Tales of the Red Panda: The Crime Cabal (19 page)

A moment after the men at Gate Two had cut down the supposed Case
Bermel with machine gun fire, the great steel door slid open with a clatter.

“Maybe we should wait,” a voice from beyond the door said.

“For what?” was the curt response. “You saw with your own eyes. They
can’t be alive.”

“Maybe we should wait for Kid Chaos,” came the first voice.

“Stuff that,” the second voice sneered. “We just gunned down our own
man on his say-so. If one o’ those two ain’t the Red Panda, I want to be ready
for that maniac Chaos. He’ll get his, that’s for sure.”

With that, the great door slid open with a creak. The two gangsters
looked down to the floor. The body of Case Bermel lay at their feet, face down
on the concrete.

“Sheesh,” said the first.

“No blood.”

“What?”

“There ain’t no blood.”

“Maybe he got it all in the front.”

“So what, he’s lyin’ on a drain? We opened two dozen holes in him…
there oughta be a lake.”

The first gangster leveled his gun at Bermel’s body. “I’ll make sure,”
he said.

“Wait.”

“Wait?”

“Where’s the meat puppet?”

“The what?”

“The zombie, idiot! He was right beside Case.”

From the ceiling above, the two men heard a great, booming laugh begin
to ring. They froze in an instant, their blood running cold. A misshapen mask
of quick-drying rubber, torn in half, dropped from above, landing at their
feet. Slowly both gangsters turned their heads to the ceiling, knowing full
well what they would find.

Crouched up against the ceiling above their heads, suspended by his
remarkable Static Shoes, the Red Panda was coiled to spring. Both gangsters
struggled to break the spell and aim their weapons.

Suddenly, what they supposed to be the corpse of Case Bermel reached
forward and grabbed both of them by the ankles. They each gave a cowardly
scream as the body of their fellow gangster came to life and sent them
sprawling to the floor. The masked man swooped in from the ceiling and with two
quick thrusts to pressure points of their necks, the guards were heard from no
more.

Parker got to his feet, scratching at the “Bermel” mask.

“A nice improvisation,” the Red Panda said. “Come on.”

The two men moved quickly and quietly into the inner sanctum of the
Crime Cabal.

“What just happened?” Parker asked. “I hit the deck when you pushed me,
but why did they keep firing at chest-level? And why did they expect us to be
dead?”

“Because they expected it,” the Red Panda said cryptically. “I
reinforced their expectations with mental influence.”

“So they
saw
us shot?” Parker
was baffled. “How does that work?”

From down the hall, there was a great racket of advancing troops of the
Crime Cabal.

“It works very well,” the Red Panda said, pulling off the oversized
coat that had belonged to the zombie and throwing it aside. “Take that mask
off.”

“The mask?” Parker said. “But why–”

“Because I don’t want the Flying Squirrel to break your neck.”

“If she’s still–,” Parker cut himself off, but a moment too late.

“Yes,” the Red Panda snapped, throwing smoke bombs in the direction of
the coming voices. They clattered as they rolled to the end of the corridor.
“To say nothing of the fact that they just tried to kill Case Bermel, so
there’s no great advantage to his identity.”

“Right,” Parker said, pulling the constrictive mask from his face in
great handfuls.

The chorus of voices charging up the hall suddenly resolved itself into
an angry mob. The zombies in the front shrieked as they spotted their targets,
seconds before the smoke bombs burst forth, obscuring their enemies in thick
black smoke.

There was a metallic singing sound as the Red Panda drew the samurai
sword again. “I’ll take the zombies. You start with the troops.”

“Anything else?” Parker asked as the bullets began to fly towards them.

“Yes,” the Red Panda said just before the spreading wall of smoke
obscured them both. “If you shoot me, I’ll kill you myself.”

Suddenly, Professor Zombie seemed to be in a terrible hurry to complete
the procedure. She barked orders at the remaining gangsters, and peered more
than once over her shoulder to the empty space formerly occupied by her zombie
super-soldiers. Kit knew that the Professor was struggling to maintain her
dominance without them. More grist for the mill.

