Enigmas - part 2
A Will Powers story by BlueBard

Joey Giammaro approached the well-dressed men in grey suits standing in front of a gray steel door.  A manila folder was clutched in his hand.

"Bobby, is Mr. Pinstripe free?" he asked one of the guards.

"He's got a visitor, Mr. Giammaro," Bobby answered.  "Mr. Pinstripe said he didn't want to be disturbed.  You got an emergency?"

"Nah.  Not that important.  I'll just wait here."  Joey walked over to a hard wooden chair behind a plain wood desk and sat down. 

Joey looked around the room, always observant, always vigilant.  A black phone sat on the desk, which was otherwise bare.  The room he was in was a small room with dingy blue walls and the only decoration was an old calendar from a defunct shipping company.  It had an unremarkable picture of a freight steamer on it and wasn't much to look at but better than staring at the dull paint on the walls.  The room itself was located inside a seemingly abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, not too far away from the old steel mill located just outside the city. 

This was Pinstripe's headquarters this month, one of six locations the purple-skinned crime lord used to rotate his base of operations and stay one move ahead of anyone trying to trail him.  It kept everyone on their toes.  Joey was in charge of making the monthly shifts as well as keeping tabs on all of Pinstripe's informants and generally putting together all the pieces of information that filtered in from  throughout Pinstripe's criminal empire.  There wasn't much going on Joey didn't know about, including the stuff he wasn't supposed to know about.  That was one reason Joey picked this particular time to report to his boss.

The door opened and an odd-looking man dressed in brown coveralls emerged.  He had frizzy white hair sticking out from under a goggled cap, and bulging pockets covered his outfit.  Behind him came a large figure whose features were mostly obscured by a dark cloak.  Joey could hear the squeak of plastic rubbing together as the figure moved, and caught a glimpse of smooth pale skin.  Both were followed to the door by an even larger form, that of Joey's boss.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, Techmaster!" Pinstripe grinned as he waved an expensive Cuban cigar.

"Expect shipment soon," the man replied without evident emotion.  Joey watched with interest as Techmaster left with his silent servant in tow.

"Joey, what are you doin' here?" Pinstripe asked, finally noticing his presence.

"Hiya, boss!  Just wanted to give you an update on the Powers situation."

"C'mon inta my office, Joey."

After a brief moment of trepidation, Joey obediently rose and followed Pinstripe into his inner sanctum.  The door shut behind him with a sharp click.  Pinstripe's lair was far better decorated than the outer office.  The plain walls had been covered over with wood paneling, and a large portrait of Pinstripe, in his previous life as Joseph Rigotta, dominated the room.  Pinstripe motioned for Joey to take a seat in one of the fine Italian leather chairs sitting in front of his mahogany desk as he sat in his own black leather chair.

"I didn't expect ya, Joey"  Pinstripe remarked as he puffed on his cigar.  "You know I don' like surprises.  Call first next time, eh?"

"Sorry, Pinstripe.  Just thought you'd want an update on events, so I came on over."

"S'alright - this time. So spill it."

Joey opened the folder in his hands.  He didn't need to refer to it, as he'd been blessed with a prodigious memory, but having it in front of him tended to relax the people he dealt with.  Above all, a relaxed Pinstripe was good for Joey's continued good health.

"William Powers the Third," Joey delivered in his efficient manner.  "Parents were William Jr. and Sarah, both missing and presumed dead.  Powers graduated summa cum laude from Patriot City University, class of 1960.  Business major on a football scholarship.  I understand he was a good running back.  Powers works for Silverman and Walthrope, as I told you before.  Started out at the bottom and clawed his way up to a midlevel position managing client relations.  He's been promoted to Senior Account Manager in the last week.  Recently inherited the Sycamore property from his uncle, one Charles Smythe.  Powers drove a blue Chevy sedan 'till Duncan's boys trashed it."

Pinstripe leaned forward in his chair.

"What about skeletons in his closet?" he wanted to know.

