Web of the Weaver, Chapter 8

Researching the Merchants was difficult. There were a thousand rumors. Skidmark and Squealer worked for the E88, they worked for Lung, they were actually the secret rulers of the bay.

That one, I could ignore.

There were arrest reports, and huh…

Skidmark and Squealer’s real names were out. That was…

I leaned back. Sure there were laws against revealing the identity of a Protectorate member or Ward, and everyone knew about the Kenniston Act, which made the use of a cape’s real identity for the purposes of causing emotional, financial, or physical harm, a tort.

Mr. Barnes knew some attorneys who practiced that type of law.

But a cape had no innate right to a secret identity if they were arrested, although the authorities wouldn’t always publicize it, especially if the cape in question had a vulnerable family.

And Skidmark’s name was Adam Mustain. Squealer’s was Sherrel Bailey.

But nobody seemed to care. I spent an hour on the computer in the library, getting more and more frustrated, because everything I checked out, even on PHO, just talked about them as if they’d always been Skidmark and Squealer.

There were ways to find out more information, but not ones that a fifteen-year-old girl could avail themselves of.

I needed to find someone who could get me the information I needed. A few more moments at work and I knew who to use.

But first I’d need something to entice them.

I had tonight and tomorrow before my first after-school session, which would run from six until eight. So I needed to move—now.

I was getting a trickle of money in from my exterminator business, and I’d used it to purchase a disguise. A torn, stained, overcoat, ratty pants, and a shapeless beret. I’d rub some dirt on my face and had rubbed some meat that had gone sort of off on the coat, and I would look… and smell, like a homeless person.

Hopefully, it’d be enough.

Then I laughed, stifling it at the glare of the librarian.

“I guess you were right Emma. I really am going to look like a Merchant.”  I’d have to put them on before I went on my fact-finding mission. Back to the place I’d been.

With the little camera I’d bought and then sewn into my disguise, so I could take pictures with it without having to be obvious.

Because I’d be gathering information. As well as ensuring that my bugs were breeding up to the numbers I’d need before I destroyed them.  And I couldn’t see through my bugs, which meant I had to be there in person to know where to place my recorders.

****

I was out late again, and Dad didn’t mind. The library was open to nine, after all, and I’d checked—the college libraries were open to 11, or twenty-four hours during finals. I could use them, with his permission. But I’d have to spend enough time there that nobody would notice when I was gone.

If I told Dad…

I shook my head, that discussion playing out in my mind, as I tried to breathe through my mouth.

My Merchant’s disguise was a little too good. The jacket was big enough to keep anyone from noticing my body suit on under it. I’d checked and there were ceramic plates for sale, but still too expensive for me.

I’d need to have a lot more money before I could afford that.

But I wasn’t fighting, I was looking. I headed through the same streets I had before, only this time, I wasn’t trying to avoid anyone. I had the same furtive way of moving that most of the others did.

I didn’t have to imitate them. I just remembered how I moved when I was trying to avoid Emma or Sophia.

It made me feel… oddly sympathetic to the people on the street. How many of them had come here because they were drug addicts… and how many of them were here because they had nowhere else to go? I remembered Dad once, right after Mom had died, telling me, when we still talked a little, how she’d saved our house, that she’d argued and yelled and finally talked him out of getting a mortgage for our house that took two salaries to pay for.

What if he had? Would we be here?

I paused for a moment and looked past a trashcan with a fire in it, a group of people clustered around it warming their hands. Beyond them, I could see the lights of the Boardwalk and downtown, the Medhall building towering above its neighbors and the Rig’s force fields gleaming in the night.

I doubted that any of them knew what was going on here.

Knew, or cared. I bent down and started for the shop. Under me, in the warmer sewers, bugs flew along, ready to come at my call. Hopefully, they wouldn’t, but if I needed them…

Well, it was better to not need and have than need and not have. I kept moving, and as we got closer to the old diner, I heard the sound of…

Music? There were people dancing ahead, if you could call it dancing. Fires had been lit in cans, the smoke and flames lending the place a hellish look, while there was a…

Okay, it looked like an old school bus, except it had treads instead of wheels and on top there was a man gyrating back and forth, holding a microphone in his hand. There was a woman in the bus, I could tell from the…

Ick. The crabs.

Skidmark and Squealer, I presumed.

“All you cumrags ready to party!” he screamed out.

“Yes!” people around me were cheering and I saw a man and woman fucking on the dirty ground. I quickly turned away from that.

That was definitely something I didn’t need to see.

A man pushed by me, heading for the front.

“Out of the way asshole,” he growled.

“We’ve got booze, cheap and good! And if any of you shitstains have money, we’ve got a little more!” A raucous cheer granted his announcement. My bugs were busy, flying through the gaps in the bus’ frame, and they quickly detected a variety of plastic baggies.

The real stuff, I presumed.

