Star Harbor Nights

The man who owned Broker's Bar and Grill was, quite naturally, called Broker. As far as anybody knew, that was his only name. He was a stout, balding man with sharp gray eyes, thick jowls, and a black moustache that was better groomed than the rest of his body put together.

During normal serving hours his establishment was a perfectly normal sports bar with slightly better than average fried foods, but every night after last call it reinvented itself as a haven for the masked and the vigilant... an all-night bar that served as a central meeting place for the streetfighting heroes of Star Harbor.

The man himself acted as an information broker, a central repository for all the news and rumors picked up by those patrolling the streets. He kept track of trends that might otherwise escape notice, compared notes from the cases of masked detectives who might not otherwise encounter each other, and generally kept a "big picture" perspective on the happenings of the city.

"What happened tonight?" Broker said as Ray entered his sparsely decorated little office, with its bare brick walls and bulky, institutional office furniture.

"Well, I showed up at the church like she said, and the whole place..."

 "Went up like the cake at Bob Hope's last birthday," Broker said. "I got the general idea off the police scanner. What I'm looking for here is the details. You didn't lose control, did you?"

"No way," Ray said defensively. "I swear I didn't breathe so much as a lick of flame... the whole place was covered in these crazy fire runes. When they activated, it spread way too fast for me to stop."

"Well, I hope nobody saw you, anyway," Broker said. "They might not look too hard at the forensics if there's a ready-made suspect... especially an undocumented super who just happens to be covered in 'crazy fire runes' himself."

"Look, don't start this again," Ray said. "I'm not about to hand over my life to a bunch of government spooks just because I happen to have superpowers and other people don't."

"Your call," Broker said. "But it does have its benefits. I mean, I've seen the Forbies^* swoop in and clean up a lot worse messes for the registered heroes. I'm not naive... I know Uncle Sam'll call in all those markers someday, but in the mean time it's a hell of a deal."

"Well, I'm not willing to make a deal with the devil just so I can feel a bit safer now," Ray said. "Anyway, I've got a witness... that's actually why I came back here tonight."

"So it wasn't just because you'd flubbed a mission and wanted to know what to do next?" Broker asked.

"Well, that, too," Ray said. "But I wanted to bring this new girl to see you, kind of show her around... she's really something. I think she might be the one."

"The one what?" Broker said dismissively. "The one last heroine on the eastern seaboard who hasn't been warned about you?"

"You may joke, Bro..."

"Don't call me 'Bro'," Broker said.

"Okay, fine... you may joke, but I've never been more serious," Ray said. "I think I've found my new partner."

"Really?" Broker said, raising his thick eyebrows. "I swear that's the fifth or sixth time I've heard that from you, and every other time you said it, you were flying solo again by the end of the week."

"That's... true-ish," Ray said. "But... none of those other girls were Perfect."

"Oh, he don't ask for much, do he?" Broker said, rolling his eyes to the heavens.

"No, see, you don't understand," Ray said. "This girl is smart, and fast, and athletic... and she sounds very dedicated. You know, like she... has the mission. She wants to make a difference, not grab headlines and do a bunch of talk shows. I'm not kidding about the smart, either... first thing you notice when you meet her is that she's sharp."

"Not her ass, then?" Broker said.

"Well, okay, but if I hadn't come up from behind, her brain would have been the first thing, I swear," Ray admitted. "But I'm telling you, this is not a physical attraction! She doesn't come on like some of these heroines, throwing big tits in your face... she's more small and perky, like the kind where she could get away without wearing a bra and her nipples would probably show because she wears these tight little... um... but the point is, she's more than perky breasts, a tight ass, and a pretty face... and you know, incredibly toned legs. Oh, and just the right amount of tan. We haven't made anything official yet, except that we're teaming up on this case... but we talked about partnership right before you called for me."

"If she's so wonderful, why didn't you bring her on back?" Broker asked. "Look at this, you say you're working together but you're already not taking her seriously. This is going to be a repeat of the Destroyer's Daughter affair all over again, I can tell."

