Can you imagine a time without computers, the internet, or tv? Telephones were connected to walls by wires, and a "cell" was a place to put bad guys. The daily news was delivered by a paper boy, not a cable news station. Laptops were where children sat to tell Santa their Christmas wish-lists. Magazines were presented on pulp, not ipads. Mass communication was brought into the home via vacuum tubes, not microchips.

In the 1930s the radio was the centerpiece of the family room. Feel the warmth from the unit, more an elegant piece of furniture than any modern electronic device. As the tubes heat up, two children, a boy with tousled hair and his younger brother, sit excitedly in front of the enchanting device, their eyes gently twinkling in the golden glow of the dial, the only light in the room. The subdued light feeds their imagination as they delight in the fantasy unfolding in the imaginary theatre of the mind, following the thrilling tales of heroes of yesteryear.

The 1930's spawned a new type of hero. They were the champions of a halcyon era, a genre unto themselves. They were non-conformists who couldn't sit back and watch the word fall apart around them. They endeavored to fix it. They were super detectives that used tricks, gadgets and gimmicks in service of society. They used their unique resources for the good of mankind. They were secretive vigilantes that held villains accountable for their dastardly deeds. They were mysterious costumed crusaders who hid behind masks and worked outside the bounds of law. They were self-governing agents of justice helping the helpless, protecting those who couldn't protect themselves, and staving off oppression.

They appeared in the early days of comic books, adventure comic strips, and pulp magazines. Their movies were black and white serials with cliff hanger endings keeping the crowds coming back week after week (at 25 cents a pop!). The heroes of these stories risked life and limb sorting right and wrong in a different time, in some ways a more simple time. In this fantasy world it was easier to tell the good guys from the villains. Heroes like The Shadow (1930), The Phantom (1936), The Green Hornet (1936), Batman (1939), Spy Smasher (1940), and Captain America (1941), provided an heroic archetype, and brought order to the chaos wrought by villains. These characters formed a shield between the bad-guys and the rest of us. We looked to the heroes of the past for inspiration as they fought for a better future.

One hero of the past stayed hidden in the shadows. She was unseen and unknown until discovered decades later. Her name was Pandora Driver and this is her story. It's the tale of young girl forced to grow up too fast as a matter of survival.

Pandora was frustration personified. She became the relentless avenger of the common man sifting right from wrong in a realm where the villains were the local gentry and the heroes were outlaws. Pandora was a mistress of disguise who used sly audacity and an unstoppable future-car to unleash misery into the halls of wealth and power. She infiltrated the unscrupulous elite of Citadel City and adopted their unsavory methods to usurp them. Her fight was the fight of the ages. She was the fist of the people battling greed, graft, inequality, and exploitation. Her time was in the past, but the problems were the same blights facing society today.

These Heroes intervened when law enforcement or the justice system failed citizens. Sometimes their methods were unsettling. Battling sin in the filth where it resides can dirty even the purest hearts. The good old days we remember in monochrome were lived in color. In a time when good and evil was simply black and white, Pandora lived in the gray area.

Pandora Driver The Origin is a retro-hero tale for adults in the form of an e-pulp. We hope you enjoy the ride.

By 1934 the United States had found its dark age. It was a time of loss and consolidation, an era of transformation and desperation. It was a time of survival. Though the depression was lifting for some, others continued to suffer in Citadel City. Bankers broke the back of the nation's economy and created an income gorge between the rich and the poor. Corporations took advantage of the crisis to consolidate markets and expand their interests. They squeezed every penny out of local resources and workers, as a matter of “self-preservation.”

The people best equipped to survive the depression were the affluent, and the old moneyed. Their ilk always seemed to win. Their hands were in everything and their actions created ripples that radiated far beyond their boardrooms. They affected people out of view, the ones who didn’t really matter. They served themselves at the expense of others, in the name of “doing business.”

There were big financial gains to be made in a growing market overseas. A war was looming in Europe. Profiteers and investors in the US were staged and ready for deployment. On the home front there was a different type of battle brewing. It was a class war.

The ivory towers of Citadel City cast a shadow over the populous wandering the streets below. That darkness stretched to the farming communities to the south.

Betty McDougal lived with her mother Mage and her father Randall on a their farm. It was the only life she’d known. She was an innocent country girl and was happy for a very long time. At one point their farm was thriving. Her father employed people of all colors to help out. Everyone earned an honest wage, for an honest days work. Betty grew up learning to share. She believed that everyone was equal and should be treated fairly in the world. But her belief would change.

A banker named Carson used private information about the McDougal’s business and financial situation to ruin their livelihood. For a hefty payoff he helped a friend, a produce tycoon, monopolize the regional market. They poached the McDougal’s customers, contacts, and connections. They repeated this scam on neighboring farms as well. They undercut the small farm’s prices. It took the naive farmers awhile discover what happened. Then they banded together in a collective to buy seed in bulk to compete with the massive competitor’s low cost, but suppliers ignored them as a show of loyalty to their newer, bigger partner.

A whisper campaign circulated about contamination of the local soil. The rumor implied that Negroes had poisoned food going to the whites in the city. The story was ridiculous but effective. Within one season the McDougal farm shrunk. Randall couldn’t hire back his crew so they moved on. The farms output reduced to subsistence levels. It kept the family alive but not much more. He sought out other potential markets but couldn’t gain access. Randall was running out of money and defaulted on the mortgage.

Dread consumed Betty’s father and mother. Her mother’s mental health deteriorated as the crisis grew worse. One by one neighboring farms folded up. The Citadel bank foreclosed and the families were evicted. Eventually the McDougal’s number was up. They lost all the equity in their property and the sheriff forced them from their home.

It was 14 February 1934, Betty’s 17th birthday.

Randall wanted to stay in the area but there were no jobs. Through a connection in their church the McDougal’s relocated to a shelter in Citadel. The nuns furnished him with a job as a night janitor at an affiliated hospital. While he worked, Farmer McDougal dreamed of earning piles of cash and getting back the family farm. Unfortunately with his new shallow income, it would take a long, long time.

Betty didn't like the city or living in the basement shelter. It was over crowded and the high windows were barred and it felt like a prison. It seemed like a dumping ground for drunks and weirdos. Dirty men missing teeth smiled at her queerly. It made her uncomfortable. The place was dark, smelly and scary. It was hard to make friends at the shelter since people were always coming and going. It seemed that the ones she wanted to know didn’t stay very long, and the ones she wanted to avoid kept coming back. Betty worried that the shelter made people crazy over time. Her mother was getting worse. She only spoke in anger anymore. Her father was not himself either. He was losing hope.

The nuns who ran the shelter enrolled Betty in an all-girl high school to finish senior year. She didn’t mind city school. It was a distraction from the problems that surrounded her. She avoided returning to the shelter and spent her after-school time in the library. She enjoyed reading, but was distracted by her parent’s misery. To her the problem was simple; buy back the farm so they could go home. Once it was paid off no one could take it away from them ever again. They could live off the land worry free, forever. She wished for a way to save the day, but she was only a kid. She wasn’t sure how a cute young teenage girl with long legs could make a lot of money in Citadel.

She started working in the hospital laundry after school. She didn’t really have any expenses so it was easy to save. But at the rate she was earning it would take a long time to accumulate a substantial sum. It was very hard work for very little pay. It seemed unfair. Also, there was absolutely nothing fun about fighting and folding hot, heavy, wet sheets in a room full of steam. There had to be an easier way to make a buck. At least it got her out of the shelter.

Betty worked with a several other girls near her age. Most arrived from similar stories. So they had an instant kinship. The rest were orphans transitioning from being wards of the state to full blown adults. The girls all got along and the laundry was a gossip hub of the hospital. They knew everyone else’s business. Stories that couldn't be confirmed were radically speculated on and modified into more scandalous tales. At times Betty would imitate the players in mock radio dramas. Her gift of mimicry was a big hit with her peers. They all laughed at other peoples problems over dirty, stinking laundry. It made the time pass quickly. Many of the tales of debauchery included a place called Razzles. The ritzy locale became the stuff of urban legend. It was a massive nightclub where everyone in Citadel ended up, eventually.

One night Monica, the oldest laundry girl, revealed a plan to include all her friends on a girl’s night out at Razzles. She recently stumbled into some kind of part time job at the nightclub and was leaving the laundry soon. But before she quit, she wanted to have a going away party with all her young friends. One of the waiters at Razzles offered to sneak the girls in through the back door, avoiding the big purse admission and any questions of age. All the girls had to do, was to look like they belonged, once they were inside. They were ecstatic at the prospect.

The laundry girls arrived at Monica's new apartment. The space seemed too big for just one girl. It was filled with so many wonderful things and a closet full of marvelous clothes. Betty wondered how she could afford it. Exuberance whirled through the apartment. The space quickly transformed into a fashion assembly line. One girl applied make up. One girl set and styled hair. Another fitted dresses. Before long Betty was covered in borrowed clothes.

She stopped to admire her visage in a full-length mirror. She was shocked by the image. This was the first time she wore makeup. She looked different, anonymous. She always thought she was cute, but her new reflection was vampish. She liked it. She looked mature, like a movie star and would play that role for the entire evening.

Her first night at Razzles was like a dream come true. She was completely free. She danced away her dismal existence in the city. Everything at Razzles sparkled; from the crystal chandeliers, to sequin dresses, to the smiles of handsome men who approached her. In the Citadel, money meant power and freedom. They had it and she wanted it.

They treated her like a princess. She ate the finest foods and drank the most expensive champaign. Little Betty McDougal didn't have to count her pennies that night. There was no shortage of money. Cash flowed from suitor’s wallets. Their money granted her access to everything. All she had to do was smile and say yes. Anything she wanted was hers for the taking and the men paid her way. But like her father always warned her, "Don’t expect something for nothing."

For most of the night, the familiar faces of her friends surrounded Betty. They were passed around from guy to guy on the dance floor between songs. Over the course of the evening couples paired up. Later the group thinned out. The laundry girls were disappearing one by one. Then it was Betty's turn.

While she was eating a dessert she noticed her companion studying her intently. It was a knowing look with a different type of smile. He stood up and directed Betty to follow him. She abandoned her cake and obliged. He escorted her to a door at the back of the nightclub. It led to a dark descending stairway. She wobbled on her heels, nearly falling, but her partner’s strong arms caught her. The stairs ended in a cool cellar. They crossed the cellar to a hidden door. Through it was a hand carved tunnel dug during Prohibition. She was scared and clung to her underworld guide. As they progressed, the space got tighter and darker. After a series of snaking twists and turns they arrived in the quiet lobby of the most expensive hotel in the city. She was afraid to ask any questions. The man at the desk recognized her escort and after a quick cryptic exchange between men, she was whisked into an elevator and heading up. She never saw the face of the elevator operator. Her silent suitor turned to her. He could see she was scared. He leaned in to assure her with a long and passionate kiss. It made her dizzy and she melted in his arms. Boys had kissed her before but never like that. Moments later they were on the top floor, in an ornate room with a massive bed deserving of royalty.

He explained to her that this moment wasn't about love it was about business and he was defining the terms of a deal. He held up a roll of money. It was for her. To him money meant nothing, but Betty wanted it. All she had to do was lie back on the silk sheets and say yes.

He stuffed the money in her purse.

She was commanded to act as if she liked it, but it wasn’t an act. She loved it. She felt alive, powerful. She wanted more. And with each yes, she got it. It was magical.

This was the trick Monica learned to survive in Citadel. Monica shared that discovery with her friends showing them how to make real money. She provided them the means to get out of the dirty laundry. Instead of cleaning it, they could be messing it. Betty smiled to herself. She was fucking a king and she loved it!

Night after night Betty returned to Razzles. If she showed up, she made money. All she had to do was hang on a wealthy man's arms and words, and perform. Even though it was like dating, she understood that she was an employee and it was business. But it still felt special.

As a janitor Betty’s father, Randall, was struggling. He performed a lifetime of hard work, but as much as he hated to admit it, he was wearing out. After each night shift he would discover a new ache or pain inside him. He knew was lucky to have the job. It didn’t pay much, but he didn’t want to complain. He just couldn’t seem to get ahead, let alone save anything. Returning to the farm was starting to feel more unlikely. To distract those thoughts, he began whistling old tunes while he worked. It insulated him from his dilemma, somewhat.

Betty’s mother had a nervous breakdown. Her mental state had deteriorated and she was slipping further. The hospital that had helped the McDougals survive wasn’t equipped to care for her type of illness. She needed to be transferred to a state run mental facility, but Randall couldn’t afford it. He was stuck and looked for any options to help her. One of the admittance advisers at the facility offered a potential solution. He explained to Randall that if he divorced his wife, in her diminished capacity, she would become the property of the state. Then the facility could admit her and the state would pick up the tab for her care.

The advisor said, “I know it sounds bad, but it’s cheaper if you dump her. It doesn’t mean you don’t love her. In fact it’s the opposite. You’re acting in the patient’s best interest.”

Randall had no other choice.

Her mother was taken away on the day Betty graduated from high school. Randall was surprised at how excepting Betty was of the circumstance. He hadn’t realized how quickly his only daughter was growing up. She was serious and understanding. He was proud of his little girl.

To her it was just business. She knew that being poor was destroying her family.

He assured the young woman that the situation was only temporary. His plan was to save up enough money to retrieve his wife, buy back the farm and return home. To assure that commitment he began to work longer and longer hours. So did Betty.

She knew he would never make enough the money to get them home, but she knew she could. With the cash she was raking in at Razzles she could buy back the family farm on her own some day. She would do anything to get out of Citadel. She would do anything to save her family.

Betty and her father each worked a late shift, so it was easy for her to hide the fact that she wasn’t in the shelter each night. When she wanted out, it was easy to sneak past the nuns. They were so trusting. At Razzles, Betty was surprised how simple it was for her to slip into the role of a prostitute. She didn’t feel plucked or violated. She felt empowered. A voice inside her suggested that she should feel guilty or ashamed but she didn’t. She felt liberated. She needed lots of money and this was the quickest way she could get it. Besides, sex felt good. She must have been good at her job too, because she was competing with a lot of other Razzle Girls. And Betty may not have been the first picked on any given night. But she was always picked.

She was developing a talent for acting. Sometimes guys asked her to play games. They got their kicks and she got their cash. She would be whoever they wanted her to be. That was the deal. She met a lot of people on the job. Each wanted something different, but they all wanted something from her, even the most powerful men in Citadel.

Betty’s first encounter with Doctor Lacross was as unpleasant as any girl could imagine. He arrived like he was ready to work and left like he late for an appointment. His presence was one sided. There was no room for conversation or question. He was either lecturing, issuing orders or ignoring. He knew what he knew and what he had to do. He was all business. Lacross was the doctor and advisor of the Citadel elite. His oath bound him to act to benefit the health and well being of his powerful clientele. He took his oath seriously and went to great lengths to protect them.

Lacross exploded through the Razzles entrance two hours before it opened. By the way employees scattered, Betty thought the towering man wielded a Tommy gun instead of a doctors bag. When the manager approached him, Lacross produced a small notepad and spoke. “Prepare the females who were hired since the 13th.”

Betty was one of them. Before long, She was lying on the desk in the manager’s office. The surface had been cleared and covered with a crisp white sheet. An orchestra produced a haunting melody from a radio in the shadows as Lacross hovered over her.

“It’s been told that Cleopatra inserted small pebbles into her vagina as a form of birth control. Arabs invented this technique to control their camel population. She was royalty and wanted to control what grew from her. So she used a tool of man. Nothing can do more damage to this world than an unwanted child. And we certainly don’t want any coming from you.“

Betty was rigid like a doll. He lifted her knees and her skirt slid open.

“A German gynecologist named Grafenberg developed this little device.” He held up a small object. It looked like a stainless steel nail. “It’s going inside you now.”

His gloved hand disappeared under her skirt like a magician. Betty gasped.

“Hold still.” He ordered impatiently.

A moment later his hand was empty and the procedure was over.

“If you happen to expel the device, do not let anyone into your vagina. Notify your manager and we will make an appointment to replace it. If you think you’re pregnant. Don’t do anything stupid. Notify your manager and we will make an appointment to remove the embryo. You’re done, now go.”

Betty repositioned her skirt as she exited the room, and Lacross shouted, “Next!”

At some point, everyone who was anyone in Citadel came to Razzles. The members of the Silver Spoon Circle were no exception. It fact, they were its greatest patrons. They engorged on the offerings at Razzles quite often. The Silver Spoons were an exclusive club of the twenty most powerful men in Citadel. They were its royalty. Their membership included; financiers, speculators, politicians, industrialist, capitalist, oilmen, moguls, tycoons, and playboys. The Silver Spoons were very special guests. When they came to dine, they got whatever they wanted. When they arrived, the Razzle girls dropped what they were doing and lined up to welcome them.

The Spoons looked like a million bucks in their tails and tux. They were polished and well groomed. But once the Razzle girls had them alone and peeled away their veneers, there was nothing special. In public these men were erudite and statuesque but behind closed doors there was nothing to brag about. Betty played along. She did what they wanted, got their money, and banked it. It was green like everyone else’s.

Over time, Betty got to know all of the Silver Spoons. They all liked to brag. They talked open and unashamedly about everything they did, even crimes. They weren't discrete. They didn't care. They flaunted it. She knew what they did and how they operated, inside and out of Razzles. They got away with everything and people were hurt. In a way, Betty wished that someone would hold them accountable. But no one did.

Everyone outside of the Silver Spoon Circle were their playthings. People could be activated into servitude with coins from them, like a mechanical, children’s bank.

The Spoons loved what Betty did for them. She could tell what they needed. Her empathy made her a chameleon lover. Each one of them wanted something different and she gave it. The control she had over these powerful men made her feel superior. She was a formidable pleaser. She could take their power and make them weak. She loved it!

For Betty’s father, his big plan seemed more like a dream than a reachable goal. The expense of survival crept up on him. He fantasized of returning to pioneer days and living off the wilderness. No one could take that away. He began to feel resentment. He looked at the people he was forced to clean up after with new eyes, with angry eyes. Betty noticed changes in her father. The kind face she loved had eroded to a scowl. He took to muttering to himself, and snapped at his daughter often. She couldn’t tell if being poor had poisoned him or if the shelter was driving him mad? Eventually he became ill. When he did Betty got very scared. She thought he was invincible.

She felt guilty for going out and having so much fun at night while her father was sentenced to a hospital bed. She couldn’t bear to see the mountain of man she had known reduced to a shriveled, trembling stranger. He lay there muttering about the simple life he once had. She wanted to bring the man she loved back from the brink and thought she knew how to do it.

Late the next morning, Betty deposited her previous evening’s earnings in the bank. The pleasant teller updated her savings book. Betty smiled at the final tally. To her it was a good number that kept getting better and better. She took her bankbook to her father’s bedside. He seemed to brighten up at her presence. Then after some small talk, she asked how much he needed to get the farm back. It was becoming harder to have substantive conversations with her father. He responded to important issues with the words, “I don’t want to think about it.”

Betty couldn’t hide from the problems that easily. She was out there in Citadel facing reality head on and it was changing her. She had to face it. She had to solve the family’s problem since no one else could. She couldn’t leave things the way they were. She couldn’t accept or ignore the world around her. She loved her Father and wanted to help. She wanted to go back home. So she pressed him.

“Seriously dad, how much?”

Facing away from her he mumbled, “a lot.”

“Well how much is a lot?” She persisted.

In despair he blurted out the number. She couldn’t cover it yet but she could get it. At the rate she was going, she figured she could buy the farm outright sometime next year. All they had to do was hold on. Proudly, Betty presented the bankbook to her father.

All he wanted to know was where the money came from and how she got it. She tried to explain without going into details, but he figured it out. “I may be from a little farm down south, but I’m not an idiot.”

“Elizabeth Samantha McDougal, tell me the truth! How did you get this money?” He demanded.

She felt like a little girl again. She knew he wouldn’t like it, but she did what her father ordered. She thought there was a way to explain it so that he would understand, but her words kept coming out wrong. The more she spoke the worse it sounded. The more she spoke the worse she incriminated herself. Through tears and sobs she told him everything.

He didn’t recognize his daughter anymore. She had become a complete stranger to him. Without his consent, intent or knowledge his daughter was now part of the Citadel underworld! She should have known better! How could she do this to him? She was a sneak! She sold out! When did it start? It must have been for a while based on the amount of money she had stashed! He couldn’t look at the whore before him.

Betty begged with him to listen to reason, but he wouldn’t have it. He couldn’t take her words or money. He wouldn’t acknowledge that he drove his innocent little daughter into prostitution because he wasn’t man enough to provide for his family. First he lost his wife and now her. He failed everyone. Money had destroyed them. It truly was the root of all evil. And she was contaminated. He banished the dirty slut from his life.

Betty ran. She wanted out, out of the room, out of the hospital and out of Citadel. She wanted to go back to farm, and she would get there no matter what it took!

Sister Hazel didn’t hear all the details of the conversation, but she got the gist of the immediate situation. She knew these types of dramatic exits never ended well. She intercepted the hysterical girl and guided her into the church above the shelter to console her.

As they sat in the pew, Sister Hazel tried to draw the story out of Betty. The girl recounted the argument editing out the most egregious aspects and any mention of the word Razzles. The story the nun absorbed went something like; the father and daughter had a fight about a boy. Also, Betty had been making money as a waitress and offered to give her father money to help him out. But, like most men, Betty’s father was far too proud to accept help from any woman, let alone his daughter. His pride was bruised. All the nuns knew Randall was getting a little more crotchety since the illness afflicted him. Sister Hazel was just sorry that poor Betty had gotten the brunt of his wrath.

Betty realized Sister Hazel bought the story. The nun even offered some advice. She wanted Betty to think about her future. “You can use the money to help your father in a way where he won’t feel threatened. You can care for him while he’s sick once you’ve had the proper training. You could become a nurse. Once he sees that you’ve made something important of yourself he would be proud of you and he would embrace you once again.”

Betty listened to her words as the nun continued. “All men throw tantrums young Betty. He cannot stay mad forever. Time healed all wounds. So you must stay nearby and wait him out.”

To Betty it sounded like good advice. She wanted to help him. Maybe this was the only way she could redeem herself in his eyes. She could become a nurse. Maybe even his nurse eventually. Sister Hazel would arrange everything with the school for Betty. All she needed was the tuition. Betty asked how much it was. The nun responded and added, “but they’ll take payments.”

The nun gulped and asked. “Do you think you have enough money for it?”

The tuition was a lot cheaper than Betty expected. She had plenty. She had the full amount and a whole lot more, but she decided not to let the nun peek into her purse.

Betty replied with big eyes. “I think I can get it all.’

Nursing school was very different from high school. There was a lot of information but everything made sense. Every question had an answer. Every idea had a purpose. Every purpose fit into a procedure. Every procedure had a trigger. Betty appreciated the efficiencies and practicality of the older nurses who instructed the small class. They were serious women who knew what they were doing. They spoke directly and held nothing back. Their candor was refreshing to a girl who dwelled in a realm of lies.

By day she studied in nursing school. At night she starred in fantasies at Razzles. She wasn’t giving up her job. The money was too good. Whether her father liked it or not, she was getting that farm back and she would do anything to get it.

Over the next two years Randall was in and out of the hospital more times than he cared to count. Between bouts of sickness, he continued working as a janitor and kept a bed at the shelter. He began using his income to make donations to the shelter. He felt he should pay his own way. He accepted that the shelter was going to be his last home. He was deteriorating. He knew his life was ending. It was just a matter of time before it was done. He welcomed death now, but life dragged on. He tried not to think of all the things he lost.

Betty kept tabs on him during his hospital admissions. She also supplied Sister Hazel with healthy, anonymous donations to provide for the residents of the shelter. Betty's income was significant, but she had to spend it to survive on her own. Her account was still growing, but not at the rate she hoped. As she balanced her checkbook she often thought, "I don’t care for adult life."

The shine wore off Razzles for Betty. All customers weren't that handsome, though Betty acted like they were. That was what they wanted. Some men liked it gentle, some liked it rough and they all had their way. Over time she did things she thought she would never do. She let men use her in ways she couldn't have imagined. Some of their antics would have sent her storming out of bed only a year ago.

Sometimes she just laid back and thought about the farm to escape the weight of the cologned slobs that grunted and writhed on top of her. They paid their rent and she paid hers. But the routine was getting stale.

It wasn’t only the clients who wanted something from her. It seemed like everyone around her had their hand out. She did the hard work she got the bruises, but she still had to share her earnings. The Razzle managers took a cut; there were finder’s fees, bed rentals, laundry services, tips and a steadily increasing bar tab. Whatever remained in her purse went into the bank. The number in her bankbook still grew, but it was taking a lot longer than she wanted.

As Betty learned more about each of the Silver Spoons she realized they had the upper hand everywhere. They bragged about the horrible things they did outside of Razzles. Right and wrong didn’t apply to them. No one held them accountable. They just slithered through life.

They enjoyed other people’s misery. They laughed at others who struggle to survive. Other people’s pain was the punch line to their jokes. They controlled prizes and placed them out of peoples reach. Then mocked as others jumped to grasp them. To the Spoons, it was like watching economic slapstick.

They used up Betty in the same way. She was often the butt of their jokes. They had no respect for her. To them she was a toy, a trinket, or an accessory. Who cared what she felt? She started to resent them.

When the Spoons were in a group they were awful. They were in constant competition with one another, fighting for who could be the worst. Betty was hit, spit on and had drinks thrown at her. One even dumped a plate of food over her head. They degraded her for sport. They could do anything they wanted and no one was there to stop them. It wasn't fair.

If anyone talked back to the Spoons, they would be cut off from the funds. If you did what you were told, you got paid. Those were their rules. Everyone beneath them had to live by them. She began to hate those spoiled pricks.

During the day school had gotten harder. Finals were approaching and an all or nothing, pass or fail, do or die, air permeated her class. The impending gauntlet of tests pressed down on her confidence. She knew the material, but being challenged on it, in a formal test, was not something she looked forward to.

As part of their training, the student nurses had to shadow older, seasoned nurses as they worked their shift at the hospital. Betty liked it. It was real. She was thorough and capable and listened to all her guides’ suggestions. She admired the older nurses and hoped to be independent like them some day. She didn’t want to fail them.