Why aren’t the police here? Granted, me getting arrested would be bad, but this wasn’t even trying to hide.

Much like what had happened at Winslow wasn’t trying to hide.

On the other hand, even if it wasn’t well concealed, he hadn’t outright said they had drugs for sale. Caution or Skidmark being… Another man shoved me away from the front.

I let them push me back, not out of the crowd, but to its fringes. Nobody was paying attention to me. I saw a man rush forward, clenching some money in his grimy hands. I sensed..

The wound on his face had maggots in it? Granted, they didn’t bother me, but… was he that high or desperate that he didn’t notice?

I was filming, although how much I’d be able to glean from the footage was unknown. I didn’t have a really expensive camera, after all, and I had to be careful to not show it. Now the front had a group of people slamming into each other. A few people to one side were smoking something, and… one of the windows of the bus had opened and the woman within stuck her blond head out.

“So who wants a fucking fun time!” Everyone cheered.

Was this special, or the usual way he operated? I couldn’t put my recorders on the bus—it would almost certainly leave my range too quickly to retrieve them, and I had no way to track it.

Had I forced myself to endure this stench for nothing?

No, I could…

“Hey, Babe, wanna have a fun time?” I backed up, a man leering at me, easily old enough to be my father. He must have seen through my disguise—or perhaps dirt and smelling like bad meat wasn’t a deal-killer for him.

“Not interested,” I told him.

“C’mon…” He reached out and grabbed my shoulders, and my bugs went absolutely berserk. But I couldn’t pull them, out and if I tasered him…

No, I could use one, but I’d have to time it. He was pulling me, in, leaning down and he smelled like something had died, one of my wasps zipped up, flying up his loose pants, the holes in them giving easy access.

And it stung him right in the scrotum just as I brought my knee up, smashing into his crotch, and incidentally obliterating the evidence of my other attack.

His eyes opened wide and a high, girlish shriek emerged from his mouth as he fell over.

For a moment the people around us were quiet, and I wondered if I was about to be attacked, and then they exploded with laughter, pointing at the whimpering man, before turning away.

Evidently, this wasn’t unusual.

“Now it’s time for the contest!” Skidmark shouted, gesturing to a place in front of the bus. “Any of you assholes who want to get into the pit, go fight and the last guy standing gets a free hit tonight!”

Now a bunch were pushing forward and—

I blinked. My bugs sensed other people moving into positions around us. But they were… clean. Well, cleaner. I looked around, and saw one, the light from a fire gleaming on his face and his…

Shaved head.

Fuck.

Not Merchants. Not homeless.

E88. But why the fuck were they here?

I could… and then I detected one man walking forward. Big. Next to him were two others.

I started moving towards the empty streets, but stopped as I saw several forms materialize. My bugs had detected them, but they were clearly sentinels here to keep anyone from leaving. I moved back into the crowd.

“Alright all of you Cumstai—“

Suddenly there was a blast of wind that shattered the speaker, leaving Skidmark staring, mouth open as the three figures I’d detected emerged into the firelight.

I knew them. Anyone who did any research on the E88 would.

Cricket, Hookwolf, and Stormtiger.

I was not ready to fight them. But now the crowd was growing silent, some moving to the edges and being pushed back by the E88 gangers. Twenty of them.

I cursed mentally. I’d been so focused on Skidmark that I’d detected them too late to withdraw safely. There was no excuse for that.

I’d have to do better.

“Look at all the rats,” Hookwolf drawled. “Skidmark, Kaiser sent us to deliver a little message.”

“What the fuck are you doing here!” Skidmark shouted. “This is our turf.”

“You don’t have any turf, you have little corners, where we let you scurry,” Hookwolf said. He opened his arms wide, as if he was playing…

Wait a minute. He was playing to the audience. Everything I’d read said that Hookwolf was a near mindless brute, but the way he was moving… It was almost like Emma, the way she moved in and took over a room.

Okay, the tattoos and barely chained aura of violence were a bit different. I had a feeling that Hookwolf never felt the need to hide behind someone else when violence was near.

“See, the thing is, little rats like you…” he walked forward and suddenly kicked out, sending a small man sailing away from him. “…sometimes need to understand your place. Your guys decided to hit a drugstore, and they pay Kaiser for protection. So I’m here to help you understand why that’s a bad idea.”

“Yeah, you don’t fucking tell the Merchants what to do!” Skidmark shouted back. “Why don’t you take off before I take you out!” Behind him, in the building, my bugs were detecting one of the human forms that seemed to be… growing?”  And then Skidmark was drawing glowing fields in front of him. He could use them to push things away, but how much that’d help against Hookwolf…

“Are you wanting a fight?” Hookwolf asked. Next to him, Stormtiger and Cricket looked eager.

