JLU 2001 - STARMAN: STELLAR ALIGNMENT Chapter Two

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STARMAN: STELLAR ALIGNMENT

Chapter Two
"The Dating Game"

Originally Presented in Black Canary # 6-8

Written by Curt Fernlund

Black Canary # 6 - "No Sleep In Brooklyn!"

The following are excerpts from Black Canary # 6. Previously, Dinah Lance has had an exhausting night after fighting both the Color King and Gizmo of the Fearsome Five. All she wants now is to get some much needed rest...

Jack Knight glanced at his pocket watch and sighed. Not even eight o'clock yet and still an hour to go. He shouldered his messenger's bag with a shrug and leaned back against the wall of the Marriott Essex House, wishing that he had opted for breakfast rather than rushing to the hotel just to wait in the long line with fanboy assembled.

It wasn't like the convention was going to go away without him. It was an annual three-day event, held every year in one of the hotels at the southern end of Central Park--usually. This year was no different than any other. There would be a show inside; a trading room and special guests giving lectures and signing autographs, film previews--the works. Jack of course did not care about any of that.

Oh, he would get an autograph or two if it was convenient. If the fan assemblage was not swarming the guest tables he might wait a bit and get a few of the comics that he had brought along signed, but that was not his main purpose for coming.

Jack Knight hefted his bag again, tired of it sliding down his shoulder while he waited. It was filled and heavy with trading cards mainly, and in that baseball trading cards mostly. He looked forward to the annual Creation Con as a chance to unload some of his older and more prized stock. He had a good run on cards this year; a full set of both the '69 Mets and the '72 Athletics in Rookie Cards. He had a first printing Roger Meris, and if that were not enough, he had both a Ty Cobb limited and a Hank Aaron--signed and dated from 1975--just after he had broke Babe Ruth's homerun record. He had brought a few vintage comics as well, a few autographed character sketches by some of the more renowned artists of yesteryear; Adams, Steranko, and Kirby of course. He had brought a lot, actually, as his aching shoulder would attest. Add to all of that the case with his collapsed Star Rod and he was hefting a good thirty pounds.

He hoped that there would be buyers inside interested in what he had to offer after all of his effort. Usually there was; there were always buyers. Over the last few years however--on both coasts--there had been a major slow down in buying. People wanted to trade, but there was such a glut in the market that no one seemed too interested in outright buying anymore. Jack did not want to trade however. He needed money to help fund his new shop in Opal, and he had plenty of vintage material to stock supply, but little money to fix the plumbing or even lay on a fresh coat of paint. Hell, he had bills to pay.

Jack sighed, moving his heavy bag to the opposite shoulder again as the line finally started to move. The line was long, mostly filled with excited and agitated kids, thankfully. With luck there would be only a handful of people like himself, peddling their wares and a number of people looking to buy.

Somehow though, he had his doubts . . .

“C'mon, Roger . . .” Jack Knight whined, tapping the cards on the table before him for emphasis, “You're killin' me here.”

The fat man on the other side of the table simply leaned back in his folding metal chair and shrugged, stroking his long, frazzled beard. He looked like an aging hippie; some cast off derelict from another age with his faded blue jeans and pale blue Cerebus T-shirt. His long brown hair was streaked with gray and tied back into a tail that ran halfway down his back. The thick lenses of his glasses sparkled in the glare of the overhead lights in the main Dealer's room. There were breadcrumbs in his fuzzy beard and dotting his bulging belly.

“Sorry, Jack,” he said, his voice only a little disappointed, “but I can't help ya, unless you wanna trade. I jus' don't got that kinda money.”

Jack had seen the glimmer of enthusiasm when he had first approached his old friend, Roger. The older man ran a local comic book shop that dealt in almost everything associated with collectibles: comics, action figures, artwork and trading cards. They dealt with sports memorabilia as well, though as a secondary sideline to bring in another breed of customer. Like all of the other dealer's at the convention however, Roger was not interested in buying--especially at the prices that Jack was asking. Everyone wanted to trade it seemed.