"No, it's not like that... I just don't want to publicize my ties to... her," Ray said. "You know that. If the other guys knew I had a pipeline to a source like that, they'd want to know why I don't use it all the time... which opens up a bunch of cans of worms I don't feel like opening... or they'd try to get in on it themselves, and I don't want anybody getting mixed up with that crowd if I can't help it."

"Like the rest of the costumed weirdos want anything to do with all that Harry Potter crap," Broker said. "Ray, I know nobody picks their origin, but in the final analysis all that mystic hocusy pocusy stuff you've got yourself into just gets in the way."

"So, I saw the Demonatrix leaving a bit ago," Ray said, guessing the real source of his gruff friend's outburst against the magic world. "What did the patron saint of streetwalkers want with you this time?"

Broker didn't, so far as Ray knew, have any particular reason to fear her wrath... but visits from coldly beautiful infernal beings who were known to eat men alive were rarely if ever pleasant.

"Apparently, some of her girls have come up missing," Broker said. "Particularly, ones who specialized in men of the cloth. Huh... and your little caper tonight involved a Catholic church."

"That's probably just a coincidence," Ray said.

"Probably," Broker agreed, but he flipped open the large spiral notebook on his desk, turned over several pages, and scribbled the words "dmntrx/chrch hkr lnk 2 rns?" on a page full of such musings. "But it's still worth checking out."

"Jesus, would you like to buy a vowel?" Ray asked, reading the notes upside down before Broker shut it irritably. "I hope our enemies never manage to decode your secret, cryptic code language."

"Yeah, laugh it up, but just be glad somebody's paying attention to the little details," Broker said. "Look, getting back on task here... what the hell did happen?"

"I don't know," Ray said. "I really don't... she told me I needed to be at Saint Martin's, before three. I got there, and the place was empty... except these weird fire runes. They seemed somehow... familiar, but I can't quite picture them. It's like I've seen them before, but in a different setting, you know?"

"Well, when you're dealing with... her, the devil's in the details," Broker said. "What exactly were the instructions?"

"Uh... I'm not sure of the exact words, but I think it was basically like, 'Go to the church of Saint Martin's before the hour of three on the night of the shadowed moon, and you will prevent... um... something... from... becoming... to pass...'"

"'Prevent something from becoming to pass?'" Broker said, dubiously.

"Look, it's very unsettling being... the gist of it was to be in the church tonight at three, and I was," Ray said."Turns out there wasn't anything I could prevent, anyway. It makes me wonder if she wasn't... trying to get rid of me, or teach me a lesson, or something."

"If half of what you say is true, I'd guess the second one," Broker said. "It would explain the whole you-being-alive thing. So where's your new Girl Wonder come into it?"

"She came investigating just as the place went up," Ray said. "We, you know, almost did the whole pointless crossover battle thing... she's got some good banter for a newbie, by the way... I kind of saved her life, and we decided to team up."

"Saved her life?" Broker asked skeptically.

"I pulled her out of a burning church," Ray said. "You should have seen me... I was very heroic."

"Sure you were," Broker said. "Speaking of threats to life and limb, your ex came around here today."

"Uh..." Ray said, uncertainly.

"The blonde one," Broker said.

"Well, that narrows it down," Ray said.

"The blonde one who can punch through a brick wall," Broker said.

"That narrows it down."

"The blonde one who can punch through a brick wall and threatened to do the same to you."

"Look, you're either going to have to tell me outright who it was or give me some better hints," Ray said.

"The Parakeet," Broker said. "She's stuck in town for a couple days and wanted something to do, so I gave her the number of a mutual friend who could use a hand with a few things. She called me 'Emperor Smith.' Any idea what that's about?"

"Uh, she has a weird sense of humor," Ray said. "Like one time, she left me a voicemail that was just a screeching signal that made every bird within five city blocks dive bomb me.... or this one time, she ripped out my kidney. That wasn't so much 'ha-ha funny' as it was 'Oh God, why?' funny."

"Poor baby," Broker mocked.

"Well, it grew back," Ray said. "But it really hurt."

