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From: Echo <echo@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASS} Damsel in Distress 7/? by Echo (Superhero)
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RE
Copyright remains with author. This story is *not* to
be reposted, posted elsewhere, placed on web pages, etc. It is
*not* to be made available in any media for profit. You are
entitled to one hard copy for your own amusement.
**WARNING** as this story progresses we will be heading
towards the area on non-cons or semi-cons
sex. If this offends, don't get interested now.
Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress by Echo
Chapter 7
Ray Barton looked from the computer screen to the book and
back again. He snorted and dropped the book on the desk beside
the other one. He shook his head angrily and gave himself a
mental kick. The two books lay there, innocent: 'Webpages
Made Easy' and 'Webpages For Dunderheads'.
"I knew I should have picked up 'Webpages for Morons', but
oh, no, I had to . . . . Hi. What can I do for you?" A very
lovely young woman had opened the door to his office and stepped
in. She had surprised him, for she had entered so silently that
only the movement of her shadow had given her away.
"Hi. I brought my car in for service and they told me to
see you about a payment plan," the woman smiled at him as she
closed the door. With the door closed the smile disappeared.
"Officer Rebecca Nasturant reporting," she told him.
"Yes, Officer, what can we do for you? You mentioned a
payment plan?" No one had told him about any visit.
Nasturant smiled at his reticence. "Sorry, sir, I thought
you'd already been informed. I'm to work here with you for, oh,
a week will probably do it." She handed him a paper. "Your
suggestion for a Crime Prevention Web Site has been approved.
I'm here to help you set it up." She glanced at the books on
the desk and choked back a laugh. Instead she picked them up.
"Good books," she told him. "But you probably should have gone
with 'Webpages for Morons', as disgusting as the title is. It
would get you into the basics more gently." She placed the
books to one side, "but you won't need any of them. You have,"
she said smugly, "me."
"And your credentials are . . . ?" Ray wasn't about to let
her see his utter relief at having someone, anyone who knew
more than him, to help.
"Graduated top of my class in Computer Sciences," Nasturant
stated evenly. But that means nothing. Let me have a go at
it. If you don't like what you see, you always have the books,"
she said mildly.
Ray stood and waved her graciously to his chair. He
brought the other one around and sat slightly behind and to one
side of the woman, whose fingers were already flying across the
keyboard.
One hour later Ray was more than convinced. Nasturant had
done in minutes that which had taken him hours to grasp and
implement. Not only that, but she had kept up a running
commentary on what she was doing and why. He'd learned more in
the past hour then in the past two weeks with those damned
books.
"Officer Rebecca Nasturant," he addressed her reverently,
"I think I'm in love. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Detective Barton," she replied severely. "That is a
serious breach of protocol. I may have to report it."
Oh, shit, Ray groaned to himself. All he needed was
a sexual harassment charge against him. It just figured that
someone as good looking as Nasturant would be a stickler for
rules. The word of law, rather than the spirit of it, was
what was important to her. Shit. He'd have to apologize.
"I apologize, Officer Nasturant . . ."
"Rightly so," she interrupted him. "As junior officer it
is my place to get *you* the coffee. If word of your slip were
to become widely known, morale would plummet." Nasturant didn't
even crack a smile.
Ray relaxed. This he could deal with. "Officer Nasturant.
You are now in the field. We do things differently out here.
This is something you may or may not get used to. I expect,
however," he said loftily, "that you make the attempt. Do
I make myself clear?" She nodded, chastened. "Good. Then,
cream and sugar?"
Nasturant threw back her head and laughed. "One cream,
two sugar, sir."
"Ray," he corrected.
"Ray. I'm Rebecca. So, do you like what you see . . .
I mean on the screen," she hastened to add.
"Love it. So," he continued as he poured the coffee, "I
have you for a week? Wonderful." He handed her the coffee
and pulled a notebook out of his desk drawer. "Let me show
you what I had in mind. Feel free to make any suggestions."
It was two hours later that the telephone interrupted
an excited exchange of views and possibilities. It was Ray's
dream taking form and a whole lot of fun for Rebecca, a chance
to use her imagination and skills.
"Ray speaking," he held the receiver lightly. His grip
tightened. "When?" His eyes focused on a spot on the wall
as he listened. "Where? Okay. We're on it." Ray hung up
the phone.