He had managed to sell off the comics he had brought, as well as the sketches though at about a third of his asking price. The baseball cards were proving to be a bit harder. Still, Roger had offered a three-for-one trade for his better cards, and a Ty Cobb autographed first season for that. Jack didn't know cards all that well, but he was sure that he could unload that on E-Bay without too much trouble. He was considering--

There was a loud familiar crack and the baseball came bouncing down out of nowhere as Jack and Roger both looked up and around in confusion. The ball slammed down in the middle of Roger's table, scattering the cards as it bounced back up into the air, drawing exclamations and attention from everyone in the room. All eyes followed the bouncing ball--

Jack cursed as the room suddenly exploded in a blinding, glaring light. He spun away too late, blinking away the spots as he heard the room erupt in noise and panic. People were screaming in anger and fright, wondering what was happening. Jack felt the push of the crowd as the people surged suddenly, groping blindly in every direction.

Jack cursed again as someone slammed into his back at a run, sending him sprawling across Roger's table which, consequently, collapsed to the floor. He heard Roger scream as the table crashed onto the dealer's foot, and the fat man then sprawled to the ground on top of Jack. Jack's breath rushed out of his lungs at the sudden, unexpected weight and he groaned. In a way he was glad that he was momentarily blind; it couldn't have been a pretty sight.

“All right, sports fans! It's the bottom of the ninth, bases are loaded and the last batter at the plate! Time for the old ‘squeeze play' . . .”

Aw, crap . . .

Jack shook his head and strained to see as he looked up. His vision was still cloudy with spots exploding in garish reds and yellows, but he could see the shadowy image overhead. It was a man dressed in a baseball uniform by the silhouette, complete with a cap and bat resting on his shoulder. Not so bizarre at a comic book convention really, but the odd thing was that he was hovering a few yards over the floor of the Dealer's Room and riding a giant flying baseball bat like a skateboard. He was circling the floor, his bat spewing a trailing cloud of exhaust as he tossed another ball up into the air--

“The squeeze being, I squeeze you for all your best; cards, comics, and money too! All the stolen bases . . .”

Jack covered his head as the man swung the bat and he heard that same crack of wood on leather. A second later and the room exploded into chaos . . .

Black Canary # 7 - "The Big Superhero Hunt - Reprise!"

Dinah Laurel Lance woke abruptly to the sound of screeching metal and a sharp jerk of movement. Her head bobbed back, momentum thumping it up against the cold metal wall behind her and she groaned even as the train lurched forward again, only to immediately stop dead once more.

She looked around rubbing at her bleary blue eyes, fighting the sleep that had overtaken her on the long ride back from Brooklyn. The train was far more crowded than when she had gotten on, packed as a matter of fact. All the other seats were full and the rest of the passengers on board were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the aisle. Most everyone that she could see, limited as her vision was due to the press of people, were bundled against the cold but dressed in suits and dresses underneath coats and scarves -- office attire in the morning rush. She hoped she had made it into Manhattan.

Dinah sat up straight, putting both feet on the floor to allow a scowling overweight woman to sit beside her. The woman was glaring at her, but finally sat with a disgruntled huff, her nose in the air and mumbling something about 'prissy white bitches'. Dinah ignored her as the train's intercom crackled with static and a nasally voice droned out of an overhead speaker---

"Due to police action at the Fifty-ninth Street Station, this Queens bound 'R' Train is going out of service. Last stop! Last stop! Passengers can transfer to the Uptown 'F' Train on the lower level for service into Queens. Last stop! Last stop!"

The entire car moaned as the announcement began to repeat and some of the braver, more vocal passengers started cursing rather colorfully. The woman beside Dinah was one of those, calling the MTA and the 'R' train in general every foul name that she could think of, and probably a few that she made up on the spot. Dinah just smiled and stood -- an old man almost knocking her aside for the seat despite what the announcement had just declared. Last stop, there was little else to do but get up and leave. It was part of the glory of living and working in Manhattan.

There was a tinny muted chime and cool air suddenly gushed into the stalled subway car as the doors opened. Like a tidal surge the passengers washed out of the car and flooded the platform. Dinah was swept along in the flow, which quickly jammed as people stood about wondering what to do next. Some of the passengers moved towards the front of the train and the engineer's car, an equal number shoving towards the conductor's. A few slowly made their way towards the stairs and the exits or transfers on other levels. Dinah followed that crowd as soon as she saw that the train had gone out of service -- luckily -- at her stop.

