Chapter 8

So, on that peaceful Saturday evening I was sitting up on the roof of Murder Mansion, alone and slowly enjoying four fingers of fine quality rye, enjoying the late-night spring breezes and the sounds of the city from off in the distance. Most of the flat roof was covered with a series of four long rectangular greenhouses, but everything inside had been dead for a full decade or more. Orchids most likely, from all of the dried petals on the floor. At the northwest corner of the roof, the greenhouse has a small bedroom where a caretaker had once lived. There was an old army cot and some blankets along with a few old oil lamps ... and not a single booby trap! No one had lived up here in ages and there was nothing worth taking except a shelf full of gardening books, mostly about orchids. Living here might have been more comfortable than our usual flophouse, and in a pinch I’d have picked sleeping up here over crashing out in Pilsner’s van, but not by much.

Surrounding the four buildings, there was a pebble strewn walkway that allowed the owner to walk around the roof and enjoy the evening breezes no matter which way the wind blew from. There were even some old weather-beaten wooden chairs placed at each of the corners. I picked the direction with the warmest flow from the light spring breeze and sat myself down there to take a long evening rest.

Down below me, our street was quiet and the streetlights were all dark. The lights around here hadn’t worked in years, if ever; another thing to add to my long neighborhood improvement list.

After about five or ten minutes of quiet reflection, I could feel a subtle change in the air. The darkness around me seemed to tense up for a moment and then I felt, rather than heard, her soft and virtually silent arrival on the glass greenhouse roof just behind me. Fortunately, the glass and steel structure seemed to be very solid and didn’t shift or groan at all under her weight.

I wasn’t startled, and I tried not to react at all when Blackwing suddenly tossed the large parcel she was carrying right beside my feet.

“You didn’t jump, or even blink,” the dark hero commented with a hint of approval in her husky voice. “I’m impressed ... but then again you seem to be a fellow full of surprises. When we spoke recently, you had mentioned that all you owned in the world was a hat, your coat, and your self-respect. Well, I felt like I owed you a slight debt for your loss of the first two items ... so here are some replacements ... I think you’ll like them.”

Inside the package were indeed a nice dark grey fedora and a charcoal grey trench coat, much like the ones I’d lost but of far superior quality than anything that I’d ever worn. I had been meaning to do some serious clothes shopping at some used, but finer quality, resale shop just off of the garment district but I hadn’t managed to find the time yet.

All week long I’d kept busy with the routine of visiting Pilsner at the hospital every morning, then having lunch with Connor to counsel him and starting to gently tweak his tendencies of chaotic random behavior in more orderly thoughts. In the afternoons I visited the local shops and businesses, tried to let my face be seen on the street here in the Abattoir in an effort to start winning their hearts and minds (before Drake could intervene). Finally, I’d then come home in the evening to attempt to slowly defuse the seemingly endless sinister machinations of my Murder Mansion. I just hadn’t had the time or the energy to do much about any sort of shopping.

“The previous owner had no use for them,” Nightwing commented, “but both are nice enough for someone else to enjoy, so will they do as replacements?” She enquired.

“Quite nice enough, thank you, especially considering what they’re replacing.” I remarked, trying them both on for fit. These were quality; tailor-made, hand-crafted by some expensive boutique for the Park Avenue crowd. The items still had their original maker tags inside them. “Really ... they’re too swell of a gift for the likes of me, or at least what I’m used to wearing. I think I bought my last hat and coat at Woolworths at a moonlight madness sale. Probably some manufacturer seconds, right out of the scratch and dent bins in the bargain basement. I have to say, here in the gloom of night, that the color seems to be perfect for me.”

“I thought it would. You’re a very grey sort of ... very ambiguous type person. A would-be hero with connections to the underworld who probably does all the right things for entirely the wrong reasons. That’s you all right. Well, judging by the looks of your new residence, I’d say that you were coming up in the world. You do know the rather bloody history of this place, I would assume?”

“The infamous Murder Mansion? No one believes me,” I gently laughed, “but I’ve always wanted to own this place. Look out across the street just a bit to the east and see that reddish brick tenement there ... look to the fourth floor up and second window from the right? That was my room as a boy, when my mother and I were living in that slum of a building after my father died. Twelve dollars a month rent for that dump! Before going to bed at night I’d look out that window and wait for shooting stars, then I’d wish that I was rich enough to buy this greystone mansion! Ha! I didn’t know then, of course, that the man who built it and lived there was completely insane and designed it from the ground upwards to include a hundred or more of every variety of lethal trap that his crazy genius of a mind could devise! I must be crazy too, then, to still want this place!”

“Well, if anyone can sort it all out, short of blowing the place up completely and then burning all of the rubble into ashes, you’ll be the one ... you’re quite the lucky fellow,” she whispered in her husky voice. Yeah, you couldn’t miss the emphasis on that word.