“This is gonna be pretty
academic in a minute,”
she
thought.

“So, Legs…,” she opened to McIntyre, who seemed to jump a little at
being recognized. “You makin’ notes for when she does this to you?”

“Shaddup,” McIntyre said, unconvincingly.

“Aw, c’mon, Legs. Don’t give me the company man routine. You think Kid
Chaos hasn’t thought about it?”

“Keep her quiet!” Professor Zombie ordered as she cranked her machines
to life.

“You boys really are suckers, ain’t ya?” the Flying Squirrel continued.
“Haven’t you noticed the little gizmo Chaos has wired up to his own heart? You
can see the lump under his shirt.”

The crowd buzzed slightly. They had seen it all right. “What of it?”
said McIntyre.

“So whaddya think that could be, Legs? He’s got somethin’ wired just in
case his heart stops beatin’. Just in case someone unexpectedly turns him into
the walking dead! And Chaos being Chaos, my guess is this whole place blows to
kingdom come!”

There was another buzz through the crowd. Professor Zombie was working
feverishly.

“Bet you wish you’d had one o’ those, dontcha, Mister Malcolm?” the
Squirrel called up to the catwalk.

“I said keep her quiet!” Professor Zombie shrieked, lunging towards Kit
with a large hypodermic needle, dripping with something vile.

McIntyre caught the Professor’s hand and gripped it hard. He looked at
Kit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.

“Come on, Legs, you’re not really that dim, are you?” Kit snapped. “He
moves like a wind-up toy, he learns his lines but he can’t improvise, and they
won’t let any of you get close enough to see that he’s wearin’ makeup! Malcolm
is a zombie!”

The heads of the assembled members of the Crime Cabal snapped up to the
catwalk in horror. Malcolm stood impassively, staring straight ahead. Henderson
backed away a little, nervously.

“My God, she’s right,” a voice said.

Suddenly, Professor Zombie shrieked in rage and threw all of her body
weight behind the arm holding the needle, just inches away from Kit. McIntyre
slapped her and pushed her back against her own machines, which crashed to the
floor along with several vials of chemicals.

That was too much for Henderson, who opened fire and blew two
fist-sized holes in Legs McIntyre. His five remaining comrades on floor level
went for their own guns, dodging the rain of lead from above as they did so.

“Exit, stage left,”
thought the Flying Squirrel, worming her
left hand free from its restraint. She pulled a smoke capsule from her belt and
threw it down, providing cover as she freed herself from her remaining bonds.

Flames licked up along the walls, ignited by the destruction of the
zombie machines. Bullets ricocheted wildly as the gangsters gunned for one
another.

Kit bounded from the table and raced towards the door, keeping low as
she did so. She knew that any sign from her would be enough to reunite these
new enemies around the common cause of her destruction. Through the smoke and
haze, she looked wildly for Professor Zombie. That monster must not be allowed
to go free.

The still-swinging outer doors of the laboratory gave a clear signal
that her quarry had disappeared back into the rabbits-warren of tunnels that
was the Crime Cabal’s sanctuary. As she neared the doors she could hear the
roar of terrified men, the clamor of automatic gunfire, and the unmistakable
music of mortal combat from those who had raced from the room headed for Gate
Two, wherever that was.

Kit felt a wave of pure joy wash over her, and it was all she could do
to keep from letting out a great whoop of a war cry. If there was anything down
here they thought they needed to waste
that
many bullets on, the Boss had to be alive! Alive and coming for her. She broke
for the doors at top speed. If there was one thing the Flying Squirrel would
not stand for, it was being rescued again.

“Not today, Boss,”
she grinned to herself.

As she reached the doors, the Flying Squirrel looked back quickly. At
least four of the crooks were down, for good by the looks of it. Any left alive
were under cover, firing wildly at targets they couldn’t see. No danger from
this angle. As she turned back to the doors, Kit’s eyes brushed past the
catwalk above. She realized something with a start.