It was tough going, and to make matters worse there were more people lining the platform waiting on the trains, with more coming down the stairs, apparently oblivious as to what was happening down below. Dinah did her best to go with the flow, and made her way up the tightly packed stairs, through the turnstiles and up a final flight that finally led outside.

The exit opened onto 59th Street, right next to Central Park. The crowd from the subways quickly thinned as it merged with the regular traffic on the sidewalk and Dinah was glad. She stepped off to the side and leaned against the short wall that encircled the park to catch her breath and get her bearings. It was cold out, but not as bad as it had been earlier that morning in Brooklyn with the chill air whipping up off of the bay. Still, she could see her breath, wispy feathers drifting up to dissipate in the sky. She could smell over-brewed coffee from the vendor carts that lined the street along the park, the choking fumes of bus exhaust as well as the distinct scent of horse dung from the hansom cabs that circled about the area. Car horns blared as traffic was jammed all along the street, the pedestrians ignoring the flashing red of police cars parked about the Plaza as they dashed through the pandemonium. Sirens wailed as more police arrived, those already there trying to clear the street, though they were having a hard time of it. People kept pushing on and through, trying to get to work or back home before the area was shut down. Life goes on in New York, never mind the catastrophe.

Dinah watched for a bit, trying to figure out what was happening and if she might be needed. The police were cordoning off the entire stretch of 59th Street otherwise called Central Park South. Whatever was happening was at the Marriott Essex House up the street, but she could see nothing from her vantagepoint. It could be anything she imagined, from a bomb scare to a drug bust. With the number of police arriving though, she could not imagine she would be needed.

She yawned and stretched, popping a crick in her neck that had crept up on the train. She was tired and smelled of grease and sweat. She needed a hot shower, or even better a long, hot bath followed by a few solid hours of sleep. The cops could handle this, whatever it was, and if not then the Titans or Green Lantern. Dinah Lance needed her beauty sleep.

Jack Knight cursed as he pushed and shoved at the blubbery dead weight sprawled on top of him. Of all the dealer's tables he could have been at when all hell broke loose he just had to be at Roger's. Roger was a great guy, but he was also the stereotypical geek; long stringy hair, 'I'm With Stupid' t-shirt and about two hundred pounds overweight. All of said weight was now draped over Jack as he lay splayed on the floor.

Jack Knight was starting to think that he was a trouble magnet. Aside from the villains that seemed to make their homes -- and his life miserable -- in Opal City, he seemed to attract the weirdoes when he was out and about, anywhere in the world. Not so long ago it had been Felix Faust in an antique memorabilia store in backwoods Oregon. What were the odds that he and Jack would be there out of the way at the same time? Granted, the odds of running into craziness was a little better in New York City, but who would have expected the Sports Master to rob the very comic book convention that Jack was attending to try and sell off some of his wares? It was unbelievable, and Jack couldn't help wondering just how many gods he had pissed off.

All about him was pandemonium. The people attending the convention were in a panic, and rightly so considering that the Sports Master was flying about the ceiling and batting explosive baseballs into the crowd. People were running around like maniacs -- like chickens with their heads cut off, Jack's father would have said. People were getting hurt and trampled in the rush, not to mention the explosions that the Sports Master was setting off every time he hit a home run.

Jack grimaced. Now he was thinking in the idiot's vernacular. With a grunt he pushed again at the dead weight of his friend, heaving and breathing hard to get the flabby flesh to roll off of him. He heard Roger moan, but ignored it, and with a shriek and burst of energy felt the mass finally tumble off to the side. Jack scrambled away and out of the main aisle, not wanting to get trampled and especially not wanting his friend to roll back again. He slumped against the wall, breathing hard and blinking away at the spots still lingering from the Sports Master's initial assault; an exploding ball that blinded almost everyone in the room.

Through teary eyes he could see the villain still flitting about overhead. He was ignoring the screaming and pushing crowd for the most part, diving close to the dealers' tables and scooping up comics or sports cards by the dozens, then flipping through them as his flying baseball bat looped up and around. He stuffed what he liked into a bike messenger's bag he wore slung across one shoulder, flicking away what he did not want before swooping down for another run. He was all about the robbery, and apparently had not recognized Jack for who he was -- Starman!

