Voice Over: City like this, you see a lot of things, ‘specially when you don’t have booze clouding yer vision. The name’s Johns. Simon Johns. You can call me Mack. Everyone else does, ‘cause they don’t bother asking my name.

I run a speakeasy in the wrong side of town. Tried opening on the other side, but business never took off. Over there, people have too much money to afford alcohol, at least the kind I serve. That’s just my day job, though. Bein’ a bartender, you hear a lot of things, and there’s always someone wants to pay you to repeat it.

That’s where The Dame comes in. She’s got legs; that much is for sure. One of these days, I’ll get around to taking inventory on the rest of her.

Mack: I ain’t open.

The Dame: The bar, our ya’ll other bidness?

Voice Over: She’s got a bad Southern accent half the time. Other half, she ain’t focusing on how she talks. Makes me wonder where she’s actually from, but I got better things to think about. Way I see it, there’s two kinds of people: people who can work “lordy” into a sentence, and people who I give a damn where they grew up.

Mack: I only got the one business. Don't know where that bar idea came from. Anyway, get out of here. A man’s gotta sleep sometime.

The Dame: Well, ah reckon this won’t take long.

Mack: Fine. What’s the problem, lady?

The Dame: I own me some prop’ty down by Ninth Street. Got me a tenant won’t pay his rent.

Mack: I got a solution for that.

Voice Over: There’s a desk in my drawer where I keep my solutions. There’s exactly two, and they cover just about any problem I can think of. Both leave a man face-down in a gutter until the cops find him, and both need to be refilled every week.

The Dame: Ah’ve heard of your solutions, Mr. Johns, and I’m not interested, unless maybe ya’ll got some daiquiri mix behind that desk. Problem is, this is the sort of man don’t never skip his rent. He just ha’n’t been round to pay lately. I want you to find out where he went.

Mack: Missin’ Joe, huh? So, who is this chump?

There'd been a bank robbery that evening. The crook had taken to dressing as a silver president Washington to hide his identity, and the press came to call him the Coin Collector. This had been the 4th banked he'd knocked over in as many weeks. Shining in the fleeting sunlight was Sterling Silver, protector of all that was silver and malleable. He refused to allow his quarry to escape again.

Trailing behind was his Junior Sidekick, Microwave. A mere superboy, by hero standards, just in his 20s. The poorly tuned police radios grated his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. But from what he gathered, it was becoming clear that the cops had ended their pursuit. After all, police cars can't swing around rooftops very well, now can they?

Coin Collector might have been some guy in a bad Halloween costume, but he was slick. The gap between one alleyway was much further than it looked. Coin Collector, whose silver color was merely paint managed to throw his loot across and then himself. Sterling Silver, well, there's a reason being made of solid silver isn't the most useful superpower.

Microwave caught up as Sterling Silver dangled on the ledge. His quicksilver grip slipping. "Teddy, a hand if you would."

Microwave extended an arm and clutched tight. Now, nevermind that silver is pretty slick for a moment. Microwave got a good look at the ground below. His mind seized up. He couldn't think, he couldn't hear, he couldn't breathe. He could only see what was immediately below him and, by extension, his mentor.

"Now would be a good time Teddy," said Sterling Silver.

There was no response, just a horrified glare.

"Teddy, this stopped being funny some time ago. Help me up."

Microwave continued his glare into the abyss.

"Teddy. He's getting away come on, swing me up to the ledge."

Microwave finally came to, slightly, but far too late. There was a clank as Sterling Silver hit the ground, dented and dead.

The Dame: His name was Lester Argent, if mah wits be about me. Tidy little feller, kept a lot of cutlery and coins layin' about.

Mack: Well, you're his land lady. You got a key, right? I figure him walkin' out left you in possession of a lot more than a month's rent.

The Dame: I done told you, Mr. Johns, it ain't about no money. A lady like myself thinks of herself as her tenant's mother, and I can't abide to have my children go missing.

Mack: He have any friends?

The Dame: Yessir. Had him a little buddy named Teddy. Don't know if it were his son, er nephew, er maybe a legal ward, but they was always together. Haven't seen either of 'em in a week.