"Thousands of dialysis patients across the land reach out to you in sympathy," Broker said. "Look, you want to know what I think you should do about the church thing?"

"Yeah, of course," Ray said.

"Get your new 'partner' with the tight perky brains back here," Broker said. "If she's really as smart as all that, you're shooting yourself in the foot by not involving her from the beginning... and even if she's not, it wouldn't take much for her to be the brains of your operation."

"Oh, ha ha," Ray said.

"Also, if you want to score with her... and of course you do, don't act all innocent... then it was a big mistake leaving her out there in the first place," Broker said. "Sitting all alone, in a room full of drunk heroes... some of whom are just about as hard up as you act... while you're in here taking care of who-knows-what important business without her?"

"Advice on how to treat women from a thrice-divorced man?" Ray remarked skeptically. "I'll pass."

"Hey, three divorces means I was married three times, too, you know" Broker said. "That's more than you've been."

"I think I know a little about women, thank you," Ray said.

"Yeah, a very little," Broker said. "You've got a pretty good handle on which end goes up, but that's about it."

"I'm more interested in which end goes down, actually," Ray said.

"Oh, just go get her," Broker said.

If Ray noticed the smoldering glare Perfect treated him to when he returned to usher her into the unimpressive little back office, he didn't show it.

"Perfect, this is Broker," Ray said, introducing her to the stocky bulldog of a man behind the desk. "He owns the bar, of course, and runs the little after-hours service for us."

"Nice to meet you. Do you report your nocturnal earnings to the IRS?" Perfect asked him. She was curious, about this and other things, and not inclined to be tactful at the moment.

"I like this one, she's sharp," Broker said to Ray. Perfect tried not to let the pleasure show on her face. "It's actually all on the books, even if it's not all on the level. I just use some creative bookkeeping, but even the night bartenders are officially on the payroll. Believe me, I used to be an accountant for the Teamsters... I could hide a lot more income than I make if I wanted to. It would actually be easier to keep it to myself, but I make sure Uncle Sam gets his dues. When you get involved in vigilantism, following the spirit of the law counts for a lot even when you bend the letter."

"So you, what? Run a super team out of your bar?" Perfect asked. "That's not the strangest thing I've heard, but it does strain the credulity."

"Team? Nothing so formal," Broker said. "Teams are for the guys who wear full body tights with underwear on the outside and fly around, capes flapping behind them, fighting... sea monsters and fifty foot robots, crap like that. You get involved with that kind of high profile stuff, you need to start worrying about insurance, public relations, government oversight... that stuff works when you're saving a whole city or the world, but it just gets in the way of the night-to-night business of actually fighting crime. I just manage contacts, distribute information, organize patrols... try to keep things moving smooth."

"Oh," Perfect said, still more pleased that her deduction earlier in the night had been correct in a way. "I kind of wondered if there wasn't something like that going on, some kind of traffic control or something."

"Yep," Broker said. "We have meetings once a week, Wednesday mornings at three... mostly 'cause Tuesday nights are always so dead. Not everybody shows up every week, but most of the regulars check in once a month. As a newbie, it's good to come every week for a while to kind of get your hand in."

"I'll be there," Perfect said. "Definitely."

"Vallenzio said he didn't think you've got any powers," Broker said. The look on his face made it a question.

"No, sir," Perfect answered. She added, "Not that I know of."

"You look nimble enough," Broker said. He pointed to her arms. "Any weapons or special gear?"

"I have these," Perfect said, squeezing her fingers against her palm to trigger a release on her gauntlets. This released the telescoping steel batons that were strapped to her wrist guards.

"Ever been in a real fight with them?" Broker asked.

"I've fought with them," Perfect said. As Broker stared impassively at her, she amended herself. "But not a real fight, no. More like quick scuffles. I try to take people down quickly before anybody gets hurt. So far it's worked okay, but only against jerks and losers."

"You handled me okay without them," Ray said.

"Oh, I didn't mean you were a... and I flipped you, yeah," Perfect said. "But we didn't actually do much fighting... and you could have toasted me at any time if it had been for real."

