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Wild Dog
Running Wildby CSyphrett
Jack Wheeler parked his truck in an alley down the street from where he wanted to be and intended to go in a few minutes. He frowned at the number of vehicles in front of the place as he checked his weapons one last time. He pulled on the hockey mask he wore as a mask. The red dog on his shirt grinned as Wild Dog vanished into the night's shadows.
He had heard about this meeting from Andy Travis, a longtime friend on the police force. Supposedly a lot of wise guys who were tired of action heroes like Blue Beetle or the Question giving them problems were meeting at this house in Moline. Plans were to be discussed on how to handle the growing action hero/vigilante situation.
Wild Dog wanted to show them it was better to do that kind of thing back in their own cities than in his home town. Especially since he was going to be one of the topics under discussion. Hopefully the assembled outsiders would get the message after tonight.
Jack ran up to the rented house in the dark. An application of the stun glove he wore silently put the guards to sleep. He entered the house through the back door, his jatimatic ready to go. Voices came from overhead. He pulled the crossbow he wore as he searched for the stairs.
Something nagged at him as he walked up a staircase in the front of the building. He didn't know what it was until he burst into the room where the voices had emitted and found it empty.
"Hello and good-bye, Wild Dog," said a taped voice as an automated machine gun opened up on the vigilante.
The masked man leaped to one side as the machine gun swiveled to track him, spraying bullets into the walls and furniture with the roar of a dragon. Wild Dog rolled twice before he brought the crossbow up and shot a bolt into the base of the automated weapon. The machine gun, locked in place, suddenly stopped firing for lack of a moving target. He kicked the machine gun over. A simple punt shut the sensory devices off, which shut the gun down instantly.
A fog began pouring into the room from vents in the ceiling. Jack ran for the door. A shutter slid down to cut him off. The fog began to fill the room hissingly.
Wild Dog held one hand up to the hockey mask as he looked around for another exit. Metal shutters had covered the windows also. He appeared to be trapped. He had no doubt the gas was lethal; he didn't need any telltale odor to tell him that. He had five minutes of breathable air... maybe.
The vigilante took the ripped-up stuffing from the destroyed furniture and jammed them into the vents to buy him time. He examined the walls where the machine gun bullets had struck. Some type of armor plate had been inserted in the walls. The machine gun wouldn't chop through that in time to save the day. He needed another solution to his dilemma. He wondered if the gas was flammable.
Jack Wheeler had to admit he wasn't a Blue Beetle or a Thunderbolt when it came to escapes, but he was determined to get out of the trap he had stepped into. He piled the furniture in a barricade across from the farthest vent he could see. He had secured a pair of flash grenades that used a fast-burning flare to blind the enemy. He ducked behind his barricade and pulled the grenade from his belt. He pulled the ring and tossed it over at the vent when he felt the time was right.
The grenade went off. The vent ignited, blowing a hole in the wall. Pieces of steel flew away from the concussion, but Jack was unscathed behind his barricade.
Wild Dog picked up the machine gun and dove through the hole in the wall. His ears rang from the explosion, but he was ready for any more surprises. He kicked the door to the corridor open and looked out. No one was in the hall. He ran down the long corridor to the staircase. He had the feeling that he needed to get out of that place as fast as he could.
The vigilante ran down the hall, machine gun at the ready. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to sucker him in. He'd only ever tangled with one guy who had gone to half this trouble, but the Catcher didn't kill people, he just caught them and handed them over to the people who hired him. That was a question he would have to answer after he escaped.
Wild Dog ran down the stairs as he heard a muffled whump behind him. He headed for the front door and found a plate had slid over it to keep him inside the self-destructing house. He ran to the back and found it locked down in the same way.
Jack tried the faucets on the sink. Water cascaded down. He ripped the cabinet doors open and swept cleaning supplies out of his way. He pressed the machine gun barrel against the wood and opened up for a short burst. He had cut a circle out of the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but he slid out on the ground as the bottom floor went up.
Wild Dog jumped to his feet, listening as the house burned. Something whirred to his left. Another whirred to his right. There were more as he headed to the wall. A spotlight shone on the red dog on his jersey. He threw himself to the side as a stream of bullets tried to cut through him. He rolled firing the machine gun at his automated attacker. A shower of sparks erupted as Jack got to his feet and ran.
Suddenly, three or four lights caught Jack as he was running. He fell forward as the automated machine guns dug into the ground around him. He knew his body armor would not protect him if he were to take a slug.
Jack rolled, swinging the machine gun on target and pulling the trigger as he moved. The bullets spun one of the auto guns around in a blaze to allow a hole for Jack to roll through for a second. A quick flip, and Wild Dog silenced his other two mechanical foes.