Mack: I think I've heard enough. Leave your address in the book, and I'll see what I can figure out. Leave a two dollar deposit in the jar while you're at it.

The Dame: Thank you sir. Promise me you'll be in touch.

Voice Over: I watched her walk out. Best part of my day. Then I started the investigation the way I always do: with a cold drink and a glance through the newspaper.

Teddy White entered his daily life, one starkly different from his nightly life. Although, this daily life was starkly different than his old daily life. He couldn't, or wouldn't, wonder if this kind of comparison was even possible. Smoking. It was a bad habit. Lester had made him give it up, but at the moment, it was the only thing keeping him from a paddy wagon with his name on it.

Alice. Yeah, Alice would know what to do. Alice could always make him feel better. Alice owned a small studio where she spent the days designing women's undergarments with Christmas trees on them.

He entered the studio and put his jacket on the coat stand. His smoke wafted through the door.

"Would you put that out?" asked Alice, with her back to the door.

"No."

Recognizing the sound of his voice, she turned around. "Teddy!" She put down her pencil and ran into his, what she believed to be, arms. It would one day be called a chest bump. "Teddy, what's wrong?"

"I'm done, Alice. I'm through," Teddy pinched out a butt.

"Silver's death wasn't your fault,"

"Of course it was, Midge. I had him in my hand. I could have saved him."

"Midge?"

"I mean Alice. I was about to do it, but when I saw the alley below, I just... seized up."

"It's been two weeks. The Acclimated Society of Superheroes says you're clean and even promoted you to Senior member."

"Great. I'll start by taking those extra vacation days and THEN I quit."

"And do what, exactly?" asked Alice, stomping the ground in redheaded fury.

"I don't know. Drive a truck, start a farm, get a job in a textile factory. That'd put your skills to good use."

"No, you know what? Take some time off. Relax your mind. You're not quitting. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"And what do you have to say about it?"

"I'm a woman. Quite a bit more than you imagine."

Voice Over: There'd been plenty of murders and abductions the past few days. That was typical. Problem is, Lester Argent wasn't on the list. There wasn't nothing for it, but to get in touch with some less reputable sources. Guy like me has a few contacts, and we try to keep out of touch. But as much as we hate knowin' each other, we like making money more.

The man's name was Carl. Boring name. Probably made it up himself, but I could care less what his real name is. I pay cash.

Carl's a bookie. Keeps him informed about a lot of things, like who owes who money and the current exchange rate on fingers.

Mack: Mornin' Carl.

Carl: Ah, geez, mack, can't you leave a guy alone?

Mack: I left plenty of guys alone. But you ain't one. What can you tell me about Lester Argent? He done any business with you?

Carl: Come on, mack, what makes you think I'm so informed about everything?

Mack: I think you're an idiot. But I got a flask in my pocket says you're smarter than you look.

Carl: You think you can come here and sell me a bottle full of used bathwater for info? Come on, man. You know I got my standards.

Voice Over: I took the flask out and tossed it into Carl's cage. He never talked to me unless he was behind bars. Made him feel safe. Can't say I blame him; I tried to pull some information out of his shoulder one time. Had to call my cousin to reset it.

Mack: Give it a sniff.

Carl: What is this? Paint thinner?

Mack: Take it or leave it.

Carl: Ok, fine, fine. Look, I heard about this guy Argent. Word is, he was a silver collector. I know a few folks who tried to steal from him. But here's the thing, right. Every time someone broke into his place, a statue or something clobbered him over the head and tossed him down the fire escape. It's like Argent had body guards or something.

Mack: Museum guy?

Carl: Accountant. He just had some stuff lyin' around in plain sight.

Mack: So what's an accountant got a body guard for?

Carl: Beats me. Don't you got other people to harass? You're holdin' up the line.

Mack: Yeah. Fine. I'll need that flask back once you empty it.

Voice Over: Something odd was going on with this Argent guy. Man who needs to defend himself is a man with enemies. And if he had the right kind, they knew how to hide a body. Gotta wonder if The Dame has any idea what her kids do when she's not around.