"Still, the flip was something... the fire makes me a bit faster and stronger than a normal man but I think you could have handled me," Ray said.

"Really?" Perfect said. "I thought you moved pretty well for a man your size... what other powers do you have?"

"I can also heal pretty fast... so far, any injury that doesn't kill me right off closes up pretty quickly."

"Can you regenerate missing limbs or organs?" Perfect asked.

"Uh, organs, yes," Ray said, wincing at the unpleasant memory. "Haven't had the opportunity to try with a limb, but give me time."

"Well, this is fascinating, really," Broker said. "Except I already know Vallenzio's abilities. It's little Miss Pajama Ninja I'm interested in now."

"Pajama Ninja?" Perfect repeated.

"It's what I call that style. Hey, Ray calls your look the Elektra-Lite," Broker said. The look that Perfect gave Ray was exceeded only by the one that Ray shot Broker. "You got a better name for yourself?"

"I thought you could help her there," Ray said.

"Ah," Broker said brightly. He reached into his desk and pulled out a pair of metal boxes full of index cards. "Of course."

To Perfect, Ray explained, "Broker keeps a list of good names that are still free, and a record of all the handles used by all the heroes and vigilantes in the country... it helps keep down on fights."

"Fights?" Perfect said, by now feeling a bit like a parrot. She was absorbing a lot of new information. "Do people... heroes, I mean... actually fight over names?"

"Oh, sure," Broker said. "You ever heard of the Dock Shadow?"

"Of course," Perfect said. The Dock Shadow... the mysterious figure who prowled the waterfront of Star Harbor... was a legend.

"Ever heard of an archmage named Doctor Shadow?" Broker asked.

"Yes," Perfect said.

"Well, he used to go by Doc Shadow, and when he heard about our Dock Shadow, he decided his intellectual rights were being infringed and decided to settle the matter reasonably," Broker said. "Long story short, they ended up destroying a block of tenements and Doc became Doctor."

"That's horrible," Perfect said. "Wasn't anybody arrested?"

"Nah," Broker said, flipping through index cards as he spoke. "The buildings were the hideout of a vicious gang that our Shadow was investigating, and probably should have been condemned anyway. Nobody got hurt and the gang got rounded up. Anyway... back to you. What about... Nightstick?"

"What about it?" Perfect asked.

"For your name," he said. "Because you've got those batons."

"I don't think so," Perfect said.

"Okay, well, you don't have much in the way of a theme going," Broker said. "But... you're nimble, you're quick, you're kind of cute... Mynx."

"Minks?" Perfect said. "You mean like coat weasels?"

"Minx," Broker said. "Like a sexy kitten... or a kittenish weasel. But with a y, to make it distinct and everything."

"Pass," Perfect said. "Is this really necessary? I mean, having a nickname at all... I mean, I understand the importance of protecting my identity, but when you get right down to it, couldn't I just, you know... not introduce myself to the criminals?"

"Well, it is kind of traditional," Broker said. "You know, like in the comic books."

"Oh, I never actually read many comic books," Perfect said. "Or rather, any."

"You're kidding," Broker and Ray both said at once.

"No, and just why is that so hard to believe?" Perfect asked.

"You told me you always wanted to be a crime fighter," Ray said. "You grew up wanting to put on tights and run around the city fighting bad guys, and you never read comics?"

"Well, did you?" Perfect asked.

"Uh, no, not really," Ray said. "My folks moved around a lot, so I never really had a chance to get bored enough to need fantasy... but I never really thought about being a superhero, either. Most people who are into heroes growing up can't get enough of the comics, though."

"Oh," Perfect said. "I never really thought about it that way... I just... you know, when there's so many real superheroes and masked vigilantes, I just followed them in the news and did research on their history and stuff. It seemed kind of silly to obsess over made-up people having imaginary adventures when I wanted to get out and do it for real."

"She's practical," Broker said to Ray. "I like that. Most of the wanna-bes that come in off the street..."

"Wanna-be?" Perfect interjected.

