and whispered to her. “I don’t think they’re on a mission.”

“What?!? They’re Curare’s people. They’re always on a mission.”

“No, she’s right,” Flamenca said. “We’re not on a mission.”

Suki gave them a look. “So, what? You’re here on a date or something?”

Both Flamenca and Kiyagi dropped their gazes and seemed to blush. Suki’s jaw dropped.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God….”

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