"Can you keep an eye on the place?" he asked Rebecca, as
he pushed a button on the intercom.
"What's up?"
"A particularly nasty group of drug dealers. We've been
after them for some time. They move around so it's hard to
catch them. We're a couple of men short today, so I need
everyone. We'll put up the 'closed' sign and you can just keep
working on the pages," he spoke rapidly, even as the other
members of his team rushed into the room in answer to his
signal.
"Not a problem," she affirmed.
Ray outlined the problem to his men as Rebecca listened
in fascination. She had never been any part of such an operation
before. After the quick briefing, Ray wrote down an address
and handed it to Rebecca.
"We'll want back-up, but we don't dare call for it. The
scum have scanners and they'll bolt in a second. Call up the
duty sergeant at the 8th and get us some back-up. Make sure
he doesn't radio."
Rebecca was on the phone even before he finished. Ray
gave her a nod then he and the others rushed out.
Rebecca found that she couldn't focus on the work. She
turned up the police radio and listened to the calls. While
she listened she idly began a search of the computer's files.
An encrypted area piqued her interest and she made a small
bet with herself as to how long it would take her to crack it.
She did it with a minute to spare.
"How interesting," she murmured to herself, then her
attention was elsewhere.
"Officer Down!" the radio blared, giving the very address
she had just given to the 8th. "Request assistance, ambulance."
Rebecca didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Ray. She
had known him for only the morning, yet her heart was pounding.
It couldn't be him. Such a nice man. She took a deep breath.
They all were. Johnny, who had been so polite as she brought
her car in for the check-up; Sam, who had shown her to Ray's
office . . . all of them. She began pacing the floor, hoping
for more word on the radio. She knew it wouldn't come. They'd
use a phone, keep it off the air, keep it private as long as
possible.
Never before had the life and death reality of police
work been made so clear, so obvious. One of her comrades,
though she really didn't know any of them at all well, was
down, perhaps dead. Someone she actually knew, had talked
to. This wasn't just reading a report about some unknown name
and face. This was real.
After what seemed an eternity, two cars pulled up to the
garage. Rebecca realized that she was still in the encrypted
part of the drive and hastened to exit it and pull up her work
on the Web page. She jumped up as Ray walked into the room,
looking tired and old.
"You okay?" she asked, approaching him. Ray merely shook
his head. "Who?" she needed to know, somehow.
"Johnny."
"Oh, no. Not Johnny." Without realizing what she was
doing Rebecca reached out for Ray and held him tight.
Surprised, Ray returned the hug. After a while he decided
that they were a little too close. "Breach of protocol,
Officer?" he asked.
Rebecca gave a little laugh. "If you're going to do it,
do it right," she replied, and tightened her hug before letting
him go.
"It's okay, Rebecca, he'll live." Whether he'd walk again
or not was something else. Johnny had taken three slugs from
an Uzi in the right leg. He told Rebecca what had gone down,
how they'd been late, but still caught one of the gang making
the final clean-up. That one had opened fire on the spot and
been killed in the return fire, but not before the slugs had cut
down Johnny. "Dark Damsel was right," he muttered to himself.
"Dark Damsel?" Rebecca questioned. "I met her in the
Commissioner's office. What does she have to do with this?"
"One of her sources let her know where they were a while
back. She warned us to be careful 'cause these guys played
for keeps." Ray shrugged. It didn't matter much now. They'd
learned that for themselves. "We were late and missed them
then."
"I'm surprised that Dark Damsel didn't go after them
herself. She has that reputation."
"She had other fish to fry. She was after The Photographer.
That was just before the shit hit the fan, where she's concerned.
Haven't heard from her since." He looked at the young woman who
appeared to be regaining her composure. "So, how's the work
going?"
"I couldn't do much and, after I heard the 'Officer Down'
call, then I couldn't do anything."
"Take the rest of the day off. I don't feel much like doing
anything more, either." Ray walked behind his desk and sat down.
He looked up at Rebecca, who hadn't made a move. "Go ahead,"
he said. "You're part of my staff at the moment. Take off,
relax."
Rebecca considered it for a moment then agreed. "Okay,
Ray, I'll do that. I'm going to the hospital. Give blood or
something."
Ray smiled tiredly and nodded. "You do that."