He tossed the empty weapon aside and pulled his Jati. He climbed the wall and got out of there as fast as he could. He paused when he reached his truck. Something seemed wrong with it, and after the firestorm he had stepped into, he wasn't in the mood to doubt himself. Jack holstered the weapon and methodically searched his truck. He found a bomb in the engine after a few minutes. He disconnected it and drove away from the burning pile of bricks.
***
Jack Wheeler wiped the grease from his hands the next day. He had spent half the morning tuning and aligning a Pontiac when his old friend Andy Travis pulled up in a police issue car.
"I didn't expect you to burn the place down," he said as Jack handed him a soda.
"It was a huge boobytrap," said Jack. "Whoever set it up was gunning for me. Watched me go in and go out; I've never seen anything like it. Way too fancy for the Mob."
"Are you serious?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, I was almost Hot Dog instead of Wild Dog."
"How do you know someone was watching?"
"When the main trap failed, the back-up systems kicked on, trying to keep me in the house and on the grounds; I found this in my truck on the way out," said Jack. He handed the defused bomb to his friend. "So I know someone was there on the scene."
Andy looked at the bomb for a minute. "You're right about a professional," he finally agreed. "Why the big set-up?"
"Don't know," said Jack. "Maybe he doesn't like to get his hands dirty."
"That's a lot of money for a near miss," said Andy, thinking about the valued estimation for the burned house he had seen earlier.
"Especially with the remodeling that must have went on. Armor plate was sandwiched in some of the walls as well as used for door and window covers."
"Something that elaborate has to have been used somewhere else," said Andy. "An m.o. that contrived doesn't blossom overnight."
"You think Lou would have seen something like this?" asked Jack.
"Or Graham," said Andy. "Graham probably knows the guy personally."
***
Graham Gault worked for the NSA. The main reason he was stationed in the Quad Cities was because of the Rock Island Armory, where new weapons were tested for the U.S. Army. He stood on the police shooting range with a frown replacing his usual bemused expression.
"I have heard of something similar," said Graham. "A house was rigged up like that?"
"Yeah," said Andy. "Do you remember where you heard about it?"
"New York City, I think," said Gault. "Yes, it was New York. A guy got caught specializing in elaborate traps to extort information from his victims. I don't remember what his name was off-hand, but I think the Black Mask had a hand in his capture."
"Thanks, Graham," said Andy.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" Graham asked.
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Andy said with a grin as he walked to where his car waited.
***
"Right, a killer house," said Andy into a phone later that day. "Look, O'Shaughnessy, I just need a moment of your time to check this stuff out for me. Then you will never hear from me again. Yes, we got a masked guy running around. He just shoots them. It does save us a small amount of paperwork. Wormwood? Spell it. Still in? Okay. Did he have any visitors? A few, huh? Can you fax me a list? Thanks. I appreciate that." He read the station's fax number over the phone. "The next time you're in the Quad Cities, look me up. Sure, Serge. We'll do the town."
Travis hung the phone quietly. He wondered who was on the list. Lt. O'Shaughnessy of the New York City Police Department had told him Wormwood had precious few visitors in prison as he waited for the appeals process to grind away.
***
Jack Wheeler and Andy Travis got together at the bowling alley that night. They were waiting on Graham and Lou to roll a few frames and get some pizza and beer.
"Wormwood had about ten people visting. Four of them were wise guys connected to the Scalias," said Andy.
"The Chicago Scalias?" said Jack, frowning. "I thought I killed all of them before I went public."
"Apparently you missed one," said Andy. "I called Chicago, and those guys had moved here to Iowa, according to the department. Except the addresses were fake."
"Let me see if I got this straight," said Jack, sipping at his beer. "The Scalias hire Wormwood to design a death trap and lure me in to kill me, but instead they missed, and we are back to square one with no clues as to who or where they are."
"That's about the size of it," agreed Andy.
***
Wild Dog drove through Bettendorf slowly. He was trolling. He needed a lead or a connection to the Scalias. He just hadn't an idea on how to secure such a thing. And so he was trolling. Then he found just the man he had been looking for.
He pulled up beside Barney Collins. The man took one look at the hockey mask and started to run. Jack smiled as he jumped out of the truck and ran after the man. He closed the distance and tackled Collins around the legs. He dragged his victim back to the truck.
"Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way," said Wild Dog. "Which do you prefer?" He tied Barney's hands to the rear bumper with a rope.
"What are you doing?" asked Collins.
"I need a place for some guys," said the vigilante. "I would like for you to tell me the address."
