Previous Post Silver Aegis # 13 “The Tomb of the Ü-Wolf!” It was not until Augustus Waddell and his entourage were safely ensconced in his limousine that he let the true depths of his outrage be known. His cheeks puffed and flushed, his beady eyes watered, and he began to scuffle his feet on the carpet floor, all the while muttering unintelligibly to himself. “Augie, what’s wrong?” one of his arm candies consoled. The question stopped his tirade, albeit just for a moment, “Get them out of here.” “But, Augie-“ “To the curb with you woman!” The young ladies were shepherded out by the stoic Toa. This allowed the Kiwi to express himself freely. “Raaawk!” he vaulted to the other side of the limo, pinning Ronald Chaney III to his seat, who made the prudent decision not to object. “You said getting rid of the gypsies wouldn’t be a problem,” Kiwi recalled, breathing heavily, “A minor inconvenience. Well, having a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter and a SUPERHERO snooping around is a big problem, Ronald.” “Superhero? Landon said that man was just a nosy SPUD agent,” the scion of Chaney Shores said in reply. “He’s the Silver Aegis! This will be the second time that patriotic pretty boy has interfered in my business,” Waddell rolled off Chaney and beat the car cushions with a flurry of punches. The older gentleman was aghast. Kiwi’s lieutenants, used to such tantrums, seemed to take it in stride. “So, what’s next, boss? We drop out of the deal?” Nestor “Ice pick” Cusimano asked. “Grease the hero and the dame?” “Nine Toes” Danny Lupone offered. “Here’s Nicole, boss,” Arturo “Prime” Ribise held up a wire cage in which a tiny brown bird fidgeted. Kiwi halted his assault on the limousine’s plush interior. He carefully opened the cage and, whistling, coaxed the bush wren into his hand. “I have too much invested in this plan to back out now,” Waddell said as he settled into his seat, “Which means both of them have to go.” “A’u,” the Mighty Toa jammed his thumb into his own broad chest. Augustus stroked Nicole thoughtfully, “I’m sure you could, old friend, but this cannot be traced back to me. We’re going to have to seek out an outside contractor.” “How about HERPES, boss? Those Fokker twins have a serious mad on for the guy.” “Fascists are too indiscreet; it’s the curse of having such an absolute weltanschauung,” the diminutive gangster looked to Chaney to see if his vocabulary or insight made an impression on the more urbane gentleman. He was disappointed, “No, we need a true professional for this. Arturo, I want you to set up a meeting with our friend in Manga Town.” “Got it. What’s the offer?” “Five hundred thousand for Silver Aegis and Josie Hart,” Kiwi pulled a worm from his pocket and fed it to the wren, “a small price to pay for paradise, isn’t it? *snee snee snee*” ***** It was morning in Chaney Shores, and three very different people were meeting for breakfast outside one of the town’s many dining establishments, each using disparate methods to find the same truth. The robust, rangy man with the prematurely grey hair poring over a set of nautical charts was Silver Aegis, the personification of patriotism. The willowy brunette wearing $500 sunglasses hunched over her whisper weight laptop was Josie Hart, features writer for the Parodiopolis Times Picayune. The sonsy lass with the olive skin staring at the dregs of her tea cup was Desmerelda Stavrosos, princess and shuvani to her people. “All right,” Silver Aegis put down the drafting compass and tapped the mark on the map he had made with it, “the coordinates Desi gave place the Ü-Wolf here, at the southeast edge of a coral reef, about two miles off shore.” “That would be Nightmare Reef, a nasty stretch of subterranean real estate with a history of shipwrecks and paranormal activity. So, an appropriate burial site for a Nazi werewolf,” Josie exposited further. “It’s not there,” Desmerelda said softly, almost absently, “the curse could not have ended that way.” “Well, you’re the one who came up with the pertinent whys and wherefores on how Ü-Wolf died, kiddo. I don’t quite understand home come your doubting them.” “Miss Hart, why do you keep calling me ‘kiddo’ when we are practically the same age?” the Romany woman asked, “are you trying to belittle me?” The reporter was taken aback by Desi’s directness, “Heh. I think your ciphering is a bit off there.” “You’re twenty eight. I am twenty six.” “Wow. You are the ideal attestation for clean, humble living then, ki- Miss Stavrosos,” Josie slid down her glasses so she could look her straight in the eye, “Here’s a question for you: you called Scott last night and told us about your trip to the museum, right? How did you get there?” “I walked to Chaney Shores. There’s a short cut through the forest,” Desmerelda answered somewhat unconvincingly, choosing not to match gazes with Josie but instead turned to a bemused Aegis. “A shortcut that would let you beat us to town, or at least keep pace, even though we left earlier and came by horse and buggy,” Hart reached over and plucked at the gypsy’s long skirt, revealing her smooth, shapely calf, “a trek that left your gams and feet no worse for wear.” “I was careful.” “Really? Tramping through the woods so close to sundown when there’s supposedly a monster that’s hunting your family lurking about is being careful now, is it?” Desmerelda’s face darkened. She reached into