Just as well. Jack saw his own bag sitting not so far away and inched towards it, keeping the villain in his sights. Obviously he did not want Sports Master to get his own stash, but more importantly the bag contained the Star Rod, the Cosmic Rod and the separated pieces of his own Star Staff. If he could get the rod, and even better get the staff reassembled he would make swift work of this idiot. Jack waited until the man on the bat made another strafing run at the tables before reaching out and snatching his bag, dragging it close. It would take just a few seconds to get his act together. He hoped that he had it.

Sports Master seemed occupied as he thumbed through a thick stack of cards, his gigantic bat circling high over the floor as though on automatic pilot. Jack watched, waiting until the man started looping away again, glad that he had stopped popping flies at the walls and into the crowd. There were still a few stragglers, other customers like Jack that had gotten trapped by the initial attack, but Jack Knight had his doubts that the others were superheroes like he was. Still, you never knew.

Jack scrambled out of his hiding place to snag his bag as the villain arched around tossing away cards. He hooked the shoulder strap and quickly backpedaled, glancing up to see if he had been spotted. Sports Master still seemed oblivious. Good!

Jack opened his bag and winced to see the huge crease that had been folded into the few comics he still had in there. Depreciation sucked, but there was nothing to do for it now except get a bit of satisfaction off of the guy that had caused his problems today. Jack dug into the bag and pulled the Cosmic Rod free along with the bundled sections of his staff. Quickly he set about screwing the unit together, hearing the locking 'click' as slowly the staff grew in length, its golden shell gleaming in the harsh light. Finally he plugged the Star Rod, his father's original invention, into the hollowed housing at the end and snapped the weapon to life. There was a brief crackle of energy as the Star Staff powered up, and then with a heavy sigh and a shrug, Jack Knight -- Starman scrambled to his feet---

"Hey! Sports Master! Why don't you . . . fight . . . me?" Jack sighed. That was probably the stupidest thing he had ever said. Still, it got the appropriate response as Sports Master's flying baseball bat spun slowly about spewing smoke, the man himself turning his attention on his foe rather than the trapped innocents. Sports Master laughed, tossing the remaining cards in his hand away---

"What's this then? The geeks have a hero in their midst? Some Pinch Hitter looking to go for the Grand Slam?"

Jack's eyes were still spotty from the original explosion and his ears were still ringing, but he was not so bad off he couldn't see the man on the bat pull a handful of baseballs from his huge pockets and toss them into the air---

"Go deep, rookie!" the villain shouted, swinging his Louisville Slugger in a wide arch that easily connected with three balls. Jack's eyes went wide as the three projectiles screamed his way. The man was good, he'd give him that, but Starman was no slouch either. He swept the Star Staff up, letting it carry him into the air and quickly leveled it at the three balls. He blasted in a wide arch, the stellar energy of his Cosmic Rod exploding two of the three balls before they reached him.

The third ball however spun and twisted in mid-air like a screwball thrown by Bugs Bunny himself. His blast of energy missed, and Jack yelped as the ball slammed squarely into his chest.

And the world exploded . . .

Dinah walked casually around the Central Park Duck Pond, enjoying the peace and calm. She was tired, but the park was not too crowded and the tranquility of the bit of green nestled within the concrete canyons of Manhattan was soothing. One thing that she missed about Seattle was that everyone there was not in a constant rush to get somewhere. She loved New York and the excitement, but sometimes it was hard to simply take your time and relax.

She heard more sirens coming from 59th Street and out of habit glanced that way. There was smoke billowing up now, a slender trail spiraling up and out over the park, caught on the breeze. People were hurrying in that direction too, probably to see what was happening. Dinah was just saying to herself that she hoped it wasn't anything serious when she heard the explosion---

"Shit!"

She charged up the gravel path, then clambered up onto one of the many huge rock outcroppings that were scattered throughout the park. The granite boulders had been left in the area after the last Ice Age and some of them were huge. The men that had built the park had left them for their beauty no doubt, as well as the money and problems involved in removing them when the park was built over a century and a half ago. At the moment, Dinah was happy that the enormous rocks were there as she scrambled atop the closest and tallest. They made a great place to get some sun in the summer, but they were also a good vantagepoint.