"Who?" said Collins, obviously considering what it would be like to be dragged through the streets.
"Scalia's outfit," said Wild Dog.
"You're crazy," said Collins. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I saw you at that rigged house last night," Wild Dog said flatly. "A location or a keelhauling."
"All I know is that some woman offered everybody jobs as lookouts and paid six bills to each of us," said Collins. "We didn't even know what was going on. When the house went up, I got out of there."
"A name," demanded the vigilante. He wondered if this was how the Question did it.
"Don't know," said Barney. "Really, I don't."
Wild Dog stared into the man's eyes. He knew the man was too scared to lie with his hands tied to the bumper of the truck. He cut Collins loose with his knife. "I don't want to see you again," he said. He walked around to the cab of his truck and got in, then drove away into the night.
Barney Collins sighed in relief.
Jack drove aimlessly for a while as the night settled in. A woman had paid money for ineffective guards, or stage dressing, depending on how he looked at it. Andy's list had only one woman on it. It was more than likely the same woman taking up Wormwood's speciality in elaborate traps. How do I find this woman? Jack asked himself. There must have been some kind of trace of her somewhere.
He drove home and changed his clothes, putting his gear and working clothes away before he called Andy at home. "I was wondering if you could get a look at the flight records from New York," Jack said into the telephone.
"Already got them," said Andy. "I'll bring them by tomorrow."
"Thanks, Andy," said Jack, putting the phone down.
***
Jack and Andy went into Jack's office at his garage. Andy handed him a thick file to go through and waited. Jack had the list from the prison on one side and the airline list on the other. His index finger traced the names as he read for some minutes.
"Here she is," he announced triumphiantly. "Cornelia Wilder."
"I guess I'll go and talk to her about her house and see what happens," Andy said.
"Be careful," said Jack. "Anyone hanging around the Scalias won't be a sweetheart."
"Just keep your leash on," said Andy. "Maybe she'll turn herself in without any problems." He left the office, already thinking how to track the elusive Miss Wilder down.
***
Andy Travis pulled his car in front of a rental house and got out. He frowned as he walked up to the door. The place looked deserted on the outside. He knocked on the wooden panel and waited for an answer. He heard movement, and then the door was thrown open. A tall woman regarded him coldly.
"Afternoon, ma'am," Andy said. "I'm Lt. Travis. Could I speak to you for a moment about your house that burned down the other night?"
"Excuse me?" said the woman.
"You're Cornelia Wilder, aren't you?" asked Andy. "I understand a house you bought had caught fire and burned to the ground."
"The insurance company will take care of that," said the woman. "I'm just waiting on the report from the fire department."
"You don't seem interested in what happened," Andy remarked casually.
"Why should I be?" asked Miss Wilder. "The house was for my company, not for me personally. A hundred such houses could burn down, and it wouldn't matter to me as long as the insurance paid up the initial costs of buying the house in the first place."
"What does your company do?" Andy asked, trying to be friendly. His immediate impression was that the lady was a hardcase.
"We find things for people all over the country," said Miss Wilder. "Is there anything else, Lieutenant?"
"I guess not," said Andy. "If I find anything out, I will let you know."
"Thank you." The door closed in Andy's face smoothly. He scratched his head in puzzlement.
Andy got into his car and stared at the house. Miss Wilder was a little too unconcerned for his tastes. No executive he had met would just write off an investment like that unless he had planned to write it off in the first place, insurance or not. So the house had been meant to be blown sky high from the start. Was that enough to allow Jack to go in with guns blazing? Wormwood specialized in elaborate traps, according to Bullock. A woman visiting him in prison had bought a house and it had been converted into a death trap. A coincidence was too much to ask.
Then the Scalias stood at the edge of the picture, but as what? Money men? That would do as motive. The problem was that a solution was becoming more the use of physical force and not the collection of evidence.
Andy sat in his car, thinking about the situation and wondering about getting some warrant with the amount of cause he had been able to gather. He decided any judge would laugh his robe off. He didn't notice two men come up from behind his car until one had put a gun in his face.
"Hello," said Andy, putting his hands in plain sight. "What can I do for you?"
"You have been asking our associate questions, and we would like to know why," said the thinner of the two.
Andy looked at the men for a moment. "That's my job," he said casually. "I am a cop."
"Get out of the car," said the brain. "You're bait for your troublesome friend."
"Which one would that be?" said Andy, slowly opening the car door.
"Don't kid me. We know you and Wild Dog are connected somehow. He follows you around like you're joined at the hip."
"I wish that were really true right now," Andy said.
"Don't get any ideas," said the brain. "We're going to send a message to Wild Dog and wait for him to try to rescue you. He couldn't pass that up."