Betty was a night owl so she chose to work the overnight shift. Unlike her other job at Razzles, after dark the hospital was calming and quiet. She liked her role as a nurse. People still wanted her, and she cared for them in a different way. There was a line of respect that people wouldn't cross and for the most part, patients appreciated her being at their bedside. She didn’t mind that her work in the ward took away time from Razzles. But she was realistic. She didn’t get paid for her internship and she still had to save her family.

Aware of her father's repeated admissions to the hospital, Betty would check up on him during her breaks. She would peek in on him, and if he was unconscious, she'd slip in to watch him sleep. His familiar snoring was an assurance that some things about the man who loved and raised her never changed.

One night while Betty was standing at the foot of his bed, her fathers eyes popped open and looked right into hers. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Reflexively, she pivoted to another part of the small room and feigned a supply check.

Randall called out to her, "Nurse. Can you get me another pillow?"

Betty avoided eye contact and disguised her voice to reply. "Of course. Would you like it under you head, or your back, or your knees…"

"Under my head. My fat head is smashing these other ones down like flap jacks."

She laughed, fetched a pillow and walked the long way around the bed hiding her face as she maneuvered. "I see. Well, turn your head away from me and I will tuck it under for you."

He complied and she moved in close to position the pillow. Her heart was pounding. "Can you lift your head a smidge so I can get in there?"

He complied.

She was so close. His scent was so familiar. She thought of all his hugs and times she rode on his shoulders. She remembered all the times he came to her to fight off terrible imagined monsters under her bed and how he would read her bedtime stories until he fell asleep next to her.

She wanted to kiss him, but resisted the temptation. She placed the pillow then turned and headed for the door.

"Thanks. What’s your name?” he asked.

She said the first name that popped in her mind. Her voice cracked, "Madge."

"What do you know? That’s my wife’s name. Small world, huh?"

Betty exited without responding. Normally she was adept at divorcing her feelings from her actions, but she couldn't keep up the act that time. It was too real. She ran to the nearest washroom and cried in the stall. She used to be better at separating her life from her lies. Lying was hard when the truth was so important.

Day by day she saw the men of Razzles for what they really were; monsters on top of beds. She despised them. Her customer’s appetites expanded. Betty changed too. She couldn’t think of a definitive moment when it happened but she felt a difference. She stopped enjoying sex.

On the surface Betty was soft, smooth and warm and gentle. She was sweet scented and caressed with loving lips. But inside she had turned to stone. She suffered while her clients moaned in ecstasy. She had become the consummate actress. When her clients mounted her, she wanted to shrink back into the bed and disappear into her own selfish fantasies.

In her fantasy she wanted them all dead. She cleverly took all she learned from her intimate studies of the Silver Spoons and turned it against them. She imagined invading their mansions during private galas. She would create the perfect disguise and blend into the necklace and tiara crowd undetected. Since she knew all of the host weaknesses. She would lure them away from the crowd and coax the location and combination of a hidden safe, waiting to be cracked, out of them. She would tie them up, rob them and burn the mansion to the ground. Then warm her body in the glow of the flames.

The Spoons had it too easy. Betty wanted to hurt them, to make them squirm. Better yet, she wanted to punish, no, destroy them! She imagined murdering those monsters every night. She learned how frail the human body was in school. She could apply her knowledge in a way her instructors never expected. She could avenge everyone they had wronged.

While working at the hospital one night, Betty went to check on her father like she had done twenty or so times before. It was the highlight of her day. The desk nurse in his ward stood and filled out paperwork on a clipboard. She ignored the young woman as she happily strolled down the corridor.

Betty turned to find that his room was empty. His bed was made. The space was cleaned and ready for a new patient.

Innocently, Betty asked the desk nurse. "Where did they move the guy from room 113?"

She replied like she was telling the time. "The morgue."

He was dead…

Betty felt the world crash down around her. The Citadel was out to get her. She was going to snap. She was going crazy. She wondered if this was how her mother felt.

She left work early to visit her mom in the mental ward of the state hospital. Betty felt obligated to tell mother that her ex-husband was dead. It had been awhile since she'd seen her. The conversation didn't go well.

Madge acted like she'd been preparing for a bout in a boxing ring. She was agitated and paced erratically around the padded room. She was looking for away out. She only noticed Betty like the girl was furniture to avoid colliding with.

Her eyes were wide. Her hair was tousled, and down and wild. Betty had a different recollection of her mother. She was seated in the kitchen reading while waiting for a pie to bake. She wore a high collared dress with an ornate cameo clasped tight around her neck. Her hair was neatly tucked up in a bun.

Betty searched for her first memory of her mother. They were just flashes or impressions of her mom’s unpredictability over the years; just shadows of the past. Betty realized she was now the same age her mother was, when she could first recall her. With her hair down, Betty noticed how much they actually looked alike.

She tried to calm Madge’s frantic gait. Eventually she got her to sit down, but not hold still. At any moment it looked like she would throw herself onto the floor.

"Mom, I wanted to talk to you about dad."

Betty looked for a sign of acknowledgment that her words were received. She tried again, talking slow and loud.

“Mom, I wanted to tell you about Randall from the farm."

Nothing.

Out of remorse and frustration she blurted, "Mom, he's dead!"

Madge stopped cold. The words struck a nerve. Her wide, dark ringed eyes scanned the room like a lighthouse looking for a shipwreck, but met Betty's eyes instead. Her voice startled her daughter.

"He was so sensitive to your pain. No matter how small it was. If you fell off a horse he dusted you off and put you back on. You pricked your finger on a rose bush, he kissed it, took your pain away. He couldn't kiss my pain away. He was always doting on you. He did more for you than he ever did for me. You were my daughter too. He loved you more. He chose you over me, his own wife. If he's dead, he's dead because of you somehow."

That was not what Betty needed to hear. It was too much to take. She thought of her mother as the last connection to her old life, but another part of her childhood died that day. The orderlies came and locked her mom away, and Betty was alone.

Betty returned to Razzles. It was the only home she had left. She sat at the bar in her white nursing uniform. A tiny captive, cyclopean audience of empty shot glasses stared up and waited for a show. In any other place this may have been an odd site, but the crowd ignored her. The intoxicating serum she ingested acted like medicine. She administered it to try and stay ahead of her pain. It hurt too much to think she had killed her father. He was the only man she ever really loved.

She looked around and asked herself. "How did I get here?"

Sometimes the city seemed so small, but then everyone ended up at Razzles sooner or later. It was like the drain to a sewer. She watched the faces in the crowd through the mirror behind the bar. She saw herself in the refection too. "Am I one of these people?"

These people were all the family she had left. She knew most of them. She knew their secrets and desires. She had a story to tell about each and every one of them. But none of them knew her.

Her eyes stopped on an older man in the crowd. She recognized him all too well. His name was Carson and he was the President of the Citadel Bank. He was the man who evicted her family from their farm. He was the man who held the deed to the vacant property. He came to Razzles often, although she never served him. In fact she avoided him. He had power over her in a way that no other man did. He had something she actually wanted. And she wanted it back tonight.

She was ready to step over another line. It was a line she hadn’t crossed before that night. She felt like a traitor to her parents, but now they were both gone. So what did it matter? It wasn’t really a betrayal. It was just business.

She picked herself up from the bar…twice. Removed a hairpin from her nurse’s cap, shook her hair down and approached him. She wasn't the little girl she once was. So she wasn’t surprised that he didn’t recognize her. He was interested in what she was offering that night. She had the manager set up a typical deal.

Shortly, the brokered couple was in a cozy rented room. He was standing near the door wearing only black socks. She was posed on the bed covered only by a red sheet. They sized each other up. Neither spoke. Carson could tell this wasn't going to be the typical intercourse he was accustomed to.

To Carson, life was a series of competitions. To him everyone was an opponent. There had to be a victor and a loser in all matters. Even sex. Sex was a game of control. Each of that night’s contestants knew it. They both enjoyed it, but the game had rules. Betty was going to break them. The number one rule at Razzles was, men were always right.

In the back of Betty’s mind there was a lingering, unanswered question. She wanted the answer that night. She wanted the truth. So she used the bedroom as a lab to perform a private experiment. She wondered who had the most power? Was it the men or women? Of course, she had her own theory, but she had to test it for validation.

His mysterious adversary looked flush and ripe. "You’re very pretty. Now lay back on the bed for me."

She said, "No."

Carson wasn’t familiar with that word. She defied his orders. She sat up at the edge of the bed. He told her to stay on the bed. She got up. He reached to touch her. She pulled away and said, "No. Not till I say so."

She looked serious. He laughed at the absurdity. It was obviously a new game of some sort. Betty tried to take charge. It was cute, but he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't break his winning streak. She began tossing mean words at him through gritted teeth. Something about stealing farms from little girls. He was getting aroused.

It was getting interesting. He wanted to play too, but wasn't sure where to start. "I’m not here to talk about real estate toots. I’m here to screw you."

"Never again." Betty scolded.

Carson asked. "What?"

She glared at him and stood her ground. Her stance was preposterous to him. Did she really think that she could stop him? He laughed and provoked her. "You're little spitfire aren't you?"

"Go to hell!" she seethed.

She was marvelous and unpredictable and Carson loved it! He wanted to fight her.

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched it. He wanted to make a point. He was strong enough to fling her back to bed. She fought back. She was fighting for keeps, but he was just playing. He laughed as they wrestled. To him it was great! He loved how her soft body felt as it banged against him during battle. The harder she struggled the more aroused he became.

He was obviously the stronger of the two and he was going to win. But she didn’t make it easy, so he steamrolled over her on the bed. He crushed her under his bloated form. She couldn't breathe. He playfully mocked, "Say uncle."

His flab smothered her. All she could let out was a muffled scream. He teased musically. "I caaaaan't heeeeeear yooooou."

When the joke wore thin he let her up. He didn’t want it to end too quickly. He gave her a chance to attack again. His erection bounced as they chased each other around the bed. She lunged at him again and again. He easily repelled her. He loved that she was so mad. He grabbed both her wrists and spun her trapping her arms. He wrapped his body around hers and bear hugged her. It crushed her. He giggled as he pressed his erection into her back. "Feel that? Guess where that’s going toots?"

Then he shoved her on the bed and buried her face into a pillow. He folded her arm behind her back, and pulled at her shoulder till the joint hurt. She struggled to escape but couldn't. He had her. He had dominated her. She was utterly helpless. Betty started sobbing. Raw misery poured from her. She couldn’t stop it. To his surprise, her delicious tears, and the sweet music of her mourning made Carson climax.

She realized what happened and yelled out. "What is wrong with you people?"

He giggled. There bodies were pressed close throughout the match, but he never penetrated her. "Man oh man alive. That never happened before. Thank you, doll. That was just what I needed."

He chuckled hardily. "I haven't had that much fun since I was a boy. You truly are the best, kiddo."

He released her supple form and she fell into a wet spot.

Her experiment was an utter failure. She lost control. She didn’t want him to enjoy it. She wanted him to take his semen back. He thought she was joking. She wept uncontrollably. Betty knew she wasn't in her right mind. She could tell she wasn’t making sense, but thought if she kept talking, a message would take form and coerce him. He tried to follow her words but it was too difficult.

"You ruined my life."

She begged him to sell her the farm for the number in her bankbook. She said she would do anything for him. She could make up the difference in services if it pleased him. She had to get out of Citadel. She couldn't take it one day more. She didn't want to go crazy too! She wanted the farm back and would do anything to get it. She offered her dignity in trade. It was all she had left.

He collected his clothes frantically.

"Please don't leave me! I’ll be your girlfriend or love slave, whatever you want! We can fight every night. You can hurt me,” she pleaded.

“I just want to go home!” She moaned through drunken tears.

She clung to his leg as he backed away from her. The game started off great but this nonsense ruined it for him. The whole thing had gotten too weird.

"You killed my daddy not me. You killed my daddy."

She was absolutely cuckoo. He loved when dames cried, but this was ridiculous. He didn’t care for the way she was acting at all. This was no way to treat a paying customer, especially not one of his caliber. He grabbed her arms, picked her up and shook her into silence. He yelled. "SHUT UP!"

It worked. She bit her lower lip. She sat silent and shook. She watched him get ready to leave. He broke into a lecture. "Quack, quack, quack. My goodness! Learn how to behave! I don't care what happened to your family. What’s done is done!”

There always seemed to be another line to cross. Since Betty couldn't control him, she wanted him dead. Betty decided that this was going to be his last sexual act. She could make one of her own fantasies come true. She could kill one of those devils.

He turned away to ignore Betty and button up his starched shirt. She saw the perfect place to stick the knife. There was always one in the bedside drawer just incase things got out of hand. The girls couldn't have guns, they were too noisy, but knives were lying all around Razzles.

She picked up the knife and plotted it's course into his spine and through to his heart. She was ready to stab him in the back just like Carson did to her father. Her teeth were clenched. Her body shook. Tears burned her face. She gripped the knife so hard she could feel the blood pounding in her hand. She wanted to slay the monster. She wanted to put the knife right though him more than anything she'd ever wanted to do in her entire life, except to win back the family farm. It was the answer! It would be justice!

But she couldn't do it.

Carson exited the room without looking back or ever knowing how close he was to death.

She just couldn't do it.

She sat there crying in the bed. Then reassembled her nursing uniform.

The door to her room burst open with a bang. The management crew of Razzles filed in. She thought they were here to save her but they grabbed her and hefted her out. In the hallway, Carson stood with his arms crossed. He nodded his head with a smug smile as they dragged Betty from her bedroom. She was carried over the heads of the mob. She bounced off the wall as they progressed. Over the ruckus and her own wailing she heard her manager shout out. "Get that crazy broad out of here, now!"

She was hurried down a secluded back hallway and her friends dumped her in the street. As she kneeled on all fours in the gutter she was peppered by a smattering of parting shots.

"Why did you even come here tonight?"

"We don’t need those type of theatrics here!"

"You need help, Betsy!"

"That dame is nuts."

"Go share a padded room with your crazy mom."

"It’s just business!"

She was evicted again and could never return to Razzles.

She picked herself up and roamed the midnight streets of Citadel. She wandered like a ghost, glowing in her white nursing uniform. She already felt dead.

Her family lost the farm so she became a whore to buy it back. It only cost her soul. She hoped that God would understand.

All she had done, all she had become was for nothing. Her family was destroyed. Her father was dead, her mom was locked in the nut-house and Betty was fired from her job as a b-list whore. She hated life in Citadel and wanted out.

It was very late. The streets were black. The entire Citadel seemed asleep except for her and the sound of squealing tires somewhere in the distance. Through tears she saw her final destination, a rusty old drawbridge. She walked to the railing and leaned over. She wondered how cold the water was. She had never been a good swimmer and never took the time to learn. That oversight could only help her at that moment. Tears broke from her face and fell to the swirling hypnotic rhythm of the black waves below.

Betty had learned that life was constant pain and suffering.

The evil in the world was too strong.

She prayed to God to intervene

She prayed to God for a reason to live.

She wanted a way out.

She couldn’t stop crying.

The handrail on the bridge was the last line she would ever have to cross.

She inched closer.

Suddenly, a heavy crash behind her shook the air! It jarred Betty from her trance. A car had swerved off the road and into a brick wall. It took out a mailbox and lamppost as it crossed the sidewalk. From the sound of impact Betty expected the vehicle to be demolished. But the car was immaculate. It was shiny, black and streamlined. It was futuristic and menacing at the same time. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The door swung open and a man rolled out onto the pavement. He was covered in blood. Her nursing training got the better of her and she responded to the medical emergency. She rushed over to him sobering up more and more with each pulse of adrenaline as she ran.

As she closed in she heard the wounded man laughing. She wondered if this city drove everyone mad eventually. He proclaimed, “I did it. I hurt them where it counts. I fought the power at the top of Citadel with truth and justice. I’m a hero!”

Betty knelt at his side and asked gently. “What are you talking about?”

“I stole their car. Ha ha, but I wasn’t quick enough to get away unscathed.” He looked at his bloodied arm.

“Why did you steal the car?” She asked.

“Ha ha. Because I’m a spy, sort of.” He responded proudly.

“You’re a traitor?” She asked.

“No, you’ve got it all backwards. I’m the good guy. This car was built for the wrong side. It was constructed for the enemies of the free world.”

“But we’re in America.” Betty corrected confused.

“I know. This car is a magnificent weapon. I stole it from an unscrupulous war profiteer named Oslo Herning.”

A chill ran through her. She knew the name. He was a client of hers and one of the Silver Spoon Circle. She spent many nights with him at Razzles.

“I, I don’t understand.” She stammered. “Oslo is a fascist?”

“There are war profiteers here in Citadel. They act against the best interests of the free world because they are motivated only by greed, not right and wrong. Their only concern is personal gain. There is a lot of money at stake if we all go to war. Some see it as a doorway to make big bucks. Unfortunately companies, and investors are anxious to profit from the death and destruction of others, including their own countrymen. They see it as an opportunity. They sell weapons and munitions to the highest bidders. In some cases they double deal and sell to both sides, bullets for one side and then the armor to the other. If that’s not evil I don't know what is.”

“They want others to die to assure the growth of their bank accounts. They have no principles. They are monsters. Someone had to make them accountable.”

His words rang as true to her as any others she ever heard or thought. As he spoke Betty pieced together past conversations she witnessed between Silver Spoons. It supported the spy’s claim. She knew they were monster too, but she didn’t know they went this far.

“Once I saw the truth, I couldn’t hide from it. I had to stop them.” He coughed out the words with a mouth full of blood.

“We have to get you to a hospital now. You've got to continue your fight. What you’re doing is too important to stop.”

"No. My part is done. It’s cost me more than I imagined getting this far. I'm tired. I’ve lost so much. If I live, I will never have peace again.”

He looked deeply into her eyes for a moment. Then said. “If you really want to help. Don’t let them have their car back.”

He took another strained breath and held it to trap a massive sob in his chest. “Please don’t let me die here in Citadel.”

Tears swelled in Betty McDougal’s sober eyes. She understood the sentiment exactly. The stranger was so weak and vulnerable. He had a rugged face like her father. He saw the black and white things in life, like her dad. The spy knew the difference between right and wrong. The Citadel wouldn’t stand for it, so they punished him for challenging them. She had to help him.

“I promise I will grant your wish. I know a better place where we both can go.”

She drove the big, black car out of the city. As they traveled he slipped in and out of consciousness. "I hope that you’re a good person. I hope you are a moral creature."

She cried privately at his words.

"Don’t let the car fall back into the wrong hands. It doesn't have to be used for evil. It’s amoral. It’s just a tool. It could be used for good.”

In less than an hour she was back at the McDougal farm. Somewhere along the route the spy’s heart stopped. She made a real connection in the last moments of the stranger’s life. As suddenly as he came to her, he was gone. She was alone again.

She pulled up the dirt driveway. She saw that brush had grown high and wild but everything else was just like they left it so long ago. She stepped from the car. The night air was fresh. The forgotten sound of crickets played a familiar tune. She was home… She was really home.

To her this was sacred ground. So she buried the mysterious hero in it.

As the young nurse dug his grave by the light of the full moon, a calm washed over her. She thought about the day she had. All the events coalesced to create this unique moment. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Maybe it was a sign. It felt like a higher purpose was bestowed upon her that night. It felt like a reward for all her hard work. It felt like destiny.

The villains in Citadel had too much power. It was unfair. Their wealth gave them an advantage they used to abuse others. They destroyed people for sport and got away with it.

Someone needed to fight back. Someone had to balance the scales of justice. Her eyes were wide open. The spy proved that one person could make a difference. Maybe she couldn’t change the world but she could change the city. She had a way to strike back. The car was the missing piece. It could be the vehicle of her revenge. She began to devise a plan for her future.

Before morning she hid the mysterious vehicle in the barn.

It was the car of tomorrow forged by super science. In the back seat she found an operators manual in a pile of stolen, crumpled, papers. She discovered that the wonder car was full of gadgets and accessories. They would allow her to adopt a new role in life, one in a position of real power.

In the papers was a list of the villains. All the problems in the city could be traced back to these men. She recognized all the names. She could get close to them, but how far would she be willing to go to topple the Citadel?

There really was a war looming, but it was going to take place in Citadel City. Betty picked her side. She had her weapon. Now she needed to learn how to fight.

It was a fall afternoon. The sky was overcast and Citadel City looked pale as Betty McDougal walked through a battered part of town. She looked at the address scribbled on her notepad. It led her to an old, broken-down gym on a dead-end street. It was a private place where gladiators were born, then returned to die. It was a place where aging champions gathered to recount their adventures in the ring. In their prime, they were professional boxers. They made a lot of rich people richer battling one another for the public praise. They were titans breaking bones and spraying blood into the crowd as they screamed for more. For most, it was a long time ago, but it was all they had left. For some, recounting tales of glory kept their legends alive. Others, not wanting to let their years of experience go to waste, trained a new generation of young boxers. It was a way to stay relevant, near to the ring, and share a piece of the action.

Betty needed to know how to fight. After a little research she discovered Murdock's Gym. It wasn't difficult to appreciate the concentration of the knowledge it housed. It seemed like a sensible place to start.

When she arrived she saw that one of the large storefront windows had been broken some time ago. It was replaced with a sheet of plywood. In the other window, hand written signs littered the glass. They were clumsy approximations of real boxing posters, hung by sticky-tape. They hyped gym bouts, between unknowns. Instead of photographs of the contenders they displayed crude drawings, and hyperbolic slogans with creative spelling solutions.

She opened the door and stepped in. The smell of sweating men washed around her. The floorboards creaked under her tiny feet. The room was bigger then she expected. A regulation sized boxing ring with fatigued ropes sat in the center. It was surrounded on two sides by folding chairs and wooden benches. The area was strewn with people. Some were in conversation. Some were seated and some were napping. No one was fighting, though a few wore boxing gloves and trunks. Betty's eyes lingered on a young man hanging on the rope at ringside. He was listening to instructions from an older man and nodding sharply. His muscular chest and arms looked like they were carved from granite. She wondered what they felt like.

Her spell was broken by a gravely voice. “Whose girlfriend are you?”

A hunchbacked black man with a broom and a flattened nose appeared from the shadows.

She replied with a startled, “What?”

“Who you lookin’ for, doll?” He asked.

“Ah, no one, I’m here for myself. I'd like to learn how to box.” She said.

“Can you say that again? Sometimes I don't hear too good.” He replied.

“I want to learn how to fight? I can pay.” She patted her purse as if it were proof of payment.

He looked Betty up and down, and shook his head. “If you say so.”

The hunchback turned and scanned the room for minute. He knew everyone in the gym. He knew their stats, their histories and their temperaments. After a few minutes of silent calculations, he nodded with a solution. “Come with me.”

The men in the gym were beginning to notice Betty. She felt self-conscious and looked at the floor as she followed her guide. He led Betty over to a man who slouched in a metal chair. As they approached she heard a soft snore coming from him. The man had the biggest head and shoulders she'd ever seen. He wore a newsboy cap and plaid shirt with a big white gut bulging from it. He was unshaven and graying. His shoes were untied. The hunchback struck the man. “Hey Anvil.”

“Huh what?” The sleeping giant awoke.

“Anvil, I've got a student for you.”

The Anvil turned to the voice as Betty was presented to him.

“What, the dame?” Asked Anvil in a heavy booming voice.

“She wants to learn about boxing.” Responded the hunchback.

“Oh ok, I get it now.” A smile lit the Anvil's face.

The hunchback returned to sweeping as the giant spun a vacant chair around to face him. Then he wiped off and patted the seat inviting her to sit. “Sit down honey.”

“Thank you.” Said Betty.

“What are you a reporter or something?” Asked Anvil.

“No." Said Betty

“But you follow boxing? Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

He looked confused and lost in thought for a moment.

Betty stated in a clear voice, “I'd like to learn how to fight.”

“Why do you want to learn how to fight? There aren't any women's leagues. You can't fight guys.” Anvil couldn’t seem to work out the word puzzle she presented. So Betty clarified.

“I don't want to learn how to box as a sport. I want to learn how to protect myself. I was in a situation where I was…hurt…badly. I don't want that to happen again. Next time I want to know how to control the situation. I want to be able to defeat my opponent and escape unscathed.”

He nodded. “I understand now.”

“Can you teach me? I have money.” She patted her purse again.

He chucked and said, “As much as I’d love to take your money, I don’t think I could teach you how to fight like me. I mean, I’m sure you can learn, but it might not help you.”

His words struck at her pride. “Why not?” She asked.

“You see, boxing takes lots of upper body strength, and lot's of muscle. Look at these arms.”

He leaned in and flexed his right biceps for her. It popped to life and strained the seams of his shirtsleeve.

“Go ahead feel it. That arm KO-ed 108 wise guys back in my hay-days.”

Betty shot him an uncomfortable glance and he continued.

“Go ahead. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt you. Not from that angle, anyways.”

She felt it with her delicate hand. It was big and hard like an Easter ham.

“You see?” Having illustrated his point he reclined back into his chair, nodding confidently.

“And… well don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a girl and you’re kind of scrawny.”

They stared at each other for minute and then Betty was about to leave. She was frustrated and insulted. But before she could go, the Anvil remembered something.

“Come to think of it though…I did see a really scrawny guy throw a beatin’ to a big fella once. He was a little Chinaman not much bigger than you. The fight wasn't in the ring it was on the streets. Me, Big Lou, the Lumberjack and Eddie were out celebrating Hooper the Hammer's retirement. We was dancing and singing, and we drank till we were pickled. I remember, somehow Eddies shoe fell off, and it took him about ten minutes to put it back on.”

His story was punctuated by his own laughter. “He, he, he was bending over for it. His hands were moving all around like this. He thought the shoe was moving around on it’s own, and he couldn’t grab it.”

“Ha, ha, then he fell over on his butt, ah, ha, ha. He, he threw his own drink in his own face as he fell. Ha, he, he was convinced the shoe did it, ha, har, ha, ho. So he grabs the shoe and starts choking it, ah, ha, ha, like the shoe was the one that threw the drink at him. Ha, ho, ho, oh, he was cursing the shoe, oh my gosh.”