"The Dame had a key to Lester's apartment, even if she didn't know it." Mack narrated in his head as he punched out the door's window. He unwrapped his fist from its gauzey protection and unlocked the door from the other side. "The room obviously hasn't been entered in weeks. A thin layer of dust covers the entire room." He rubbed his fingers together to get the dust off.

"Mr. Argent has his secrets in here, somewhere. It shouldn't be too hard to find a loose book, a fake statue, button under the desk. I've seen a million of them." He examined the bookcase, looking for something, anything, that would be out of place in an accountant's room. "I don't recognize any of these books," he thought, until one caught his eye. "Wizard of Oz? Yeah, I don't think so." Removing the book did nothing. "Hrm, wise guy, eh?" Mack proceeded to remove each and every book from the shelf, until none were left. Nothing was behind the bookcase but dry wall, and Mack felt slightly disappointed.

Mack turned his attention to the statues around the room, but all of them turned out to be made of a super fragile kind of marble.

The desk he found to be locked. Still, every lock has its weakness, even if that weakness is pushing really hard against the desk while grabbing the drawer. "Ledgers and T-charts. I can't say I honestly didn't expect this."

After a long day's cat burglary, Mack often liked to recline in the nearest ottoman. Normally an uneventful action, because most ottomans don't dump you into a dark and damp cave.

It took a lot of work to keep the accent up; The Dame would have been happy to finally have a chance to relax and use her real voice at home, but there was no one to talk to. If there was, she'd have to keep up with the accent.

Maybe it was time to get a cat.

She lifted a floorboard and brought a bottle of wine out of hiding.

"Pour me a glass of that, would ya?" said a voice from behind her.

She jumped and nearly spilled it. He was always sneaking up on her like this, and in her own home. "Sorry, sir, but it'd be illegal of me to distribute any spirits. 'Sides, this is just some sparklin' grape juice. Nothing that'd interest a man of your tastes."

"Grape juice. Sure."

She turned around. "Jefferson Lincoln, I done axed you to knock."

"How'd it go with the private eye?"

"He bought it." Mack was gullible, just as she'd hoped. But then, why would he suspect the woman who came to his door, asking for help investigating?

"And my money?"

"You just get yourself out of town. The money will catch up with you when it's safe."

"Just remember. I want money, not paper."

I awoke some time later. Low wattage light bulbs flickered overhead, illuminating select areas of the... well, the place. Mack had no idea what this place was called, but, he reasoned, if The Dame didn't know about it, there probably was no good reason to divulge it.

The place was a museum of assorted junk. Giant coins, steel dinosaurs, enormous playing cards. Costumes. "Costumes." Mack picked himself up, dusted himself off and walked over to the costumes.

"It seems our Mr. Lester Argent lead an extraordinary life," he recognized it, "What a terrible name. What were his parents thinking?" His eyes ran over to the other costumes. "Well, isn't that something?"

At the far end of the room was something Mack had never seen before. A machine unlike anything in Queen City, perhaps, anything in the world. It took up the entire wall, in fact, there was no telling how far it back it went. It also radiated like a star. Large fans in the ceiling moved, not of their own power, but of thermal conductivity. Along the wall were blinking lights, some kind of large vacuum tube, bigger than any Mack had ever seen. Next Mack noticed a large row of switches and large panel filled with unlabeled buttons, followed lastly by enormous phonograph cylinders on a chain. Apparently, the cylinders marched into the back to let others in, judging by the large holes near the top and bottom.

"Oooh," said Mack, "What does this button do?" Behind a large rotating chair was a kind of stock ticker, that once again began ticking.. Mack grabbed the paper strip, and began reading.

"My God."

---

Teddy looked up at the city skyline. It was always somewhat different from above. He froze from a bad memory and reminded himself that, "That's never happening again." He dodged into a nearby café to get some "coffee".

As he nursed the head on his, let's say, ice cold mocha latté, a man in a pinstriped suit sat down in front of him. "Teddy, you old sod, how long has it been?"

"Well Phil Mint, fancy running into you here."

"It's been ages, what have you been up to?"