“I also wanted to drop by and say that we’ve got a seat for you at that big conference table, when or if you’d like to join us ... but wear some pants next time.” She added, “The two Doc’s, Wilma and Pat Wilder, both said they’d be happy to add your expertise and advice to the effort. And ... not at all least, I think we could all use a bit of your good fortune!”

“So ... I’m being invited to join your all-girl’s club then? I don’t think I’d look like much in a colorful tight leotard.” I giggled.

“Officially, no...” Blackwing admitted, “you’re not being admitted as a member. The matter was discussed, but no ... not at this time. Instead, you’re being invited as a guest, just an associate for matters pertaining to this particular case.” Her voice was carefully neutral, but I could tell by the tone of her husky growl that this grim heroine hadn’t agreed with the majority decision.

“Fair enough,” I sighed, “I’ll be seeing Doc Wilma tomorrow morning anyway. Pilsner’s up and walking now and doing well enough to be able to come home, so I’ll be picking him up then as well. Otherwise, I really don’t have much that’s new to report. Fire Drake is still staying quiet and once again hidden after his big heist, but most of the angrier local Italian street kids continue to disappear and are probably joining his new gang. Maybe there are some bigger Mafia connections now being forged too, but I’m still none too sure. Just guessing for now ... until something nasty happens, it’s nothing but guesses.”

“Agreed. Yes, Pilsner is doing well, I visited him myself the other evening. Doc Wilma is even joking about keeping him around as a part-time laboratory assistant. I must admit, for a guy off the streets that didn’t attend high school, he is quite well read and self-educated in basic science. If I might say so, you’re smarter too than you seem. Now, Pilsner ... now how did he get such a weird street name, anyway? That question’s been driving me nuts for weeks now!”

“Pilsner’s first name is Wawrzyniec, which is Lawrence in Polish. So, legally he’s Wawrzyniec Pilarski. That’s a mouthful for a smart street kid who’d rather not get his ass kicked every day while in middle school! Only his mom ever called him that, anyway. His father worked at a local brewery at the time he was born, before he bought the salvage yard, and he was the one who nicknamed him Pilsner ... after the beer. His older brother Micha, got the nickname Stout, because he was chubby. Micha absolutely hates both names and just goes by Michael. He’s a real crook and villain, Pilsner’s older brother, so if you’re in a really bad mood some night, go and pay him a visit, and while you’re at it go right ahead and rip out his spleen.”

“I’ll take it under advisement ... but is it going to be safe, or will it get worse still for everyone, now that you’re both going to be living here? I’ve heard so many rumors about this place ... that it was so loaded with traps that even the Miracle Maid, the world’s greatest escape artist, once turned down a bet to go inside and check it out for us. We all knew of the builder, Rupert Schewe’s various talents ... for architecture, burglary, and for designing sinister devices of unusual genius for mischief and mayhem.”

Blackwing wasn’t exaggerating. She was genuinely frightened of this house and it’s apparently unlimited capability for destruction!

“For the moment, it’s mostly safe ... but I had to get very lucky indeed to finally find some of the master off switches. I’m still finding long dead bodies, or pieces of them, in the odd forgotten corner. Other parts of the building ... the more interesting parts both top and bottom, remain out of my comfort limits, at least for the time being. Oh, and all of the windows are still too dodgy to open up, still. They each seem to be on different individual protection circuits and there’s nothing central to disable them that I can find. They’ll all have to be found and shut down one by one.”

“Oh.” Blackwing muttered in the sort of tone that insinuated that she knew something ... but was determining all of the pro’s or con’s first before deciding whether to speak up or not. She gritted her wide jaw for a moment and ultimately decided to keep her opinion to herself.

“Now that Pilsner’s walking with a cane, he’ll be comfortable and safe enough here ... especially now that I’ve gotten him named to be the local neighborhood assistant street boss. Actually, I got a local Irish lug named Mick to be the official boss, but he’s no mental giant, so I’ll have Pilsner do most of the heavy whispering in his ear.”

“Some of us ... I think you can guess whom, won’t be happy that you’re sitting at our table, and also working with the local crime bosses. At some point, you’re going to have to pick one side and stay firm, instead of keeping one foot in both camps ... the side of justice or the villains.”

“Nope,” I agreed, “the professor won’t be happy, but she already hates me anyway, so I don’t much care. Besides, I’ve already explained my plan to Wilma, or at least all of the parts that I’ve figured out so far ... and she seems to be the one with the most common sense in your private gal’s club. Yourself and perhaps the Revenant excluded. We need the streets of the Westside to remain quiet, before Fire Drake can enact his plan. If that means holding the hands of a few wiseguys and made-men to keep them from over-reacting to otherwise minor street problems, then so be it. Your long-term goals are to have less crime in the Westside, and elsewhere ... and that means making the existing crime a bit more organized, less violent and perhaps even more enlightened, becoming more concerned with neighborhood improvement issues – at least in the long term. Hey, I can’t make things any worse?” I shrugged.

Well ... the odds were that I could, but that depended upon what Fire Drake’s plans were.