Betty was listening, and nodded, but wondered where this story was headed. The Anvil, wiped the tears of laughter from his face. He could see that Betty wasn't laughing.

“I guess you had to be there.” He calmed himself and continued.

“A little while later, a Chinaman walks into the bar with a bag of laundry. He worked at a place that warshed the tablecloths and napkins for Benny's. Benny's was the name of the place we was at.”

Betty nodded. “Um, hmm.”

“So I’m not sure what exactly the Chinaman did to get Eddie so mad, but Eddie took a swing at him, and he missed. Keep in mind Eddie never misses. He's a big guy, not big like me, but big. Man, did Eddie have fast hands. He could throw a fist like a cannon firing a cannonball. I wonder why we never called him cannonball? That would have been a good name for him…I don't know. Well, after a few minutes they started mixing it up.”

The Anvil stood to reenact the fight. “So Eddie’s firing fists at him like a machine gun and the Chinaman is bobbing and weaving around him. Eddie couldn’t tag him. So Eddie starts cursing and yelling things like…”

He stopped himself.

“Well, stuff a lady doesn’t need to hear. Eddie says something that finally gets under the Chinaman’s yellow skin, and he started fighting back. He was hopping around and kicking at him. He seemed to be all around him at once. He was chopping at Eddie with his hands, like this.”

Anvil clumsily demonstrated in the air.

“Eddie couldn't tag him. Eddie didn’t even hit the Chinaman one time. But every blow the Chinaman dealt, connected. It was like Eddie was struck by lightning about a hundred times. Then Eddie starts wobbling around like this.”

Anvil continued to perform the events.

“You could kind of see in his eyes that he knew the floor was coming for him soon. I’m not even sure where the Chinaman hit Eddie to finally knock him down, but he did. And Eddie went the floor with a, whack! And he was out cold.“

“Keep in mind how puny this guy was. He was tiny, like you, and Eddie’s a monster. He’s not as big as me, but big. Somehow the Chinaman chopped him down. Of course Eddie blames his loss on the booze and maybe he was right, but there was no doubt that the Chinaman hurt him.”

He paused to reflect for a moment then continued. He could see that Betty was now interested. Ultimately the Anvil did want to help her out of whatever jam she had gotten herself into.

“Maybe it's some kind of yellow fighting instinct like a cat, or something. But the Chinaman looked out classed in the beginning, and he put Eddie down in one round. I never saw anything like that before. Maybe one of those Chinamen could teach you how to fight.”

“I don't think I’d pick a fight with one of them after seeing that. Well, in the ring I would, where there are rules and everyone has to play fair, but I wouldn't take a poke at one on the street. That’s for sure. Come to think of it, Benny's never fired the Chinaman for the fight. I haven’t been there in a while but maybe he still works there.”

Anvil stopped and turned to yell at the hunchback. “Hey Earl. What time is it?”

Earl replied. “Going on 4:30.”

Anvil turned back to Betty. “Benny's is open already and it’s right around the corner. Come on, I'll take you over and we can get the Chinaman’s address.”

They quickly exited. As they strolled down the sidewalk, he continued talking about boxing, and telling tales, each one seeming more extraordinary than the last. Her mind wandered. She wondered if the man from China spoke any English. She wondered if they could even find him, how would she be able to explain to him what she wanted?

She was startled back into the Anvil's story as he invaded her personal space and grabbed her by the arms.

“No matter what you learn, the most importing thing to remember is that, fighting in the streets is different than fighting in the ring. There is no ref, and there are no rules. You gotta’ do whatever it takes, not to get hurt. And don’t let anyone hit you in the face. Always protect your head… We're here.”

He pointed up to a neon sign that blinked “Benny’s.” They entered. It was an unassuming joint, with two types of meat loaf as daily specials. The scent from the kitchen made Betty's mouth water. It had been awhile since she was in a restaurant. The last one was Razzles and she didn’t want to think about that episode again.

She took in several deep breaths, as if sucking in enough of the scent would fill her stomach. Her food trance was broken by a ruckus. As they entered the bar area, Anvil was instantly recognized by the bartender, Pete, and a line of seated patrons. They enthusiastically welcomed the Anvil. He took a seat at the bar and proudly lifted Betty without effort to the stool next to him. She was the only woman in Benny's and all eyes were on her. She knew men all too well and could see what Anvil was up to, but did nothing to dissuade him. The Anvil presented his lady guest to his fans. Even though she was dressed down for the expedition into this part of town, she would play the part of a trophy, for awhile.

“Guys, I’d like yous to meet…” His face went blank. He realized he never asked her name.

Before his pause went on too long, Betty saved him. “Lila, pleased to meet you all.

Betty could come up with an alias as easily as blinking. The men greeted her, each one trying to out charm the last. One of the men asked, “So how did you meet the old Anvil?”

The Anvil answered. “She needs some protection.”

Then he bent both of his arms up to his shoulders and began flexing his biceps. He alternated flexing between them so they looked like they were dancing. Then he synchronized his eyebrows to the movement. Betty wasn’t sure what to make of the spectacle. He looked goofy but his fans ate it up. They laughed and laughed.

One of the fans announced to the group. “You see? The Anvils still got the moves.”

Once the laughter and gasping and coughing subsided, the Anvil concluded his performance.

Another fan told Betty. “You came to the right guy for protection. Did you know that this mug KO-ed 108 bums in the ring?”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard all sorts of stories already.” She replied.

“I'll bet you did.” The fan noted.

Pete, the bartender, leaned in to the couple. “So what can I get for you?”

“Hey, do you remember the night the Chinaman KO-ed Eddie?” Anvil asked.

“Ha, ha, yeah.” Said Pete.

“Does the Chinaman still work here?” Asked Anvil.

“You mean Sam?”

“Sam? I thought his name would be something like Ping, or Sing, or Ming.”

“Ming, like in Flash Gordon? No he's one of the good ones. He's got a normal name, Sam. And yeah, he still drops off and picks up the laundry for this joint. He just comes in through the back now, you know, to avoid any problems with the customers. Did you know he delivers the loads by bicycle?” Asked Pete.

“No kiddin?” Said Anvil.

“What’s the name of the laundry where he works?” Betty interjected.

“I think he's actually the owner. It’s a small setup called Katana Laundry Services. I’ll get you the address.” Pete said and exited.

When he returned with the address, the Anvil was in the middle of another story from his gleaming days of glory. Betty accepted the address from Pete and stuck it in her purse. She remained seated. She appreciated Anvil’s help on her mission, and decided to play her part at his side as payment for his services. She wondered what he would say if he knew how she was going to employ her fighting skills, once she acquired them. She would have her own stories to tell someday.

The Anvil talked, and talked, and talked. If someone didn’t stop him, he would keep going like a phonograph record that reached the end and kept spinning and spinning. Once Betty felt she endured enough for two of them to be even, she announced she had to leave. Anvil continued his tale and she slipped out of the Benny’s undetected, and into the chilled evening air.

She still had a mission to complete.

The following day was cold. Betty stood outside a steel, street level door. It was painted brown. Brass numbers above it matched the address Pete gave her, but there was no other evidence that it led to a laundry. She knocked on the door a few times, but there was no answer. She tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. As it opened, she was blasted by steam that smelled like bleach. She recognized these clues from her days working in the hospital laundry. She was in the right place. The brown door opened to a flight of stairs. The temperature climbed as she ascended the uneven steps. At the top, a second door displayed the words Katana Laundry Service painted in red brush strokes.

A bell jingled as she entered the humid space. The jingle was lost in the ambient noise and activity inside.

It was a large, long room, with high ceilings and visible rafters. Tall windows ran down each side of the space. It held three large metal vats. Open flames danced underneath them. Above the vats, on wooden planks, barefoot Chinese boys stirred and poked at the wash with long wooden oars.

The area was an assembly line of rigged contraptions and hoses and pumps. The rickety array looked dangerous. Each station facilitated a different part of the laundering process. At one beginning there was a stack of bloated laundry bags. Then sat the vats. between the vats were large, wooden mangles. Then at the end, dozens and dozens of rows of linens hung on taught lines. The white sheets, swayed in the draft from open windows. An ironing press was the only piece of modern equipment. It sat at the end of the line. It was operated at a fevered pace by a serious looking Chinese man. All along the line, family members of all ages worked to keep their business alive.

One of the stirring boys pointed at Betty and yelled something that she heard but couldn’t comprehend. The older man at the iron press turned to see Betty then yelled something into a steamy cloud. A Chinese girl emerged and headed to the entrance. Her hair was twisted up into an odd square hat. She was near Betty’s age. She quickly reached her guest, stopped and bowed.

Confused Betty annunciated, "Do-you-speak-Eng-lish?"

"Hai. Ahhh, yes." She replied than continued. " I am Mimi. How may I serve you?"

"I want to learn how to fight." Said Betty.

She recounted Anvil’s tale to Mimi, who verified that her father, Sam, was, in fact, the man who defeated Eddie in the bar fight. Through the course of conversation Betty discovered Sam’s true name was Isamu, and his family was actually Japanese, not Chinese.

As they spoke, Betty hid her intended application for the fighting knowledge she was seeking. She omitted her plan to become a vigilante hell-bent on destroying the most powerful men in the City. Instead she explained that she wanted to feel safe. She wanted to know how to defend herself if she ever ran into trouble in the Citadel. Mimi understood Betty and thought her father might help. After all he trained Mimi for a similar purpose. She summoned him using words Betty couldn’t understand. He looked angry, as he approached.

Isamu wasn't much taller than Betty. He had a serious face that radiated disdain. Deep creases drew lines from his flared nostrils to a frown. He wore loose fitting, white clothing, with sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His forearms looked like a sailor's. Each muscle was defined like strands of cable. He stopped and faced Betty and bowed as if forced to.

Mimi translated the details of Betty’s dilemma into Japanese. Isamu understood and empathized, but he had his own responsibilities to contend with. So he said no. Betty didn’t need to speak Japanese to understand his decision, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Neither was Mimi, who quickly became Betty's advocate. The father daughter talk escalated into a spat.

Isamu said in Japanese. "Why are you wasting my time with this? I have work to do! I have no time for students. I need my hands for washing, not for teaching."

Mimi pressed in Japanese. "Then I will train her myself!"

Isamu said in Japanese. "You have work to do too! You are no teacher. Stop being silly and tell your friend to go. "

He shook his head and turned to walk away. Betty could see Mimi was losing him and interjected, "I can pay."

Mimi stopped her father and said in Japanese. "She has money."

Isamu said in Japanese. "Tell her to go home."

Mini said in English, "He says no."

Betty said. "But he doesn't even know how much I'm willing to pay. How can he say no?"

Mimi explained. "It’s not the pay, it's a lack of time."

Betty asked. "What if I worked for him? I can help out. I’ve worked in a laundry before."

Mimi said in Japanese. "She says she will work for us now."

Isamu said in Japanese. "No. This is a family run business. We don't need a silly little white girl in our way."

Mimi said. "He says no, this a family business."

Betty noted. "Yes, I got that impression. It seems that your entire family is working, right now."

Then Mimi explained some details about their business.

"We struggle to make our customers happy. To keep up with their demand we work and work. All we do is work. We don't have big customers; we only have many small customers. We have a lot of small customers.”

“Since the depression came, our business is struggling. We made our prices very low to stay alive. We work so hard and by hand. "

At times Betty could forget how severely the depression impacted most people. She felt guilty for not having it rougher economically. She hadn't gone hungry in a long time. Everyone was fighting to survive, but Betty had an advantage. She was lucky enough to be born into the type of body she could sell. It wasn't the backbreaking work Mimi had to do, it was just a job. Betty had worked less for more money. She was able to save, but it wasn't without sacrifice. It seemed like everything she wanted, required it.

Betty decided to up her offer. She Asked. "What if I could figure out a way to make your work easier?"

Mimi listened intently as Betty continued. "When I worked in the hospital laundry we had less people working but we did more wash. We let the machines do all the work and we finished by the end of our shift. We had time to do other things. Your family is trapped in your washing system. You are as reliant on your contraption, as it is on you to do the work. What if I got you an industrial washer?"

Mimi smiled. She liked the idea, and relayed the new proposal to her father in Japanese. "She says she will buy us a washing machine."

Isamu laughed and asked in Japanese. "Her?"

Mimi said in English, "He doesn't believe you can get one."

Betty replied. "What if I could? If I figure out a way to get your family a washing machine, will he train me?"

Mimi and her fathered bickered back and forth. Betty could see that Mimi was sold on the offer but her father resisted. Mimi understood immediately how a big washing machine would allow them to work more efficiently. They would have more time for fun. They wouldn't have to work as hard. She pressed him and wouldn’t give up.

He was tired of wasting time. He thought Betty was full of wishful thinking. He'd been let down so many times in his adult life; he didn't think for one second that her promise could become reality. Once he heard enough nagging from his daughter, he growled at her with an angry red face. "I relent. Tell the silly little white girl, if she gets us a great big washing machine, I will teach her how to fight."

Then he retreated to the ironing press, a place where he wouldn’t have to argue, in a huff. Isamu’s sarcasm didn’t need to be translated for Betty. She understood that he didn’t believe her, but she wanted to know exactly what he said.

Mimi adjusted the translation a bit. "He agreed, but it has to be a great big washing machine. Only then will he teach you the secret fighting style of our ancestors."

Betty said, "Deal."

She grabbed and shook Mimi's hand and thanked her. Moments later she was walking down the street. She was going to learn how to fight. Now all she had to do was get a giant washing machine, so she headed to the only place where she actually saw one.

Betty arrived at the hospital she interned at. Then headed into the basement to the laundry. She stopped to chat with a few of the laundry girls as they folded. Then Betty saw one of the janitors and approached him with some questions. “Hey Ivan. Do you know if the hospital is ready to get rid of any of these yet?”

He shook his head with a knowing smile. “Believe me honey we ain’t trading those in until they rattle apart."

“Where can people buy these?” She asked.

“These here are industrial appliances. You can’t just buy these at any ol’ department stores. You gotta’ get em’ from a dealer. I bet they cost a pretty penny to boot.” He responded.

“Do know where they got them?” She asked.

“There is a stamp with a name on one of the machines, somewheres.” Ivan stepped over to one of the washers and began searching for the plate.

The washer looked like a boiler turned on its side. It was a large metal cylinder about shoulder height. One end had a door. The other end was connected to some machinery.

“Looky here.” He found the stamp.

It had information about the unit; the serial number, the name of the dealer and two phone numbers. One was for sales, the other for parts and service. Betty thanked the janitor for his assistance and wrote the information on a small note pad. Within moments she was headed down a long cinderblock corridor to several empty office spaces in the hospital basement. They’d been phased out during various restructuring initiatives and forgotten about by the administration. Only the girls from the laundry and switchboard knew the extra phone were there. Both teams kept quiet about the oversight, so they could use them for personal calls.

Betty called Buckle’s Industrial Appliances and spoke with a salesman named Kent. He led the conversation. As he collected information he weaved in and out of small talk, and sales pitch. He carefully crafted every idea with subtle selling points floating beneath the surface of the chat.

As they exchanged pleasantries, and a series of preplanned questions, Kent established that she worked for the hospital. This made his wallet throb and he started talking faster. He established the make and model of the equipment she was looking for. Eventually they got to the numbers. It was a Kelvinator 560 Industrial Washer.

Betty asked, "How much is the washer?" and held her breath.

Kent responded. "$298.29, not including shipping or installation."

She exhaled then asked. "How much is shipping?

Kent said. "To the hospital? It would be about 5 bucks."

Betty asked. "How much is the installation?"

Kent said. "Another 7 bucks."

Kent tried to advance the sale. "Would you like me to get an invoice started? We already have all the hospital account information in our records. In fact, we could deliver and install one to you in 2 days."

It was tempting to Betty, $300 may as well have been a million in a world where a loaf of bread cost 8 cents. Since she was fired from Razzles her income dropped to zero. She was living off what remained of her savings and she was still months away from finishing her nursing degree. Until then she was an intern and working for free.

The washer would take a serious bite out of her buying-back-the-farm fund. There was only one place where she knew she could make back that kind of money, Razzles. But after the way she was booted out, there was no way Betty could show her face there again.

Kent interrupted her thoughts. "Hello, hello?"

Betty said. "I’m sorry, I was pulled away from the phone. Don’t do anything for now. I will let you know."

She hung up. She wanted to run out of the hospital, but there was nowhere to go. No one could help her with this decision. She sat alone in the cold room thinking. She couldn’t have everything she wanted so she had to make a choice. She had to decide how important fighting bad-guys was to her.

Two mornings later the Katana clan followed a deliveryman down the stairs of their laundry to the street, where two brand new Kelvinator 560 Industrial Washing Machines were waiting to be installed. Isamu led the deliverymen to the freight elevator in the alley.

Betty watched their reactions through binoculars from a distance. She smiled. She felt like the Japanese Santa Claus. Sure two washers were expensive, but they were worth it. The more free time Isamu had, the faster they could train. The quicker she learned, the sooner she could embark on her mission of revenge.

She watched as Mimi and all the little Katana's held hands and danced around in a ring. Now with two machines to do the bulk of the work, the children wouldn't have to grow up so quickly. She got her way, and everyone else was better off.

Isamu was surprised. In a way he felt tricked, but he would honor his agreement with the determined little white girl.

Before long, Betty was training three nights a week at the Katana's. The floor below their laundry was a garage. The space was dark and empty except for a few bicycles, boxes and a wood burning potbelly stove. Isamu swept an area of the concrete floor clean and laid down a sizable mat woven by his wife. A portion of the space was converted to a private fighting school and Betty never missed a class.

Everything about what she was learning was foreign to her. Each lesson began with exercises and stretching. Then Isamu explained the objectives for the session. Mimi acted as his assistant and translator. Isamu used her as a demonstration subject. He would walk through attacks or defenses with his daughter who played the part of his opponent. They would start slowly then gradually pick up speed. Isamu’s control was so high that no matter how fast he mock-attacked his daughter, she was never struck.

Once Betty understood Isamu’s instructions, he would reassign Mimi, then the two girls would practice the maneuvers. As they practiced Isamu would circle them scrutinizing their movement. If he saw something wrong, he would stop them and make corrections to their hand or body positions, then tell them to continue. Once Betty demonstrated proficiency with any given technique, they advanced to the next.

Betty wanted to absorb everything Isamu had to offer. The three of them would rehearse moves over and over again. Betty was flexible and that helped, but she was not used to the type of exertion or the concentration poses Isamu put her in. Betty was determined to excel.

One night she pushed herself, overheated and fainted. The room went black, and she fell but never hit the floor. Isamu's speed allowed him to catch her before impact. She wasn't out long, but was disoriented as he revived her. As she regained clarity, she worried that she failed or that this error would cause a setback in her training. She was embarrassed and apologized to Isamu fearing he would be angry or disappointed, but the opposite was true.

Mimi translated as Isamu spoke. "I would never be mad at you for fainting. It demonstrates your devotion. It proves your commitment. You take this very seriously. You don't waste my time, and I am proud to have a student like you. Do not be ashamed for working so hard."

Later he suggested that if she ever felt light headed again, she should sit down before she fell down.

Even though Isamu always seemed angry, Mimi knew he enjoyed teaching. It felt important. Since they installed the new washers, it seemed like a weight had been lifted from him. He had more free time, and so did the rest of his family. Sometimes the younger children tried to join in on Betty's class. They acted out miniaturized combat maneuvers. They got silly. Mimi even caught Isamu laughing, which hadn't happened in a very long time.

They became a happy family and wanted to make Betty feel like a member. The Katana's often invited her to stay for dinner or to participate in family activities. She appreciated the offers, but always politely declined. She felt like an invader.

She was a bit of a mystery to Mimi. She was a serious girl with a singular focus. She seemed to prefer a business relationship over a personal connection, and kept her private life at a distance. When Betty started her first class Isamu asked her name. The word Pandora escaped from her lips.

Betty dwelt in several worlds at once. By day she was a nursing student still struggling through school. In the evening, she trained with the Katana's. Overnight she was a nursing intern working the third shift at the hospital. She tried to stagger the days and obligations, but it was exhausting. Her free time was supposed to be spent sleeping, but it wasn’t easy. She worried about money and it kept her awake. She watched nervously as the number in her bank account decreased. She had no way to replenish it at that point in time.

Betty’s weekly routine was barely manageable. One night while training with the Katana’s, she was very tired. Her form was sloppy. She overestimated the distance between her and Mimi, and surprised Mimi with a kick to the face. The contact sent Isamu’s daughter to the ground. He was furious and yelled at Betty. Mimi didn't take the time to translate, but she made it clear that she was more surprised than hurt. The blow drew blood from her lip and Betty felt horrible. She assured Betty there were no hard feelings. Isamu cut it short and called it a night.

Betty went upstairs to take a shower and change into her nursing uniform.

After training, Mimi sat at a wooden slab tabletop over crates. Betty passed her on the way out. "The soup smells good."

"Would you like some?" Mimi asked

"Sure." Betty acquiesced out of guilt.

Mimi served Betty a bowl of soup, and then stacked two crates together to make a second seat for her guest. They both sat down and begin sipping the hot broth.

"This is very good soup." Said Betty.

Mimi smiled and bowed. "Thank you.”

Betty sipped again then asked, “What did your father say to me downstairs?”

Mimi replied. “He said, you cannot be sloppy when you fight. When you are here, you are here to fight. You must concentrate. And you must get enough sleep. Then he said something about defining yourself by your actions. Don't be hurt by my father’s words.”

Betty said, “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Mimi accepted the apology gracefully.

Betty sipped again and then asked, "Will your father still teach me?"

Mimi said with a grin. “Of course he will. He knows it was just an accident. Actually, when he was training me I gave him a black eye. Oh, but don’t ever tell him I told you. My fathers name, Isamu, means bravery and courage. It would not be good if everyone found out courageous brave Isamu got a black eye from his tiny daughter.”

Betty was too nervous to laugh, but she was relieved to know he would continue teaching her. She vowed to be more aware of her limits, and promised Mimi to be more careful in the future. Mimi could tell Betty felt guilty, so she decided to change the subject.

"I was wondering, Pandora, what does your name mean?"

Betty answered.

"It comes from a Greek myth called Pandora’s Box, although, it was actually a pot in the original story. I’m not sure where the box came from?"

"Men were making a mockery of Zeus’ law. So he created Pandora the first woman to punish them. He sent her to earth with a pot containing all the miseries of humanity, but she didn't know it. Zeus simply gave her the gift and ordered her not open it. As you can imagine, curiosity overwhelmed her and she decided to take a quick peak in the pot. With the lid lifted, all the miseries escaped and she unleashed chaos into the world of men. "

"She noticed that hope was still inside and put the lid back on before it could escape. She kept hope for herself. "

Betty continued. "Unfortunately Zeus’ punishment plan backfired. The miseries spread throughout the land and stung and bit the men. The men were infected and became worse. They began to lie, and cheat, and steal, and murder one another. They became too evil to be left alive, so Zeus drowned all the bad ones in flood that covered the Earth. I assumed that Pandora was drowned too, but I always imagined her escaping the flood by clinging to her floating pot of hope, like a life saver.”

Pandora took another sip from her soup as she finished the tale.

"That is a very interesting story. Do you think the name fits you?" Mimi asked.

With a smirk Betty replied, "I think I’m growing into it."

"What does Mimi mean?" Asked Betty.

Sheepishly Mimi replied. "Ear."

Her face became red. Betty tried to stave off her host’s embarrassment. "Actually, I think it suits you?"

Mimi looking confused and insulted shot back a skeptical, "Why?"

Betty responded. "Because you listen. You hear things your father won’t hear. You can hear Japanese and turn it to English. You can hear English and change it to Japanese. You are the one who heard me and convinced your father to help me. You have a magic ear."

Mimi never thought of her name in such a poetic manner. She always thought earwax.

Betty continued. "You have a beautiful name it sounds like a song."

She made her voice deep and belted out a set of scales like a tenor.

"Me me me me me me meeeee."

Mimi laughed. "You sound like a big fat man!"

"It's a gift from Zeus.” Betty retorted.

Excited Mimi asked. "We friends now, right?"

Between soup sips Betty cautiously said, "Yes. We are friends."

Mimi took Betty's hand in hers. "Then I can ask you, how do you make so much money? Maybe you could show me, how?"

Betty stopped sipping her soup and put it down. Mimi had a hard life but somehow she retained her innocence. She would find out about the cold hard realities in the world at some point. But there was no way Betty was going to participate in the first line of corruption. She wasn’t sure how to get out of answering. She couldn't say she stole the money. If she said she earned it, it would only lead to more questions. If she said she borrowed it, they might want her to take it back. Of all the choices, she knew she could not tell her the truth. No one asked her that question so directly before. She didn’t have a lie prepared. She didn’t know where to go with the answer

Mimi could see her friends face had changed. Betty was uncomfortable. She apologized for putting her on the spot, "I’m sorry. That was very rude of me."

"No, it's fine. I had a little money put away. My nursing job doesn’t pay well, but I’ve been there for a long time. And I live cheap and don’t eat much." Said Betty.

Mimi seemed to accept the answer. "Oh, oh I see. You are a very strong person. Father knows it too. You work so hard, you are always on time. You listen and learn. Father acts like he's angry when he teaches, but he is very proud of you."

"How do you know that?" Asked Betty.

"I hear him with my magic ear. He said you are like extra daughter to him."

The phrase clutched at Betty's heart. Normally she could have kept her feelings under-wraps. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but the conversation had triggered too many emotions. Her eyes began to water. Betty excused herself and headed off to her job.

It was a cold crisp night. Betty meandered along the streets trying to control her tears. Spending so much time with the Katana's stirred up memories of her own family that she hadn't expected. It was a reminder of what she had lost. It took her awhile to sort out her feelings.

Betty could tell that Mimi was becoming attached to her. Mimi enjoyed her company and was trying to bond as a sister. Her entire family was practically making room to adopt her into their clan. In a way, Betty wanted that, but to her, accepting the Katana’s affection would be like replacing or abandoning her real family.