"It's been months, at best, and accounting. Same as you, if I remember." Teddy noticed the "coffee" was slowly disappearing.

"Yes, well, I've recently gone into the, shall we say, private sector."

"We were in the private sector."

"More private."

"Well good for you, I don't really care, anyway. I'm thinking of retiring anyway."

"Ah, well, fancy that. I was thinking of offering you a job."

I guess Argent was in the newspaper after all, just listed under Sterling Silver. And Coin Collector wasn't just robbing banks for the money, if Argent's ticker was right. And seeing as how Coin Collector got away, he's only got one more stop before something very, very bad happens that'll make everyone wish it was just the Germans attacking again.

And I seem to be the only one who gives a shrack.

I guess that means I'm a godam superhero now. Perfect. The Dame better be paying well.

I took a super mouthful of the super-juice I keep in my pocket and looked for a phone. I figure these types all have a direct link to the police station. Argent's was big and red, and I can't believe it wasn't the first thing I saw. I picked it up and pressed the only button it had.

Whoever was on the other end let it ring for a while. Makes sense, given that Argent was dead. There was a click. "Sterling Silver? I thought you were dead!"

Now I've got a choice. I can be me, or I can be him. Me and the police don't get along too well. After all, I'm the competition, and a constant pain in their ego. People come to me when they think the police aren't able or willing to help them out. They'd probably just assume I was the Coin Collector.

"Silver?" He'd hang up soon. Fine, I'll be the godam superhero. I'd heard this silver guy on the news once or twice, and tried to do an impression. My voice was already plenty low enough, just had to make it a little more booming.

"Why, certainly not, officer!" I shouted into the phone. "That was all a clever ruse, so that I could lull the Coin Collector into a false sense of security and catch him unawares."

He bought it. "Oh, thank goodness. You had us all so worried. How did you make such a convincing body?"

I looked around. Didn't have to think too hard about that one. "I have access to some very impressive technology, officer. Guy like me, it's easy." Guy like me. I'm slipping into my own voice. Gotta watch that.

The officer didn't notice. "So what's your next move?"

"Do you have any leads on the Coin Collectors whereabouts, or what he is planning?" I asked. Hopefully they liked this me better than the real one.

"Judging from his past crimes, he's been looting safety deposit boxes at each bank he struck. He's collecting the Pluto Project Control Coins, Silver." Yeah, yeah, the paper told me that.

"Where's the last one?"

"Suidae Bank, on the corner of fourth and seventh."

"I'll be there."

"I'm glad your back sir," said the operator.

"Err....the police are the real heroes. I'm just the night shift. Keep up the good work," I said. Just like a godam superhero.

---

Teddy stared at the business card as Mr. Mint walked away. Should he take the job? There was always something odd about Mr. Mint, but he was a shrewd businessman, and the money was good. And he needed money, now that Lester was gone. He needed it bad.

He slipped the card into his pocket, and decided to think it over with a fresh pot of "coffee." There was coffee shop downtown. Mack's, he though the name was.

He stopped for a smoke, and while he was fumbling in his pocket for his lighter, he saw a flame in front of his face.

"Thanks, sister," he said to the dame with the lighter.

"Funny time o' day for a man like you to be out," she said.

"Nothing funny about 9 o'clock, Alice."

"Alice?"

Teddy looked up for the first time. She looked a bit like Alice, and dressed like Alice...but obviously it wasn't her. He had to learn better how to tell women apart. "Sorry, dame. Smoke in my eyes, I guess."

"I couldn't help but overhea' ya'll talkin' to Mr. Mint."

"Yeah? How do you know him?"

"We's partnahs, him and me. Anyways, just stopped to say that ya'll should considah his offah."

Teddy sucked in the smoke. "I'm on bereavement. Can't start a job for a few weeks."

"Well, ah'm sorry t'heah that."

Teddy watched the dame walk away, twirling her umbrella like some kind of southern gentry.