“No ... you probably can’t make things any worse. Wilma speaks well of your intentions and I’ll put in my word too, as needed. I think Pat Wilder is also inclined to take your viewpoint as well. It’s really her vote that usually counts, when push comes to shove, so keep that in mind. They’re both extremely good judges of character, so their endorsement of you bears a lot of weight. Oh, and you have at least one other friend ... and she’s waiting for you, I think, downstairs. She entered in through a window on the second floor, just before I came on up to the roof. Some of those window traps were alarmingly effective, but she didn’t need my help to get inside. Just so you’re aware. I think she wanted to see if it was really safe inside now and give you a surprise ... unless the surprise is now on her. I’d hurry downstairs and go find out!”

With a sudden flourish of her long black cape, the dark avenger of the night was gone. I considered looking out over the side of the building to see how she might have managed her escape, but I didn’t bother. She, more than most of the heroine crowd, had her own share of tricks, techniques and gadgets. Besides, the Gazette reported it as fact that Blackwing could actually fly ... and I wasn’t sure that I cared to doubt that fact.

I took the stairs down from the roof in leaps and saw that everything on the still overly hazardous third floor was dark and appeared to be undisturbed, so I ran down the staircase to the second. The hallway seemed peaceful enough but I could hear the sounds of what seemed like giggling coming from somewhere on the floor. I first double-checked that the master ‘Off’ switch had indeed been thrown for the entire second floor, and it had, then I still cautiously walked around the corner and went down the hall.

I checked my bedroom first, it was a smaller room next to the stairs that looked south out over W .16^th Street, but it was dark and as I had left it. The large master bedroom for the house was across the hall, but I didn’t much care for it and hadn’t used it. It was too grand for my tastes, and the chances were very good indeed that I hadn’t found all the traps lurking there yet, and from the growing sounds of riotous laughter, my guest had found at least one of them.

Opening the door to the master suite, I did indeed have a welcome but uninvited guest, the Green Canary ... and also the even more unwanted presence of a cloud of poisonous gas quickly filling the room! The laughing gas wasn’t immediately lethal, so I slammed the door on her and ran down to the water closet at the far end of the hall to hastily soak down two towels with water. Then, holding my breath, I tied one around my face and raced back to try and rescue the imperiled heroine.

I could see her easily enough, but I couldn’t reach up high enough to pull her down from the tall ceiling, where she was floating and giggling away, as utterly stoned from the narcotic gas as any jazz musician I’d ever seen! Seeing me, she giggled something inanely at me, and attempted, but without any success, to playfully take off her long, nearly knee high high-heeled green leather boots. The bottoms of the boots had some faint circular glow, apparently the source of her levitating and flight powers. The ceilings were at least twelve feet high, and even jumping up I couldn’t grab her feet with my fingers. Only by using a chair by the side table, could I then grasp her by her dangling boots, but she just playfully laughed and tried to carry me along with her for a ride.

I noticed then that she had already somehow removed her leather shorts and kicked them to the floor in her mirth and delirium, so that she was now nearly naked and utterly exposed from the waist down, except for her fishnet stockings and boots. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her corset remained in place, so she was not quite entirely naked, but already her drugged fingers were mirthfully trying to unfetter that garment as well.

By then, I was starting to feel the drugged hilarity of the situation and I repressed my own growing urge to giggle, as I checked the odds that my wet towel was filtering all of the narcotic gas. Eventually, after a hard concerned moment of thought, I made sure that it was.

Since I couldn’t haul the flying giggling woman down, I decided that first I needed to find a way to shut off the flow of gas from the trap and then open as many windows as I could to air the room out. Find the right chances took all of my concentration for several minutes, until I found a small cut-off switch hidden behind the radiator that stopped the flow of the toxic gas. Opening all three of the large bedroom windows up to start letting fresh air in proved to be even trickier, but I managed it ... slowly and cautiously, one at a time, until I could feel the good air start to replace the drugged air in the room.

With a loud giggling snort that might have been an attempt to attract my attention back to her, she gave me a big sloppy grin and her fingers deftly unfastened the last couple of metal catches that bound the front of her dark green leather corset. With a loud plop, the heavy garment fell to the floor, leaving her rather attractive pale white breasts now fully on display, softly bouncing as she bobbed in the air.

She was essentially naked now, clad only in her leather boots and gloves, fishnet stockings, and her shoulder-length green wig.

Drugged to the gills, her concentration was fading and her steady levitating flight became increasingly unstable. She was about to pass out cold from her heavy dose of the narcotic gas, and I was barely able to guide her into a controlled crash so that she landed on the enormous king sized bed. Fortunately, I had just bought new sheets to replace the old musty ones, so the Green Canary landed on a soft canary yellow nest.

She fell into a deep drugged sleep nearly immediately ... so heavy, and with such increasingly light respiration that I needed to sit by her on the bed and hold her hand for at least ten long minutes before I determined, positively, that her chances of ever waking up again were greater than ‘none’. Another few minutes of inhaling that gas and I’d have been tussling with Reality again, to make a different future so that a dead woman could breathe once more.