The closer she wanted to be to the Katana's, the worse she felt. If she allowed herself to accept the Katanas as family, she felt it would be a betrayal to her dead father, and her mother who was locked in an asylum. The guilt was overwhelming, so she chose distance over closeness. As long as Betty was suffering and was alone, she remained loyal to their memory. Betty didn’t want any personal attachments and focused on the mission.

It started snowing

Winter brought heavy snows to the Citadel. It shut down the city for days at a time. Betty took a small apartment, near the hospital. She never missed a day of work, nursing school, or her training. She trudged a path through winter, kept busy and stayed on schedule. Time passed quickly

Eventually, graduation from nursing school was upon her. It had always seemed like something way off in the future, but it finally arrived. Nursing school had taken second place to her other training. She wasn't at the top of her class or at the bottom. She did just enough to get by. At the graduation ceremony, Betty sat and blended in with the rest class. They all wore pointed nurse’s caps and blue capes. One-by-one they were called to receive their diplomas. Their families applauded from the audience. Betty expected silence when her turn came, but to her surprise Sister Hazel jumped to her feet and cheered. She was soon joined by the rest of the nuns from the shelter where Betty had lived with her family.

The black and white block of women applauded and carried on. They were proud enough for the entire crowd. Betty smiled and waved at them. She had no idea how rowdy a pack of nuns could be when they were loose in the wild. She tried to motion them to settle down, but they kept on. They knew this was a real accomplishment for a girl who had lost so much, so young. She never gave up. Betty did it all by herself and no could ever take that away from her.

Betty returned to her seat and unrolled the paper gift. The language was cryptic, but one line stuck out to her. "…The recipient can now become a productive member of society."

She laughed.

Betty easily got a job at the hospital where she'd been interning for so long. As much as she enjoyed the work, her first paycheck was a huge disappointment. It was so small. It was much less then she expected. Her tuition, her apartment, and the washing machines, all took a big bite out of her savings. It was a disheartening set back in her plan to buy back the family farm. She was used to a Razzles size salary and she missed it. Without the income from Razzles it was doubtful she could get the farm back any time soon, if ever. She needed a new plan to replenish her account. She had come to far to give up.

She wondered about getting a mortgage, but didn’t think it would work. The guy who held the deed would never sell it to Betty, not after what happened the last time they met. If anything, he would go out of his way to keep it from her if he knew she was in on the deal. She seethed and thought, "I needed to push Carson out of the way.”

She fantasized about blackmailing the bastard for a moment. But feared he would still have more power in the situation than her. Since he would know where she would be living, he could have her killed if he wanted. She was trapped by the circumstance and there weren't many ways of escaping. She knew the only people who had money in these tough times were the rich. The only way she knew how to get it from them was to steal it, or go back the place where they threw it at her, Razzles.

She had to get back in somehow. She couldn't go back there the way she left. She needed to be anonymous. She wondered if she could disguise herself so that no one would recognize her; not her old friends, her old boss, her customers or that fiendish banker.

For days Betty tried to follow up on a lead. She was looking for a man named Alfonzo Beznik, the Gypsy. He was an illusive figure who owned a costume shop that never seemed to be open. It's hours where erratic. She'd made several attempts at a visit, but each time the store was closed. Usually there would be a hand written note on the door, guessing the next hour they expected to be in business. But the written predictions never came true. One note would say, come back at five, then at five it would say, sorry we missed you, try back tomorrow at noon. She followed the erratic trail of instructions to no end. If it weren’t for the changing signs, Betty would have assumed the business was shut down. It was frustrating. If she had another choice, she would have given up.

One night while working the third shift at the hospital, the patient census was low. So they let some nurses go home early. It was 12 am and Betty was free to leave. She exited into the night.

When she was a little girl she'd heard somewhere that midnight was the witching hour. She was afraid to fall asleep between 12 and 1 o'clock. She figured that if something supernatural was going to get her, it would strike during that stretch of time.

As an adult, she enjoyed walking the streets at night. Everything was so quiet. It was like she had the city all to herself. Out of curiosity she took a detour to her apartment passing Beznik's Costume Shop. There was a light on inside. She could see movement. Betty hurried to the entrance and saw a crooked sign that read, "open." It was late and there was no one else around. Betty's training gave her the confidence to enter, and the awareness to be cautious. She approached silently, like she had to sneak up on the store so it wouldn't close on her. She crossed through the threshold in silence.

It was like stepping into a child's imagination or a madman’s attic. The space was a bazaar packed from floor to ceiling with a panoply of curious things. There where a hundred costumes dangling like they'd been hung to death. Above them, rows of decapitated, faceless heads displayed wigs of all styles and colors. Some wore hats.

Long glass cabinet counters lined the walls. They were filled with strange items like magic tricks, various detached mustaches, and rows of noses in all shapes and sizes. There was also a felt box with glass eyes of every color. This placed was filled with props to create any illusion or bring fantasies to life, but it didn't seem to have any living people.

It was hard to tell how big the store was since it was so congested. As she explored the wonders she discovered the place was actually divided into three vaults. One was devoted to magic. One was devoted to makeup. Costumes and masks filled the last one. There was no unused space.

Betty heard violin music rolling through the air and followed the sound to its source.

She spotted the Gypsy. He leaned over a glass counter, and a snifter with one swallow left. He swayed and hummed along with the tune coming from the Victrola. Betty watched as he played a game of solitaire with a card set. It had images of people and strange objects, but no numbers. He was a round man with dark skin. He had a friendly plump face with a prominent nose. He was balding, but had a thick black beard and mustache that he twirled as he concentrated on his game.

Betty interrupted. "Excuse me."

He was startled, but quickly regained his composure.

Betty continued. "You’re a hard person to find. I’ve come to your store dozens of times, but I always missed you."

He responded in a Romanian accent. "I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience, but money dictates where I must go."

He explained that the only time the storefront made money was during Halloween. To keep the store alive and to keep food on his table, he supplied the needs of the Citadel Theater District. The troops worked long hours and late nights. He often found himself running back and forth to his store to replace a missing prop, or a torn costume in the middle of a performance. He was glad to have a job, and he loved theater life, but he acted more like an errand boy than an artist.

In Europe, he was said to have been a consummate thespian. He was known as a master of disguise and would often play the parts of ogres, and monsters, and golems. Unfortunately, he was forced to abandon that life as Europe unraveled. So he immigrated to the United States two years ago. The Gypsy auditioned for many roles while in America, but unfortunately, domestic directors felt his accent was too thick for an American audience.

Betty thought his voice sounded like a friendly Dracula. She found it soothing.

The Gypsy felt idled. He was over skilled and under utilized. He was ready for a creative challenge. He was curious about Betty's desire. He asked. "Now that you've found me, what brings you to my store?"

She responded. "I want you to turn me into someone else."

A shiver ran through him. There could be no sweeter phrase in the English language. There was nothing he loved more than changing a woman's appearance. The gypsy had a transformation fetish and this girl would be a magnificent subject. To him she was a blank canvas. Everything about her was unassuming. She was a cute girl, the type any American boy could bring home to his mother. She could go completely unnoticed if she chose to. She had an innocent face with big round eyes, and everything else about her was average. She was an average height, had an average build. Her light brown hair was styled like a million other women. It was cut above her shoulders with pinned curls and waves. She was dead center of all the appearance extremes. She was perfect. He imagined all the guises he could mold her into. He was aroused by his anticipation, but hid it.

Betty asked. "Can you change me?"

"Of course I can." He chuckled. "Who do you want to be?"

"Someone different." She responded.

Her answer was vague. The gypsy knew that secret desires had to be coaxed into conversation slowly. They only leaked out if the subject felt safe. He suspected the two of them were kindred spirits. He was tender and patient. He continued to probe her gently. "Don’t be shy, my dear. Tell Alfonzo. Who do you really want to be?"

His warm eyes gazed softly. All his attention was focused on her. It was disarming.

Betty wanted to blurt out the answer, but she knew speaking about such private desires left her vulnerable. But she had no other choice. She needed to expose herself in order to get what she wanted. It was scary. It required more trust than she had given anyone in her adult life. If she really wanted his help she had to reveal the truth.

"Tell me the truth." He said.

He looked at her like he already knew it. She wondered if the Gypsy was a mentalist? Could he read her mind? Was he testing her? Would she be confessing secrets he already knew?

Her heart pounded. She wanted to free the truth more than ever, but all she could muster was, "I’m not exactly sure."

He felt teased by her answers and it sucked him deeper into her character. He craved more details. Both their desires were equally important to him. He wanted to know more, but played coy back. With a smile he said. "You tell me when you’re ready…"

She realized that she was in the same situation she encountered at Razzles hundreds of times with her customers. But this time the roles were reversed. She realized the Gypsy was trying to collect information the same way she did. He was only interested in the details so he could please her. She was the customer and he was the fantasy provider. She had to reveal her secret desire in order for him to enact it. She also remembered that the gypsy hadn’t asked her name. She was being silly. He just wanted the truth to do his job. It was the only way to make the fantasy real. Besides, a personal secret from an anonymous source would be powerless in any setting.

Betty said. "This may sound a little weird…"

The Gypsy assured her. "Nothing is weird for me. Tell me what you desire. Tell me your wish and I’ll make it come true."

She wanted that to be true so badly.

Betty finally confessed. "I want to be the type of woman that all men desire. I want to be the type of woman men can't resist. I want them to lust and hunger for me, like the women in French art magazines. Have you seen them?"

He trembled. "Oh Yes. I know exactly what you are talking about."

She continued. "I want to be disguised so I can enter a place where people know me, but won't recognize me. I want to hide in their midst.'

"Why do you want that?" He asked gently.

"I want to have power over men." She replied.

Her truth was intoxicating to him.

She asked with hope in her eyes. "Is it possible?”

He answered. "All things are possible for a price."

Every transformation he created would be as much for him as it was for her, but he couldn't buy a meal with a favor. He wouldn't give away his art. He didn't work for free.

He threw out a high opening price expecting to start a round of haggling. He was surprised when Betty accepted the amount. She reached into her purse and pulled out a little more than half the cash to cover the payment. “This is all I have right now, I will get the rest to you another time.”

He accepted her terms and they were ready began the transformation process.

The Gypsy walked to the edge of the vault and pulled back a curtain revealing another chamber. Betty entered. The space looked like a movie star's dressing room. There were mirrors traced by light bulbs. An open makeup kit, pallets, jars and brushes sat on a long white counter ready to serve their master.

He seated her in a plush red barbers chair. It was as soft and luxurious as a throne. He guided her head back so the base of her skull rested on a skinny metal yoke. He explained that photographers used these thin props to help subjects hold still for tintype photographs, which had long exposure times. He repurposed them. She settled in and was very comfortable.

Betty said. "Keep in mind, I don’t want any permanent changes. I want to establish two different identities.

Another shiver engulfed Beznik. He contained himself and said, "Yes ma'am."

He began sculpting her new face. The Gypsy took his craft very seriously. Every transformation he undertook was as much an act of love as it was an exercise in creativity. He was making art as he applied the makeup. The brushed tickled her. It had been so long since anyone had touched Betty. His fingertips gave her goose bumps.

He was immersed in his craft. He paid close attention to minute details. As he worked, her appearance began to change. New features took shape. He was corrupting her innocent face.

He narrated his performance as he worked. His voice was so even and soothing, like a hypnotist's. Her eyelids became heavy. His words and touch were so relaxing. She'd been working so hard lately. This experience was a nice comfortable escape from her real life.

He spoke of transformation. He spoke about the freedom contained in anonymity. He spoke of the pleasure in keeping secrets. He spoke of dreams.

His touch was so gentle, like a caress…She drifted off to sleep…

When Betty woke up it seemed like moments since she dozed off, but it was actually two hours later. She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes.

Beznik stopped her. "Don't! You’ll ruin your make up."

Betty stopped and asked "What? Are we done?"

Beznik beamed with pride. "See for yourself."

He spun her in the red chair to face the mirror. She leaned in and said. "I'm gone…"

Someone new took her place. Betty saw the face of a gorgeous stranger looking back at her. The woman was exotic. She had almond shaped eyes that peaked out from behind thick, black hair. It was long and poured over her shoulders and down her back. Her face was now oval. Her nose turned up slightly, over full lips. She looked just like a model from a French art magazine. The transformation was so dramatic. She loved it.

It seemed impossible that the reflection was really her. The new disguise masked any hint of the innocence her old face conveyed. The stranger smiled with an alluring, mischievous grin. This woman knew things good girls didn’t. She was an object to be desired. She radiated the confidence of experience. Her eyes contained secrets. This mysterious woman would draw men in. They would do anything for her, and she could destroy them.

A hot flash ran through her and something moist happened between her legs and she tightened her thighs.

"This, this is amazing!" She squealed.

She went to touch her face again, but stopped herself. "Can I touch my face?"

He laughed. "Of course you can my darling. I just stopped you from rubbing and ruining your eye make up. I spent a lot of time on them since you know they are the windows to the soul."

He was right, Betty looked deeply into the eyes of the stranger but saw herself in them. Then her fingers gently probed her new cheeks. It felt so real. They were warm but dead to the touch, like her new face was numb. Her transformation was so complete it seemed like magic.

Betty said. "This is incredible. How far can you take this?"

He replied. "As far as you want to go. With a costume change and by adding body forms, I can make you look like anyone."

Mesmerized at the thought she said. "Golly…I want to learn more. Will you teach me?"

The Gypsy responded. "Of course, of course, if you have the money, I’ll make the time to transform you. Just call me and let me know when."

Betty was more eager then he expected. "Maybe we should set standing appointments a few times a week?"

He chuckled. "Like I said before, I go where the money takes me. For the right price we can make standing appointments, and I promise my store will always be open for you.”

He was in it for the transformation, the cash and the praise. He got all of them. Beznik was a master showman. He knew how to wow an audience and leave them wanting more. He asked. "Do you want to go home like this?"

She though for moment then said. "No you'd better change me back so I can return to my real life.”

He stripped off her mask and Betty returned to the world outside the magical, costume shop.

Betty added a few more steps in her weekly routine. Somehow she managed to juggle them all. She alternated days between her fighting and disguise lessons. Betty was enthralled as a student of the Gypsy. Each session he made her into someone else. She was patient and methodical in her collection of information. She asked precise questions and talked little. She watched, listened and absorbed as he performed.

The Gypsy said. "You will discover that people aren't very observant. Transformation is the art of illusion and manipulation. You are whomever you can make others believe you are."

Betty said. "It sounds like lying."

He responded. "Of course it is. Everyone lies. It’s how we survive in the Citadel.”

She already knew it to be true.

One night, under the Gypsy’s tutelage, Betty recreated her first disguise. She became the mysterious woman with long black hair again. Then headed out to infiltrate Razzles.

She was dressed exquisitely. She wore a tight black dress and bright red lips. As she arrived she was quickly ushered into the nightclub. In a strange way she’d missed the place. She loved the music the band played. The crowd laughed and the girls worked their magic on the wealthy clients. She took a strange comfort in knowing some things never changed. She glided through the well dressed crowd that filled round tables. There were so many familiar faces, and she held so many of their secretes. She could exploit them all now if she chose, because no on knew who she was. There would be no repercussions.

She got the attention she was looking for. Even from people she knew. They stared but no one saw the truth. No one saw Betty. They only saw the illusion of the mysterious persona dreamt up by the Gypsy. She made men's mouths water. She was free to cause chaos if she so desired. It was too easy. She felt giddy like a mischievous little girl up to no good.

She arrived at the bar and was quickly greeted by the bartender. Betty used a sultry voice mimicking the Gypsy's accent and introduced herself as Raven. She said she was new in town and looking for a job. She claimed to have heard good things about Razzles. She assured him that she had experience in what they were looking for. The bartender was all too eager to oblige. Before long she was talking with the manager of Razzles. The last time she saw him, he was yelling humiliating things at her. He dumped Betty into the street. It was a memory that felt like a nightmare. He had such rancor in his words. Now he was charming her, practically begging her to join the staff.

She knew just what to say, and just what to do to get want she want from him. Later, she even pushed her luck, by flirting with the male employees she recognized, but they couldn't detect the ruse. Betty was invisible. To them she was Raven. The anonymity was freedom. She struggled to suppress her laughter, and stay in character. No one could hurt her, if they didn’t really know her.

She took the job.

She told her manager that she’d take the weird guys who weren’t necessarily interested in sex. Betty knew what kind of men would be interested in Raven. She’d attract a certain type of customer; the ones who liked it rough, the ones who wanted to be dominated, the ones who needed to be punished.

Over time, she built up a new clientele of men seeking her special services. There were more interested parties than she would have guessed. She crushed one every night.

She used them to tryout her new fighting skills. She practiced Isamu’s techniques on them. Violence had more then one application. Her clients loved it and so did she. There was a safe distance in this type of play and it allowed her to have fun.

When it came to the money Raven was all business. She charged more then Betty. She even negotiated a better percentage of the take. The money was rolling back in and she was relieved. Before long her bank account was replenished. She was back on track to recover the family farm.

The Raven disguise put a safe distance between Betty and her associates. She preferred that type of relationship to anything intimate.

Mimi and Betty never sat down for a meal again. Betty established a new boundary and Mimi accepted it. They weren't sisters. Betty wouldn’t allow herself to become apart of another family, but she could have a business relationship with them. After all everything was paid for.

She was the patron they were the employees. Her obligation was over, now they just focused on the training. Betty learned quickly and the class evolved. Speech was minimal. Most communication became physical; a demonstration, a point, a glance, and a nod were all that was really needed.

Over time, Betty became more confident. Her body was changing. One night at the hospital a nurse attempted to hang a glass bottle of blood for a patient. It slipped from her hand. Betty caught it before it could strike the floor and shatter. Her body knew what to do before she thought it. The speed of her reflexes surprised her.

She was also developing a sense of the space around her. Without looking she could detect people’s presence. She knew it wasn't magic, but it sure felt like it. She was also feeling hints of paranoia, like she was waiting for everyone to attack her. She started seeing people as a collection of pressure points and weak spots where she could do the most damage. Her body spoke to her. She now understood it was becoming a weapon that could be used on her mission, and she was anxious to get started.

In class it was harder for Mimi to lay a hand of Betty when they sparred. They were evenly matched. Before long her second graduation was upon her.

One evening Isamu stopped the match between Betty and Mimi. He told Mimi to step out and he entered the combat. He was going to fight his student. Betty's heart raced.

On his command they started. He was loud and aggressive. He came at her like a lion. She allowed the fear to fuel her heart, but kept a clear head and she defended herself. His fists flew at her like arrows. Student and teacher zigzagged across the mat. Isamu conducted the fight like he was running through a mental checklist. He gave her an opportunity to use everything he had taught her against him. Occasionally, he would smile as she threw something innovative, or something she invented, at him. She was a clever adversary and he knew that anyone who attacked this little white girl in the future was going to get a surprise. He knew she was ready for the street.

Isamu stopped the match, and respectfully bowed to Betty. Then he said in Japanese. "You can train forever, but I think it is time to stop. You are an excellent student, you have learned much. You are a formidable opponent. Now you are able to protect yourself in any situation. It is time for you to go back into the world, Pandora."

Mimi translated through watery eyes.

Betty was confused. She didn't beat him in the fight. The moment felt like a milestone but didn't feel like a victory. As they battled she could tell he was testing her. He was never threatened. He controlled the whole thing. He said she was ready, but she needed proof. She needed to test herself.

It had been months since Betty last entered Murdock's Gym, but it could have been yesterday. It was exactly the same as she remembered, even the smell. The space was littered with the same players doing the same things. The Anvil was even sleeping in the same metal folding chair. He wore the same clothes and snored the same tune. Betty approached him and tapped his shoulder cautiously. "Excuse me, Anvil?"

He turned to her while asleep then opened his eyes. As he woke up Betty came into focus, and he said with a big smile, "Lila."

Betty didn't remember what fake name she had given him, but she responded nonetheless. The Anvil stretched and grunted. The giant spun a vacant chair around to face him. Then wiped off and patted the seat inviting her to sit. “Sit down honey. So what brings you back here? You must have missed me, huh?"

Betty smiled, sat down and told him. She was excited to have someone to talk to about her training discoveries with Isamu. Anvil liked stories and he soaked up every word. He understood her enthusiasm about learning to fight. It reminded him of the time he spent training with his father as a kid. He taught Anvil how to fend off playground bullies. After his first victory he felt charged by knowledge. He felt confident, unstoppable like Hercules with a super human power he could use for survival.

As Betty spoke, he was engaged and asked questions. He understood most of the answers except for all the Chinese mumbo-jumbo. The Chinamen taught her how to fight, and she wanted to fight someone in the ring, to test herself. Suddenly he stopped listening to her. He got goose bumps as a chill ran up his thick neck. An idea began to take shape in his imagination. It was like a revelation. He interrupted her story. She was startled as he clutched her by the arms and invaded her personal space. He wanted to confirm something she said. He asked intently. "You're positive you can fight just like the Chinaman?"

With her heart racing, Betty nodded. "Yes."

"Ok, ok. Let me take it from here." He said.

He looked around the room anxiously like he misplaced something. The Anvil knew that life boiled down to a few extraordinary moments that you would never forget, and the rest of if was pretty boring. To the Anvil, he had just been handed the makings of the greatest practical joke he could ever pull in his life. It would be historic. He would be famous. He just needed to work out a few details before unleashing it on the members of Murdock's gym.

The black hunchback, Earl, was sweeping the room. Anvil spotted him and called him over. They huddled in secrecy as Betty waited patiently. Anvil relayed what Betty had told him. The hunchback saw the situation as an opportunity too. He wanted in. Together they devised a scheme. They spoke back and forth in low voices. They plotted their strategy. Periodically the hunchback looked up and scanned the scattered gym occupants for possible contenders for their ringer.

They plotted some more. Anvil asked Betty if she had a five-dollar bill. She removed it from her purse to stake Anvil’s plan. When they were ready they broke from the huddle. Anvil removed her coat and checked out her shoes. She wore a pair of Converse, Jack Prucell sneakers. Then he motioned for her to follow him.

The Anvil climbed into the ring. Betty followed and stood in one of the corners. The hunchback manned the ringside bell, and let a series of dings chime. The sound drew in people from all parts of the gym. The Anvil stood proudly in the center of the canvas with his massive arms stretched over his head. His booming voice echoed throughout the space.

"Gentlemen! Today we have a special bout. The challenge comes from a new contender."

He proudly presented Betty. She looked completely out of place in the boxing ring. The crowd was confused, but curious. The Anvil continued.

"We won't call it boxing. We won't call it wrestling. We will call it fighting for fun. This little lady says she thinks she can beat any one of you palookas. I'm not sure if I believe her, but I’m willing to take a chance. And I’m willing to put money down. I have in my hand, five dollars. I will give it to anyone who can pin her."

The modest sized crowd stirred with interest.

"It will cost you five dollars to enter the ring. If you win you leave with ten. That's easy money gentleman. Where else in the city can you double your money that fast, and get a chance to grope a girl?"

The attentive crowd agreed that he made a good point, but they were skeptical.

"Give it a shot. Like I said, I’m not sure I believe her either."

The excited crowd laughed then broke into chatter. Some pointed at the girl. Some stared with lewd smiles. Others acted out the things they would prefer to do to her.

After some goading from his friends one man accepted the challenge. They called him the Meat Hook. His friends patted him on the back as he entered the ring. Betty recognized him from her last visit to Murdock's gym. He stepped up to Anvil and paid him. Then he waltzed to his corner and made a spectacle out of removing his shirt. He stood in a sleeveless white undershirt and pants. His arms were perfectly sculpted, and he was attractive. He had no fear about losing and smiled about his impending victory. He looked at her and winked.

The hunchback produced a stool for Betty to sit on. Her heart was racing.

He looked at her adversary and said to Betty in a low voice. "Ok. This guy is a little hot head. If you start winning, he'll get mad. From what I hear from his wife, he don't mind taking a swing at a woman every now and then, either."

Anvil approached her too. He knelt down in front of her. The hunchback handed him something. Then Anvil fitted Betty with small leather training mittens. They weren't much bigger than her hands.

He coached her as he laced the gloves. "Remember everything the Chinaman taught you. If it gets to be too much out there, let me know and I’ll step in and put a stop to it. If one of these bums goes too far, don't you worry. I’ll step in and stop it."

She assured him, "I'll be fine. I want this to be real."

"Oh, it's gonna’ get real alright." He said. "Here we go."

He stood back up with a groan and returned to the center of the ring and spoke some more.

"Call it boxing, call it wresting, call it fighting, call it whatever you want, but there are only a few rules; one, no biting, two, no scratching, three, no hitting below the belt, if you know what I mean?”

The crowd roared.

“Those rules are for you toots." He laughed.

Betty didn’t think it was funny.

Before she knew it, the bell rang, the round began and the Meat Hook was skipping over to her. He took a few jabs at her to establish his presence and scare her. Neither connected. He danced around her. She kept her feet firm, and pivoted to keep him in front of her. He was taller than her, and circled around with smug smile. Occasionally he would make gestures like he was going to swing to see her cringe. He was playing to the crowd. Then he tried to kiss her, as his gym mates egged him on.

He didn't take Betty seriously. To him this was just a game. That mistake was about to cost him. Betty was playing for keeps. Finally, the Meat Hook stopped dancing. He closed his eyes, pointed to his chin and leaned into Betty. She would not refuse the gift. Isamu's wisdom echoed in her ears. "It's not a matter of strength, it's a matter of focus."

She planted herself firmly on the ground. She crafted a punch with a force that followed a straight line from her ankle, up her leg, through her hips and torso, into her shoulder and arm, then into a moving fist.

Wham!

A lightning bolt struck him under the chin. His feet came up off the ground. He looked weightless for a moment. Then he went down and was out.

The crowd was stunned. The room went silent, except for Anvil's laughter.

She struck at the pride of the entire club and the crowd let her know it. They were not happy. One guy cried foul. Some hurled insults at Betty. Others described what they would do to her if they got their hands on her. The Anvil chuckled and continued to provoke them. "Put your money where you mouth is, guys. Who’s next?"