"Aside from a few traffic tickets, he's squeaky clean.  His co-workers don't like him much 'cause he's got ambition and he's stepped on toes.  The girls in the office pool all think he's Mr. Right, but none of 'em got him wrapped around their pinkies.  The other way around, if anything.  Except for the unexpected promotion and the - unusual - talents he showed when he tangled with Duncan, there's nothing much special about him."

"Just yer average exploding, jump-a-building-inna-single-bound everyday working stiff," Pinstripe remarked sarcastically.  "So what's he hidin'?  What's his game? Why don't he jump on the superhero bandwagon?"

"That," answered Joey, "we'll have to figure out.  I've got one of our spooks tailing him now to see if we can get a line on what he's gonna do."

Pinstripe chomped on his cigar in frustration.  "We gotta rattle his cage, Joey.  Force him to jump and see where he lands.  He got any weaknesses we can use besides workin' for our favorite ad agency?"

"Just one," Joey replied grimly, glancing up from the folder.

“Care for some tea, dear?”  Will's aged aunt asked as she looked up at him from her wheelchair.  She brushed aside a white lock of hair that had drifted over her face and reached out for the teapot.  Will glanced out the window facing the street just in time to see the taxi he'd ridden in drive away.

“No, thank you, Aunt Millicent.  I don't have a lot of time.  What did you want to see me about?” he asked, fidgeting in the armchair across from her.  A low table sat between them.  Sunlight filtered into the room through white lace curtains.

“You've been quite busy lately, Dear.  Why, I haven't seen you at all since our visit to Mr. Townsend's office,” she remarked with a look of concern.  “Are you doing alright?”

A hot knife of guilt stabbed into Will's gut and twisted.  Ever since his transformation into a man with strange powers, Will had been scheming about how to take advantage of them.  If he wasn't scheming, he was working.  And if he wasn't doing either of those things, he was getting into or out of trouble.  In short, he was doing what Will did best... looking out for himself.

On the other hand, here was his poor aunt - the woman who had raised him after his parents disappeared - alone and crippled, still mourning the recent loss of her husband of twenty-nine years.  Will was her only remaining living relative, and he hadn't bothered to come see her until she'd asked him to.  For all of his thoughtlessness, she was worried about him.

Will couldn't look her in the eye.

“I'm sorry, Auntie.  I should have come to see you sooner.”

“That's alright, William.  I'm just glad you're here.  The place is so empty without Charles...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes glistened.  Then she laughed, reached out for a tissue, and wiped her eyes.

“Don't mind me,” she smiled at him.  “I'm an old woman with old memories.  I just have to keep reminding myself that the Good Lord has left me here to keep an eye on you,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.  “Now tell me.  What's kept you so busy these last three weeks?  Is work going alright?”

“Couldn't be better, Aunt Millicent,” Will replied confidently.  “In fact, I was promoted two weeks ago.  I'm a Senior Account Manager now.”

“Really?  My, wouldn't your Uncle Charles have been proud!”

“Would he?” Will asked in a doubtful tone.

“Now, now, William.  I know you and Charles didn't always see eye to eye, but take it from me:  he loved you like a son and he always believed you'd do alright.”

“He sure didn't want me taking a job at Silverman & Walthrope in the first place.  I never did figure out why he didn't like the agency.  Guess I'll never find out, now,” he finished sadly.

“Charles kept things to himself a lot,” Aunt Millicent reflected.  “I never figured out why he refused to sell or demolish that ramshackle apartment building or why he specifically left it to you, so don't believe you're the only one mystified by what Charles did.  Most of the time his reasons were plain as day and just so, but now and then he'd surprise me.  Wouldn't tell me why he'd done some fool thing or another, either.  It's just how he was, William.  But a few things are making more sense now.”

Aunt Millicent reached for a battered shoebox that had been sitting on the table and placed it in her lap.

“What's that?” Will asked curiously.

“One of Charles' secrets,” she replied in a grave tone, shaking her head.  “I found it among his things when I was sorting through them, and I don't really know what to make of it.”  She held it out toward him.  “Here.”