The zombie Malcolm was gone.

Andy Parker gasped as the automatic gunfire threw handfuls of masonry
into the air just before his eyes. The battle had been raging for several
minutes now, and Parker could not begin to estimate how many foes had fallen,
or how many remained.

The Red Panda had made short work of the zombie soldiers of the Crime
Cabal. They had been cut down savagely in a blinding flurry of swings and
slashes of the
katana
. Limbs were
removed with surgical precision in seconds, and though the walking horrors that
this criminal mob had created to do their dirty work still writhed and moaned,
they lay scattered on the cement floor, helpless and harmless.

Parker had seen only glimpses of the Red Panda through the clouds of
blinding smoke. He had seen the effortless ease with which he was capable of
exercising deadly force when he chose to. And, to his amazement, the instant
the last of the zombie horde had fallen, he had seen the masked man sheathe the
samurai sword in a smooth and silent motion. There were dozens of enemies
charging through the smoke, all heavily armed and bent on his destruction, but
he stood prepared to meet them with his bare hands. He was coiled like a
serpent ready to strike, but it was clear to Parker in that moment that the man
so feared by the underworld and the law alike was more willing to face death
than to deal it.

All at once, their enemies were upon them like a shock wave. Obscured
by the thick smoke, the gangsters had not seen the fate of the zombies that had
rushed in first. Far from charging to bear witness to a slaughter, they were
running headlong to their own destruction. Too late, they realized that their
grim foeman awaited them, ready to meet their knives and guns with his
red-gauntleted fists at the ready.

The first charge had met their fate like a wave crashing against a
seawall. A great, seemingly unstoppable force was utterly dissipated by the
resistance it encountered. Those that followed hard upon the first charge had
tripped over those behind them in their rush to get away. The flash of gun
muzzles began to show themselves as targets through the clouds of smoke. Parker
had drawn his service revolver and done his best to provide support for this
remarkable being.

Since then, it had become a running game of tag through the maze of
tunnels that had once offered sanctuary to the Crime Cabal. The army of crime
had struggled to re-group itself, finally breaking into a mad dash for the gate
that led to the last chance for freedom. And so Parker found himself once again
in the wide alcove just inside the second steel door, but this time he and the
masked man were the hunters, not the prey.

Two muzzles flashed again from up the hallway that ran to the east.
Parker fired another volley in that direction, then stopped himself quickly. He
blinked his eyes, hard. He could have sworn he saw the Red Panda down that
hallway, but he had been sure a moment ago that the masked man was routing
their enemies in the opposite direction.

The rolls of laughter and the cowardly shrieks that came in response
told him that he had been mistaken. The Red Panda must be in the direction in
which he had just fired. He whipped around quickly to face the other direction,
and was amazed to see the shadow of the masked man down the hallway to the west
as well, accompanied by the same joyous, mocking laughter.

Parker’s head swam. He looked wildly around him. In every direction
there was smoke and chaos and the broken forms of their foes strewn about the
floors. And everywhere he looked he saw the Red Panda. In forms large and
small, and shapes fantastical, striking terror into all who met the gaze of his
blazing eyes.

Parker struggled to keep his composure. He knew it must be one of the
Red Panda’s hypnotic powers in which he had been caught up. But still he held
his fire as the remaining soldiers of the Crime Cabal charged from their cover
and broke for the gate and the promise of freedom. He could not tell which of
these many shapes truly was the Red Panda, and he had not forgotten the masked
man’s promise of his fate should he err in his aim. He needn’t have worried.

As the first of that final, desperate charge broke for the door, the
real Red Panda revealed himself as he dropped from the ceiling above, his feet
and fists swinging with precision and blinding speed. The mob howled with rage
and fear, by now insensible to strategy of any kind but savage, desperate
self-preservation. But there were still so many of them, and from his position,
Parker was unable to do more than pick off those few that got past the fray for
the door. They were still ahead on points, but so desperately outnumbered that
Parker could not imagine their ultimate escape.