Her heart raced. She was excited with anticipation, not fear.

Her second opponent was more cautious. He just wanted to get in there, beat her and get out. He was faster than Betty anticipated, but her blocks were too swift to let his blows connect. Betty controlled the fight. She led her opponent around the ring. She decided when the attacks would come. She set up the conditions for each strike, both his and hers.

She saw an opening and lunged at him. She was well within his reach. She planted herself like a wedge and drove the heels of her palms into his solar plexus. The force struck him like a speeding freight train. His lungs emptied and his knees went weak. He staggered for a moment. Betty followed up with an open handed blow to his neck. He saw stars and melted to the canvas.

After that the men took Betty seriously.

Betty managed to get behind her third opponent and jump higher then anyone would have expected. She spun quickly and kicked him knocking the sense out of him and dropping him into the ropes. Onlookers slid him out of the ring and made room for the next challenger. The more she won, the more eager they were to beat her.

By her sixth victory, everyone wanted a turn. She had bruised their gender. She made fools of the men and the audience was furious. To add insult to injury she defeated them all so fast. Everyone wanted a shot at her now. They couldn’t wait their turn so the mob rushed the ring.

"Hey! One at a time! One at a time! Come on guys!" Anvil yelled.

There were too many of them to continue the bout. Betty remembered another valuable lesson from Isamu. "It's important to know when you're in over your head. If you can't win, retreat."

Betty had lost control of the situation, and took Isamu's advice. She vaulted over the men crowding into the ring like a girl playing leapfrog.

Anvil held their winnings above his head and yelled to Betty with a big victorious grin. "Hey! What about your cut?"

Betty yelled back. "You guys keep it!"

Anvil accepted the prize then joined in the free-for-all that had erupted in the ring. He didn’t expect to have this much fun, when he got out of bed this morning. It turned out to be a perfect day. He made some money. He had some laughs. And he got to mix it up in the ring like old times. And man-oh-man did he have a great new story to tell!

Betty wiggled her nimble fingers out of the boxing mitts. Then grabbed her coat and bag on the way out. She abandoned gym running and laughing. She had proven to herself that she could fight and win. It wasn’t that she became an expert in hand-to-hand combat. She just learned to fight unconventionally.

Isamu was right. She was ready.

The spring winds were blowing. It was time to leave Citadel City and go back to the farm for good. She snuck into the train yard early one morning and hopped on a freight headed south. She climbed to the top of the car. As it picked up speed the wind blew in her hair. She was alive. She felt accomplished and unstoppable. She learned so many things that winter. The most important one was that, things took longer than you wish them to, but if you stuck with them, you would get what you wanted. You just had to keep working, and cling to your hope.

She truly felt like a new person. She entered the city as Betty but was transformed into Pandora. She had all the tools to destroy the monsters that ruled the Citadel. When Pandora returned to the city, she could dethrone them one by one.

It was a long ride south. When she saw the old Johnson granary, she knew she was close. She hopped off the train and walked the rest of the way. Over the flat landscape, she saw her old home in the distance, but it took awhile to get there. For over two hours she walked along dirt and gravel roads. She didn't see another soul during her entire trek.

The area south of the city was undesired. People had no reason to come out here. There was nothing but abandoned farmland, as far as the eye could see. No one other than her wanted her farm.

Once she arrived, she looked for any evidence of intruders, but there was none. She immediately went to the barn, where the big black car had been entombed. She unlocked and rolled open the huge barn door, and sunlight struck the dormant vehicle for the first time in months. It remained untouched and looked brand new.

She retrieved special gloves from a box hidden in a stall. Then carefully disarmed the vehicle's self-defense system. Then she opened the door and started it. The car woke up and the engine growled. It was ready for action, and so was she.

It was time to take back the family farm once and for all.

It was very late and moon shadows stretched across Citadel City as a majority of its citizens slept. A half demolished building struggled to retain its stature in the skyline. It was constructed at 1321 Desolation Avenue in 1896, at the dawn of the new industrial age. It was named the Paragon and at the time of its construction, the headlines called it an "Architectural Marvel," and an "Engineering Feat that would stand for a 1000 years." That estimation may have been true if certain vested parties actually saw it as a respected landmark, instead of a vulnerable property.

For decades the impoverished and immigrants of all nations called the Paragon their home. It protected them from the rain, and kept them warm in winter. It was the place where newlyweds spoke of dreams and where families experienced life. Countless babies were born, and the elderly died within its walls.

In 1938, headlines about the Paragon read, "Remove the Indigent Blight," and "Making Way For Progress." The articles used words like, dilapidated, and rundown. Everything's time on Earth was limited. Things rarely chose when they would perish, especially when something benefited from their demise.

Most of the building had been reduced to bricks and bulldozed into piles. The walls that remained were pocked by wrecking-ball holes. The next day the crane operator would finish the job. The deconstruction and reconstruction project was funded by monies set aside in Washington D.C. It was part of the WPA and intended to help the down trodden find jobs, but there were middlemen eager to cash in.

Carson, the President the Citadel Bank, was an unapologetic greedy man. He prided himself as a deal maker and a master at acquiring unallocated government funds, and diverting large portions of it into his wallet. Like in all business deals, there were winners and losers. Carson liked to win big. The more opponents he defeated in a single deal the sweeter the victory. He and his associates felt that an undesirable element infested their city and they wanted them out. They wanted the tenements gone and replaced with luxury apartments that would increase the value of their recently acquired property. Although that’s not the way they presented the deal to others.

The tenants failed to see necessity of tearing down a solid, safe building to put up another one. They tried to obstruct the plan. But by chicanery they missed their day in court. Due to a questionable legal maneuver and a colorful interpretation of eminent domain law, their home was destroyed with no chance for appeal. The tenants didn’t drop the issue. Everyday since the demolition began they've picketed at the edge of the property. They were persistent and started to bring attention to what seemed like a crime. Carson and his partners didn’t like it.

The evicted tenants protested all day, calling out for justice from anyone that would listen, but at night they rested. In their stead a mysterious black car lurked in their place. Through one-way, night-vision windshields, the driver surveyed the demolition site with binoculars. Betty wore a gray suit that was woven from a special material that protected her body. She wore long dark gloves and boots with rubber soles to keep her steps silent. A hood and goggles hid her features. She called the ensemble her costume.

For weeks Betty followed Carson. She hated him. He foreclosed on her family's farm. He ruined their lives and Betty wasn't one to let a grudge die. In fact she was willing to go to extreme lengths to exact revenge on her designated enemy. She wanted to punish him. She wanted to hurt him.

She originally thought that when Carson took her family farm, he was stealing. But she was forced to concede that he had done nothing illegal as she researched the matter. But that didn't stop it from being wrong. And that didn't mean all his business dealings were on the up-and-up. How many legitimate business meetings took place at 3 AM?

Her plan was to catch him doing something illegal, and then turn him over the police. Unfortunately, she discovered it wasn't that easy. Men like Carson committed crimes all the time, but they were slippery creatures, and good at not getting caught. She'd been spying on him for weeks, but discovered nothing. She was frustrated. This was his second visit to the old Paragon. She saw him go in but wasn't sure if he was still there. Even with her night vision windshield there was a lot of debris and plenty of places to hide on the site. He could have easily snuck away. It wouldn't be the first time she lost him during her pursuit. Spying wasn’t as easy as she had imagined.

She wondered if she could get some kind of listening device to help her. The thought was interrupted.

BANG!

A single crack of a gunshot echoed through the demolition site.

Betty slinked out of her car to investigate. She slid into the site and glided through the shadows. The city seemed to be made from them. She heard the sounds of digging and crept in closer. Movement caught her eye and she froze.

Two men were up to no good. One was mixing cement in a trough with a shovel. The other was dragging a dead, black man to a deep pit. She didn't recognize any of them, but it wasn't too hard to identify who the bad guys were. She plotted her attack, but before she could move she felt a presence behind her.

A man’s voice said, “We don’t like being spied on.”

She ducked as the oaf tried to bear hug her. She dropped to the ground to avoid his grip then slid her body between his wide stance and got behind him. She kicked out the back of his knees and he fell. As he came down she delivered a powerful kick to the back of his head. He went over. A second man came around the corner in time to see her strike. He turned and yelled out, "Hey Rube!"

Others came running. There were a lot of them. Maybe she could have taken them all, but why risk doing it on her own when she had a car that was built like a tank and ready to oblige? She just needed to clear a path to it. The men circled around her. She picked the one closest to her. His nose was broken before he realized the mysterious woman had moved. Another one lunged at her. She used his momentum to flip the attacker onto one of his cohorts. Their attacks were uncoordinated and slow. She would have had fun, if two of them hadn't drawn pistols and fired.

One bullet struck her in the torso. The slug couldn’t pierce the special fabric of her costume, but the impact still hurt. She ran to her car for protection as the pursuers continued to fire.

"Don’t let her get away!"

She slid over the glossy hood of her car. Within seconds she was behind the wheel and the engine roared. She chased the men back onto the site. Bullets ricocheted off the protected body and windows. She ran them down while weaving between the debris piles. She quickly whittled down their ranks. She laughed as they dove to escape the black car's heavy chrome bumper.

CRASH!

A deafening jolt tossed her car. Betty’s head hit the ceiling and she bit her tongue. The car nearly flipped over from the impact then stopped suddenly.

She scanned the windows and realized they stuck her car with the wrecking-ball. Incredibly, the mysterious black car wasn't flattened. The crane operator couldn’t believe it either. Betty asked the car. "What are you made out of?

She stomped the gas-peddle to the floor. The tires spun but the car didn't move. It was pinned between the wrecking-ball and building debris. What remained of the small mob approached the vehicle. Betty knew there was no way they could get in, but she would have to figure a way to free the car from the outside. They started shooting at the car, to drive her out. Then she remembered. "Wait, I've got a gun of my own."

She removed an odd looking pistol from the holster on her belt. It was called an Oberon 202e Dart gun. Like her protective uniform, it was another of the gifts that came with the super car. She cocked it and popped open a roof hatch. She took aim through her mobile parapet and fired at the men one at a time. The Oberon shot a tiny case-less dart comprised of a powerful sedative. As the dart was absorbed into the bloodstream it rendered the target unconscious until fully dissolved.

Each of the men felt something like a wasp sting. They became light headed, staggered and fell. The circle of men tumbled like dominos. Then she set her sights on the crane operator. She twist-cocked the pistol a few more times to build enough air pressure for the long-range shot. The driver saw her point the weapon at him and scrambled to escape the open-air cab.

A powerful air blast fired the dart the full distance. The operator felt it sting his back. He became woozy and fell to the dirt. All the men would remain unconscious for hours.

“That was easy.” She said. “I guess I should have thought of that earlier.”

She climbed out of her car and into the aftermath. With her dart-gun drawn, she raced to the side of the murder victim and examined him. She didn't recognize him. "I didn't see what happened. I’m not sure who the murderer was. I don't know if Carson pulled the trigger or not.”

“I made too many stupid mistakes tonight. I’ve got to be smarter or I’ll end up like this guy."

She squinted and scanned the vacant area for movement. " I doubt Carson is still here.”

She looked at the neighboring building. Their lights were all off. “I can't believe all that commotion didn't wake anyone up. Still, I better clear out of here."

She ran to the wrecking crane. The engine was idling. After wasting time figuring out the controls, she clumsily managed to free her vehicle.

Back at the car she inspected the glossy black body for damage. “Not a scratch on it. It just didn't seem possible."

She hopped back in behind the wheel, revved the powerful engine and fled the scene. "This method isn’t working out how I hoped. Maybe I need to try a more direct approach next."

She raced through the sleeping city.

"For now, I’m going to have to let the police clean up my mess. They have more resources. Maybe they can piece together the evidence and figure out who pulled the trigger.”

She removed a microphone from the radio transmitter installed under the dash. Then tuned it to a restricted frequency.

Officer Mahoney drew the short straw that night. He was selected to work the police dispatch on the graveyard shift all week. It was slow and he was alone in the station. All the other officers were on the road, while he was stuck at a desk with a book. He didn't like to read so he used the tome for a pillow instead.

A woman’s voice crackled over the radio and woke him. "Hello?"

Mahoney sat up straight. The voice continued. "Hello? I’m trying to contact the police?"

Mahoney looked at the radio annoyed. He was in no mood for pranks. He grabbed the microphone and responded. "Whoever you are, you are talking on a police channel. That’s a federal offense. If you don't get off right now, we will trace this transmission back to you and prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”

He was bluffing about the tracing part. It took a lot of work and a lot of people to triangulate a sender’s location. He was tired and not in the mood for jokes. He had better ways to waste his time.

Then the voice said, "I want to report a murder at 1321 Desolation Avenue. A man was shot."

“If this is a joke, you’re asking fer it, lady!” Mahoney said.

“It’s no joke. Send a car there and you will find a body.” She replied.

"Well that's a different matter.” He tried to keep her talking for more information, but she cut the transmission. He called all available cars to investigate.

Before long, three police cars arrived at the scene. At first glance, it looked like a massacre with all the bodies lying around. It took awhile to establish the actual murder victim. Eventually, they found the body and identified him. His name was Harold Moss. He was a former occupant of the Paragon and helped organize the rest of the tenants in their protests. The police knew he was an agitator who ran with an unsavory crowd. Plus, if he was from this part of town, he was guilty of something. He must have got mixed up in a deal gone bad. They figured it was just vermin killing vermin. This kind of thing happened all the time in Citadel City.

When all the unconscious victims of Betty’s dart gun had finally woke, they supported the police suspicions’. However, they couldn’t quite explain what had happened to them. They were all members of the Big Buckle Construction Company. It was a respectable outfit, so the police figured they must have run into the wrong person while working late. They were good guys and there was no need investigate them further. They assumed their attacker was also the murderer.

Betty had been living on the foreclosed farm. She felt like it was hers even though she didn't have the deed. It was doubtful that she would be discovered. The area around her was nothing but abandoned farmland, and no one other than her wanted it. But as an added precaution she was careful to hide her presence. If anyone happened along the old dirt road that went past her house, they may have suspected the old McDougal farm was haunted.

“There were ghosts here.” She thought as she walked the property to burn off the residual adrenaline from the evening’s adventure.

“Everywhere I looked I saw my parents. Every inch of the homestead had a memory attached to it. That was where dad found the Indian arrowhead. Mom used to hang the wash on clotheslines over there. One night, when I was supposed to be sleeping, I saw mom and dad having a moonlight picnic by that crooked tree. The house was full of memories too, but I avoid going in there. I decided to live in the barn instead.”

She entered the barn and walked around the big black car. She petted it as she passed by. “Don’t mind me. You just go ahead and sleep. After what you went through tonight, you deserve a long rest.”

She continued through the space. “I cobbled together all the things I needed in the barn. It had become a garage, a hideout, a vault, a secret layer, a dressing room and a home.”

She reached a pile of books and maps strewn on a table. “I was even starting to build a decent library. Although reading by candlelight wasn’t the best option. I’ll worry about electricity once I own the farm again. Besides I liked playing with fire. “

She lit a candle and looked into the flame. It seemed like a living thing. It felt like company.

“Tonight’s mission was a failure. I didn’t get the banker, but I must figure out a way to burn him.”

The Citadel Bank was a multifaceted financial institution. It had a singular focus, growth through profit. It had a long history that withstood a civil war, a world war, and more than one market crash. It never fully closed its doors during the depression, not to its more affluent clients anyway. They were steps ahead of the public in the nation's economic recovery. They were thriving.

Everything inside the Citadel Bank was gigantic, except the customers. They looked like dolls in a wrong scale house while standing at teller windows. The grand environment looked like a cathedral or the Parthenon. The room had rows of tall pillars, high ceilings, and veiny marble floors. The bank had several departments covering a wide range of services. They could facilitate any monetary necessity, scheme, or investment. It even hosted the Citadel Stock exchange.

Two floors up was the commercial banking department. The description didn't quite cover all of the of the department's activities. It was a place where men of power and great wealth met and divided up the world among them. The second floor was the domain of Carson, the Bank President.

It was business as usual that day as two smartly dressed men in top hats exited the elevator. They were greeted with the bright smile of a platinum blonde receptionist. She was stunning. She took their names and announced their arrival to Carson via intercom. While they waited, the bank guests turned their charm on the lovely young lady.

The first man asked. "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Jean Harlow?"

She acted shy at the attention and said, "Yes, I’ve heard that before, but thank you."

"Seriously, you could be her twin. It's uncanny. May I ask your name?”

"My name is Jewel.” She said, and gracefully extended her ring-less hand.

He took it and gently kissed it, all the while making eye contact with her. She giggled and said, "Oh my, how sophisticated."

She spoke with a slight southern accent, and everything she said sounded like flirting.

The second man commented under his breath. "Laying it on a little thick aren't you, brother?"

Not willing to be outdone by the second man, he said, "A celestial beauty like yours should be with the stars in Hollywood. You should be on the silver screen, not stuck behind a desk in old Carson's vault."

He chuckled.

She beamed at the compliment. "Well aren't you sweet? What a wonderful thing to say?”

He edged a little closer to her. "You know, with the right sponsor, you might be able to make that happen."

"Really? I've always thought I could be an actress." She said.

He nodded. "It’s something you should think about. Say, did I mention I have a home in California?"

Carson interrupted the discussion. "You’re always trying to take something that doesn't belong to you, aren't you, Moneybags?"

He laughed and greeted the men with a competitive handshake.

The first man shook Carson's hand and said. "She is a dead ringer for Jean Harlow."

Carson smiled and glanced at her. "Yes she is. Yes she is."

He turned back to his friends and added. "But she’s not a very good typist."

The three looked at each other then said in unison, "Who cares?"

As they laughed at their joke, Carson led them to his office. "Come along, gentlemen. Let's talk business."

His eyes met Jewel's. He smiled and gave her a confident wink. Jewel waved back with a bright smile. She looked expensive. She added an air of glamour to the decor. She was a prize and he wanted her. He would have shit himself if he knew she was really Betty.

Thanks to Alfonzo Beznik's makeup magic, Betty was able to infiltrate Carson's inner sanctum undetected, three weeks ago. She heard there was a high employee turnover rate on Carson's floor. There always seemed to be an opening. It took her three interviews in three different disguises to figure out what they were looking for. She didn't know that Carson had a thing for Jean Harlow at the time, but, then again, most men did.

She wasn't great at the job. To avoid suspicion she acted dumb, dressed to get attention and flirted with any man who was receptive. It worked on all the guys and they covered for her, but the other girls in the bank hated the character she portrayed. Carson was aware of the tension and was amused by it. He thrived on conflict. Carson wanted to get closer to Jewel, and Betty let him.

They often ate dinner together in the finest restaurants in the Citadel. She played the part of an innocent girl new to the big city. She acted shy and clung to every word Carson said. She got caught up in the role at times and was able to give the man she hated passionate kisses that said she never wanted to let him go. She claimed she had feelings for him, but she was very religious and saving herself for marriage. She said she was confused about her desires and turned to Carson for comfort. Betty knew precisely how to play him.

To him, she was irresistible. He wanted to corrupt this innocent southern belle. He wanted to crack her thighs open and beat her future husband to her virtue more than anything else in the world. What a prize she was, not too bright, but so damn beautiful, so delicate. He didn't want to press her too hard. He didn’t want to scare her away. Besides, he knew it would be an even greater victory if she lay before him of her own free will.

He said he would take care of her and tempted her with sparkling trinkets. He promised her financial stability. He swore to leave his wife, if Jewel would just say yes. Betty remembered enough about Carson not to tell him no. Instead she used words like; maybe, not yet, or I don't know what to do. Sometimes she'd just cry. He was drawn deeper into the challenge.

He had to have her, but he had to be patient with a girl like her. Even though it was killing him. He knew she would give in at some point, and then he would soil her, because he never lost.

Carson was so nice to Jewel, but Betty knew he would only act this way until he got what he wanted. Betty played along. She liked to see him squirm as much as she enjoyed wrapping him around her finger with the rest of the jewelry he gave her. It was a fun game, but toying with him was only part of her mission. She never forgot that he was a monster and needed to be destroyed.

Some nights she would stay at the bank after hours and hide until everyone was gone. Then she wandered the building alone. On those nights she learned about the world of business, by exploring the dark underside of the Citadel bank. At night the institution was vulnerable without the infusion of men’s greed to protect it. Betty hoped her covert investigation would expose Carson’s business secrets. There had to be evidence of his crimes hidden somewhere in the bank, and she was going to find it.

There were thousands of documents filed under a myriad of categories and subcategories stored all over the building. Her early explorations were more like reconnaissance missions. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for. She didn’t expect to find a file folder with the word “Crimes” stamped on it, but she assumed she would be able to detect something incriminating if she stumbled on to it. Instead she found mounds of papers that made no sense. The more she read the more frustrated she became. She didn't understand the contractual language of financial-ese. She came to realize that she couldn't follow a paper trail to a crime if she didn't know where to start. She needed to consult an expert.

While snooping through Carson's desk one night, Betty discovered what amounted to a vanquished enemies list. One of the names was Leo Langley. Carson's perceived enemies were always in the forefront of his mind. He alluded to them often. Betty heard of Langley before but didn't know all the details. All she knew for sure was that he used to be a lawyer and he crossed swords with Carson once in the past. Maybe Langley would be interested in helping take down Carson if she could find him.

It was a typical evening for Professor Leo Langley of Redact University. He wore gold, wire-rimmed glasses. He had wavy graying hair and a thick mustache that hid his entire mouth. It wiggled when he spoke acting as proof that his voice came from him. He sat in his office at the end of the law department grading papers by desk-lamp. He enjoyed reading his students' work. They were all so filled with energy, idealism, and righteousness. Their interpretations of the world and legal matters made him nostalgic for his own ideals, poisoned so many years ago. He knew about the ambush awaiting these bright young legal minds as they entered society. He did his best to prepare them for how dangerous the world outside of school really was.

His students were the only things he could depend on. They came to class every day at the same time. He lectured and they participated in discussions. They did their assignments and proved they'd received nuggets of his wisdom in their words. They listened to what he said. They took him seriously and he felt that it was only fair to reciprocate. He read every word they wrote. He was devoted to his task, so much so that he often lost track of other parts of his life.

He felt safe in the order of Redact University, but was miserable in all other aspects of his existence. He made a mess of it. He seemed to be facing the wrong direction during every important decision of his adult life. He didn't trust himself any more, not out there in the world.

It was so strange outside off campus. Nothing in the world made sense. Nothing matched anything he'd learned in books. He was an intellect and believed he could solve all problems with his mind. But he had no control of anything outside of it. Each decision he'd made out there had been one mistake after another. He was filled with intense doubt. His thinking paralyzed him. He didn't want to suffer any more consequences from his actions.

Suddenly he froze and held his breath. Did the floor creak behind him? Was something lurking in the hallway? He counted to thirty in his head, as he listened… nothing but silence. He exhaled and said to himself, "You're so jumpy, you fool."

He attempted to refocus on the students’ papers, but could feel his mind wandering. When he was younger he was more like them. He missed that about himself. There was no mystery to what changed. He knew precisely when and why he lost his confidence. He could feel the bad thoughts leaking from a suppressed memory. When they crept out he couldn't focus on his work. The familiar trauma came on too strong to ignore. The disruption was back and the life-changing event unfolded in his minds eye for the millionth time.

Before Leo was a teacher he practiced law. His career started before the 1929 crash. Back in those days, he worked for a newly established law firm in the Citadel. He was young and eager but needed some guidance so he was assigned to small time clients and hard luck cases. None were particularly challenging but he followed the rules, filed the papers, did the work and got positive results. He helped every client who came through his door by following the letter of the law. Truth prevailed and justice was served. Those were happy times.

Then one day a family member came to him with a whopper of a case. It was a real David vs. Goliath situation that involved taking down a financial giant, the Citadel Bank and its President, Carson. It was the type of case that could make or break a lawyer's career. It was intimidating. He knew the bank had endless resources to fight, but Leo reviewed all the details of the case from every imaginable angle. He was sure that if he took the case he would be on the side of right. Once the facts came out he was sure that the bank would be obligated to pay substantial fines, and it was possible that Carson would be sentenced to jail.

There was a lot of money at stake, so the bank and their attorneys made attempts to settle the case outside of court, but Leo rejected their offers. To him it was a fight over principles. It was clear who was right and who was wrong. So he took the case to trial and crossed swords with the Citadel Bank and Carson in the courtroom. Leo took a risk. He played fair, followed the rules and the letter of the law and he lost. He lost big

His opponents used massive amounts of money to fabricate hypothetical truths. They used every dirty trick imaginable to discredit Leo and his client and it worked. There was nothing fancy about their technique; they just had purchasing power enough to circumvent the law. To them the truth wasn't a weapon, it was an obstacle and Leo was crushed along with it.

In the last few moments of the trial, right before the verdict was read, Carson turned to Leo and freed a sly smile. The smug bastard already knew the answer. He knew the result before it was read to the rest of the court. Leo lost the trial. Then he lost everything else.

In the business world he became a pariah. He took on one of their own and lost a high profile case. To potential clients it didn't matter how you played the game, it mattered if you won or lost. No one wanted to risk hiring a loser, especially one who lost so big and so publicly.

He clung to his principles. He took pride in knowing he was right. He lost because they lied, but no one else cared. He had faith in the law and was made a fool. His failure cost him his job, his career, his reputation, his first marriage, his health, and his friends. It nearly cost him his license to practice law even though he had done nothing wrong. Carson's web of influence ensnared the City. Leo learned how vulnerable he was. Average people were just bugs easily squashed by the financial giants of the Citadel.

Leo's internal dialogue screamed. "How could you be so God damned stupid?"

At Redact University he sat in his office red faced. His blood pressure was rising. His body shook as rage kicked its way through him. The pen he'd been using to grade papers exploded under the pressure and ink poured all over the desk and his hand.

"Great, just great!" He fumed.

He wanted to start screaming. He wanted to turn the desk over. He wanted to thrash the props in his academic prison. He wanted to tear the Citadel apart…but he didn't. Instead he took a deep breath, sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes. He wiped the sweat from his face with inky fingers, leaving blue streaks behind.

