Legends of Firestorm #7

[spiritofvengeance]

Legends of Firestorm #7
Only the Good Die Young

Written By: Joel Sawyer
Edited By: Mike Bowen

The Paradise, 11:06 pm, Saturday Night:
In the last five minutes, Ronnie Raymond’s life went completely insane. Stepping out through the back of a teen dance club, The Paradise, Ron watched a friend of his fall to the ground bleeding. Two men in dark clothing then tried to shoot Ron. Sending his girlfriend Doreen in an opposite direction, Ron led the men through the building and back outside, changed to Firestorm, and apprehended the men.
That’s when one of them said, “We are the police, and you just helped the shooter get away!”
Now, Firestorm floated in mid-air staring at the two men.

<<Professor, they are lying>>, he thought, <<How can they lie about this? They shot at me. One told the other guy to use his gun because they couldn’t shoot me with the same weapon!>>

<<They do not know that the person they saw is also Firestorm,>> Martin replied, his mind working, <<To them, any line they feed you is unverifiable.>>

“Let me see your badges,” Firestorm growled.

The two men slowly drew out their ID. While peering at the badges, Firestorm quietly created ink on the inside arm of his costume, effectively copying the badge numbers. Then he let them free.

“I’m sorry, Officers,” he offered, putting on an Oscar winning performance and not letting his anger and confusion show, “All I saw was two guys in black with guns chasing one guy who looked unarmed. I’ll assist you any way I can.”

The two men glanced at each other, and the tan-haired man said, “Well, we are out of uniform, and we did get a look at his face, so we can still track him down. We won’t need your help.”

The other man, darker haired with a moustache, stepped up to Firestorm and held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did in that Danton Black incident,” he said while clasping a red-gloved hand, “The NYPD knows that many cops would have died without your intervention.”

“All in a day’s work,” Firestorm responded, feeling more and more uncomfortable, “I just wish I hadn’t intervened today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the first man replied, “We’ll find him.”

Firestorm blasted off, leaving the ‘police’ to their work.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

Empire State Building, Manhattan, 12:38 am, Sunday morning:
Firestorm sat somewhere he cold think alone, at the very top of the Empire State Building.
<<They were trying to diffuse your suspicion>>, Prof. Stein stated mentally.

“Even I could see that,” Firestorm his lips dry and close to cracking in the wind, “They were schmoozing. Right now, I have to figure out what to do.”

<<They had silencers, Ronald>>, Martin reminded his partner, <<Not standard police equipment.>>

“I tell you, Professor, with everything our powers can do, we need help with this.

<<I couldn’t agree more>>, Stein grimly stated.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

South Broderick Street, Bronx, 2:10 pm, Sunday Afternoon:
Victor Stone, a young black boy still in high school, stood outside a door in an unimpressive alley. He had waited about five minutes until Ron Evers, his older drop-out friend, emerged from around the corner. Vic noticed blood on Ron’s knuckles.

“You didn’t just mug someone, did you,” Vic asked coldly, already knowing the answer but hoping he was wrong.

For the fact that Victor wasn’t even fully grown yet, he was almost as tall as Ron and, with his athlete’s body, weighed more.

“Naw, man, its nuthin’ like that,” Evers answered with his usual, amiable grin.

“Then what, Ron? You’re knuckles are bloody, and I heard something about a ‘Mr. Shine’.”

Ron dropped his grin. “You shouldn’t say that name too loud,” Ron warned, “That guy owes Shine money.”

It was exactly what Vic and feared. Vic snapped, “Man, why do you keep dragging me into this? You keep saying we’re friends, but you want me to run the streets and cover for your crimes! Sorry, Ron, I’ve had it!”

Vic stomped away, and Ron smiled. “You’ll always come to me because you know I always have your back. You’ll never have a friend as good as me.”