Dinah turned her gaze towards Central Park South. She could still hear the sirens, the blare of horns, and she could see the flashing lights of dozens of emergency vehicles. The street was a madhouse with people running in every direction though it really didn't look as though anyone was getting anything accomplished. The police had the street barricaded off, and there were paramedics tending to wounded. Civilians were either running madly or staring in shock at the hole that had appeared in the front façade of the Marriott Essex House. It looked as though the entire wall of windows lining the street had blown out, taking a good chunk of the brickwork and masonry with it. Smoke was pouring from the hole, and she could see shadowy figures moving quickly about within. There were sparks of light, and it almost looked as though someone was flying---

Dinah gasped as someone came shooting out of the hole backwards, trailing smoke in their wake. She stared at the figure and heard the explosive blast a moment later as he arched up and through the air, finally crashing into the middle of the street. It seemed that she recognized the figure; black hair and black leather jacket, holding a golden stick---

"Starman . . ."

Dinah grunted and yelped as something slammed into the small of her back. It struck with enough force to throw her off-balance and forward. She flew for just a moment, twisting and flipping and trying to get her feet back under her, and finally landing hard on her side and hip on the gravel path. She winced, skidding along the rocks but still whipping her legs about and rolling into a defensive crouch, using her momentum to her advantage and trying to ignore the pain and blood on her thigh. She gritted her teeth and looked back up to the top of the boulder---

"Well, check this," the red-haired woman said with a chuckle, "and here I thought I was gonna be bored waiting on my dumb-ass brother." The woman was wearing a long coat against the chill air, but when she took it off Dinah recognized the slim body and black and orange tiger-striped motif of the spandex underneath. The woman's hair was tied in a long, weighted braid and she wore weapons on her hip and boots, in a bandolier stretched between her breasts and in a quiver on her back. Her left eye was milky white, some old wound embellished with a tiger's slash tattoo in blazing orange. A bit garish, but all in all a better costume than her mother had worn back in the Forties---

"Tigress!"

"Black Canary!"

Dinah rose to her feet even as the woman snarled and leaped from the top of the boulder. Dinah sighed, crouching, and wondering just what sins she had committed in a past life to deserve this . . .

Jack's ears were ringing again as he flew back through the huge windows with the force of the explosion. Only sheer force of will kept his Star Staff in hand as the spots dancing before his eyes tried to envelope his sight and drag him down into the darkness . . .

Yeah, right---

Energy flared from the Cosmic Rod as Starman spun about. He swooped down, taking control of his momentum, sparks rising from the asphalt where the base of the staff scarred the street. Arching up, he spun about again, sweeping up and over the axis of the staff to face the hole in the building. The police were holding the crowds back, the fire department rushing forward to attack the flames that were springing up and out of the hotel's façade. Jack Knight stared as smoke billowed from the hole that he had created, watching---

"Get back!" he shouted, spying shadows moving about within. "Watch---"

Sports Master came screaming out of the opening, legs churning as he literally skated on thin air, his thick boots sparking flame and trailing exhaust. He was dressed in the uniform of the New York Rangers now, a hockey uniform complete with rocket-powered ice skates, defensive pads and over-sized gloves. He was also wielding a hockey stick that looked to have a rather sharp edge. He was still wearing his messenger's bag as he charged forward, reaching in to produce a puck---

"Slap shot, suckers!" he shouted, tossing the puck into the air and slapping it away with the flat of his stick. The small black disc shot away at blinding speed, bounced off of the street, ricocheted up again, and arrowed toward the approaching fire fighters. Jack knew that he had to do something, but he reacted too slowly as the heavy puck slammed into one of the firemen, careening off of his helmet and bouncing away towards the next even as the first fell in a heap. Starman raised his staff as the puck smashed into three more in quick succession, and finally raced his way. His eyes grew wide as his finger brushed a stud on the staff and a sparkling glow enveloped its length. The puck struck, rebounding up and away as Jack braced his flight, and still he was shoved back by the impact ---

"Check! Into the boards!"

Sports Master slammed his shoulder into the surprised Starman full on and it was only the fact that he had pumped the star power of the Cosmic Rod into the staff's defenses that saved his every bone from being shattered. Still, Jack felt the air rush out of him as he went flying backwards with the Sports Master's move through. He tumbled end over end as the sports fanatic skated past, caught up in his own momentum, arching up at the last second as Jack went spiraling towards the low, thick stone wall that surrounded Central Park---

"Oh, shi---"

Jack felt something break as he smashed through the wall. He just hoped it wasn't his neck . . .