Suddenly, the throng seemed to freeze at some new terror. Coming from
directly behind them was a long, bloodcurdling battle cry, sending chills up
every spine, and parting the mobsters like the Red Sea as each turned to have
their worst fears confirmed. Somehow, the Flying Squirrel had gotten loose.

All at once, she burst through the doorway to a chorus of small-arms
fire. The Red Panda carved his way through the throng towards her with a shout.
Parker, largely ignored by the crooks, gave the best covering fire that he
could. He could not help but stop and watch her as she charged into the room,
ran straight up the wall as if it were not there and shot forward with amazing
force, sparks flying from the base of her boots. From under her arms, the
remarkable gliders of her costume unfurled and she flew forward at tremendous
speed, the soldiers of the Cabal scattering before her.

She flew directly towards the Red Panda, who had his wrists crossed and
arms out to meet her. For a moment Parker felt a sharp pang of irrational
jealousy as he expected them to embrace. Far from it, she joined hands with him
and, in a maneuver clearly long-practiced, he spun her, windmill-style, through
the air towards the crowd of toughs now charging them from the back. She
twisted mid-air and turned the full force of their combined kinetic energy into
a mighty kick that sent one gangster thundering back through the air, taking
out three of his fellows behind him in the process.

Parker was a man of action, and had seen some remarkable displays of
courage and teamwork in his time on the force. Nothing in his experience had
prepared him for the sight of these two heroes, reunited, routing their enemies
with such skill, such determination and most of all, such overwhelming joy at
the activity. If he spun with a high kick, she ducked under it, though to
Parker’s eyes, she could not possibly have seen it coming. When she turned to
throw a punch, he was there to cover her back. They knew which attackers to
take, and which to leave for the other, and fought always with perfect trust in
the other’s abilities.

They each read the flow of battle as if it were a dance to which they
had long-ago learned the steps, and which their foes were seeing for the very
first time. There could not have been more than four or five left standing when
there came a sudden clatter of machine gun fire, and the last soldiers of the
Crime Cabal were cut down mercilessly from behind.

Parker gasped from his vantage point as he saw a small man with a
pleasantly round face beaming a great smile as he leveled a Thompson submachine
gun at the two heroes.

“Sorry,” he said with a grin, “I got fed up waiting.”

The two masked heroes froze where they stood. They were twenty feet
from their opponent, with no cover beyond the carpet of unconscious forms
scattered around them on the floor.

“Boss, you remember Kid Chaos?” the Flying Squirrel panted
sarcastically.

“Chaos… Chaos…,” the masked man feigned an effort of memory, “doesn’t
ring a bell.”

The little man strafed the ground in front of them with bullets.
Neither of them flinched.

“Surprised to see me?” he beamed.

“After those sequenced explosions?” the Red Panda said. “You might as
well have signed your name in lights.”

“Always the gentleman,” Chaos sneered, tightening his grip on the
weapon.

Parker stepped forward from the shadows, his service revolver extended.
He had Kid Chaos dead to rights.

“Don’t move–!” he managed to say before he felt a crush of pain
against the back of his head and staggered forward, sprawling on to the cold
cement floor. He rolled once, groping for the pistol he had lost in the fall.
Towering above him he saw a tall, dour woman with raven hair and a long flowing
cloak. She was swinging something in her hand which Parker couldn’t quite force
his eyes to focus on.

“A blackjack, Antonia?” the Red Panda scolded. “Not very subtle for a
brilliant chemist like you.”

Professor Zombie shrugged a little. “When in Rome,” she smiled. “I see
you came for your little pet.”

“I thought I’d drop by and stop her from killing you,” the Red Panda
smiled.

The Flying Squirrel gaped at Andy Parker on the floor.

“You brought
him
?” she said
with disbelief.

“Jealous?” her partner teased.

