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.”