He concentrated on controlling his breathing… He assured himself it was all over now… There was nothing he could do about it… It was a thing of the past… He made his mind blank… He thought of floating in cold water… He made himself numb… He preferred the numbness to the frustration. It was the only way he could survive. He warned himself. "I’m going to have a heart attack some day if I’m not careful."

Eventually he calmed down. He remembered his students. They were depending on him. He cleaned up the mess on his desk and got back to work on their papers. He tried to focus on the task and forget about the outside world again.

In the aftermath of the big trial Leo couldn't find a job. As the depression hit it seemed like everyone was in limbo. Living became a source of anxiety with no sign of relief. A sympathetic family member helped him get an interview at the University. The school was more forgiving of his past failure and they found him a teaching position. He turned his back on the legal system and locked himself away in the halls of academia. He tried forgetting his history, but he could never escape the consequences. The reminders of his failure continued to flog him. He once heard that, "Those who can't do, teach."

And it stung.

For years he concentrated on legal theory not the practice of the law. It was safer. However he reworked the curriculum to better prepare a new crop of lawyers for the reality out there. He offered them the truth, a warning and his lingering love of the law.

He often wondered that, if he could do it all over again, would he stand on his principles? He wasn’t sure. It didn't get him anywhere the first time. In his studies, he discovered the Greek origins of the word justice. It actually meant revenge. If only it were still true. If only it was possible to apply its ancient meaning to Carson.

Leo felt foolish for hoping for things that never came, like second chances. He quietly continued reading papers in his office.

He saw a shadow move over his desk. Through the frosted door window he could see a dark figure in the hallway. The doorknob turned and a hooded woman dressed in a peculiar driving costume and holstered gun stepped into his office. She strolled in as casually as if she'd had an appointment. Dumb struck the Professor asked, "Who are you?"

"Why don't you just call me Witness X for now." Replied Betty.

His mustache quivered. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry if I scared you. Believe me you have no reason to be alarmed. We have a mutual enemy. That makes us allies by circumstance. I want to dethrone Carson and I’d like your help."

A fire sparked in his eyes at the name. Through clenched teeth he repeated it like he was invoking the devil.

"Carson!"

A bad memory valve blew in his mind. His pulse pounded in his ears as his blood pressure climbed. The rage hit him too hard to calm himself with meditation. He needed chemical help. Only his medicine could save him now. He fumbled into the desk drawer for pills, popped two into his mouth and swallowed them down dry. He trembled in his chair.

Betty approached him almost revealing that she was a nurse. She asked, "Are you ok?"

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I’ll be fine in a minute."

Betty observed as his breathing slowly returned to normal. Moments later he opened his eyes alert and ready to participate in the strange meeting. He calmly said, "Tell me more. What is your interest in… that person?"

She said. "Carson ruined my life. I want to punish him for it."

Then Betty went on to tell the story of how she came to the city and what her life had become. As she spoke the ominous facade of a Witness X faded and he heard the familiar testimony of a real person. She was another victim of Carson’s reign. She offered the Professor a slightly modified version to maintain her anonymity. Based on what she learned about Leo, she knew he was smart. If he had too many specific details about her life, he might be able to figure out who she was, if he had the mind to.

Once she finished, the Professor cautiously reflected. "My life took a similar turn due to my dealings with…that person. But you probably know that, and that's why you're here now."

She nodded.

"So tell me, how do you intend on dethroning… that person?" He asked.

Betty explained. "I have access to thousands and thousands of private documents in the Citadel Bank. They cover decades of deals. There has to be proof of Carson's wrong doing in them somewhere. He gloats about illegal activities all the time but doesn't go into specifics. I don't have the expertise to identify incriminating evidence in the files. Even if I saw it, I’m afraid I’ll miss something. I need to know what to look for specifically. I have a lot of other skills, but legal matters are a mystery to me. Carson must be punished for all he's done to countless victims. I need your help to put him away for good."

He tried to read this mysterious Witness X who stood before him. From what he could see of her face she looked young, like a student, but spoke like a much older woman. She was serious like a wounded adult. When she spoke, she got right to the point. She was direct and candid with her feelings, but obviously she kept some details of her stories from him. He thought it was to protect him, so he could maintain a safe distance if things went bad. To him it was a considerate move and he appreciated it. Her access to the bank was hard for him to believe, but if what she said was true, he was being offered an extraordinary opportunity. He couldn't tell if she could really deliver all she was promising.

He crossed his legs and continued to ask questions in the same way he challenged his students in class. He spoke in a condescending tone. "What exactly do you want from me?"

She said. "I want you to teach me. I need a crash course in how to spot crimes in contracts. That’s all."

He laughed and said sarcastically. "Oh, that's all, huh?"

"I didn't mean it like that. I know I’m over simplifying it. And it kills me to say this but I can't figure this out on my own."

She could see that she had his attention but couldn’t tell what he was going to do.

He sat rocking in his chair. He stared at her in silence. She was getting impatient. To speed things up she added. "I can pay you for your time and services."

He detected a hint of desperation in her words and demeanor. He said. "You’d be the first client I’ve had in a decade."

There was another long silence. Betty waited.

He was skeptical, and proceeded with his line of questioning. "Why come to me?"

She didn’t care for the condescending tone he was using with her. “You’re uniquely qualified for the job."

He asked, "Why do you hide your face? Why the…disguise."

"So you can’t hurt me."

Her answer stuck him like an arrow. He said. "I would never."

She said. "People always say things like that at the beginning of relationships."

He sat in silence waiting for her to expound on that thought.

"I’d like your help but if you aren't willing to get involved, I will find another way."

There was more silence.

Unlike most men, she couldn't read him. If he was interested in her proposal she couldn't tell. She started feeling exposed and vulnerable. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She must have misinterpreted this man’s history and projected her own need for vengeance onto him. Couldn’t he see the gift she was offering him? She was willing to deliver Carson's head on a plate. But he didn’t seem to care. She shook her head and said. "I'm sorry I wasted your time."

She turned to exit.

Leo wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want her to go, but he couldn’t tell if that was the right or wrong decision. His mind raced. She offered the second chance he’d been hoping for, and now she was leaving with it. Could it be real? It could be a chance to rewrite history, or it could be the final straw that sent him into oblivion. Could justice still prevail? Could he take that risk again?

He couldn’t let the vengeance wraith disappear into the night. "Wait. How do I get in touch with you?"

She responded with her back turned. "You can't. This is a one-time opportunity. You have to make a decision now."

"How do I know if I can trust you?" he asked.

She said. "You don’t have to trust me, I’m taking all the risk. I just want you to teach me. You must hate him as much as I do and I don’t think either of us can get him by ourselves.”

He waved her back in. He imagined what he could do if he had a map to all the skeletons entombed in the bank. He imagined all the discoveries that could be made if left unsupervised in Carson’s lair.

Betty asked. "So will you take the case?"

Leo confessed. “I’m not so sure I can face… that person in court again. I don’t think it would do either of us much good.”

"Then I'm sorry I wasted your time." She turned to walk out.

He stopped her again. "Wait. Please let me finish. I won't be your lawyer but I will be your teacher. Please come in and sit with me.”

She complied.

He continued. "Let me start by saying, I don’t think I can teach you everything you would need to know in order to pull this off, but I can give you enough to start hunting for solid clues. I also think it may be more expeditious if you bring what you find to me so I can take a detailed look at them. Then we can build an evidentiary map, and you can look for specific missing parts. If we work this way we can both learn as we go. How does that sound to you?"

It was a test.

"Ok." She said.

She passed.

He rolled out his chalkboard and began to outline a basic framework for data collection. He provided lists of key words, ideas and forms to be on the lookout for. He also divulged specific names of suspected dirty clients that might be in the mix. The two held an impromptu private tutor session and Betty was an eager student. She flipped open her little note book and followed along writing lists. She was a bright student and asked all the right questions. She listened to what he said and took him seriously. He felt that it was only fair to reciprocate.

After three hours Professor, Leo Langley called it a night. He knew it might take a while to hone their system, but it felt like a good start. She already knew where to look. Now she knew what to look for.

He concluded. "Like I was saying before, I’m not sure I can face… that person again in court, but if you can really get everything you say you can, if you get the evidence we need, I’ll make sure it all gets to trial somehow."

She got up and smiled for the first time since she entered his office. She folded up her notepad and said. "Thank you, you’ve been very helpful."

He reiterated. "You do your part and I will do the rest."

Betty said. "I’ll return when I have something."

He was glad she was happy but he didn't want to get his hopes up. The truth had a way of unfolding over time. He just had to be patient until he could figure out what it was. He was testing the mysterious Witness X. To him this was a discovery phase. He wanted proof of her claims. But there was an excitement brewing in him. He and his cohort were united in a revenge plot. It felt important. It felt good.

The duo shook hands and Betty headed out. Before exiting she hesitated for a moment, then turned and asked him. "Did you know you have ink all over your face?"

"What?" Then he remembered the exploding pen and looked sheepish.

She exited saying. "I just didn't want you to be embarrassed by someone else out there."

Betty was juggling a lot of roles in her life. Keeping the characters straight wasn’t as hard as managing her time and getting enough sleep. She had to reshape her routine to accommodate another new identity.

As Jewel, the receptionist, she continued working for Carson five days a week until she finished her bank heist. As Betty, the nurse, she switched her schedule at the hospital to work the weekends. As Raven, the playful sadist, she decreased her visits to Razzles although some nights she took appointments from very special, high paying clients. It was a good way to burn off steam. The combined income from all three of her roles was building her farm fund back up. And, as Witness X, she worked with the Professor to trap a monster.

After collecting some burglary supplies she returned to her role as Jewel, the platinum blonde receptionist outside Carson's office. She wanted the day to pass more quickly but it seemed to drag. She seemed distant to Carson and he asked her two times if she was feeling all right. She distracted him by flirting away any suspicion he may have had. Once she even brushed up against the bulge in his pants with her bottom in a staged accident as she schooched past him to get the mail. She acted embarrassed, but she never seemed to blush. Carson took it as a sign that she was secretly filled with as much lust as he was, but her need for marital purity was in the way. Still, he enjoyed the chase and stole a kiss from her between meetings.

After the day was over and everyone was finally gone, she emerged from her hiding spot with a leather carrying bag. She took off her heels and dress and hung up her work costume. A naked Jean Harlow stood in the bank. A mischievous pleasure overtook her. She smiled and twirled. A gentle draft slid between her warm thighs. The chill tickled and she giggled. She examined the vacant space. She was alone, in the buff, in the most power financial institution in the Citadel, possibly the country. Alone she was free to do anything she wanted.

She was giddy and laughed and said. “I’m definitely in violation of the dress code.”

She resisted the temptation to frolic through the entire bank like an untamed nymph loose in the modern world. She debated committing that evening’s heist in the nude, but decided she didn't want to get herself all dusty crawling around in the bank's catacombs.

She redressed in blue coveralls, gloves, and thick socks that she retrieved from her leather satchel. She thought of this outfit as her burglar uniform. She tied a headscarf to protect her platinum hair and she was ready.

Empowered by the Professor's notes, Betty returned to her late night undercover work. There were files stashed all over the building, but she knew where to start. She opened the elevator cage, entered and turned the operators lever to down. She stopped between the first and basement floors. During her early reconnaissance of the bank, she found a file room in the basement. That was where the good stuff was hidden, but it was locked up. While exploring, she discovered a way into the room through the elevator shaft.

She climbed out and crawled under the elevator car with her satchel. An old acrid smell invaded her nose as she progressed through decades of dust and grease from the wheels and cables. She reached the machinery at the back of the shaft. She inched through a narrow gap and wiggled round the stalled gears. She knew they would chew up her flesh and shatter her bones if they were activated while she was stuck in there. She imagined what her x-rays would look like if she got caught in them.

It was a tight spot and she got through. A man wouldn't have fit. Finally, she forced all the air out of her lungs and squeezed through a narrow wall grate. Then she popped out through a service panel and into the file room. She was filthy from the journey.

The basement file room was stone, cold and musty like a dungeon. It was filled with rows and rows of file cabinets. They looked like black subway trains parked in the station for the night. She wondered what crimes were lurking in the Citadel Bank history. She pulled her notepad from the thin leather satchel and began exploring file drawers. With the Professor’s primer, she discovered an organizational method that would have made a German efficiency expert proud. She removed a camera from her bag, unfolded the case and adjusted the lens baffle. She gathered files and removed pages and papers, then photographed them one by one. She alternated between shuffling papers, writing down file names, advancing film and replacing flash bulbs.

She worked until she was out of film, then packed up her bag, removed all evidence of her presence, and slipped back out through the elevator shaft. Upstairs she collected her other clothes and escaped into the night.

Getting into the bank at night was difficult, but getting out was easy.

She strolled to the costume shop and using her own key, crept inside so she wouldn't wake Alfonzo. Although she doubted he would hear anything over his snoring. It rumbled the entire space. She entered a dressing chamber in the rear of the shop and removed her platinum blonde disguise. She was getting used to seeing Jewel's face and wore it more than Betty's these days. Betty was the one who looked like the stranger. Once her disguise was removed, she took a hot shower, stuffed her ears with plugs and fell asleep on a cot the Gypsy set up for her.

Alfonzo didn't know exactly what she was up to, but he didn’t really care. She was a steady customer that paid well and on time. She rented the cot from him each weeknight. Then every morning at five o'clock he woke his young unnamed guest and transformed her into Jean Harlow. He costumed her and released the reincarnated starlet back into the living world of the Citadel. It seemed like he was doing the men of the city a service. The process became a ritual. The strange arrangement may have seemed weird to anyone else, but it certainly wasn't the oddest thing he'd participated in during his gypsy travels. He could only imagine what she was up to but never asked. He wasn’t paid to.

Professor Langley was surprised how quickly the mysterious Witness X returned with results. She entered his office with a thick grocery bag containing enlarged photographs of documents.

He chose one and breezed through it quickly. He checked for clues of authenticity. He picked up another one. It had names and dates and Carson's signature. The third one seemed to indicate a federal crime. She wasn't lying. These were real! If she could keep this up, her crazy scheme could really work. They could take down Carson.

He stammered. “I can't believe you have access to this kind of material.”

She said. “They don't make it easy to get, but I am pretty resourceful.”

“Yes, yes I can see that.” He said while reading.

She asked. “Will these be useful?”

"Indubitably." He spoke as if from a daze. “These are incredible. You are a good student."

She smiled with pride. "There are a lot more where they came from."

He began sorting the contents of the bag, commenting to himself between discoveries. "Oh my… Well I’ll be…Would you look at that?"

He was lost in the contractual treasures. His awareness of Witness X drifted in and out.

She said. “I don’t think you need me anymore tonight. Why don’t I leave you with these to study? I’ll bring you back more on my next visit.”

“Quite right, my dear, quite right.” His attention was thoroughly absorbed by the documents.

She left him with her discovery and slipped away into the night.

For as nervous as Betty was when she started robbing the bank, digging through the secret files had become as routine as delivering coffee to Carson with a phony kiss. The entire charade was far easier than she imagined, and so was the heist. No one appeared to suspect a thing. Around the office she was just a dinghy secretary with a crush on her powerful boss.

Each night Betty visited the file room, she was meticulous in her search. She took time collecting pieces of connecting information. During her nocturnal perusals she ran across a wide array of interesting tidbits.

Apparently the bank had made a lot of money during Prohibition through nefarious means. These deals would have been crimes if it hadn't been repealed. There were lists and files on several speakeasies, including Razzles. It first opened its doors in 1921. At one point they had stills on the premises. Over time Razzles expanded into the pleasure dome it had become and according to their deposit history, their revenue was astronomical. Betty was shocked by their weekly income. During a typical weekend they raked in enough loot to buy back her family farm.

There seemed to no end to the Citadel Bank's entanglement. There were many international clients, including several dealings with German companies. She had fielded calls from them in her receptionist role. It was hard to figure out what they were up to since half the documents and contracts were written in German.

There was also something called Schadenfreude.

In a cache of real estate files, she discovered more information about the destroyed Paragon building. Clients, friends, and other Silver Spoons lined up to profit from inflated estimates for the unnecessary reconstruction project. Obviously, they took advantage of the WPA but she didn’t know if they actually broke a law. Apparently the tenants were considered collateral damage caught in the crossfire of progress.

She didn’t expect to find anything personal during her nightly bank invasions, but one surprised her. She discovered the actual deed to her family's farm amid some foreclosure papers. She held the crinkled document in her warm hands. Before this moment, her covert actions in the bank felt like a game, but this stripped the fun from the mischief. This discovery was all too real. She had possession of the deed at that moment and wanted to keep it.

She said. “I can’t believe I'm holding this.”

She thought she put a stoic's distance between her feelings and her acts of burglary, but she was distracted from her true task. She wanted to cancel the entire operation, take the deed and go home, but she couldn't let her wants overpower her needs in that matter. She knew she had to acquire it by legitimate means or she risked losing the farm forever. If she didn’t figure out a way to stop Carson, he would continue to spread misery to countless others. At least until he was dead. She tried to ignore the artifact from her past and concentrate on the investigation but couldn’t.

She leafed through the rest of the documents in the folder about her home. She was greeted by her father’s signature. The familial discovery penetrated her disguise and struck Betty's heart. His handwriting was bold and direct, nothing fancy, just like the man she remembered. Her chin quivered.

She was supposed to be Witness X, not Betty that night. It was too late. Her cover was blown. She felt exposed. She wanted to get out of there, but had to maintain her composure for just a few minutes more. She struggled to hear her internal, exit checklist over her screaming heart. Each night she made sure she left the environment in the same condition she encountered it. She thought of the file room as a sterile field that she could not contaminate with evidence of her presence. It was clean except for one thing. Reluctantly, she returned the deed to its cold prison.

She ran out of the bank and into the night.

Alfonzo was surprised to hear his unnamed guest return to the costume shop so early. She was clearly upset. He offered to help unmask her. He helped her into the dressing room chair. He peeled back the glamorous mask to reveal Betty's true face. It looked so sad. The Gypsy tried to console her but didn’t want to intrude into her life by asking a lot of questions. He said, "If you need me poppet I am here for you."

She broke down into his large arms. She cried extremely hard in a short burst then recovered. She became silent. She had to remember that she was supposed to go it alone. She couldn't risk involving anyone else. It was for their own good, and hers. She couldn't allow her emotions to compromise the secrecy of her lives. She pulled away from the gypsy and thanked him. She assured him that she was fine and excused herself. She took a long, hot shower then cried herself to sleep alone.

Betty and the Professor reviewed the material several times over the course of weeks. She didn’t set up regular meetings. He’d anxiously awaited her surprise visits and the packets full of goodies she'd bring. He would often linger at his office, waiting for this dark lady justice to reappear. The more she brought, the more excited he became. He reconstructed several crimes at once, but there were missing parts in every story line. It was frustrating to be so close, but all he could do was to sit and wait for more. He had no idea how to contact Witness X. All he could do was sit and wait night after night until she appeared again.

When Witness X arrived at the Professor's office it was clear that he was perturbed.

"Finally." He said with a roll of the eyes. "You certainly took your time since your last visit."

Betty didn’t care for his tone, but said nothing.

He snatched the bag of photos from her. Hoping to fill in the blank spots of the mystery. He rifled through her latest haul but didn’t find what he wanted. The last piece was still missing. If it was in the bank, she had not run across it yet. It was an obvious omission. The Professor could see Carson's smug smile in the courtroom again. His blood began to boil. His pulse pounded in his ears. He looked for something to break.

Unaware of his state Betty asked, “Well?”

“No, no, no, no. It’s not here!” He threw a hand full of the photos.

He turned toward her looking crazed and yelled. “You’ve got to use your head, girl! He’s tricking you somehow! Don’t be so stupid.”

She yelled back at him. “Don’t talk to me like that! I’m the one out there! I’m the one doing all the hard work, the dangerous work! I’m not the one sitting behind the desk. They might kill me if they catch me! I need your help, but not bad enough to take any abuse from you! I spent a lot of time collecting and making those enlargements! I’m tired, and frustrated, too. I barely get time to sleep and the last thing I need is the person I’m depending on turning into Mr. Hyde!”

He felt provoked and was about to explode.

Betty drew her dart gun and said. “You'd better think carefully before you say your next words.”

He had no idea what the strange gun would do to him, but the prospect of getting shot if he didn't simmer down had as calming an effect on him as his pills. He didn’t know if she would really shoot, but took her threat seriously. Based on everything else she was capable of, he figure it best not to challenge her. Besides, she was right, he was getting too worked up. He collapsed in his desk chair, defeated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then apologized. "You're right. I'm sorry. I’m just getting caught up in all the…"

“Hope?” she asked.

He said. “I was going to say anticipation. What does that gun do?”

She holstered the gun. “You don’t want to find out. Let’s get back to business.”

He agreed.

He picked up the strewn photos from the floor. “I will go though these more thoroughly. I’m sure there is good information in them. You rarely bring me things that aren’t useful. You were a good student.”

He looked to the pile of documents and shook his head. “We just need one big issue to build the case around.”

Then the phone rang. It was his second wife reminding him that he'd missed dinner again. By the time he was done with the call Betty had disappeared.

Although he had no idea who Witness X was, their relationship was based on honesty. Their partnership was about the mission and both were committed to the task. Above all else they had to stop Carson.

The Professor began locking his office and opted to conduct student appointments in his classroom. His office had become a sort of war-room. There were papers pinned to walls and wrapped all around the room with red strings and notes linking ideas. His desk was covered with carefully organized paper puzzle pieces. Categorized boxes were stacked on the floor. To the untrained eye it looked like the work of a madman, but the Professor was trying to solve a problem through organization. Every idea had its place on the crime map.

The Professor stood in his office and reviewed the work. Carson's influence was far reaching, more so than the Professor had imagined. Witness X had done exemplary work, but there was still a key piece of information missing. They needed the thing that connected the stories, the thing that belonged in the blank spots. There was a big one in the center of the clutter. That piece told the bigger story, and it was still in the bank somewhere.

One night, while in the bank basement, Betty stumbled onto a folder that had been misfiled. It’s contents were a spider web of graft and nepotism that channeled money to its architects. It was the missing piece of the Professor’s puzzle. It was a front company called Schadenfreude.

It provided camouflage for the Citadel Bank, Carson, and several of the Silver Spoons who secretly made up its board of directors. Their strategy was to get between honest, hard working people of the Citadel and their cash flows. They paid out small percentages to acquire other people’s capital through nefarious financial products over time. They were moneychangers redistributing wealth from the average and poor people to the rich. The income gap between the classes expanded until the Citadel was divided into haves and have-nots. The poor had no money to spend and the rich sat on the piles of gold like dragons and kept it out of circulation.

The Silver Spoons and their like were insatiable and hungered for more. So they expanded systems of credit, like margin accounts, with inflated numbers that represented nothing of any true value. They created money by simply writing numbers on paper and their accounts swelled. Massive amounts of wealth and economic power became concentrated into a small group of people. They preserved their personal wealth but total wealth shrunk. It created a volatile system.

Then they continued their feeding cycle. The institution used its influence and deception to keep its representatives alive while the public lost. They looted the citizens by shifting their losses to tax payers while transferring federal money to their corporation. They took government lifeboats and left the women and children and the crew to go down with the sinking economy.

The Citadel Bank was one of the largest in the country and Carson was its President. He personally helped destabilize the country's economy and cause the crashes.

The set of files Betty discovered contained a confusing array of accounts, names and numbers that the Professor would eventually decipher. She rushed the sinister discovery over to him.

The Professor’s eyes darted over the new evidence. Betty was anxious with anticipation. She feared she misinterpreted her latest discovery and worried he would reject her efforts. Instead he smiled and said one word. “Jackpot.”

She smiled. “Really?”

He nodded as he read. “You really did it Mrs. X. I suspect you’ve just made the Citadel a better place for the rest of us. I'll take it from here.”

Overall Betty enjoyed collaborating with him. The mission that bound them felt important. She was done with her part, and though she didn’t like it, she had to hand her control over to the Professor. She hoped he would do his part and Carson would end up behind bars.

In the weeks that followed she went about her routine, Jewel's routine, and waited for something to happen. It seemed like it took forever.

One day while walking back to work from lunch in her platinum blonde disguise, she noticed how the bank windows were behind bars. It seemed like money was locked in a prison, like criminals. The thing we loved most and the things we feared most were both treated the same way. It seemed odd.

Then she entered the building to a commotion. She was just in time to see Carson being taken away in handcuffs by policemen. She felt elation rise in her, but her eyes met Carson’s so she pretended to break into tears and ran into the ladies room crying. Alone in the washroom, she laughed as Carson was hefted into the paddy wagon.

She celebrated the victory by quitting Jewel’s job at the bank the very same day.

Her first detective mission was a triumph. The good-girl won. The bad-guy was in jail and the people of the Citadel were saved. She skipped through the city, sure that her father was up in heaven looking down on her with pride. Everyone who knew her would have been proud, if she could actually tell anyone what she'd done. One person could make a difference in the world.

She had enjoyed the excitement and the intrigue of detective work. Piecing some puzzles together, solved real problems. A monster was removed from society. He was no longer a threat to the rest of its members. She could only imagine how much suffering Carson caused in his life. She felt vindicated. It was finally over. He was ruined, or so she thought

Carson was freed on bail later that same day.

Carson's story made it to the papers, but Betty had to dig to find it. It never made the front page. It wasn’t covered in depth, and no one else was talking about it. Day after day she looked for more news about the impending trial, but the details were sparse. No one seemed interested, except Betty and the Professor.

At times she surveilled Carson looking for a hint of distress, but nothing about his life had changed. He still had his job. The bank didn't seem to care what he did as long as he made them money.

Carson’s defense team held up the trial with strategic delays and stalling tactics for as long as they could. When the trial finally started, Betty, in disguise, was the first one seated in the courtroom, on the first day. Everything in the room was made of wood. Even the walls were covered with it. The space reminded her of a theater. The performers, the lawyers, took the stage. The judge acted as a backdrop. Even the jury looked liked special guests in box seats. Betty sat in the audience with the rest of the common folk and watched the show. Each day she dressed as a different woman. One time she even sat next to the Professor. He didn't recognize her.