"Figure of speech, honey," Broker said. "The point is..."

"Honey?" Perfect echoed.

"The point is, it's refreshing," Broker plowed on past Perfect's objections. "It's impressive, even. I've been trying to get these jokers to treat this business seriously... like it is a business... for years, but for most of them it's all bright primary colors and melodramatic speeches. Even Flame-Boy here has his cornball moments. Believe me, you're a freaking breath of fresh air."

"Oh. Thanks, I guess," Perfect said.

"On the subject of business," Broker continued, "one thing you want to be careful of, starting out, is that you don't let your little nocturnal activities overwhelm your daily existence. A lot of the newbies go all out with the patrolling and a month later they're unemployed, broke, and facing eviction. You want to remember we got pretty good coverage in this city, so you don't have to feel guilty if you don't get out every night. Don't neglect your day job."

"That's not an issue for me. I don't really have a day job."

"Student?" Broker guessed. "Same thing... normal human, you won't be able to fight crime forever. You don't want to blow your education and miss out on a paying career, either."

"Well, I was going to school, and I still take a few classes... but I'm, um... a little bit, well... I guess you could say I'm independently wealthy," Perfect said. "I mean, I've got a trust fund and a few investments..."

"Trust fund? Hold on," Broker said. "Hold on just a second... you're Perfection Jones?"

"Who?" Ray asked.

"Her old man's a congressman," Broker told him. "All his kids have wacky names... it gets him a couple extra mentions in the paper every once in a while."

"Senator," Perfect corrected. "And our names are not 'wacky'. They're just... unique"

"Kid, you've got a 'unique' real name and a daddy who's in politics and you still don't think you need a secret identity?" Broker pressed.

"It's too bad you're not an orphan with nobody to protect and nothing left to lose," Ray said. "Because now that I think about it, 'Perfect Jones' kind of has a ring to it, you know?"

"Yeah, too bad," Perfect said, rolling her eyes. To Broker, she said, "How would calling myself 'Nightstick' or 'Mynx' or 'Pajama Ninja' help me keep my identity a secret? It's not like anybody would go, 'Oh, Nightstick. That must be her real name.' If anything, it would only call attention to the fact that I've got something to hide."

"Your call," Broker said. "I suppose it doesn't hurt that no secret identity means you don't have to register with the friendly folks at Department 4B. I assume Ray's expressed his views on that subject to you."

"Well, yeah, but I made up my own mind," Perfect said. "I do plan on registering, eventually, because I do want to form a team eventually."

"Fine," Broker said. "Even if you don't give Uncle Sam all your details, I hope you don't mind me making a few notes. That way if some other mask has a case that fits your expertise or that you might be working another side of, I can put you together. Helps cut down on the 181s, you know, having somebody be the middle man for that stuff."

"I understand," Perfect said.

"So, you got any other skills besides the fighting stuff?" Broker asked.

"Well, I've got a degree in criminal science," Perfect said. "Basic detective skills... and I'm a bit of an inventor. Oh! I also have really good organizational skills."

"Great. If anybody reports a suspiciously messy closet, I'll give them your number," Broker said. "Speaking of which, can I get one?"

"Can you get a closet?" Perfect asked.

"A phone number," Broker said.

"I'm, uh, working on getting a new clean phone number," Perfect said. "I had to call emergency services..."

"Prepaid cells work wonders," Broker said.

"Yeah, but I've got a few ideas for something a bit fancier," Perfect said. "Like I said, I dabble a bit with the gadgets. I'll let you know. You can always get ahold of me through Ray, for now."

"Great," Broker said, rummaging in his desk again. "Let me give you a list of... oh, hell, I'm almost out of these."

He pulled a sheet of paper out and handed it to Ray.

"Run to the supply room and run off another stack of these, will you?" he asked.

"Sure," Ray said and headed out of the room.

"Just a list of contact numbers," Broker said. "Safe houses, doctors and nurses who support the community and don't ask questions, lawyers who are pro-mask... hopefully you won't have to use too many of them. And while we're alone... just between the two of us... you don't want to count on me being able to get ahold of you through Ray for too long."