Puzzled, Will took the box from her and opened the lid.  A number of envelopes and small items lay inside, but what caught his attention was a bright shiny badge lying on top next to an identification card.  Will's eyes widened as he read the identification.

“Uncle Charles worked for the government?” Will asked incredulously.  “The State Department?”

“Apparently so,” the elderly woman nodded.  “I had no idea.  I always thought he was just a businessman running a small freight company.”

Aunt Millicent reached under the blanket covering her legs and produced a folded sheet of paper.

“I found this letter in the box, written to me by Charles.  He wanted to tell me he was sorry he'd had to keep secrets from me.  He also wanted me to see that you got this box.  There's a letter for you in there, too.  I've been sorely tempted to open it, but...”  She laughed and waved her hand at him to continue his investigation of the mysterious box.

Will sorted through the envelopes, all of which were sealed and numbered, until he came to one with his name on it.

“For William Only,” it read in Uncle Charles' careful script.  Below that it read, “This means don't you open it either, Millie.”  Will chuckled.  Uncle Charles was the only one who dared call her Millie.

“Well?” Aunt Millicent asked anxiously.  “Are you going to open it or not?”

Will took a penknife out of his trousers, unfolded the blade, and carefully slit open the top of the envelope.  He drew out the neatly folded letter and opened it to the front page.  A chill ran down his spine as he read:

            Dear William,

            You've got to be thinking how I knew that.  Well my boy, I can't tell you.
            Not in this letter, at least.  Just had to give you enough so you'd know
            this isn't some kind of trick.  You're the only living person who knows
            about the canister, and I've still got secrets that need to be kept secret
            for awhile longer.

            The lawyer - You know who - is about to start receiving sealed lockboxes
            with the instruction to give them to you.  You'll get them when you're
            supposed to. There's a key in the shoebox for opening the first one. 
            Each lockbox will have a key in it for the next one. 

            Lord, I can't even get away from the cloak and dagger stuff when I die.

            Stay sharp.  Keep your eyes open and think fast.  You're a resourceful
            young man, Will.  You'll need to be.  You're in danger and it's only going
            to get worse. You think you can handle anything right now.  But you're
            still human, Will.  Don't forget that.  People make mistakes.  They fail.
            And keep an eye on Millie, Grace, and Irene.  They'll all be in danger too.
            No idea who Grace and Irene are, but I know they'll be important to you.

            Your Aunt Millie is important to me, so don't blow it, Willie.

                                                                        God save you all,

                                                                        Uncle Charles

            P.S. Fix the boiler.  Soon.

“Man, I always hated when he called me Willie,” Will muttered.

“Well?” prompted his aunt. “What does it say?”

“Oh, just things he thought I should know,” hedged Will.  “Stuff like keeping an eye on you and fixing the boiler.  That sort of thing.”

“Will,” Aunt Millicent said firmly.  “You turned white as a ghost.  What else is in that letter?”

“More mysteries,” Will answered her enigmatically.  “Uncle Charles arranged for some lockboxes to be delivered to me by a lawyer.  Probably Townsend.”  Will rummaged through the shoebox and held up a shiny object.

“And here's the first key,” he said.  His eyes met his aunt's as they shared a feeling of foreboding.

Later that evening Will sat in his kitchen, straddling a chair backwards with his arms folded across its' back and his chin resting on his arms.  His coat and tie were draped across another chair.  He stared at the gleaming brass key lying on his kitchen table, as if willing it to reveal its' secrets.  The other items from the old shoebox were arrayed around it under the glare of the light fixture overhead.

The badge and the ID card appeared genuine, as far as Will could tell.  Uncle Charles' letter lay partly open next to them.  The other items appeared to be unremarkable.  There was a small address book with names and phone numbers in it, none of which Will recognized, and a wallet containing small black and white pictures of strangers.  There was a monacle, cracked, and a blue matchbook printed with the words “Fancy Dan's Emporium”.  The three numbered envelopes contained lists of more numbers, completely undecipherable to Will for the moment.