The Professor came to watch the legal team he'd assembled to handle the case. They were his former students. Over the years he’d trained an army of attorneys. Many became excellent lawyers. One of them was even the Citadel District Attorney. He led the prosecution. Some of the defense members were also former students. They wouldn't look their old mentor in the eye.

From the first thump of the gavel, Betty observed the proceedings with great interest. She thought Carson was steps away from incarceration, but it didn't turn out like she had hoped. Outside of the courtroom, Carson and the Silver Spoons bragged about the fruits of their crimes, but when forced to take the stand, they told a different story. Though they were all officers of the Schadenfreude Corporation, none admitted awareness of what actually went on there. Of all the deals the company was involved in, and all the profits the members received, they claimed to know nothing about the business. It was a game. One by one they marched up to the witness stand and played dumb. They were instructed what to say to get out of trouble. They followed a script. Their lines were, "I had no knowledge of any wrongdoings."

They sounded like fools but they didn’t have enough integrity to care. Apparently pretending to be an idiot wasn't a crime. In reality, they knew what they did was wrong, that’s why they were lying about it. The whole thing seemed like a formality rather than an investigation for truth.

Day after day the trial dragged on as Betty watched.

Schadenfreude was overwhelmingly protected by provisions and precedence. The laws seemed written for its benefit. They lent the board members a veil of protection not offered to real citizens. Companies were given the same rights as people, but they were just ideas or schemes. When companies committed crimes there was nothing tangible to hold accountable, nothing to punish.

The Professor's legal team was aggressive, but fair. They approached their opponents with arguments from many different angles. Carson’s team deflected every attack with Schadenfreude. It was an effective shield for the culprits.

As the courtroom drama unfolded, Betty realized. "The company was there to hide behind, just like her Jewel disguise."

The Professor’s team was losing. Betty wondered if she could tip the scale of justice to the side of right and help influence the trial's outcome. Curiosity got the better of her and she called Carson, as Jewel, on the direct line to his office.

Once Carson heard Jewel's innocent voice on the line he asked, "Why did you quit?"

She said in Jewel's subtle southern drawl. "I was scared. I didn’t know what to do."

He asked. "Why are you calling now? Do you want your job back? I can’t stop thinking about you, precious.”

Nearly weeping she said, "I was so worried about you."

He said. "I need to see you again."

She agreed to meet him for dinner. He sounded distressed, and might be vulnerable enough to make some confessions. She was ready to do whatever it took to get him. He was waiting for her at the restaurant when she arrived. He was already seated in a darkened booth in the corner and working on his second scotch.

Betty was disguised as Jewel. The maitre d helped remove her coat. Under it, the platinum blonde beauty wore a tight oriental dress. It was red and silky with an ornate gold print that wound from the hemline, across the long slit at her thigh, to the high collar. She looked stunning. The dressed accentuated her curves and made men look. Even the most handsome men, with the loveliest dinner companions, were struck by her appearance. She stopped them mid chew. The host led her across the dining room. Carson ogled her from his booth.

He stood and greeted her with a long, passionate kiss. She matched his performance. He confessed, "I really missed you, gorgeous."

She smiled.

They sat for dinner but shared more conversation than food. The trial appeared to be taking a toll on him. He was nervous and manic at times. He weaved in and out of trial talk, but admitted to nothing she could use. He came close to telling her many things he shouldn't have been discussing. When he did Jewel tried to pry more information but he changed the subject. Betty became frustrated, but Jewel never showed it.

Eventually, Carson seemed burned out of words. With a relieved smile he told her, "It's so nice to have someone I can trust to talk to again. I've really needed you, and it was like you knew it. You called me out of the blue, while I was at my worst. We have a special bond. I always knew you were the one I could count on. I need you in a bad way, Jewel."

"You have me." She replied as she kissed his hand. "We can talk all night if you'd like."

"I just can’t relax anymore. Do you want to get out of here and go some place private?" He held a longing look through bedroom eyes.

She looked away from his gaze and gulped. She knew precisely what he was asking. She thought about her answer. He seemed so vulnerable right now and she knew how chatty men could get in bed once they had been relieved. If there was a possibility she could ply him with pleasure and milk information from him, she had to take it.

She acted shy. She looked down at the table. She nodded yes.

He said. "You understand what I’m proposing? I want to be inside you."

She smiled and looked at him with big innocent eyes. They began to water. She looked so happy like he just proposed to her. She nodded and said, "Yes."

The fake girlfriend was offering her fake boyfriend her pretend virginity. As far as Carson knew, he just got what he wanted. His lips parted into a relieved smile and he said, "Let’s go."

The fake couple slinked out of the public setting.

Outside, in the night street, Carson looked around for cabs. There were none. His date kept smiling at him, like a little girl about to get a present. He looked around again. He smiled and led her away from the streetlight and into the alley.

He pushed her up against the cold brick wall and kissed her long and deeply. Passion consumed them. His kisses were wet and sloppy. Betty was swept away in Jewel's performance. She hated this bastard but controlling him this way felt so devious. She loved it, and wanted more.

Her hand slid down his body. She reached to embrace his manhood but found something else. He pulled away from the kiss and said, "I know who you are."

It was a kiss goodbye. Carson shot her.

BANG!

She grabbed the gun tightly as he fired a second round into her abdomen.

BANG!

She disarmed him, staggered a few steps deeper into the alley, teetered and collapsed into a pile of garbage.

He backed out of the alley as he yelled at her. "You think you can trick me? I figured it out. It had to be you! You gave my files to the D.A.! You stole them from my bank! I trusted you! How could you betray me like that, you Mata Hari!”

She coughed.

He yelled. "I don’t know what kind of deal you made, but you will never testify against me! I never lose. Their star witness is gone!"

She writhed in agony.

He wiped his nose and continued, "You never should have come north you stupid little hick bitch from the backwoods of nowhere! This is my city and I say who lives and dies in it. "

She gurgled and stopped breathing.

Carson signaled to a parked car. The headlights flashed on and it raced over to him. It screeched to a halt. Carson jumped into the get-away-car, abandoned the scene, and left her for dead.

When the coast-was-clear the dead platinum blonde sat up. "This was the second time he had me dumped in an alley."

She arose from the trash and said. "Luckily, I wore part of my bullet proof costume under the dress."

She felt the area where the bullets struck her and winced. "That’s really tender."

She was covered in filth and old food and did her best to clean off. She headed to the costume shop via the alleyways. "He figured some of it out. I, Jewel, could never have been a witness since she never existed. Carson doesn't know who I really am.”

“He thought he caught me, but he couldn’t see past the surface.”

She pulled off her wig and shook out her natural hair. She peeled off her mask and makeup as she walked through the night. "It looks like I’ll have to bury Jewel. Too bad she was killed before her time was up, just like the real Jean Harlow.”

Week after week the trial dragged on as Betty watched.

The proceedings made little or no sense to her. The judge appeared to be more interested in pageantry and process than punishing the crooks. It seemed like a waste of everyone’s time.

During the trial Carson's team controlled the framework of the dialogue. They changed narratives mid-argument to prevent unfavorable conclusions from being reached. It was hard to follow their points. They spontaneously changed the meaning of words or bent them to prolong senseless arguments. Good was bad. Up was down. Wrong was right. Much of it made no sense at all. They used their resources to create a truth that never existed. The trial had become an endurance test. It was a battle of attrition, not of right and wrong. Carson had the purchasing power to keep going, and going. His wealth granted him freedom to ride the wheels of justice for as along as he wanted.

Betty learned that those of wealth and power were afforded special privileges within the legal system. Any average perpetrator would have been thrown in jail long ago. The rich had heisted the law.

The defense finally summed up their case and client. "Carson isn't the portrait of a gangster the prosecution is trying to paint him as. He is a respected member of the business community. He's a model citizen of the Citadel, not a member of its underworld."

Betty knew him better. He was a monster.

What the men of Schadenfreude did was wrong. Most of it seemed illegal. They were guilty of usury, market manipulation, investor fraud, defrauding the government, ponzi schemes, money laundering, material omission and unbridled, salivating greed.

The veil of protection in the laws granted immunity to members of the corporation. None of its board members, the actual perpetrators, were held accountable. The company was asked to pay a fine for its activities. The amount may have sounded large to an average person, but to Schadenfreude it was just a week’s income. To the members it wasn't punishment it was just the cost of doing business.

They rented the courtroom for a legal performance. When the show was over they went home.

Betty was furious. She provided a mountain of evidence, and this was the best the Professor’s team could do. If after all her effort nothing had changed, what did it take to beat these guys?

They might have followed the law but it wasn't justice.

Betty stalked the Professor. Witness X confronted him on the campus outside the legal department as he was leaving for the night. She was furious and screaming at him. He tried to calm her. "Don’t worry we'll appeal."

He guided her into his office so her voice wouldn't draw unwanted attention.

"What's the use? Nothing is different!" She argued.

He countered, "Not true, it was a partial victory for us. In the strictest sense we won. We did a good thing. We got portions of some victims’ money back and Schadenfreude was going to be closed down.”

She said. "But Carson will just do it again. He is free! I wasted all that time for nothing."

He said. "I admit, I had hoped for something more, but expected a verdict like the one we were handed."

She fumed. "How can you be so calm? I’ve seen you go nuts over much smaller stuff than this! Carson remains unpunished! We lost!"

He said. "I don’t feel like we lost. In a way we won. We fought the good fight and got results. I feel good about it."

He thought some more and added. "I guess I feel vindicated that my new legal theorem was right."

She glared. “Vindicated? Even if everything you say is true, we didn't stop Carson! He and the other monsters are still on the loose! It didn’t matter how you played the game it mattered if you won or lost."

Her words shook him.

He continued. "Look, I know the law isn’t perfect. It’s an iterative process, but it’s the foundation of our country. The only choice we have is to work within our legal framework. To reshape it we need to go through the proper channels. We, the people, have to make the changes. We, the people, must perfect the process and trust that the legal structure is sound. Without it we'd have chaos."

Betty shouted. "Wake up! Step outside of your office and take a look around! It is chaos!"

He continued trying to comfort her. "That’s why we need good people in there to help shape it. I’m teaching a new generation of students. It starts with the youth. We train them to do the right thing, then as they grow…"

Betty pleaded. "I can’t wait for them to grow up. I need to stop Carson now!"

He scolded. "You can’t just take the law into your own hands. No man, or woman, has the right to be judge, jury, and executioner. We need to involve everyone and trust in the people to do what's best for all of us. We must trust in ourselves to do what's right. The system will prevail, in the long run. We must have faith in the law.”

Betty seethed. "The only thing I have faith in is me!"

She slammed the door as she left. The frosted window with his name and title shattered to the floor. Professor Leo Langley wouldn't allow himself to accept what Witness X clearly believed. If he did, everything he held as true would be gone. His life would be meaningless.

Later, a big black car rocketed through the streets of Citadel City. Betty was headed back to her country hideout at top speed. She thought, "They just took whatever they wanted and no one stopped them. Someone needed to start punishing them!"

“Apparently they can rape, and kill, and maim, and pillage, and plunder, and remain respectable. If no one knows what they really do, then their crimes will never go away. If they can play dirty and keep their deeds secret they will remain socially acceptable. Their crimes will always pay. I thought I could expose Carson, but it didn't work. I was tired of playing legal games.”

“The system was stacked against me, so why should I comply?”

“I made the mistake of challenging Carson’s institution, but I couldn't penetrate the corporate protections. The Citadel Bank was too well fortified.”

“I had to stay focused on single villains and get the monsters one by one.”

“As a banker, Carson may have been safe, but as a person, he was vulnerable like the rest of us. I needed to strike when he was weak. I could kill the monster when he was alone and in human form.”

“The monsters used our morality and sense of fair play against us. They expect the rest of us, the good people, to play by the rules. They needed our civil complicity in order to feed off us. What would happen if we started behaving unpredictably?”

“What if I operated just like them?”

“I could adopt their methods to use them against them. Then they would see just how dangerous a this little farm girl from the middle-west could be.”

“If it was class warfare they wanted, I would give it to them!”

The manager of Razzles was groggy Monday morning after a long weekend of work and play. He moved like a turtle. Occasionally he stopped to wait out the drum beating in his head. He wore a silky robe and slippers that only covered his toes. It was 10 AM, but to him it felt like the crack of dawn. He couldn’t quite calculate the amount of sleep he had, or hadn’t had.

Through bloodshot eyes he made his way down from his office apartment to the main bar area. Most of the lights were off and it was quiet and dark in the nightclub. Through the kitchen doors he could hear the cleaning crew preparing for a new week.

He poured himself a glass of vodka, then added some pepper and orange juice. He shuffled to a barstool and planted himself. As he sipped his liquid breakfast, the front door opened, blasting the room with blinding white sunlight. He crumbled and yelled, "Shut that God damn door."

A deep voice grumbled, but complied.

Through amorphous blobs in his eyes he saw a stout, man in a gray cap and gun belt enter. It was the armored car driver. He arrived to pick up the weekend cash like he had every Monday 52 times year. The manager didn't realize it was time for the pickup already. He squinted at the clock and said, "You're early."

The driver grumbled, "Sorry."

The manager slid off his seat and walked to the office door. He sorted through his key ring and unlocked the heavy fire safe. There were four bags stuffed with money waiting to be escorted to the Citadel Bank. He motioned the driver over to collect them. The driver handed him a clipboard with a familiar deposit form on it. He squinted hard and slowly filled in dollar figures and signed it. Once finished, the driver gave him a carbon copy as a receipt, then tucked the clipboard under his arm and hefted the four heavy loot bags.

“I never noticed that I was taller than you, before.” The manager commented before sagging back in front of his breakfast. The miniature mountain shrugged his shoulders, grunted apathetically and exited Razzles.

There was no truck waiting for him outside. Instead he carried the money to a mysterious black car that was idling. He threw the bags in the back seat and climbed in.

The short, stout, male, armored car driver was actually Betty in disguise. She just robbed Razzles and laughed triumphantly as she sped away.

When the real armored car driver showed up at the scheduled time, both sides realized there had been a theft. Both sides suspected the other of foul play. The story didn't make any sense as they tried to sort out the details of the crime. This incident would cause an irreconcilable rift between Razzles, the Citadel Bank, and Carson. As a result Razzles pulled all their accounts.

Razzles was by far their biggest local client. The lost revenue was a significant blow to the financial strategy of the institution. No one was happy about it. These rich bastards all wanted each other’s money. None were sure what happened but all parties were suspicious. A conflict about money was the surest way to pit the Silver Spoons against one another. It didn’t matter if it was a million dollar deal, or getting stuck with a dinner check. Friendships splintered as sides were drawn.

Betty felt no remorse for her crime. Razzles had taken advantage of her for years, and after what they did to her she deserved it. The crime felt like a victory over the ruling class of the Citadel. They stole from everyone else. How did they like being on the receiving end of their scams?

She figured out a way to beat them. It was the only way to survive in the Citadel. Besides, didn't Robin Hood rob from the rich to give to the poor? He was a good guy, right?

There was one group of people that Carson was beholden to. It was the Citadel Bank board of directors. Only a few people, like receptionists, or assistants, were even aware of their relation to Carson. To the bank board, Carson was just a big cash register. And when his drawer was low, he lost his autonomy. They scrutinized his work and decisions. It had happened a few times in the past, but this time was the worst. They tormented him to whip him back into shape.

It was late morning, and Carson sat in his office with his adding machine and ledgers. He ran through his monthly billings again. The month’s projections didn’t look good. Normally the bank board would let him get away with murder as long as he was making them money. But with the loss of Razzles as a client and the collapse of Schadenfreude, revenue was down and they weren't too happy with him.

At least they didn't know that Jewel, his former assistant, that he hand picked, was the spy who exposed Schadenfreude. He stayed mad at himself for that one. Killing her wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped it would be.

It would take awhile to get a Schadenfreude substitute up and running. He already had some ideas, but right now he needed to turn around some quick deals to get his numbers looking better.

There was a knock on his heavy wooden door. He mumbled to his adding machine, "Now what?"

Then he called out, "Come in."

His new receptionist reminded him of an appointment he was late for. It was something about a real estate deal being transferred from Mr. Quimby from downstairs.

"What was the name again?" Carson asked.

The receptionist said, "Ms. Elizabeth Rockefeller."

He remembered. "That’s right. How could I forget that name? Did you find out if she is of 'the' Rockefellers?”

She said, "She was from the East Coast, and it is a really big family. She certainly dresses like one."

Carson put his suit coat back on, and said, "That’s good enough for me. Let her in."

He smiled and posed.

Moments later, Betty entered the room disguised as a statuesque woman. She was smartly dressed in an expensive French suit and bejeweled. She had black hair slicked back into a large brimmed hat. She carried a designer clutch purse in one hand, and a floral suitcase in the other. Carson had her pegged as a second-generation suffragette.

She walked in like she owned the place, set down her things and stuck out her gloved hand.

He attempted to greet her like the sales pro that he was, but he bumped his knee on the corner of his heavy desk. He winced and it hurt like hell. But it didn't stop him from limping over and officially greeting her. "I'm Carson, the President of Citadel Bank, pleased to meet you, Ms. Rockefeller."

"Please, call me Betty." She replied in the accent of the East Coast Elite.

He offered her a place in a sitting area and sat across from her. He rubbed his knee profusely.

"Are you ok?" She asked.

Trying to not to show any weakness, he assured her. "Yes, I’m fine. So what brings you to the Citadel?"

She said, "I'm interested in buying a parcel of land outside of your town. I understand that your bank holds the deed of interest. I started the process with one of your underlings, Mr. Quimby, in the real estate department, but I told him I wanted to deal directly with you."

He asked. "With me personally? Should I take that as a compliment?"

She smiled. “You are a powerful man, Carson, and you are the President. I wondered what you were like.”

She squeezed her thighs together and looked him up and down. There was a hole in his knee, torn from where he struck the desk. Her eyes lingered at the tear. She brought the flaw to Carson's attention.

He was embarrassed. "Oh, that's just great."

"Not your best day, I take it?" She asked.

"No, not exactly, but I suspect it may brighten up now that you’re here."

She smiled and he studied her face. She looked a little older than the women he typically chased, but she was attractive. She had an aristocratic nose and a perfectly placed beauty mark on her cheek.

He asked. "Did you have the address for the property of interest?"

She removed a file folder from the bag. It was information about the old McDougal farm. She smiled as she handed it to him. Her heart began to pound.

He looked at the paper shocked. "This old place? Why would you want that?"

She wanted to push him out the window at the insult, but stopped herself. She looked at him angrily. "Perhaps I was wrong in coming to you.”

She stood to leave.

He stopped her. "No, no, don't leave. I’m just surprised that a woman of your station would be interested in a farm in the middle of nowhere. That’s all."

She sat back down and snapped. "Well you don't need to know, the whys."

He said, "I guess that’s true. When were you looking to make the purchase? "

She said, "I will give you the full payment in cash today, if we can agree on the terms."

She tapped her floral bag as proof of payment.

He was surprised. "Ok, please excuse me while I go collect the necessary paperwork."

He disappeared from the office. Normally he would have let his employees handle this type of deal, but he wanted to get quick cash into his billings as soon as possible.

A while later he returned with the folder. The Betty behind the façade recognized it from her late night explorations. Her heart jumped for joy, but Elisabeth’s face maintained an expression of marginal interest.

He sat down behind his desk and worked at his noisy adding machine. He was surprised that she wanted that land but he was glad to get the loss of the books. No one was interested in it, and ever since he repossessed it, the bank had been responsible for the taxes. They were actually losing money on the deal. He finished his figures and presented her with a price. He was ready to negotiate. It was a game he liked to play.

Betty ignored the price and slowly unzipped her suitcase. She began removing wrapped sets of bills and stacking them on his desk. He could smell the unique fragrance of the cash and sniffed deeply. He added as she stacked. “What is all this about?”

She stopped. “Are you going to sell the land to me?”

He said. “If we can agree on a price, then yes.”

She said. “I’ve already decided the price I’m going to pay. It’s all in the bag. Now we are going to play a game. If you want all the money in the bag, you will have to do everything I say. Everytime you do something I like, I will put more money on your desk. Every time you do something I don’t like, I will put money back into the bag. If you want it all, you are going to have to work for it. If you stop, all the money goes back in the bag and I leave.”

He’d met other wealthy eccentrics, but he hadn't run into this game before.

He smiled and said. "Ok, I’ll play. What’s first?"

She said. “I want you to beg me to buy the land back from you.”

“What?” He asked with an uncomfortable laugh.

She said. “I want you to beg me to buy the farm.”

He looked cross and was about to speak.

She said, “Before you say anything, think about how bad it's been going for you lately.”

He was getting angry. “What do you know of my life?”

“I’ve done my research, my family has ties to people who work higher up than the second floor in this bank, if you know what I mean. Your superiors are suspicious of you, due to all your recent mistakes. Consider this game a part of your punishment.”

He calmed down and asked. “Did they put you up to this?”

She shrugged and smiled coyly. “I just want to know what you’re willing to do to keep your customers happy.”

He asked, “Why? Do you want me to beg?”

She smiled. “Because I like to hear bad men suffer.”

This was by far the most unusual business meeting he'd ever had. She had an erotic air about her, though. If this was his penance from up high, he had little choice but to obey.

She coaxed, “Don’t disappoint me. Don’t disappoint them. Beg.”

He coldly said, “Please take the farm from me.”

She corrected him. “Say it like you mean it.”

He added emotion. “Please take the farm from me.”

She added, “Say my name too.”

“Please take the farm from me, Betty.”

She smiled and said, “Good boy.”

She stacked more money on the desk

In an alluring voice, she said. "Come to me."

The way she teased reminded him of a Razzles girl. He walked past her and locked his office door first, then returned to her.

She said, “Get on your knees.”

He chuckled, and complied. He was becoming aroused.

She stroked his hair with her long fingernails. It gave him chills. He stared into her eyes. They were so much like Jewel's.

She reached into her bag and placed more money on the desk and said, “Good boy.”

She said, “Now, I want you to tell me that you are sorry for stealing the farm from me.”

He was confused. "I don’t get it."

She frowned and grabbed a bill stack from his desk.

He grabbed her arm. “Wait. Just wait. I’ll say it.”

He took a deep breath, and quickly said, "I'm sorry I stole the farm from you."

She said, “Say it like you mean it, and add my name.”

He did. "I'm sorry I stole the farm from you, Betty."

She leaned in and kissed him gently.

She said, “Say it again.”

He did and she kissed him again, only this time it was a little longer. He broke off from the kiss and asked, her, "I get a money stack too, right?"

She laughed, "Boy oh boy, you are piece of work."

She gave him extra. 'That’s for making me laugh."

She said. “Now, I want you to tell me you hate yourself.”

He gulped, and looked at the money.

She added. “You’ll get another kiss, too.”

He closed his eyes and said, “I hate myself.”

She said, “That’s a good boy. You can have the rest now.”

He was very aroused and needed to calm himself down to complete the deal. She sat back in the chair and clenched the upholstered arms with her fingers. She wondered if this was what it was like for him when the situations were reversed. She had complete power over him and she loved it.

He played with the money as he counted it. It was plenty. Then he said, “Yes, this should cover it.”

She asked, “Do we have a deal?”

He was flushed. With a big grin he said. “Yes.”

She said. “Then give me the deed.”

He signed over the deed to her. Betty signed it with her fake name, for now. In the future she would sell it back to herself to get the McDougal name back on the document, where it belonged. They shook hands and Carson escorted her to the door and unlocked it. He handed her the empty floral bag. She turned to him and said in a whisper, “It was a pleasure giving you the business. Goodbye Carson.”

He didn’t understand the broad’s message, and he opted never to talk about the meeting specifics.

That evening at the old McDougal farm, Betty peeled off her Rockefeller mask and wig, kicked off her shoes. She strolled into the middle of the empty field in her socks and coat. A strong, cool, wind hugged her and her hair blew wild and free.

She cheered and raised her arms to the sky. “The farm is ours again!”

She reviewed all the things she’d said and done to get to this point. Tears streamed down her face. She was very different now. She was an adult.

She surveyed her land. “I had a real home again.”

She laid down on the cold soil. She felt the earth spinning and watched the clouds sail past.

Then she spoke to the heavens.

“My first mission was coming to an end and there was only one thing left to take care of. I’m just not sure of the right way to do it.”

It was raining that afternoon in the Citadel. It wasn't a hard rain, it was just a drizzle that wouldn't stop. It started before Betty woke up and lasted long enough to fill puddles. She sloshed through them as she crossed the street to the shelter where she and her family used to live. She came to visit Sister Hazel. The nun had offered Betty good advice in the past. She needed more. The nun seemed like family. Not an immediate family member like a mom or a sister, but more like an aunt she saw once a year at Christmas. They could comfortably pick up a conversation, abandoned twelve months earlier. Betty wondered if everyone who knew the nun felt the same way.

Sister Hazel was behind the shelter loading an aging truck with crates of donated clothing. She divided the goods equally for delivery to all affiliated shelters. She wanted to make sure she did the most good with what little she had. When Betty was younger she remembered hearing Sister Hazel say, “I’m more interested in the less fortunate than the people with the most fortunes.”

She was a one-woman charity distribution network. Betty always admired that about her. She was the fairest person Betty knew.

Betty approached the mousey nun as she struggled with the cracked and splintery crates. Her face looked older than Betty remembered. She was working alone. Betty offered to help. The nun was winded and took the young nurse up on her offer. She handed her a pair of work gloves and they sorted clothes between raindrops.

It was a confusing world, and Betty went to the nun with a moral dilemma. They were supposed to be the experts on the subject, right? Betty was looking for clarity. She had tried to use man's law to punish a monster, but it didn't work. Maybe there was something in God's laws that she could turn to. Without going into too much detail, Betty presented the nun with a series of hypothetical questions that evolved into a conversation.

How could anyone tell right from wrong? No matter how many rules were written, people still broke them or figured out ways to maneuver around them. The villains weren’t the only one who broke them, everyone did. How could anyone be certain they picked the side of right?

Most people claimed to be righteous, but no one could agree with certainty what was wrong and what was absolutely right. It always came down to an individual’s interpretation.