Alice couldn't find Teddy. He wasn't in his apartment or in his usual hang outs. One possibility was unthinkable; but, to reiterate, it was unthinkable for a reason. Somewhere between 7th and 12th on Poplar street, it dawned on her that perhaps Teddy might have gone back to the Silver Mine. Yeah, when times are hard, that place always had the iridescent glow of that infernal machine to warm the air.

When she arrived, it became apparent that, while Teddy had not been there, someone had. She entered the apartment and the lavatory, where in she did a twirling dance and came out in costume. Because no one's going to mention it for a while, she was known as far as locally by the moniker, Modest Woman.

---

Mack had been experimenting with his new supersuit. Was it really his? Well, no one else had claimed it, and someone should make good use of it. Near as far as he could tell, this button made him living silver, and this button made him not living silver. He figured out the process involved some kind of chemical, but he really didn't want to know how it was working.

He'd found a surfboard in the corner, but he discovered rather quickly he didn't quite have the discipline for that kind of balance.

It was the point that he was solid silver that Modest Woman slid through the ceiling. When her eyes opened up, she found herself strained to speak, "L... Lester?"

"Yeah," he stopped himself from using a proper noun, "It's me."

"It's not... I saw your body. Teddy identified you himself!" Alice started rambling.

"It was very convincing, wasn't it?"

"Oh, God, you had us so worried," Alice's eyes began to water.

"Listen, this is... very... important, the Coin Collector is going to... strike Suidae Bank next."

"When!?"

"...I don't know. We should probably tell... Teddy."

"Yeah! Yeah!" She calmed down, "Have you seen him?"

Mack considered this for a second, because he wasn't entirely sure, and settled for "...no."

"Well, I'll let him know when I find him. I'd better hurry." Modest Woman flew off quickly and left Mack in the dark.

Mack stared at the ceiling entrance and, apparently, exist. In spite of himself, he said aloud, "Now, how the heck am I supposed t'get outta here?"

Around this time, Mack decided all by himself that it would be in his best interest to avoid Teddy, at least, in costume. If silver could sweat, bullet sized drops would have fallen to the ground when that dame found him. It's was a mercy she was so easily convinced.

I stuffed the costume into my briefcase. I had to get back to the bar to think things over.

It took me a while to find the blasted exit, and when I did, I wasn’t happy about it. Turns out, Argent’s cave was connected to some underground river, and my only option was to take the L.J.S. out for a spin--L.J.S. being Argent’s submergible speed boat. And no, I’m not gonna spell that out for you. I’ve had enough puns for one case.

Anyway, I parked the boat in the bay. Found another button on the costume that sinks it underwater until I need it again. Convenient.

I was barely off the pier when some mook came at me. He wasn’t anything special. Usual assortment of tattoos ands switchblades. Took me by surprise, though, and got a good punch in.

That’s all I let him have.

Now, I may be a drunk, but I in my line of work, you don’t have time to spend fighting guys like this. That’s why I fight dirty. Before he knew it, he had his leg tied to an anchor, and he was sprawled out on the pier. I tossed the anchor into the water and started kicking. He almost rolled off, but I made sure he had a chance to grab a pile before he slipped in.

“What are you doing, you psycho?” the guy asks.

“Me? How am I the psycho here? Way I sees it, I’m just a regular guy defending himself from a mugger.” I couldn’t tell if I was talking or thinking, but either way, he got the idea. I kicked him in the shoulder to make sure.

“Stop! Stop!”

“Let’s start over,” I say. How do I phrase the question? “So…what are you doing, you psycho?” I lit a cigarette and threw it at his face.

“Look, I’m just a hired gun.”

“I didn’t see no gun.” I started checking his pockets for heat. Hopefully it got wet by now. That gave me the idea to splash some more water at the jacket, just to add weight.

“Muscle then. Geeze. Anyway, she told me to make it look like a mugging.”

“Make what look like a mugging?” I started nudging at his fingers with my foot.

“She wants you dead!”

“Who?” I can’t think of anyone who wants to kill me…not these days, at least.

“I don’t know. Some dame. Had a British accent or something. A bad one.”

“Huh,” I said. Now I definitely need to get back to the bar.