Glancing over at Skidmark and Squealer, I had a feeling they didn’t want a fight. The Merchant capes were…

Not in the same league as the Empire capes. The crowd was now backing away from the Empire thugs. They were here to get high, not fight, and Skidmark…

Oh, you…He was making certain to keep them between him and Hookwolf. If there was a fight, it’d be a slaughter. And Skidmark would probably count that as a win, as long as he got away.

Except if I tried to fight Hookwolf, it’d still be a slaughter. Mine.

Now the growing figure I’d felt came stomping out of the abandoned diner, having to squat down and press his way out, the form looking like a mass of ambulatory garbage.

Mush. Of course.

“Well, the garbage man is here. He still looks better than you, Skidmark.”

Now everyone was getting ready and suddenly…

“Oh Taylor, why did you get upset?” The thought rose up. One of the times I’d tried to shout back and ended up with everyone blaming me.

A memory. Hookwolf wasn’t here to start a fight, at least officially. He was goading Skidmark into starting the fight. Why, I wasn’t certain.

But I had to do something. Right now. And I would. I called my bugs, all of them. Sending them into the buildings  and keeping them tightly coiled so the cold wouldn’t get to them before they’d done what I needed them to do.

“Hello, Hookwolf.”  My chittering voice came from all around.

Now, Hookwolf tensed. He and his two companions took a formation, him at the lead, looking around, not with panic, but caution.

The Merchants, as far as anyone knew, only had three capes, after all.

“You one of Skidmarks?”he asked.

“No. I’m here on other business.” I really was. “But I expect you were sent here for a message, not a slaughter.”

He didn’t say anything, and I could see his eyes moving around before he glanced at Cricket. She gave a minute shake of her head. She was trying to localize me.

Granted, I didn’t think she’d be successful, since according to PHO she didn’t have any powers beyond being fast and dangerous,  but…

These were dangerous, dangerous people. If I gave them too much time…

“Skidmark has his drugs in that… vehicle of Squealers. I don’t want a slaughter either. How about you take them, as a penalty, and Skidmark will remember to not touch what is not his, during his gang's time on this earth.”

“Fuck you, cuntstain, I—“

I used a line I remembered from a cheesy show. “Hush, Skiddie. Adults are talking.”

I had enough bugs to hopefully take down the two next to Hookwolf, but rumors on PHO ranged from generating his blades to simply being a metal Case-53 that could create skin to cover his iron form. I didn’t want to find out the hard way that my bugs couldn’t hurt him.

“And what do you get out of it? Doing a good deed?”

“Blood, too much blood can attract the wrong kind of attention.” I paused. Mush was moving up to the bus. All three might be an issue, but there was the crossfire to consider. I—

“Go Squealer!” Skidmark shouted, as he dropped through a hatch that just opened in the roof, even as Mush jumped on it, and the fucking bus was sounding like a train wreck in progress as it headed down a road. “Later assholes!” Skidmark shouted, his voice vanishing. Hookwolf and company were still here, and I got the feeling I was the reason, them not wanting to turn their backs on an unknown cape.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could see Hookwolf’s expression, and he was pissed. I really don’t want to die for Skidmark’s sins…

“How rude. I suppose I’ll have to add that to his tally.”

“What?”

“I’m not here to help him, Hookwolf. I’m here to…”Think, Taylor, think… “Gather information. Before I take action.”

“What kind of action?”

“With all the poison Skidmark spreads, is it too odd to consider he may have cost someone a loved one—someone who can… obtain my kind of help?”

“So you’re a merc?”

“I am many things. But… I do not wish to get off on the wrong foot.” At least not until I’m out of this crowd! Hookwolf was barely fifteen feet away! “Allow this crowd to leave… and I will deal with the Merchants.”

“And what then? You thinking of joining up with the Empire?”

Over my dead body… “I enjoy my independence for now, but that doesn’t mean our relationship cannot change.” I just won’t say how…

“Right.” Hookwolf nodded. “They come into Empire territory again, we’ll hold you responsible, but if you want friends…”

“I’ll remember that.”

And I suddenly realized why Hookwolf was being so friendly, well, for him. He didn’t know my powers. I could be a parahuman with a cute trick with noise, or I could be a nightmare like the Fairy Queen. And he wasn’t going to get into a fight without knowing, especially if he could, hopefully, lay the seeds to recruit a new member.

I reminded myself to not underestimate him. But I had some information. And as Hookwolf gestured and the E88 thugs faded back, letting the mob of addicts and homeless flee, myself among them, I would use it.

Right after I changed, went home, and indulged in some deep breathing once I was safe. This mission had gotten entirely too exciting for my taste.

I hadn’t been able to place my recorders, but I had my video and its sound recording, and I’d use that tomorrow.

I had a meeting on Tuesday, even if the recipient didn’t know it. After all, if I needed more information about Skidmark and Squealer, who better than the crime-beat reporter for the Brockton Gazette?