***
Jack Wheeler was listening to the radio in his garage when the following announcement stunned him.
"Police Lieutenant Andrew Travis's car was found today engulfed in flames. The police department remains quiet over any possible leads or the actual circumstances of the fire. That's the latest. The news is on at the top of the hour, every hour."
Jack cut the radio off and finished the tune up he was doing before taking the customer's truck off the rack and parking it in the small lot in front of his garage. He waited impatiently for the man to pay up before shutting down for the day.
He rolled home, barely obeying speed laws, and changed into his working clothes, arming himself for the fight ahead. That woman and the Scalias had done something to Andy. He was going to do something to them, something they would never forget.
Wild Dog checked the address and drove to the house in question. He hoped he was on rescue mission and not already too late.
Jack pulled on the hockey mask as he pulled in front of the address for Wilder. He had some questions for her. And he was determined to get answers one way or the other.
Wild Dog pulled the Jati-matic as he kicked the door in. No one was in evidence. The house was devoid of everything. A scrap of paper drew his eyes. He cautiously picked the note up, which said:
"If you want to see your friend again, come to the parking garage on Yancy Street in Bettendorf."Jack crumpled the note and threw it away, then walked from the stage setting, and drove to his next destination.Wild Dog pulled in across the street. He made sure he had his equipment ready; the Scalias were sure to have a warm welcome ready for him. No telling what Wilder had in store for him. Time to go.
The vigilante took out a lockpick gun as he ran to the building next to the parking garage. Two clicks opened the door. He ran in and up the stairs. Maybe he had a surprise, too. He reached the roof easily, then pulled his crossbow and took aim after attaching a rope to it. Bargain basement Blue Beetle, he thought as he let the bolt fly. The projectile flew into a bumper and stayed. He tied off the other end and used the crossbow to slide across to the top of the garage.
Jack dropped down silently on the concrete and pulled the Jati-matic. His eyes scanned the roof and saw no threats. He started down the ramp, ready to shoot anything that moved.
"There he is!" exploded the first lookout.
Wild Dog dropped to his left, letting the Jati-matic do his talking for him. He could see men come from all over the garage, intent on stopping him once and for all. He took a few hits in the full armor he wore as he began to weed his opponents from life with short bursts from his weapon. He worked his way down three stories after blowing up a car with a short burst, cutting down anyone who fled from the explosion. There was no sign of the woman or Andy.
Jack paused as he reached the first floor ramp. He put a fresh magazine in as he assessed his situation.
"I got your friend, Wild Dog," said a female voice in the dark. "Give up, or face the consequences."
Wild Dog walked forward, automatic weapon ready. He ignored the groans of the injured and the dead. The police and emergency services would have to take care of that.
"Throw down the gun," said Miss Wilder. "I am not getting paid to kill this fat idiot, but I will if you don't listen to me."
Andy Travis was tied to a hood of a car. He was trying to look calm and resolute in the face of a pistol in his ear. He knew Jack wouldn't negotiate. That was something that he had proven beyond a doubt since he had started taking vigilante action. Andy was surprised when the Jati-matic lowered off aim.
"You're smart," said the trapster with a leer.
Men were struggling from the darkness of the garage. Soon they would be able to gather into a cohesive group and deal with vigilante. Jack didn't plan to give them that time.
The Jati-matic came up while the woman was still grinning. Several nine millimeter bullets rattled from the barrel viciously as Wild Dog attacked. Wilder tried to put a bullet in her captive. Instead she blasted out the window of the car as she was thrown back by the fusillade.
A knife came down on the rope holding Andy Travis to his car. He rolled off the hood as bullets came after him.
Wild Dog spun. The Jati-matic emptied out in a convulsive string of flame and smoke. Burnt powder clung to the white hockey mask.
Andy punched Wilder in the face and threw her over his shoulder. He ran for the entrance to the garage as he heard Jack reload. The Jati-matic roared in short bursts as Wild Dog backed out of the garage.
Sirens were fast approaching as Andy took cover behind a parked car in the street. He dropped Wilder on the ground as he watched for fellow cops and fire department to show. Wild Dog had disappeared.
Epilogue
Andy Travis helped load Cordelia Wilder in the back of an ambulance. Emergency crews were on the scene, putting out the fires started by the gun battle in the garage. Andy was already mentally starting the report he would write on the whole thing.
Case was closed, even with some of the loose ends that were left. Andy slammed the doors on the ambulance. Time enough for that tomorrow. He had a crime scene to police right now, and a small list of things to do after some sleep and some kind of meal. He had to say, though, that this was a win for the guys in the white hats.