And a red-haired Ms. Finch nodded to herself from the rooftop above.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

41st Precinct, 8:22 am, Monday morning:
Daniel Wilson, detective for the NYPD, felt troubled. While his partner Mackay met with the assistant DA, Wilson ran over the details of the dual killing Saturday night. It was the gun used for one of the killings, left behind by the shooter, that concerned him. Last year, the gun had been used in another incident, confiscated by police, and supposedly destroyed after the trial was over. The crime scene itself had been altered, as well. Wilson sighed. It would be a long day.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

Conway Drive, 8:48 am, Monday morning:
Burt Day turned onto the street and took a long look down the lane. As he feared, there were two men sitting in a plain automobile on the side of the street.

Burt pulled up alongside the vehicle. “Can I help you, gentlemen,” he asked.

“None of your concern,” the brown haired Caucasian with a thick moustache said.

Burt flashed his badge, “Burt Day, NYPD. Friend of mine called this morning, said some suspicious men were lurking around on his street. Now, do you have business here?”

The two men looked at each other, and the man with the moustache smiled in a friendly way. “Its good to see someone really on the ball, Officer Day.” He showed his badge as well, and Burt took a picture of the badge with his cell phone. “We’re watching a house for possible drug trafficking. Official business.”

“Well, sorry to have troubled you,” Burt replied, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Good job, Officer,” the man called.

Burt forced himself to not look at Ronnie Raymond’s house across the street.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

The Day residence, Milgrom Ave, 11:21 am, Monday morning:
Burt sat down in his study with Ronnie and his daughter, Doreen. To Ron, the room looked almost the same as the Principals’ office of his last school. Not the best ambiance.

“This is what I’ve found out,” Burt told them, “First, the names and badge numbers you gave me belong to officers who are both dead. One of them died on 9/11 at the Trade Center. Really pisses me off, someone using his badge for something like this.”

“Second, I saw some men watching your place this morning, Ron. I took a picture.” Burt turned his computer monitor toward Ron, who recognized the two instantly.

“I figured as much,” Burt admitted, “I spoke with them and they gave me their real badge numbers, not realizing I know you know about their...activities.”

“As far as the incident Saturday,” Mr. Day continued, “these two didn’t report the shooting or your description to the NYPD. Someone came across the bodies two hours later and called authorities.”

“So if Boone was still alive, I could have gotten him to a hospital,” Ron stated, almost to himself, “If I hadn’t left...”

“Then they would have killed you, too,” Burt finished.

Ron sighed, thinking, Its not that easy. As Firestorm, I could have done something. I didn’t think they would just let him die. He hadn’t known Boone for long, but this news brought tears to his eyes.

“I looked a few things up and learned about several recent killings, all involving potential witnesses in criminal trials and possible police involvement. The other man killed behind The Paradise fits that description. I think your friend got in the way of an execution, and so did you. I spoke with one of the detectives on this case. He would very much like to talk with you, Ron.”

“If a cop is involved, Mr. Day, and no disrespect intended, how do we know we can trust him,” Ron asked.

“I’ll be right there with you, Ron. If you won’t trust them, trust me to make it right.”

Ron looked at Doreen. She’s scared, he thought, and to be honest, so am I. Doreen and my dad could become targets.

“All right,” Ronnie said, “Let’s speak with the investigators.”

****

[spiritofvengeance]

Perez Street, 4:20 pm, Monday evening:
“So let me get this straight,” Vic Stone said.

Ron had been awaiting Victor as the younger man left high school.

“I do one more job with you, and you won’t bother me about this crap again?”

“That’s right, amigo,” Ron replied, the warm smile never leaving his face, “Once we use someone for a delivery, we pay them and never use them again. And I personally guarantee a $5,000 payout to you.”

“Delivering what,” Vic asked, annoyed.

“You don’t get to know that,” Ron explained, “You don’t know the names of suppliers or customers, you don’t know what you are carrying, and you don’t come back for another job, ever! That way, someone gets caught, they don’t know nothing. I’m kinda putting myself in jeopardy giving you this opportunity!”

“That’s mighty white of you, Ron,” Vic said, thinking. “I’m sorry. Its tempting, but I just don’t know.”

“You have until morning to give me a ‘yes’ or ‘no’,” Evers instructed. As if money were everything in the world, he added, “5 Grand, dog! Think about that!” Ron walked away, still smiling.

