"Linda."
Linda Park very carefully did not gasp, jump, or
screech at the sudden bass voice behind her. She had
a firm policy never to do anything that made her look
like a dimwitted blonde in a horror movie. If her
heartbeat was going faster than it really needed
to--well, that was her own business. Besides, she
recognized the voice.
She turned, favoring Keystone's *other* super-hero
with her best repressive look (it got a lot of use
around Wally). He didn't look particularly abashed,
but then he never did. If there was anything Argus
was short on, it wasn't arrogance.
"You could knock," she suggested. "It's considered
polite."
"I think I might be a little bit conspicuous on your
doorstep dressed like this."
*No doubt,* Linda thought, repressing a chuckle. She
assumed--or at least, she hoped--that Argus'
particular arrangement of metal and leathers served as
body armor, but it did look suspiciously as if he'd
swiped it from an S&M club. Still, it wasn't as
though strangely-dressed people at the Flash's door
were any real rarity, and she said so.
"What, and let people think that the gloryhound and I
have anything to do with each other?" he retorted. "I
have some pride, thank you. Besides--" his tone
darkened--"some of the police force would *love* to
take me in, and that's looking unhealthy right now."
Linda's eyes narrowed. Given that Argus was a mobster
in his civilian identity--something she was pretty
sure was a front of some variety, even if she didn't
know the details--it made sense that he'd want to stay
away from the cops, but that last sounded like
something...more. "Care to expand on that?"
Argus hesitated visibly. "Have you heard anything
from your friend the Piper in the last few days?"
All thoughts of verbal fencing vanished from Linda's
brain, and a days-old knot in her stomach tightened
even further. As much trouble as Piper was already
in, the look on Argus' face told her it had just
gotten worse.
"Nothing since he was taken to Iron Heights," she
answered flatly. "Wally's been trying to get in, but
Warden Wolfe says he's under quarantine in the
infirmary until they make sure there aren't any
effects from the Joker virus."
"And Wolfe is the one who says when that is?"
"Wolfe says pretty much everything when it comes to
Iron Heights." Linda's mouth tightened. "I don't
trust him, and neither does Wally. He saw some things
he didn't like last time he was in there..."
Argus nodded. "I'd say your instincts are
on-target--and your husband's, too, amazingly enough."
He produced a folder from somewhere and handed it
over. "Don't ask how I got these, but they're
genuine."
Linda looked at the folder warily. "What is this?"
Argus looked as if he wished she hadn't asked.
"Medical records."
*Oh shit.* Without further hesitation she flipped the
folder open and began to read.
Perhaps understandably, there were no pictures inside,
unless you counted the X-rays. The newswoman in her
regretted that--these papers were weapons, and any
reporter worth her salt knew the power of visual
ammunition--but the woman was grateful to be spared.
The written catalogue of injuries, however, was both
clear and precise, and Linda was--or at least, had
been--a top-rated reporter, not to mention the wife of
a very active super-hero. She knew what those dry
listings of damage translated to in flesh and blood,
and her mental picture of what had been done to her
friend was only too vivid.
When she finally looked up, Argus started to say
something; she flung up a silencing hand. He closed
his mouth and waited while Linda fought down her own
reactions. *Lock it down, woman, lock it down. You
can't help him by going to pieces...* After a moment,
she felt the images recede, and her familiar
investigative clarity settle--if a bit shakily--into
place. "Okay," she said shortly. "I'm dealing. You
were going to say?"
Argus accepted her words without questioning--it was
one of the things she appreciated about him, he never
underrated her. "I was going to say he'll be okay.
He got beat to hell, yeah, and he'll definitely be
hurting for a while, but none of it's permanent. I'm
guessing they weren't supposed to do even that much
damage; he's going to be pretty conspicuous in the
courtroom if he goes to trial before the bruises
fade."
"So you don't believe this happened during an escape
attempt." She didn't bother to make it a question.
Argus's smile was cold and completely without humor.
"Funny thing; no guards reported injuries that night.
If they had to hit him that often to take him down,
you'd figure at least one of them would've gotten hit
back, huh?"
"Must've been their lucky day."
"Must've been. Anyway," he added, "that arm
fracture--it's angled wrong for a fight. Looks more
like someone hit him while his arms were pulled up and
behind him." Linda's fingernails bit into her palms,
and Argus winced. "Sorry."
*God. God.* She could *see* Piper, trying helplessly
to twist away from the descending blows--the >crack<
of snapping bone, the convulsive screams of pain...
She shut her eyes for a moment; when she opened them
again, they were cold with rage. "I am going to
fucking *break* them. There isn't going to be a hole
deep enough for them to hide in..."
"Good," Argus approved; she heard the almost-snarl in
the word and realized that he was almost as angry as
she was.
Curiosity edged out the rage for a moment. "Why are
you involved in this? You don't even know Piper."
"No," he admitted, "but you do. And--" the smile was
real this time, and faintly rueful--"as you've taken
pains to tell me, you aren't friends with bad guys.
He's got a good rep, too, in some of the lower-rent
parts of Keystone."
Linda nodded. "Patron saint of the needy, that's our
Piper."
"What it sounded like." Argus shook his head. "I'm
good with patterns, and the pieces here don't fit.
Somebody's cooked your friend up a nice custom-made
frame. And anyway--" his voice hardened--"it doesn't
matter. Can't say I'm much of a bleeding heart, but
anyone who does this to a chained-up prisoner, just
for the fun of it...they oughtta be tossed into their
own damn cells, 'cause they aren't any better than the
rest of the street scum. And they deserve all the
punishment a nasty reporter like you can dish out."
*Reporter.* The word clicked in her brain, and recent
memory finally overrode the reflexes of years. *Oh.
Right.*
"No." Argus looked at her as if she'd lost her mind,
and she waved one hand helplessly. "I mean, not me.
I can pass it on, I still have plenty of
contacts...but I quit. I'm not a reporter anymore."
He just looked at her, and shook his head. "You read
through those papers again, and see if you can still
say that."
On that note he left her, and she sat, thinking, for a
long time afterwards.