There was a sudden clatter of machine gun fire into the ceiling above.

“I think somebody wants some attention,” Kit said under her breath.

“I am trying to have a final confrontation here!” Kid Chaos pouted.
“Something with a little dignity, for once!”

Parker lifted himself to his knees, gazing at the destruction around
him. This was dignified? Kid Chaos seemed not to see him, but stepped closer to
the Red Panda, his finger squeezing the trigger as hard as he could without
firing.

“After what you did to me…,” Kid Chaos breathed between gritted teeth,
“you deserve worse than the quick death you will get.”

“What did I do, exactly?” The Red Panda seemed confused. “I stopped you
from destroying the world, yet somehow you’ve survived again. What makes this
time so very different?”

Parker was amazed at the casual ease with which these old foes
exchanged unpleasantries on the knife’s edge of destruction.

Kid Chaos seemed to blink back tears. “You have no idea how long it
took me to escape. How much I suffered. The crushing boredom of eternity!”

 
Kit interjected, “And so
this time, he decided to take on some partners.”

“Partners, nothing!” Chaos snarled. “They were bait! I knew you
couldn’t resist the urge to break up the last big gang in the city! And I’d be
waiting to have my revenge at last!”

“That explains why you’re slumming with this Crime Cabal.” The Red
Panda turned to Professor Zombie. “What about you?”

She shrugged again. “I needed the money,” she sighed. “But it’s so hard
to work with humans. I really don’t work or play well with others.”

As if on cue, Parker could just see a single, shadowy form staggering
up the hallway behind the villains. He almost spoke, and got the side of the
Flying Squirrel’s boot jabbed quickly into his leg for his trouble.

“And now it’s over.” The Red Panda smiled in spite of the odds. “There
is nothing left here for you to gain.”

“That’s just where you’re wrong, masked menace!” Kid Chaos drew back a
step to spray his enemies with bullets. At that second he was suddenly picked
up and thrown backwards, strafing the ceiling above as he flew bodily, head and
shoulders above his unseen foe. He fell hard against the cement floor, and the
Tommy-gun went clattering across the floor, the ammunition drum flying apart as
it did so.

Chaos was still recovering, still trying to see who his assailant was
when he heard Professor Zombie cry in a commanding tone,

“Malcolm! Stop!”

The gangster leader’s walking corpse was still intact, and, as
predicted, he had become unpredictable. He lashed out at Professor Zombie with
a blow that sent her reeling and left no doubt that what was left of Malcolm
was beyond her control. She turned and ran in the opposite direction, deeper
into the tunnels, as if returning to her laboratory. The zombie glared at the
masked heroes a moment. The Red Panda’s hand returned to his sword-hilt. The
Flying Squirrel stayed his attack.

“Boss, wait.”

“Wait?” Parker sputtered, horrified at what he saw.

Suddenly, Malcolm turned on his heels and thrust himself bodily at the
form of Kid Chaos, who was staggering to his feet. Malcolm’s eyes fixed coldly
on the raised portion of Kid Chaos’ shirt that obscured the device fixed to his
chest. He reached for it clumsily, but forcefully. Kid Chaos fought him as hard
as he could, squealing in terror all the while.

“What in blazes–?” the Red Panda began.

The Flying Squirrel pulled at his arm. “Explain later!” she cried. “Run
now!”

They broke for the great steel door with all speed, Parker struggling
to keep up with them.

“Why are we running?” he called as his legs pumped as fast as they
could down the long, underground hallway.

“Ask her!” the Red Panda called back. “She never says, ‘Run!’ unless
there’s a good–”

Suddenly there came the first in a series of mighty explosions, as
large as any that had destroyed the Golden Goose. The first shock of it pushed
all three of them off their feet, and the blasts kept coming from deep within
the fortress behind them. From a distance they saw the light grow as a wall of
fire roared up the hallways of the once-mighty sanctum of the Crime Cabal,
rolling on, meeting other great fires, rolling…