Vic sighed, knowing he couldn’t accept, knowing that if he did this delivery, Ron would likely be back in a short amount of time to pester him again. Frustrated, Vic broke out into a fast jog (he never walked anywhere anymore unless someone was with him) and headed through the block back toward the subway.
She dropped out of the sky from the top of a two-story building, blocking his path, her boots clicking solidly on the tarmac of the alley. She wore a bright yellow, frumpy knit sweater, a deep green skirt falling to her calves, old woman’s glasses, and her red hair pulled severely back. If she were wearing orange, Vic thought she would look like Velma from Scooby-Doo.

From behind ran Beau Hunter in his black leather jacket, white T-shirt, and blue jeans. “You set up quite a pace,” he said, panting slightly.

“You need to work out more,” Ms. Finch suggested.

“I know how to fight,” Vic growled, clenching his fists, “and I’m really worked up right now. You want something from me, you’ll have to take it!”

“We’re not here to fight. I’m Robin Finch, and we really need to talk,” she said softly.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

Safe house on Wein Ave, 7:30 pm, Monday evening:
Ronald Raymond and Burt Day stepped out of Day’s car and Burt knocked on the door.

“Officer Day,” The brown haired man who answered the door asked.

“Sgt. Mackay,” Burt responded, “this is Ronald Raymond.”

“Yes,” Mackay agreed, “Same boy that was involved in the Hudson Nuclear Facility incident. Come on in.”

They entered a sparsely decorated living room certainly not meant for comfort. More people waited inside --- Beau Hunter and Robin Finch sat close to each other, Mackay’s partner Dan Wilson looked up from a crossword he was working on, and a tall, blonde Caucasian man in his thirties, wearing black slacks, a maroon dress shirt, and black tie, stood near the center of the room. Mackay introduced everyone, saving the blonde man for last.

“Assistant District Attorney Adrian Chase,” Mackay said.

“Thank you for coming, Officer Day, Ronald,” Chase said in a smooth, diplomatic voice, offering to shake hands, “Your assistance is greatly appreciated.”

“This seems like a strange time and place for a meeting,” Ron stated.

“What we are planning is only partly official,” Chase said, “and all of us are on our own time, so no one is logging where we are.”

He addressed the entire room, “I’ll run down the basics. Mackay and Wilson have been investigating a series of executions, all apparently done through inside information. Your ID of the men at The Paradise, Ron, helped us to pull some phone records. We already have a great deal of evidence against the two officers, but we aren’t quite sure who they are working for.”

“They seem to be working for Albert Shine, also known as ‘Shoe’ Shine on the street. Shine is a fast rising illegal substance trafficker who is smart, but getting ahead of himself, starting to make mistakes. If we connect the Officers with Shine, we can shut them all down.”

“And that’s where we come in,” Beau began with a smirk, “Of course, ‘Beau Hunter and Robin Finch’ aren’t our real names, but that means we gather information quickly, from sources the authorities overlook or can’t touch. And we found a lot over the last few days!”

“Namely,” Ms. Finch explained, “a young teenager named Victor Stone is willing to lead us to a meeting Wednesday evening where Shine plans to distribute packages to delivery persons who don’t even know what they are carrying.”

“Are we wiring him,” Burt asked.

Chase shook his head. “Homing chip under the skin. They won’t detect it.”

“And we already know our bad cops will be there,” Hunter added.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Burt said, “why did Ron need to be here?”

“Because he holds a very powerful key,” Chase explained, facing Ron, “You have a way to contact Firestorm, don’t you?”

The question startled Ron. He looked at Burt, then at Chase.

“Yeah,” he said timidly, not wanting to let too much information go, “That’s how he came to help me Saturday night. He’s kind of watching those who were at the Hudson Facility for long-term effects.”

“Good,” Chase said, his mein serious and intense, “I want him with us when we crash this meeting. With long-underwear types on the case, I say ‘the more, the merrier’.”