"She's okay," he told the empty room after she'd left,
"she'll do."
Ray was just about to pack it in for the day--he'd be glad
when Kelsy returned to duty so he could get back to the
afternoon shift--when the phone rang. It was the special line.
"Yes?" No names were ever used on that line.
"Got a message for the Damsel," a muffled voice told him
with no preliminaries.
"I'll pass it on."
"Good. Tell her word is there's gonna be a fence in town
soon. Donno where, donno when. Find out, I'll call. Tell her
eight-three-h. Got it?"
"Eight-three-h," Ray repeated back. "Got it."
The caller disconnected.
Ray looked down at the note. Yeah, he'd tell her--if he
saw her. He hadn't heard from her in days, which didn't
surprise him. He *knew* the pictures and video's from the
Dark Damsel site were not faked, were not of a model. Damn
and blast The Photographer. Bastard.
Was this important? Who knew? Dark Damsel had her sources
and only one line came through The Garage. Perhaps this bit
along with another bit might make sense to Dark Damsel. He
sighed as he made his decision.
"Ah, well, it's why I get the big money," he soliloquized,
and opened a small safe. Inside was a disk. He placed it in
the computer, typed in the proper command, wrote out the message
and clicked on send. After that it was all automatic. The
message was encoded, addressed through remailers and sent.
Somewhere, soon--if none of the remailers was down--Dark Damsel
would get the note. Ray removed the disk, replaced it in the
safe and spun the combination lock.
Taking one last look around, Ray exited the office.
He, too, would head over to the hospital now. Perhaps there
would be good word on Johnny's condition. He could hope,
anyway.
Renee was hard at work on a manuscript. It was good
to get back to her work, she thought. She would miss the
excitement of Dark Damsel, but enough was enough.
In all the years since her father had died and she'd taken
on the mantle of Dark Damsel, such a thing had never happened.
Sure, she'd been bested once or twice, yes; however, criminals
were not by nature rapists or sexual perverts. They did what
they felt they had to do (for whatever reason) as she did what
she had to do. A few of them were killers, yet she had only
faced those a couple of times. Those times she'd won.
Renee smiled. At times it had been close, the adrenalin
had coursed through her body and she'd made the super-human
effort which resulted in victory. Those were times that she
really felt alive! This time was something entirely different.
The Photographer was no ordinary criminal. He had a
grudge. He wanted to break Dark Damsel. This was totally
different. Here was a man who would go to great lengths to
simply get *her*. And, like they said, if someone wants
to get another badly enough, eventually he will--if there are
no mistakes made. The Photographer hadn't yet made any
mistakes. Therefore, every time she appeared as Dark Damsel
she was putting herself in danger, a danger greater than the
run-of-the-mill danger faced by any crime-fighter.
There was a solution, of course. No one knew who Dark
Damsel was. Dark Damsel could simply disappear. People
would wonder, but no one would ever know. Renee Jimson
would live her life, free of Dark Damsel. All she had to
do was to return the motorcycle--couldn't have that around,
it would be too dangerous--close her nym account, vacate her
various hideaways and destroy her costume. Renee Jimson could
then lead a full life. It would be so easy.
Renee closed the manuscript file. She composed the
message which would close her nym account. There. It was
done. She opened her mail program. The program dialed her
server. It was so simple. A few keystrokes. Dark Damsel
would disappear. Let the public think what they would. She
didn't care. The program logged on. Renee prepared to send
the message.
"You have new mail." The sign popped up on the screen.
The cursor arrow hovered over the send button. She hesitated.
Might as well see what the mail is, she thought.
Renee stared at the screen. Among the junk email and
the messages from clients there was one she dreaded to see.
A message from 'anonymous'. She highlighted it and placed
the cursor over the 'delete' button. Ah, hell.
Renee lay down on the sofa and listened to the music.
It was her favourite CD. The music carried her away. So,
she thought, there is a fence in town. Eight-three-h. That
was Terry. Terry had always given her straight goods. A fence
in town. Interesting. There were lots of fences in town.
This, then, had to mean someone big. Someone who could handle
very hot merchandise. Hot merchandise worth a lot. She didn't
want to think it, but Lady Margot's necklace came to mind, as
did all the other jewelry taken by The Photographer.