The nun said, "God works through us. He works through you."

Betty was reminded of her first encounter with the car. She prayed to God for help and the car appeared. Could that coincidence have been a miracle? Was it a hint of God's plan for her? The car seemed invulnerable, could this be proof of God's handy work?

Betty became lightheaded for a moment and asked, "Is there a way to decipher God’s wishes? There were so many contradictions in what I've read in the Bible. He even breaks his own commandments. God lies to Abraham to test him. God steals the voice from the people of Babel. God kills all the first-born children in Egypt. God even authorizes acts of rape, pillage, and plunder."

The nun said with a smile. "God does what he needs to, when it’s necessary, when it's for the greater good. It is His will that we follow His commandments, but He doesn’t have to follow them."

Betty asked, "Then they don’t really matter?"

The nun shook her head and said, "They are for us, not Him. God is above us. He is not bound by His laws."

Betty asked, "But if He works through us, and most people don't follow the rules, aren't they still following His will?"

The nun stopped working and let out a big sigh. She was irritated. "It is not your place to question God and I'm not here to argue with you, Betty. I've got work to do."

Betty responded, "I'm not trying to argue. I'm trying to understand. I'm looking for truths."

The nun returned to her loading task.

"I already gave you my answer. You'll have to find your own truth. It sounds like you have some praying to do on the subject. I will finish this by myself."

All Betty heard was a non-answer.

Betty left as the nun mumbled to herself. “He will reveal the truth to you when He's ready, child.”

As Betty walked in the rain she pondered. "I used to wonder if the magic car was a gift to pay me back for the crummy luck I had. My life’s been better since it appeared."

She turned into an alley that led to an abandoned loading dock. The car was parked and waiting for her. She touched the vehicle's shiny skin and said to it, "Did God trust me to use you for the greater good, like the spy?"

She looked around to make sure no one was looking. Then she slipped inside and sped out of the alley and into the city street and wondered. “Maybe God trusted me to do what I thought was right. Maybe he saw things the same way I did?"

Lightning cracked the sky.

Twenty minutes later she arrived at the farm. It stopped raining, but the roads were muddy. The car sloshed and slipped as it pulled up the steep driveway of her home. She pulled around to the barn, and stepped out to open the big sliding door. She examined the car for mud. The tires were caked, but the body still sparkled. There must have been some element in the surface that prevented dirt from sticking to it because it always looked showroom new. She drove into her lair.

Inside the barn she pressed a light switch. She had electricity again. It was one of the few modern comforts she afforded herself. The barn was divided into living and working spaces. She grabbed her Bible and other annotated books from a shelf in the study that was taking shape.

She’d witnessed that civil law didn't work unless everyone was willing to tell the truth.

She thought, “Sister Hazel wasn't much help, but I wanted to look closer at moral laws for some guidelines to operate by, in a city gone mad.”

Betty perused her various sources looking for ideas. As she found them she transcribed the weighty words onto a cracked chalkboard she retrieved from the Redact University trash.

Chalk tapped and chirped out words on the slate as she worked out the problem like she had seen the Professor do. She made lists, and connected the ideas, and looked for a solution to a practical moral equation.

She began with the Ten Commandments as she learned them at Citadel Catholic High.

She commented as she progressed, "These three seemed like rules to control primitive people, I wasn't sure how they fit in the modern world."

"My father was dead, and my mother was insane. I was on my own. Even if that weren't the case, respect was something that had to be earned. Obedience shouldn’t be given blindly to anyone."

The weight of these words struck her. She circled them.

"They were good ideas and I would abide by them under normal circumstances, but I needed these tools of deception. They came in handy when fighting monsters. Villains didn't play fair so I couldn't afford to be bound by one-sided rules. They needed to be broken from time to time for the greater good."

"I assumed that number eight included lying, which I was inclined to do. Stealing from thieves didn’t feel like stealing. Wasn’t that a double negative becoming a positive? Or was it two wrongs don’t make a right?"

"I'm a woman on a farm in the middle of nowhere and I’m not concerned with material things beyond survival. These didn't seem to apply to me."

The killing commandment was the one that resonated with her.

From one of her schoolbooks, she wrote out the seven deadly sins.

She circled greed. Then she added their countering virtues.

She circled hope, and crossed out temperance. She could afford to be restrained.

Then she filled in the sin list with a few more that landed people in one of the nine rings of hell, according to Dante.

The people who refused to take a stand in life were punished at the gates of hell. They were stung by wasps for all eternity.

Ring one was a limbo for those of unfulfilled desire and hopelessness.

Ring four was for the prodigal and the miserly and punished hoarders and wasters.

Ring five was for the wrathful and the sullen. She laughed to herself. "This was my daily state."

Ring six burned the heretics.

Ring seven soaked the violent, the suicides, blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers in a river of boiling blood. She circled the usurers.

Ring eight punished the frauds.

Ring nine was for the treacherous, betrayers, traitors against country, and cannibals. She circled the entire ninth ring. These were her prime targets, although she didn't expect to ever run into any cannibals.

She continued to introduce ideas into the tangled chalk words.

She added:

She connected concepts from list to list, from source to source. Some concepts clearly added up like: Greed + Usury + It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God = Monster.

Other things didn't. Honor thy Father and thy Mother + If any man come to me, and hate not his father and mother, he cannot be my disciple = What?

Then there was some stuff was just plain weird.

Don't cut your hair nor shave.

People who have flat noses, or is blind or lame, cannot go to an altar of God

Whatsoever hath no fins nor scales in the waters, that shall be an abomination unto you. “So it was amoral to eat lobster?”

From the Greeks she added.

Finally, she curled up with a book of Aesop’s fables, in a big chair. As she read each story, their morals were taken to the board and the long since dead Greek's words of advice lived again.

She added: "And I fight alone."

Self-help is the best help.

Attempt not impossibilities.

When she stopped writing, she had an amalgam of ideas, but no clear answers. The bottom line was, she had to do something. She squeezed her head between her arms like she was trying to pop an answer out, but it didn't work. She needed a break. She stretched like a cat, and then took a walk around her property. The sky cleared of clouds and the ground was drying.

The ideas on the chalkboard didn't match what was inside her. There was less overlap than she expected. There didn’t seem to be any absolute truths. The only one she could think of was, "We all die."

She wondered if death was actually death if we continued on forever in heaven. There was no turning back from that one, at least not for us mortals. It seemed that life was precious and worth preserving.

She sighed, then started talking to herself.

“Everyone knew the difference between right and wrong. It’s like an instinct within us all. Even the monsters knew the difference because they hid their bad deeds. Then when they were caught they lied to get out of trouble, because they knew they were doing wrong.”

“People made excuses to justify things they wanted to do. As long as they could escape consequences, they would keep doing it.”

“Did everyone just do whatever they wanted to make themselves feel good? What made people feel good, could be radically different from person to person. Good people did good things because they felt better. Bad people did bad things because the outcome of the deed benefited them in some way. It wasn’t because they didn't know it was wrong. They just didn’t care.”

“I had to stop the monsters from hurting the least fortunate, the people who couldn't stand up for themselves. I could represent them, be their voice and their fists, if necessary. I would have to dwell somewhere in the middle, between the shadows and the light to make the game fair for the rest of us.”

She wandered back into the barn and to a dressing area where she plopped down in front of a makeup mirror. She stared into her dark eyes. She asked her reflection, "God works through you…?"

"The morality was already within me? Maybe it was just in my heart not my brain?"

She stood up and returned to the chalkboard. She scanned the lists again. She collected pieces and reworded them to suit her. She also added some of her own.

At the top she wrote, "Be generous."

She wrote the word 'greed', and circled it again. It seemed like the primary problem. Then she made her own list of miseries she'd witnessed in the Citadel.

She stepped back with arms akimbo to review her work. "The monsters were infected by these miseries. We needed protection from them. They needed to be removed from the community. It seemed like the fundamental way to save our society.”

She turned the list back on herself, to see how the monster hunter compared to the monsters. “To fight them I would have to be like them, but how far could I go? Was there anything I wouldn't be willing to do for my mission?"

She went back and forth in her imagination. She could think of an exception for nearly all the rules. She narrowed it down to one she didn't think she could break.

"Though shalt not kill," resonated within her heart.

“It was the one I would absolutely hold monsters accountable for. But how could I eliminate a monster with out killing it? How can I de-fang them?”

Then she came back to the same problem, both God’s and man’s laws encountered.

“If the ideas lacked an effective enforcement mechanism, there was no accountability for the misery they spread. If there were no repercussions, there were no real consequences. No rules, laws, or guide for living harmoniously, mattered. The threat of jail didn't work, if they could pay their way out of it. The threat of suffering in hell was only a deterrent if you really believed it would happen. Maybe it would be different in the afterlife, but I had to contend with problems in this world. This was where we felt the pain. This was where the suffering was undeniably real.”

“We needed a form of enforcement that couldn't be resisted, something unstoppable, something unwavering, and something that couldn't be challenged or corrupted. It couldn’t be influenced by money. It had to be something absolute.”

“The only thing I could think of was death. Unless I could invent something else, but what?”

She returned to her make up mirror. She stared deeply into her own eyes and took a deep breath.

"I think the Professor was wrong, one person had to become judge, jury, and executioner. We had them before. I could be like a marshal in the old west. It would work as long as the dispenser of justice was fair. I could become that force of justice and hold the monsters accountable for their sins. But how far could I go?”

She began to pace.

“Carson will keep coming back unless I can get rid of him. He had too many resources. I had to decapitate him from his power.”

Later, she collected dry wood from the shed and built a roaring bonfire. She stood in the glow as the flames warmed her. She liked to be close to it. She spread a thick blanket on the ground and removed all her clothes. The fire felt so good. She lay naked under the stars. Tiny glowing embers drifted up from the flames to merge with the stars. Betty brushed her nipples with her fingertips as she thought about her life.

"Nothing I learned as a kid turned out to be true. Good guys didn’t win and bad guys didn't go to jail. Nothing in the Citadel made sense."

"My life was the culmination of consequences from decisions made out of my ignorance. They all lead me to this moment. I remember my first night at Razzles. I was seventeen. I was so naive. One decision lead to the next, and to the next, until I became the woman I am here and now, five years later.”

"I had seen and done so much in a such a short time frame. The only residual innocence that remained in me was my hope that things would get better. The only line I hadn't crossed was killing another human being. I was still a murder virgin. I hoped to retain that virtue, but I didn’t know if that was possible.”

"I wasn’t afraid to make tough decisions. I just wanted to make sure I made the right ones."

“Should I kill Carson?"

“It seemed like it was the easiest solution. It wasn't like he didn’t deserve it; after all he killed me once. It only seemed fair that I return the favor.”

“I looked right into his eyes when he shot me. There was no mistaking it. He wanted me dead. There was no indication of hesitation, or guilt; both times he pulled the trigger. I couldn't have been his first murder. Someone's first kill couldn't be that easy, could it? Maybe after a few times it would get easy but, certainly not the first. There was no remorse in him. To him, everyone else was beneath him. We were a lower class of life to him. We were things to be punished or destroyed if we got it his way.”

"We sent people to the electric chair in this country when they became too dangerous to live among us. For our safety, they needed to be removed. I tried to put Carson in jail but it didn’t work. It seemed like anything short of killing him and he'd keep coming back. He had too much power, and he needed to be cut off from it.”

“Could I kill Carson?”

“Carson had destroyed the lives of thousands of people and he felt no remorse. He was a capable monster with excellent camouflage and we were his food. He fed on our pain. He was on the loose right now, plotting God only knows what… He needed to go.”

“Would I deliver the killing blow?”

"If I did kill him, was there really any difference between him and me? Maybe that's what it took. Maybe the enforcement had to be as harsh as the villains to be effective."

She stared up at the sky looking for another sign from God, or Zeus, or anyone who was listening. The warmth of the bonfire beside her caressed her naked body. She held herself and drifted off to sleep. Above her Mythological characters in the form of constellations marched across the heavens.

She dreamt about her first night at Razzles.

She couldn't find her friends from the hospital laundry. She sat alone in the dining room with hundreds of nameless faceless people with no color. She saw the handsome man in a tuxedo studying her as she ate her dessert. He wore a knowing smile. It made her weak. He swept her off her feet and flew her high above the city to an ornate room with a massive bed deserving of royalty.

He explained to her that this moment wasn't about love it was about business. He offered her a roll of money. And all she had to do was lie back on the silk sheets and say yes.

He stuffed the money into her purse.

She was repulsed by him but wanted him at the same time. She was commanded to act as if she liked it, but it wasn’t an act. She loved it. She felt alive, powerful. She wanted more. And with each yes, she got it. It was magical. He was so strong and handsome and powerful, like a king. She was fucking a king and she loved it!

His smooth scales slithered under her leg and caressed her.

She woke up suddenly.

It was the middle of the night and she was still laying outside next to the bonfire. Something was partially underneath her, and moving. A big black snake had curled up to her for warmth.

Betty panicked and jumped to her feet. She moved to a safe distance as the sleepy reptile slithered into the tall dead grass unharmed. She didn't know if it was poisonous or not but the situation was unsettling. Her father once told her the same thing happened to cowboys who slept on the open plains. She just thought he was telling tales and trying to keep her in the house at night. Her father warned her about sleeping with snakes. He said nothing good could come from it. She decided to sleep in the big black car for the rest of the night.

It may have been the safest place in the world.

Betty seemed somber when she requested time off from work at the hospital. She didn’t give much notice. The nurses and nuns she worked with were worried. When asked, Sister Hazel told the interested ladies about the odd conversation she had with the young nurse only one day before. At the time, she didn't think anything about it, but with this new insight, all wondered if the events were connected. Some of the older nurses who had seen soldiers from the great war told stories of men who seemed fine one day, then years later they would be struck down by melancholia. Traumatic memories would seize them without warning.

Betty was always quiet and kept to herself. She always seemed tired. They all knew Betty’s life story. She had endured much more bad luck in a short period than most people would over the course of a lifetime. Plus her mom was a little twitchy. The more they talked about it amongst themselves, the more their fears grew. One warned. "She might have done something drastic!"

They tried calling her several times, but the phone just rang and rang. Then using the address in her personal file, they visited her tiny apartment in Citadel City. They were shocked when the landlord told them she hadn't lived there for months. She had disappeared for the time being. All they could do was hope for the best and wait for her return. There was no one else close to her to contact. She was alone in the world.

She may have been on her own, but she had met many people in Citadel City. They often wondered about the mysterious girl who touched their lives and made them better.

The Gypsy, Alfonzo Beznik, missed having the unnamed guest to share his love of transformation. He missed having someone to play with who seemed to understand.

Officer Mahoney couldn't sleep on the night desk anymore. He worried he would miss a call from the phantom voice on the radio.

Her instructor, Isamu Katana, remembered young Pandora every free moment he spent with his children instead of working.

Her institutionalized mother had a strange moment of clarity when a new nurse came in and brushed her long wild hair just like her daughter used to do so many years ago.

The Anvil was curious who else Little Lila, the Terror of Murdock’s Gym, had clobbered with her amazing fighting skills. He told the story of how she fought a ring full of men, to everyone who listened. The tale grew taller with each retelling.

Professor Leo Langley wondered if he would ever see Witness X again. Since the trial, the world outside didn't seem so scary to him anymore.

The fans of Raven missed their powerful mistress and longed for her return.

And every time Carson the President of the Citadel bank violated a new receptionist in his office, he thought of Jewel.

It had been a long day at the bank for Carson. He was headed home via taxi. Work became incredibly stressful and he needed distractions. The Board of Directors watched his every move. His lawyers fended off appeals and struggled to close the Schadenfreude case for good.

The Paragon building reconstruction project was facing delay after delay due to equipment sabotage executed by its former tenants. If it were up to Carson, he would wipe out that entire section of town if he could, and turn it into something he could tolerate looking at.

The cab turned into the brick driveway of his city mansion.

He thought, “The tenants were taking more extreme measures. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. Something needed to be done about them. Another example needed to be made. Another one of them needed to die to keep the project on schedule. At this point I would do whatever it took to put an end to their interference. The damned niggers and wops and Jews were all getting in my way. They were like mosquitoes that needed to be swatted. The building was already gone. They lost. What were they still fighting for? To get the press on their side, I guess? The whole economic mess was the perfect setting for stories about little guys throwing stones and defeating those of wealth. They were just fantasies that never came true, not in the long run. We, the elite, always won!”

“I needed the Paragon job done so I could get the final payment, the big payment. Maybe that would get the board members off my back.”

“Maybe it was time for another agitator to disappear. I had no problem killing another one.”

He was home. He paid the driver and exited the cab.

Carson entered the double doors of his palatial manor. He sang out his traditional greeting to his family. "Your king has returned from the crusades.”

He noticed a stack of mail on the foyer table and leafed through it. He waited for his family's response, but it never came. At first he was disturbed by the silence, then he smiled as he remembered it was his birthday. He returned the mail and peeked around the corner. He expected to find his children waiting to ambush him with a surprise party, but there was no one.

“They must have hidden better this year. They were cleverer. Well, two could play at that game.” He thought.

He removed his shoes as quietly as possible, and then tiptoed into the spacious living room, still no one. Then he spied a toe, peeking out from behind a lavish sofa. He nodded knowingly and crept to the seat. When he was near enough he leapt into the air and pounced like a tiger and landed with a resounding, "Ah ha!"

It wasn't what he thought. One of his servants appeared to be dead. The smile dropped from Carson’s face. Panic stricken he called out for his wife. "Annabelle?"

There was no response.

He advanced to a liquor cabinet where he retrieved a sawed off shotgun from its hiding place. His mouth dried out and he crept through the room. Through the hallway he could see his youngest son seated at the dining room table. His neck was bent back and he stared motionless at the ceiling, like a dead thing. A dreadful pang stuck his gut, but he maintained his silence.

He continued and discovered the rest of his family at the table. His wife, sister, two sons, and two daughters were positioned similarly around a birthday cake. They all looked dead.

Emotions welled up inside him like he'd never felt. He never imagined he would experience this kind of loss. He never imagined he would outlive his children. Who could do such a thing? What type of monster was loose in the Citadel? Worse yet, was it still inside his home?

He leapt into the room with shotgun poised to kill.

Betty saw the muzzle first and surprised Carson by kicking the gun away from her. He fired simultaneously and blasted out a window. Betty disarmed him quickly and discarded the spent weapon.

Something haunted his house, but it wasn’t what he expected. Betty turned to confront Carson. He imagined a much larger, more threatening invader, not a little girl in a strange looking chauffeur's uniform with hood and goggles to hide her features.

He wanted to fight her.

Betty welcomed the opportunity to unleash more chaos into his home.

He began to swing at her wildly. Betty blocked each blow as it approached her. He was a lot slower than she remembered and she let out a haughty laugh. Her mockery infuriated Carson and he screamed like a madman.

"You killed them all, you devil woman!"

He grabbed and heaved a vase at her. She dodged it. It shattered against the wall. He grabbed up a chair to smash her, but she was too nimble. She tumbled out of the way as the chair broke on the floor. Then she delivered a sidekick that tossed Carson out of the room and into the wide hallway.

He hit the wooden floor hard. He laid dazed and saw stars, as Betty stalked toward him.

“Who are you?” He asked.

She said. “I'm the embodiment of all the working people of the Citadel. I represent the ones who can’t defend themselves against you!"

“What did I ever do to you?” He asked.

“You know exactly what you do. You deal in misery. You ruin lives. You do anything for money, no matter who your actions hurt, no matter who your actions kill! You might escape the courts but you'll never escape me.”

Tears shivered into Carson’s eyes. “You killed my family!”

She replied, “I would be more worried about your fate, if I was you.”

"I don’t even know you!" He snapped.

She said with an evil smile. “Think of me as Jewel’s avenging ghost.”

His eyes looked like saucers. He scrambled backwards on his hands and feet.

Betty stalked after him.

“What do you want?” He bellowed.

“I want you to pay for your crimes.” She said.

“I’ll pay you whatever you want, in cash!” He nervously barked.

“I don’t want your money. I want your blood.” She said.

Fueled by panic he lashed out at her again. Betty blocked his scrambled attack and sent him crashing back through the bars of the stair railing.

She said. “It’s not safe to have someone like you in our society. So I’m removing you from it."

He recovered and crawled up the stairs on all fours.

She continued, “You may know how to evade the reach of the law, but I promise you, you will not escape me.”

She grabbed a cuff of his trousers, planted a foot into the stairs, and pulled hard to yank him back. He regained his footing and tried to scramble upstairs. He kicked back at her. Betty easily dodged the desperate jabs of his heels. She yanked again and his pants slid off.

She laughed. If this was the extent of his defensive capabilities, he was done for.

He ran as fast as he could upstairs. She marched after him. At the top he tripped over the body of a chambermaid. He screamed again and scrambled into his bedroom. He tried to slam the door but Betty had already reached him.

“Get out of here!” He screamed.

They fought over control of the door. Finally, Betty let him have it and kicked it in. It popped at him and the force sent him flying into the room.

Betty entered. He seemed so small now cowering in the corner. From the waist up he still retained his banker’s veneer. He wore a suit coat and vest. The red drops that dripped from his nose now bloodied his crisp white shirt. From the waist down, he was in his underpants and black socks. Betty had him cornered in the bedroom. There was nowhere else to turn. He was trapped. His panic intensified.

He didn’t want to fight her but had no choice.

He came right at Betty in a last ditch attempt to overpower her. As he entered her personal space Betty grabbed the lapels of his suit and twirled her body. She used his momentum against him. She threw him into the wall. His impact cracked the plaster. Who could have guessed such a tiny woman could generate so much power?

The blow took the last of the fight out of him. He slid down the wall as he begged and groveled.

“Please! Let me go! I’ll do anything you want! Please I have so much money!” He cried.

She leaned into to him like she was insulted. “You can’t negotiate your way out of this problem. You know, you're like a piggy bank. You're only worth something when you're stuffed full of money. Without it you're just a hollow shell that's easily broken.”

She had an unflappable force of will. There was no escape from this wraith.

He cried, "Please! Please don’t kill me! Have pity!"

Betty said, "No."

He howled, "God have mercy. It’s my birthday!"

She laughed at his desperation. She had reduced him from a business tycoon, to a vulnerable little boy. She took all his power away. She beat him.

She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

"Goodbye Carson."

Once the sun went down, Betty pulled her car into the carriage port that arched from the mansion. She dragged Carson’s dead weight down the stairs, through the house and removed it from the premises for good. She stuffed him into the big black car. Anyone watching the scene may have suspected she was a mortician on her first assignment, loading a body into a hearse.

She sped away into the night to deliver him to his final resting place.

It would take a day before the effect of Betty's sleep-darts wore off Carson's family and servants. They were confused at the situation and puzzled by the mess that was all around them. His oldest son wondered if the house had been hit by lightning and they were shocked unconscious while waiting for his father to return. Or perhaps there was a gas leak?

They realized that the king of the manor wasn't home yet.

When the police interviewed the family members at the mansion, they could tell there was foul play afoot. The police knew Carson was an upstanding citizen who was connected to the Citadel elite. Plus, if he was from this part of town, he was one of the good people. They figured it was just vermin after property. This kind of thing happened all the time in Citadel City. They expected to receive a ransom note and told the family to sit tight until one came, but it never arrived.

They never saw or heard from Carson again.

After Betty delivered Carson to his final resting place, she headed out of the city. She assured herself, “The world was a better place without monsters like him.”

The night air was pleasant and Betty drove with the window down.

“I had power and could get money as I needed it. Anonymity was my freedom.”

“I was fully formed. I had all the tools and a method that worked. I turned the monsters' tricks against them. I could put bad money to good use. I could transform deception into justice. I could help those who couldn’t help themselves and I hoped I could make the Citadel a better place for the rest of us. Carson was just one example of what lurked out there, but I would get them all one at a time.”

The moon seemed to follow her as she turned the mysterious black car down an old country road. A trail of dust wrapped around it and in through the window. She quickly cranked it back up as the car glided though the dirty cloud.

“I floated in a sea of moral ambiguity, clinging to my hope.”

“Little about life in the Citadel made sense. It was chaotic, but it could be influenced. Maybe I could take the helm of the chaos, and steer it. Maybe I could become its pilot, like some kind of chaos driver…”

“…I could be the Pandora Driver.”

Carson, the President of the Citadel Bank, laid facedown on a dirt floor.

He awoke with a deep breath that sucked in a mouth full of cool dirt. He gagged and hacked and spit it back. As he wiped the muddy saliva from his lips and teeth, he assessed his strange environment.

“Where the hell am I?”

It was dark. He was inside a closet sized room. A black heavy metal door towered over him. It had no handle but there was a small window. Light flickered through it. Carson wobbled to his feet and peered through the bars into a long black tunnel. It was empty except for the torches mounted along the walls.

In his former life Carson had power over people. He manipulated others with his money and his station. Now he was buried alone inside the Earth. There was no one to control.

He was defeated.

He slid down the solid metal door, to the floor. He pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch and read the time. The numbers were meaningless without the sky. He couldn’t tell if it was AM or PM. He wasn’t sure if it was today or tomorrow or the day after. He didn’t have enough information to do the math.

In the vault, time was relative. It didn’t connect him with the past. All he could do was count forward from the first day of his life in captivity and hope for human contact.

It would feel like an eternity.

John Picha was born on St. Patrick's Day 1968 in Joliet, Illinois. He was raised in Frankfort, a suburb of Chicago, but his mind always seemed to be elsewhere. The little Midwesterner was captivated by comic books, cartoons and animation, mythology and all things imagined. He made the world around him more exciting by pretending. A bicycle was a spacecraft, a bush became a dinosaur, and, of course, there was always a bath towel hidden away for a quick change into a super hero.

John is also the inventor of Thumbtraps for iPad and tablet gaming.

www.thumbtraps.com

If you’d like to learn more about John or to see his other work, you can visit him on the web.

www.takejohn.com

www.youtube.com/johnpicha

If you like to read more adventures of Pandora Driver, simply do a search for her in your favorite eBookstore or visit her on the web.

www.pandoradriver.com