her pocket and produced a tied bunch of purple flowers, “Wolfsbane. It is protection.” “That little sprig of potpourri is enough to keep away the big, bad wolf? Then what do you need us for?” was Josie’s teasing comeback. “I do not recall ever saying we needed you at all.” “Our next obvious step,” Scott rolled up the maps and stood, “is to find a boat to take us out to the reef. Then see if there’s a place where I can rent scuba gear to go down and look for Ü-Wolf’s remains.” “Just you? I happen to be a certified rescue diver.” “You should not constantly bring up your credentials and accomplishments,” Desmerelda suggested casually, “it makes others think you lack self-esteem.” Josie gave the woman her longest, hardest stare, “On second thought, it might be better if I stayed topside, to keep an eye on things there.” “Fine, fine,” Silver Aegis tapped the tube of charts against his leg, “then it’s settled. We find a place where we can book passage.” “And while you’re doing that I can pick up something to wear for the trip,” Josie got up from her chair, “I didn’t expect this story would require me to but on a bathing suit.” “I, too, will need to buy a swimsuit,” Desmerelda stated. The Argent Avenger noticed that both women looked at him expectantly. “I’m on vacation,” he shrugged, “I already have trunks.” ***** Arturo “Prime” Ribise hated the blindfold, but understood its purpose. Aotako was one of the world’s most notorious assassins, and long was the list of people he had offended. Still it was galling for a made man to be led around like a child. His escort brought him into a room and spoke in Japanese. A second voice gave a short reply. The blindfold was removed and the servant, an old man in robes, walked away. Ribise was in a spacious apartment with no windows. Gilded rosewood furniture dominated the room. The only modern accoutrements besides the lighting were a large and apparently empty aquarium resting atop a lowboy, and a massage table, which was decidedly occupied. “Hey there,” Arturo introduced himself to the blonde lounging on her stomach, “I’m guessing you ain’t Aotako.” The woman turned her neck slowly and gave the gangster a pained glance. “She is not,” a voice from behind one of the room’s shoji screens confirmed. The man who stepped out was of average height and wiry build. His face was concealed by a blue tenugui mask, but otherwise he was dressed casually in a polo and khakis. He carried a thin paintbrush and a small bowl, both of which he brought to a stand by the woman, where other similar basins already rested, each one filled with a different color liquid. “Sorry to interrupt your hobby time,” Ribise smiled. Aotako dabbed his brush into the bowl he had just brought out and continued to paint on the woman’s back, “You are not interrupting. Please continue. You can trust her not to talk.” “Right. OK. Our mutual friend is having a problem and to solve it he needs your expertise.” “Who does Kiwi want me to kill?” “Hey!” Arturo protested, “What’s with the names? You’re supposed to be some kind of professional!” “Still worried about her? Don’t be,” Aotako set down his instrument and pulled off the latex gloves he wore, “The paints contain a powerful contact poison of my own design. Her voluntary nervous system has already been paralyzed. Soon the autonomous will follow. Then she will be dead.” “Uh, what?” Ribise finally took a good look at the woman’s face. It was placid with the notable exception of her eyes, which were dilated with fear. A tiny bubble of saliva popped out from her half-parted lips. Her poisoner went over to the aquarium and opened a cabinet underneath, “The experience is quite painful, but I assure you, what her masters in El’bar had in store for me was far worse.” Producing a bucket and a thick rubber mitt, Aotako slid on the latter. He fished around the pail and pulled out a large crab, which was dropped into the tank. It furiously worked its rear paddle legs in an attempt to halt its descent, as if even the creature, with its primitive brain, could sense the danger that awaited it at the bottom. From a crevice uncoiled a pair of long tentacles. They wavered for a moment, then shot towards the crab. More ropy limbs followed, roiling through the water, clutching, tearing. The main mass of the octopus squirted out from the hole and enshrouded its prey, dragging it to the bottom of the tank and where, using its powerful jaws and arms, it tore the crustacean to pieces. “What do you think? Did I capture its essence?” Aotako asked his guest, not even bothering to turn away from the carnage. Ribise looked from the aquarium to the picture on the woman’s back. The likeness was there, “Kiwi wants you to take out Silver Aegis and a reporter named Josie Hart.” “Silver Aegis? I don’t know that one.” “He’s the discount Mr. Epitome that works for the feds now,” Ribise explained quickly. He was eager free himself from this ghoul’s company as soon as possible. He held up the slim briefcase he carried, “I got their details in here. But the job is 500K, and has to look like an accident.” “Of course. Aotako never leaves any fingerprints,” the assassin chuckled at his little joke before dropping another crab into the tank, “tell your fat little boss they are as good as dead.” Next: Boat Trip!

I wonder how many times people have tried to kill Silver Aegis? The threat of it might not mean much to him.