****

[spiritofvengeance]

Police Staging Area, 6:28 pm, Wednesday night:
Firestorm came in low, landed, and knocked on the side door to an old, empty store front. Adrian Chase opened the door and let him in. Chase wore all black, a long-sleeved shirt, pants, boots, and gloves, and wore a currently unbuckled protective vest. Firestorm looked around at the SWAT teams preparing for the activity.

“I feel like I’m in an episode of ‘24'. According to Ron, Beau Hunter and Robin Finch were to be here,” Firestorm stated matter-of-factly.

“We’re here, flame-head,” Beau’s voice called from an adjoining room, “and I admit, I’ve been real curious about you since we came to town last week. You can drop the ‘Beau and Robin’.” From the other room stepped a man straight out of a movie, a man with blonde hair, a goatee, and a merry man outfit. “Just call me Green Arrow,” the Emerald Archer stated with a smirk, arms out like he said it to an audience from a stage.

“And I’m Black Canary,” she stated while following Arrow from the other room. Long blond hair, gorgeous face, sexy legs in netting, Firestorm was suddenly glad he was not in Ron’s hormone filled body right now.

“Black Canary,” he stammered, “Wasn’t she in the Justice Society? You certainly don’t look Ninety.”

“What a sweet thing to say,” she smiled attractively, and left it at that.

“What is it you want me to do, Mr. Chase,” Firestorm said, turning to the Attorney as he asked.

“Just do your best to make sure none of them get away,” Chase answered, “My men are going in with mostly non-lethal rounds, only using real bullets if the situation goes bad. I want these criminals to serve their time!”

****

[spiritofvengeance]

A Secluded Boat Dock, 8:01 pm, Wednesday evening:
Victor Stone had to admit to himself, he was scared. He stood with eight other teenagers, all awaiting their cargo. They weren’t at the city docks, not at all. This was a more remote spot, obviously not seeing much traffic, and included a ramp where a person with a smaller boat could easily back their trailer into the water and then go for a boat ride. The boat currently at the dock was not very large, either, and painted navy blue as to be almost invisible at night. Several men removed boxes from the water vehicle as Al ‘Shoe’ Shine surveyed it all, flanked by several guards.

“Just remember,” Shine shouted in his high pitched, nasally voice, “After tonight, we don’t see each other. You come sniffing around me, my customers, or this place for more money, no one will ever find you! Now line up for your packages.”

An arrow of all things smacked solidly into the white US Mailing box Shine held, and the box exploded with a loud bang, a flash of light, and a sudden cloud of white powder.

About three dozen eyes turned as a booming voice bellowed from a bullhorn, “Drop your weapons. NYPD!”

‘Shoe’ Shine drew an automatic pistol and shouted courageously, “They won’t shoot these kids! Every man for himself!”

“That’s all we need to hear,” Adrian Chase said, dropping the bullhorn and cocking his M16.

Firestorm flew up the center of the access road, scowling. Black Canary sprinted to his right, Green Arrow to his left, and Chase ran below and behind The Nuclear Man, with half a dozen SWAT members following. Firestorm created a large half-dome of bulletproof plexiglass around the would-be delivery persons, shielding them from the traffickers. With the teens thus protected, Shine and his men retreated and spread out, realizing their sudden vulnerability. They opened fire, but Firestorm’s shield proved doubly useful as Arrow, Canary, and Chase used it themselves. The first volley of bullets still echoing in everyone’s ears, Canary stepped around the edge of the barrier and let loose her Canary Cry, her sonic scream throbbing in the ears of four men who dropped their weapons and fell to the tarmac in agony. Arrow shot two others with blunt tipped arrows, knocking them both out. Above the din, a loud, rumbling noise started.

“Firestorm, the boat,” Green Arrow shouted.

It was pulling away from the dock. Firestorm changed direction and zoomed toward the fleeing craft, his flames blazing like a comet through the night with a WHOOOOSH like a jet engine. Ron’s rage and frustration from the last few days rose in him. He flew straight at the front of the boat and his hands grew warm, then hot, and he hit the bow of the boat with pure explosive energy. The front of the boat blew apart, wood and other debris flying everywhere, and Firestorm rocketed through the hull. The boat sank, though the water was not deep enough for the vessel to be submerged. As he turned and looped back to the fire-fight, Firestorm saw the two crooked police men. His anger flared again, and he sped toward them. They saw him coming.