If the items were supposed to be some sort of clue, Will felt no more enlightened than he'd been when he'd left Aunt Millicent with questions neither of them could answer.

Will's eyes and thoughts drifted to the remarkable letter.  It was obvious to him from the letter that Uncle Charles had purposely left the alien canister for him to find.  How he'd obtained it or why he'd left it in the apartment building was a mystery to Will.  Had Uncle Charles known what it was?  Surely he had.  Uncle Charles had died well after Freedom Force had originally appeared.  He must have known.  Uncle Charles would have understood Will enough to know he would open it and obtain power beyond his wildest imagination.

“Maybe he thought I'd join Freedom Force,” he snorted in derision.  “I'm surprised he didn't leave me a cape and some tights.”

Will glanced up from the letter and his eyes caught sight of the picture of him and his parents sitting on the coffee table.  Will stood up, walked over, and picked up the picture reverently.  Staring at it with a feeling of longing, he wandered over to the window in his tiny living room.  Glancing back at the kitchen table, Will wondered for the first time if Uncle Charles had known anything about what had happened to his parents.  It was yet another question he wished he could ask the old man.  Why had Charles taken his secrets to his grave?

Cradling the picture against his chest, Will gazed out into the night sky at a full moon framed in a frosty circle of light.  He could feel the chill of winter radiating from the glass panes, and he shivered.  He shivered not only from the cold, but of awed apprehension over the question that haunted him most...

How could Uncle Charles have possibly known about Grace?

Joey Giammaro was glad of the light of the moon as he fumbled at the lock of a door outside the darkened building.  He shivered from the cold as he struggled to fit the key into the keyhole.  As the key finally slid into the lock, he realized he was also glad for the cover of darkness.  For him, there was safety in the shadows.  He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.  Moonlight gave way to pitch darkness.

Joey reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook.  He tore out a match and struck it.  In the flare of the match, he saw a room full of boxes.  There was a narrow aisle, and a door on the other side.  A faint glimmer of yellow light shone from under the door.

Joey hurried across the room, reaching the door before the match burned his fingers.  Joey let it drop to the ground and ground it underfoot to extinguish the flame.

“Come in, Mr. Giammaro,” came a strong, compelling voice just as he was about to knock softly. 

Joey reached out blindly for the doorknob.  He found it easily and opened the door.  A single candle provided the only light in the room.  Three figures loomed in the flickering shadows.  Fear quivered through him.  Joey wasn't cut out for this kind of thing.  He didn't want to be here.  He risked his life by coming here.  But there was no choice in the matter.  None.  If things worked out the way they were planned to, Joey would never need to fear Pinstripe ever again.

“Report,” the voice commanded.  It came from the man in the black robes, who stood in front of the other two figures.  One was a man in a dark suit, and the other was a large man wearing a hood.  Both of them gave Joey the creeps, but his greatest dread was for the man in front.

“Yes... Your Honor,” Joey replied in a quavering voice.  “Pinstripe believes he's found an edge.  Two of them.”

“The first?”

“He's struck a deal with someone called the Techmaster.  I saw him today.  Pinstripe intends to get more of the advanced weaponry we've heard about.  So far my sources haven't been able to get a line on Techmaster.”

“Why not?  Nearly all of Pinstripe's information flows through you.  Your sources are his sources, correct?”

“As far as I know, but Pinstripe's been more secretive than usual lately.  I'm guessing Techmaster approached Pinstripe and not the other way around, or I would have heard about it sooner.  Up 'till now, Techmaster's been dealing exclusively through Mr. Jones.  Not even Pinstripe crosses Mr. Jones.”

“Very well.  And the second 'edge'?”

“Another metahuman,” Joey answered.  “One unknown to the public.  Pinstripe believes he can be recruited.”

“Let him!” the robed figure laughed.  “It would be sweet, ironic justice to subvert another of that fool's subordinates.  Who is he?”

“His name,” Joey trembled, “is William Powers.”

To be continued...