I tied another anchor to his shoulder, tossed it in, and walked away; figured I’d let him dangle for a while. He was screaming for me to come back and help, but that wouldn’t last. One way or another, he’d realize that the water was only 4 feet deep.

Dame with a bad fake accent wants me dead, huh? Hell. I don’t think I’m getting paid for this one.

It was the next morning that I entered the black widow's web. As I approached the door, most of my muscles tensed up. What would I do if she didn't fall for my ruse? Oh yeah, I'd go silver. I patted the suit under my trench coat. Didn't do much for Argent, but maybe I would have better luck.

The door swung open before I knocked. How it opened wasn't immediately obvious.

"Where's my money, woman?" I shouted to the world in general, but mostly to provoke the Dame. I know what you're thinking, and I really can't believe I thought it either. Yet, I needed answers, and only one person had them.

"Mister Mack, I do declare!" called the Dame from the darkness.

I rush in and start smashing. "Yeah I bet you do." I started to scan papers on the table as I mess them up.

"What is the meaning o' this?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just nearly assassinated. Nothing special." She didn't need me. The papers that just went from desk to floor had something I didn't expect, something I'll share later. Alchemy. What a load of crap. Didn't think someone as devious as Miss... Miss... as the Dame would put any stock into that junk.

"Oh Lordy!"

"Lordy lordy indeed. You must be aware that this means I'm demanding an increase in pay?"

The Dame paused, like I didn't know why, "Oh, my yes, that would be just fine. Eugene, please fetch my purse."

Eugene wasn't her butler, strangely. He was wearing a worn suit, and looked very ragged. I thought to ask questions, but decided to not. Eugene came back with a fancy french purse. If I live to be 200, I'll never understand women in purses.

"I'm sorry, Mr. White here is my new business consultant," she explained. Her next pause was fairly lengthy, compared to the conversation so far, "He was in between jobs and possesses unique insights to the markets.

"Hey, Bub," I say out of some arcane courtesy.

"Hello," he says back, and immediately retreats back into the shadows.

"I do apologize for the inconvenience," said the Dame as she cut me a check.

"Good. Sorry about the mess. I don't get nearly killed unexpectedly very often," I lied. "I have to charge extra for dangerous assignments."

"Oh, by all means. Now, Mista Mack, what have you learned."

"I've learned he's not in his apartment." I examine the damage some more. "But I don't think he's dead."

"Now. What makes you say that?"

"Because..." I made my most convincing face, the face scientifically proven to work all the time, "someone had been there recently."

The Dame laughed. It’s odd to hear someone trying to fake an accent while laughing, but somehow she managed to sneak a dipthong into the word “ha.” Maybe that was her superpower.

“Well, of course someone done been in his apartment, Mr. Johns. That was me.”

Good. I don’t have to trick her into admitting it.

“Of course you were there. The bills stopped coming in, so you invoked your rights as landlady to take a look inside and see if maybe your tenant moved out or laying face-down in the bathtub. Sound about right?”

“Shore is, I reckon.”

“But you didn’t have the key to the basement.”

“Basement, Mr. Johns? Ain’t no basement accessible from his apartment.”

“I guess I got lost then. Well, I guess I’d best be getting back to the investigation.”

She handed me a 50. Big money for a landlady. Of course, judging from the hole I punched into her wall, all she has to do is strip out the gold pipe, and even after replacing the plumbing, she’d have plenty to spare.

“Sorry about that incident, Mr. Johns. I should have warned ya about the dangah. Mr. Argent had enemies, you understand.”

I shoved the bill in my pocket. “Suddenly, I don’t feel quite so upset anymore. Have a good evening, ma’am. I’ll get in touch with you when I find something out.”

That was productive. Now I know what she’s up to. All I have to do is get out the door without making a scene and stop a bank robbery with my newfound superpowers. Simple enough. I don’t need to let her know that I’m onto her.

“Something else you need, Mr. Johns?” The Dame asked.

Shut your mouth, you idiot said President Grant.

No, I told him. I like to gloat. What can I say? It’s a character flaw.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Just one more thing. Is Coin Collector getting paid better than me?”