Renee sat up suddenly, jarred into full alert by the song.
Why that song? Why now? She laughed at herself. Going to
hide away, was she? Run from the humiliation? Never. This
was her chance to get The Photographer. If she got him it would
be over. Give up being Dark Damsel? Never!
A smile came to her face. "Nietzsche," she told the tiger
who, as ever, was watching over her, "you were right. As is
usual," she laughed aloud, feeling suddenly free.
The wind on her face felt good, that part of her face
which wasn't covered by the mask. The cycle purred and Dark
Damsel felt alive. Very alive. She was back in action. A
couple of punks had made comments when she stopped for a red
light, but those comments dried up when she fixed them with her
stare. No one wanted to try conclusions with a fired up Dark
Damsel.
"What was that?" Dark Damsel spoke aloud. She'd seen
something out of the corner of her eye as she passed the alley.
The motorcycle came to a stop, then made a wide turn and she
was headed back. Looking up the alley she saw a familiar
figure in a fight with two men. It was Minx!
Gunning the bike she headed down the alley. One of the
men looked up, but it was too late. Dark Damsel clipped him
with her fist as she swept by. The man went tumbling. Dark
Damsel stopped and rushed into the fray.
It was short and sweet. Her man had gotten back to his
feet and was searching the ground for something, probably a
dropped weapon. Too late he realized he wouldn't have the
time. A kick to the jaw sent him sprawling once more. This
time he didn't get up.
Meanwhile, Minx had taken care of the other goon. He
was holding his ribs with one hand and holding out the other
in supplication.
Minx smiled a feral smile. "You tell your boss that if
he doesn't clear out I'll go after him personally. And I know
who he is. I know what he's done and have information which
will implicate him in several jobs. Tell him he has twenty-
four hours. Now take your pal and get out of here!" Minx
turned her back and strode over to Dark Damsel.
"Thanks for the assist," she smiled. "Just out sight-
seeing?"
"I owed you. No, I'm on the prowl." Dark Damsel watched
as the two goons helped each other down the alley.
"Good. There were rumours you'd thrown in the mask. I'm
glad they were false." Minx subtly looked Dark Damsel up and
down. Unconsciously she licked her lips.
Dark Damsel grinned to herself. This woman was anything
but subtle, no matter she tried to hold herself in check. And
it was good to hear that someone was on her side.
"I'm a little out of my usual territory," Minx told Dark
Damsel. "Give me a lift?"
"Absolutely." The two women walked over to the Damsel's
motorcycle. Damsel got on first, then Minx climbed on behind
her. Damsel turned on the ignition. She was about to start
off in the direction Minx had indicated when she changed her
mind and let the machine idle.
"I've been thinking about your offer, Minx." It was
easier, not having to look Minx in the eyes. "I'm a little
busy now, but later . . ." She let the words die. "Hang
on." Damsel gunned the bike and they were out of the alley,
onto the road and accelerating.
Dark Damsel liked the feel of Minx's breasts against her
back, of her arms around her stomach . . . er, make that arm,
singular, around her stomach. Minx's other arm had released
its hold and her hand was now running over Dark Damsel's breasts.
Minx's breath was hot in her ear.
"Just give me the word, Damsel, and we'll have a time!"
her voice lewd with suggestion. It changed. "Until then, need
a hand?"
Damsel thought about that for a minute. "Yes. I could use
someone to watch my back." This, she thought, could be fun. A
partner wasn't the worst thing in the world to have.
It didn't take long for Dark Damsel to confirm what the
message had told her. There was a big dealer coming to town,
soon. Just how soon, no one knew. Now, however, the word was
out to Damsel's sources that she was interested. They would
find out, if anyone could. Then she would know and The
Photographer would be history.
Dark Damsel was a little sorry to let Minx off. It had
been relaxing, having Minx at her back. All the worry had
evaporated and she luxuriated in being Dark Damsel. Now,
back home.
Next afternoon the message was there, waiting for her.
Dark Damsel:
We have confirmation that The Photographer is
meeting a fence tomorrow. The meet is in the Elm
Street High School Gym at 7:45 p.m. At exactly
8:00 p.m. we will have all exits from the school
blocked, and at 8:15 we are moving in. This time
The Photographer will not be getting away.
I extend an invitation to you to go in with us.