“We’re police, remember,” one said, “We’re here to get Shine!”

Firestorm flew into them, sending them flying themselves. Of course, without nuclear powers, their landings were more painful and a lot less graceful. As they looked up, their faces peppered with gravel and the taste of polluted dirt in their mouths, Firestorm wrapped them in duct tape.

“Maybe you’ll get the same cellblock as Shine,” Firestorm spat.

“Not putting up much of a fight, are they,” Green Arrow said to Adrian Chase and he ducked behind one of the criminal’s cars.

Arrow popped up, hit a gunman with his stun-gun arrow, then dropped back behind cover. “I love it when they pee their pants,” he said with way too much glee. Then he added, “I’m not sure you really needed us for this.”

“Maybe not for the raid itself,” Chase admitted, “but the speed in which you learned about this meeting we couldn’t possibly match through police methods, and the moment we knew about one of these meetings, Shine would have known. With the cameras we have trained on this right now, Shine won’t be able to worm his way out a conviction. And Firestorm protecting those kids was worth your presence.”

“The last few days were certainly a lot of fun. Watch this! Shine’s tryin’ to get away.”

Arrow dropped onto his back on the greasy tarmac, noticing that the car had a slight transmission leak, then he drew and fired an arrow from under the automobile fender. The arrow streaked across the expanse about 10 inches off the ground and struck the fleeing Shine in the legs, the tip exploding into a dozen entangling ribbons. Green Arrow stood up, called Shine’s name, and once Shine was looking, drew and fired right at the trafficker’s head. Shine’s eyes bulged and he squealed, likely seeing his pathetic, predatory life flash before his eyes. The suction cup arrow smacked wetly and painfully onto Shine’s forehead. Shine passed out.

“You didn’t actually lick that,” Chase asked incredulously.

“Of course. Its like leaving my signature, only more disgusting.”

“Good Lord,” Chase said, shaking his head, and then he started to laugh. Chase added, “He peed his pant, too!”

The men shared a laugh, with a least one of the SWAT members thinking they were completely losing it.

“You know, you enjoy this way too much,” Chase added.

“You should see my new $150.00 shoes,” the archer replied, still laughing.

Canary gave one more Cry, and there was no more fight in Shine’s men.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

New York, 5:21 pm, Thursday evening:
Over all, it was a good week. While friends and family mourned the loss of Maurice Boone, Adrian Chase looked over the insurmountable evidence against Shine. Vic Stone wouldn’t need to testify, and with three dashboard cams and two helmet cams on SWAT agents, Shine had no chance of winning. Even his brilliant “They won’t shoot these kids” soliloquy was recorded.
Sgts. Mackay and Wilson felt great relief that their witness executioners were behind bars. While Ron Evers somehow slipped away, Vic Stone was certain he would not see his ‘friend’ for a good, long time, emphasis on good.
Oliver Queen had donated his ill-gotten goods, even the shoes, to the Salvation Army before he and Dinah Lance boarded a plane for Star City.
Ronnie Raymond found himself reflecting a great deal about the events of the last week, particularly about his role as Firestorm, the sacrifices he might have to make, and if those sacrifices would in the end be worth it.
Anthony Scarapelli finished reading the daily newspaper, which he did religiously everyday, and folded the edition.

“Get a message to Shine,” he told his subordinate, “Any mention of my name and he’s a dead man!”

*****************************

“Yes, yes,” the balding black-haired man said to his mobile phone, “I’ve been monitoring Firestorm. I know much of what he can do, and I know a few weaknesses. I’ve sent the reports.”

He paused, listening. “Fine. I have just the device to do the job. Of course, I’ll need top dollar for this. Excellent, and thank you.”

He disconnected the call, and T. O. Morrow chuckled to himself as he looked at the schematic of the machine that would destroy Firestorm.

b]

To Be Continued...

[/b]