"What do you mean?" Perfect asked.

"Well, he's a good guy," Broker said. "I mean, we're all good guys here, but I mean, he's generally decent... but the thing is, he tends to go through female sidekicks pretty fast."

"I'm not his sidekick," Perfect said. "And I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just be careful," Broker said. "He's a good guy to have for a partner, just not for a... partner. Keep it professional and you'll be okay."

"Since I really don't intend on doing anything else, there shouldn't be any problem," Perfect said coolly.

"Good, good," Broker said, somewhat absently. There was a short awkward silence until Ray returned a few moments later, with a small stack of paper. He handed one sheet to Perfect and the rest to Broker.

"Hey," Perfect said, examining it. "The number listed for the Champion League is different than any of the contact numbers on their website."

"You've got them all memorized?" Broker asked, though he didn't sound surprised. "Yeah, that's a private number for costumed adventurers only. Don't abuse it."

"What's this west coast contact number for?" Perfect asked.

"That actually reaches a voicemail box for the Pantheon," Broker said. "They like to know if any of our people are going out California way... call and leave a message if you're taking a field trip in that direction. Again, it just cuts down on pointless fights. Anyway, you've already missed the meeting this week so it's too late to assign you your own patrol... you can tag along with Ray. He's sometimes a roof runner, but he's working street level right now."

"Roof runner?" Perfect prompted, unfamiliar with the term.

"Yeah, there's three levels of patrol," Broker said. "Street, roof, and sky. The cape-and-tight scene takes care of most of the flying... that's a bigger concern during the day when you can see more, anyway... and the roof running is mostly covered by our powered associates. Very few normals can roof run."

"What's so hard about running on roofs?" Perfect asked.

"Jumping between them," Broker said. "Anyway, next Wednesday we'll work you into the rotation, unless you're still patrolling with Vallenzio here."

"I'll still be with Ray," she said. She looked at him. "If you want a partner."

"Absolutely," he said.

"Good luck with that," Broker said, to neither of them in particular. "So, Perfect, did you happen to get a better look at the symbols in the church than Ray did?"

"Well, I don't have a clear image in my head, but I did get them on camera," Perfect said, holding up her pen-like device. "Do you have a USB cord that will fit this?"

"I've got a USB cord that'll fit anything," Broker said, opening up a desk drawer to reveal a tangle of black cords. 

In relatively short order, they had the camera hooked up to Broker's computer.

"It's the only video file," Perfect told Broker as he looked at the folder's contents. "See? There?"

He double-clicked the video clip, and it began to play. They saw the inside of the church, and heard Perfect's remarks on the origins of the script, but of the letters themselves there was absolutely no sign.

"What the hell?" Ray said.

"I don't understand," Perfect said. "I had the camera pointed right at it... I mean, they were all over the place! What happened?"

"Typical mystical crap," Broker said. "This fits with neither one of you being able to remember them, either. The stupid things didn't just burn, they erased themselves from existence!"

"That's it, then," Perfect said. "How are we supposed to identify something we can't even remember... to say nothing of translating it."

"Well, the weird thing is, I don't remember what they looked like but I do remember that they looked like something I'd seen before," Ray reminded her. "If I can remember where it was I'd seen them..."

"And we've got my impressions on the linguistic origin," Perfect said. "And even though I can't picture the color of the symbols in my head, I know that I thought it looked about the same as your markings. So, I guess there are a few things I can go on from a research stand point."

"Great, sounds like you crazy kids have got yourselves a plan," Broker said, rising to his feet and handing Perfect back her camera. "I've got a couple phone calls to make... it seems there's a lot of shit going down tonight. Nice meeting you... and remember what we talked about."

"What did he mean, what you talked about?" Ray asked Perfect as they left. "What did he say when I was gone?"

"Oh, nothing much," Perfect said. "Just kind of a... debriefing thing."

* "Forby" - A somewhat derogatory--or at least overly familiar--term for an agent of Department 4B.