The look on her face was worth it. Problem is, her pistol looked a bit on edge.

It was very fortunate for me that Mr. Eugene took this moment to push me up against the wall.

"You take that back! You take that all back!" Eugene held me up against the wall with superhuman strength. I was more concerned about him hitting the sweetspot, turning me silver and spoiling the surprise tonight. Yeah, they'll strike tonight; I'm getting too close.

"Take it easy, pal, I don't want no trouble," I said, trying to expedite getting to my feet.

"That woman is no supervillain!"

"I didn't say she was. I said she was consorting with a supervillain. Big difference."

Eugene lost his grip, and I fell to the floor. He started talking without looking at anything, "She's a federal agent. She showed me her badge and everything."

"A G-man?" I said in the most believable way possible. "Well, if I hate anything more than superheroes, it's the cops and if I hate anything more than the cops, it's the feds."

"Clearly," said the lady, who'd eased her grip on the concealed firearm. She ran up and pressed some money in my hand, "Thank you, Mr. Johns, I shall not be needin' yer service any more."

"Good," I said, slamming the door behind me.

In my hand, half a dozen tiny presidents yelled, "When the hell did you grow a moral center? Stop it."

"Even slimy has standards," I said.

On my jog home, I didn't want anyone following me, something occurred to me. That Eugene guy was damn strong. I don't believe a word he said about the federal agent business, but he does. And that reaction, talk about a berserk button. Ah... hm. He did that right after I mentioned Coin Collector. Is Mr. White our long lost Teddy? I guess it could be someone else Coin Collector caused to die, but still, it's odd. I suppose I'll figure out if he's friend or foe tonight at Suidae Bank.

Then another line of thought caught me, "I better make sure he didn't break this supersuit. I have no idea how it works."

"4:1. Final offer."

"Look," said the Coin Collector. "Are you taking the job or not? I'm not betting against myself."

The Coin Collector was sitting in a dingy room with a man in a bad suit and a derby. The man had a baseball bat strapped to one hip, and a double-barreled shotgun on the other. His flask was almost empty.

“I’m not just hired muscle, man. I’m The Bookie. You want my help, you take my bet. ‘Sides, don’t think about it as a bet. Think of it as insurance.”

The Coin Collector spun a silver dollar between his fingers. “I don’t care about the money; I thought I made that clear. This is about what’s in the box.”

“I don’t see why you’re arguing about this so much, man. It can only work in your favor. Keeps me honest. The job goes down how you plan it, you get your stuff. Job gets screwed up, you get four times your money back. You win either way.

“Fine! You have a deal. Just make sure that detective doesn’t get in my way.”

The Bookie stood up and doffed his hat. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mint. Don’t worry about the detective. I know him, and he ain’t smart enough to get in your way; he ain’t stupid enough neither. Just remember: If comes time for me to pay up, and I have any suspicions about you messing up the job to take my money, well, you’re looking straight down the barrel of Double or Nothing.” He held up his shotgun. “And I ain’t talking about another bet.”

-------------

I was lounging on the fire escape of the Valet building. That’s pronounced with a ‘w’. More important than the pronunciation, it was right across the street from the Sudae Bank. Coin Collector ought to be around here any time now.

Oh yeah, and I galvanized. For good. Turns out, that punk what was protecting The Dame did a number on my control panel, and the off button was jammed like a screwdriver in a lock. Good thing I was planning on being a godam superhero tonight.

I had a cigar in my mouth (not that I could inhale anything thanks to my shiny new lungs) and some reading material on my lap. Figured I’d read some stories about myself—Sterling Silver that is. Get a handle on my powers, speech patterns, that sort of thing. Whatever it takes to keep the disguise up so that Modest Woman doesn’t do something immodest to my hide. Right now, doesn’t matter which side I’m on. They’re both after me. Assuming there’s only two.

Got through a few pages of my book, when I noticed some lead pellets bouncing off my head. I looked up, and there’s Carl running at me with a shotgun and a baseball bat. Why the hell was he wearing that awful suit? And is that a mask he’s got on?

I spat out the cigar. Time to see what being a superhero feels like.