Abe waved his arms in a non-threatening manner, making sure the badges saw him approach. One held out a warning hand.
"Sorry, Pops. Crime scene here."
"So I see. Had nothing better to do, thought I'd catch a closer look. Been a while."
The cop wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting. "What — you used to be a shield?"
His partner swatted his arm. "Hey, remember the hallway photos at the Academy? That's the old Commish. Abraham uh…"
"Clark," Abe said.
The cop nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Commishioner Clark. We heard a lot about the takedowns you supervised, sir."
His partner's eyes widened. "Yeah, I studied your tactics in school. The Double Pincher maneuver is legendary. Chief Moore still uses it in Tactical."
A smile creased Abe's face. "Is that right? Well, Moore's a good man. Make sure you pay attention and learn something from him."
"Yes, sir."
Abe gestured to the bangers struggling to stand. "What's this about?"
"Small fries slinging bloom. GRP property. Not much a deal, except for whoever decided to shut the party down."
"Vigilant?"
"Gotta be. You know how it is — we show up, and suddenly everyone loses the ability to speak. A couple of them admitted it wasn't Vigil, though. It was a girl, can you imagine?"
Abe nodded, remembering the past, the black-and-red colors of the most dangerous woman he'd ever had the honor of knowing. "Yeah. I can imagine."
"Whoever she is, she's new on the block. Don't have a name for her yet."
"Sure you do." Abe pointed to the wall of the dope house, which was tagged with more graffiti than paint. "Looks like the latest tag is still fresh."
One of the cops stepped closer. "I'll be damned. You're right, sir."
The loud, bold yellow letters spelled out a single word: SPITFIRE.
Abe gestured. "Now you know what to call her. You boys be careful out there. Heat like this brings the devil out of people."
"Will do, sir. Say, you need a ride somewhere?"
"No, I'm getting my exercise. Five miles minimum, or the day is wasted." He waved and went back the way he came, head full of memories. Thoughts about legacy, and the tingling buzz of excitement imagining what was to come. He made it home without disturbance. Tilled in the rose garden for a few hours. Fired up the coffee, added a splash of whiskey. Watched the news, put the pieces together. Fired up his system, accessed security feed through back channels he'd had installed long ago. Pulled up the feed from an old camera off the books that shouldn't have been working but somehow still was. The angle was just enough to catch the view of the drug house two blocks away. Magnifying the picture, he rewound the feed until he saw it. The slim, athletic girl taking down the poorly-trained crew in a matter of seconds. The girl was good but not great. She was a work in progress, still training. But the fighting style was instantly familiar. He wasn't surprised. It was all coming together.
Sitting back in his leather office chair, he took a swallow from his mug. Someone had to do it. Someone had to look at the big picture. Decision time, Abe. Either you're in, or you're out.
He rummaged through his desk, found the burner, dialed the number. Qhawa's face flashed on the screen: golden skin, dark eyes, high cheekbones, bold nose, inky hair.
"Abe. This is unexpected."
"We know each other well enough, Qhawa. Enough not to dance around with words. Spitfire: she's yours, isn't she? Which means she's with this new Vigil that's causing all the ruckus. Which means you're with him too."
"You should be enjoying retirement and tending to your roses, Abe. Even if any of what you say is true, why would I talk to you about it?"
"Because if I know Arthur, he's got it in mind to be the hand that directs the sword. He'll want to control Vigil himself, which may not be for the best. Tell me truthfully that you haven't considered the same thing."
"Maybe I don't care what games Arthur plays, or what he does with Vigil."
"And I might believe you if hadn't trained the girl."
She said nothing for a moment, eyes shimmering as she considered his words. "What do you want?"
He took a deep breath, ignoring the voice of practical wisdom that shouted warnings in his head.
"I want in."
Jett gave the newly-painted interior wall of the Youth Haven a critical look, fingers tapping his chin. "Well… it's creative."
The group of paint-spattered children looked up at him with wide grins plastered on their faces. "Glad you like it," one of them said, leaving streaks of yellow on her face after wiping it with her fingers.
He gave her a thumb's up, still staring at the multicolored abstract display of color splashes dripping down the wall. It looked like entire buckets had been thrown at it, which probably wasn't too far from the truth.
"I love it. Tell you what — you all have been working hard all morning. Why don't you take a break and get something to eat? I thought I smelled fresh cookies when I passed the cafeteria."
They squealed with excitement, and dropping their brushes, ran in that direction.
"Slow down. And don't forget to wash your hands!" Shaking his head, he turned to Zip, who hovered beside him, rusty shell vibrating. After the tunnel incident, he decided to salvage Zip from the sewer work, paying his former employer double what the robot was worth. Those funds would have taken months to save in the recent past, but Arthur took care of Jett's money problems via a discreet account. Having rich friends certainly made life much easier than just a few months ago.
"Okay, Zipster — can you clean this up a bit? Keep the creativity but lose the messiness? You understand what I mean, don't you?"
The robot buzzed in response. "Zip understand. Zip happy to help." A thin arm snapped out of its housing and picked up a spray gun. Humming a happy tune, the robot went to work.
"Nice. I'll be back to check up on you later."
He walked the hallway, passing the packed recreation room, where children and teens played games, sat in cubicles jacked to the infosphere, or chatted together under the watchful eyes of a caretaker android at its station in the corner. More kids sat at desks in other rooms, engaged in remote education and tutoring programs. Others played outside, learning team-based sports and other activities.
One of the child care specialists smiled as she approached. "Mr. Wolfe — a minute, please."
He shook his head. "Carla, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jett?"
She blinked behind her thick spectacles. "Well, a certain amount of decorum is to be expected, I should think."
"Not by me. What can I do for you?"
"The same as yesterday. More rooms, more computers, more beds, more—"
He held up a hand. "More everything. I get it. But the folks at City Hall don't move as fast as I want. He glanced around at the brightly lit hallways. "I don't think anyone figured this place to fill up so fast."
The gray-haired woman snorted. "Then they haven't been paying attention. Children have always needed a safe place in this city, and that was before Vigil rescued them from those Denizen perverts."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Well, I'm doing the best I can, Carla. Trying to line up donations and equipment from private sectors too."
Smiling, she patted his arm. "I know you are, Mr. Wolfe. You been taking care of yourself?"
"Trying to. I appreciated the plate from the other night, by the way. Delicious."
"You should come by one of these weekends. I cook up a storm, and my husband would love to meet you."
He tilted his head. "And I'm sure you won't have a pretty young niece or cousin that just happens to be there by chance, right?"
She laughed. "Can't blame me for trying. You need a woman to take care of you, Mr. Wolfe. You're one of the few good men around and can't just spend all your time working. I see you walking around here looking dog-tired some days."