Meet us at The Garage at 7:30 if you want in.
A Friend.
Elm Street High School? It was summer break. The
school would be deserted. No one would think of a school.
Did she want in? Yes. Definitely. She wanted the Photographer.
Late that night Dark Damsel broke into Elm Street High
School. It was ridiculously easy. She ensconced herself in
the nurses office, on the bed. It would be too dangerous to
check the gym. The Photographer was cagey and might have set
up warnings. Tomorrow at 7:40 p.m. she'd take him. When the
police made their entrance Dark Damsel would hand over the
Photographer, the Jewels and the fence. Tomorrow.
It was a day of boredom and anticipation. Finally the
time arrived. Dark Damsel made her way down the hall to the
gym. She opened the outer door quietly and slipped in. The
inner door awaited. Standing to the side she approached the
door on cat's feet. There he was. The Photographer. He
was dressed in black, masked. She looked around. The
wrestling mats had been laid out. What the hell was this?
However, a briefcase, open, with the jewels, sat on the half
door to the coach's office. It was enough.
"Photographer! Your time is up!" Dark Damsel strode
through the door and The Photographer whipped around at her
voice.
"Ah, Dark Damsel. I was hoping we'd meet again."
"You are finished."
"I think not. Kitty!"
Dark Damsel spun around in time to see Kitty on the far
side of the inner door. There was a click and the door was
locked. Damsel looked around. No doubt all the other doors
were locked as well. It was a trap! But it didn't matter.
She was there for The Photographer and she would take him. Her
adrenalin began to flow and she stalked forward.
"Wait!" The Photographer called out and Dark Damsel halted.
"There are rules to this game."
Dark Damsel wasn't amused. This was no game. She was here
to take in The Photographer before the police arrived. She had
a score to settle.
A door slammed and Dark Damsel's head snapped over. Behind
the Coach's door was Kitty. The door was closed, but it wasn't
a regular type of half-door. The bottom half had a shelf, which
was common, but the top half had a cage over the shelf. The cage
had two openings, one into the gym, one into the office. In the
cage was the briefcase with the jewels.
"What is this?" Dark Damsel demanded.
"It is very simple. I want you and you want me. We both
want the jewels. Come on over and we'll discuss this calmly.
Later will be soon enough for fighting."
Dark Damsel was wary but intrigued. She approached, but not
too closely. The Photographer smiled.
"No one can get at the jewels now. There is a time lock.
After thirty minutes this button will open the lock. It is a
sensor keyed to my thumb-print. All you have to do is get me
to place my thumb on the sensor. Then this side of the cage
will open and the jewels will be yours. You will have
defeated me and I will be yours. If you defeat me I will do
whatever you say for one hour. I will confess to the police,
if that is your wish.
"However, if you attempt to open the cage before the thirty
minutes are up, the other side will open, Kitty will remove the
case and leave."
"Interesting," Dark Damsel noted, wondering what the punch
line would be.
The Photographer grinned. "Yes, interesting."
"What if there is no decision after the thirty minutes?"
The Photographer laughed. "It'll be over long before that.
But I'll tell you what. If you agree to my final rule, win or
lose you get the jewels."
Here it comes, the punch line. "And that is?" asked Dark
Damsel.
The Photographer's smile faded. "If I win, you are mine
for one hour." The words rang out, harsh, final. "So what is
it, Dark Damsel? Your audience wants to know."
"Audience?" Dark Damsel was taken aback.
"Everyone knows how Dark Damsel is as good as her word.
Say the word and you have the jewels. Yes, audience. See the
cameras? You are on the 'net, live. Everyone who is logged
on will be able to attest to our living up to the rules." He
gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "Speak up, Dark Damsel,
how badly do you want the loot? How badly do you want me?
Revenge is sweet, they say. Don't you want to find out?"
Dark Damsel's eyes narrowed. Live? On the Internet?
There would be no question this time. The fight would be real,
there would be no mistaking Dark Damsel's moves. And Dark
Damsel was pretty sure what would happen should she lose.
Yet, she could return Lady Margot's necklace and the
other purloined goods. Win or lose she would win.
"Deal!" she cried out and assumed a fighting stance.
"Done and done!" replied the Photographer and hit
the button starting the clock.
End of Chapter 7 of Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress by Echo
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