The beautiful Black Canary stepped back into a defensive stance, raising her arms up and before her, watching as the red-haired woman snarled like her namesake and leaped from atop the stone. The Tigress seemed all about power and attack, though Dinah could see that she had had some training. The snarling growl was used both as distraction and direction, to focus the assault not unlike any other shout in the martial arts. The younger woman's hands were curling to emulate claws rather than fists, and Dinah suspected that the thick blue gloves she wore probably contained razor-sharp talons of some sort. The leap however left the attacker wide open though with arms and legs spread wide for an all-out assault. Only novices or the extremely over-confident used the Tiger's Lunge . Dinah waited, watching, wondering which Tigress was, if not both.

She stepped forward, cocking her fist back as Tigress whipped her own arms forward and legs in tight. Dinah saw the shift in position -- barely -- and changed her fast punch into a defensive block as the villainess flipped in mid-air and screamed her rage. The high-power kick would have taken Dinah's head off had it connected, and still her arm was scraped and burned as she deflected the attack, sidling and brushing Tigress to the right. Dinah rolled with the sudden momentum, curling quickly then springing back to her feet to face her opponent. She saw the tail end of Tigress' move as the woman spun at the last second to regain her balance and cartwheeled into a defensive crouch of her own. For her size and weight the other woman seemed agile, and Dinah had underestimated her. That was a mistake she would not make again.

Tigress stood and flicked her hand; as if from nowhere, a long metallic pole lengthened and snapped into place. Tigress smiled and started to spin the Bo staff, casually stepping forward and closing the distance. Over-confident then---

"You don't know how long I've wanted to meet up with you, Black Canary. You don't know how many times my parents told me and my brother about the times your mother and her Justice Society friends beat up on my folks." There was anger in the woman's voice as she strolled closer, the staff spinning faster and faster. Dinah saw the distraction for what it was though, and struck an appropriately defensive pose, waiting.

"Mom was especially graphic about the encounter she and dad had with your mother and the original Starman. It's only fitting that we meet like this, finally, so I can get my mother some payback. Pity that the new Starman's not here too, cuz my brother's right across the street robbing some geek convention for memorabilia. Sports Master could kick Jack Knight's ass just like I'm gonna kick yours, bitch!"

Like Dinah didn't see that coming. "Way I heard it, Kitty, your dweeb parents were a pain in the ass that did little more than break up the monotony any time they showed up. My mom beat your dad hands down, and Ted Knight didn't even break a sweat putting the original Tigress's face down in the litter box." Dinah chuckled and waggled her fingers in a 'come closer' move. "You want a piece of this, sister, bring it on!"

Tigress's Bo staff swept up and about, arching down even as the Black Canary braced and crossed her arms to block. There was a loud crack as the staff connected with her wrist bracers and Dinah winced with the force of the blow. She shifted her weight, locking the pole as she wedged her arms, and twisted. She saw Tigress's look of surprise as Dinah drove the tip of the staff towards the cold, hard earth, applying enough leverage to propel the other woman forward, up and over as she was already off-balance from her assault.

Tigress screamed as she vaulted over the kneeling form of the Black Canary. Dinah spun about to see the other woman land in a Judo fall, splayed and slamming her hand to the dirt to absorb the impact. Still Dinah winced to see Tigress' tailbone bounce off of a jutting stone. That had to hurt---

"Ooh . . ." Tigress moaned, rolling to her side and bringing one hand to her back against the sore spot. Dinah stood, but kept awares, expecting some trick. That wouldn't have stopped her, and she doubted it would stop her 'thunder-thighed' opponent.

She was right. Tigress whipped about, spinning on the ground suddenly like a break-dancer until she planted herself in position. Automatically Dinah crouched, expecting some sneaky attack, but she saw that the woman was hesitating and taking aim. In her hand, Tigress held a small crossbow gun; an arrow aimed at Dinah's heart . . .

Jack Knight moaned as his vision spiraled maniacally. It was like a kaleidoscope, or better yet one of his father's laser-light shows at the Opal Planetarium. It would have been so easy to lay back and enjoy the show, relaxing until the pain eased out of his aching back and arms and legs and neck and---

"En Garde!"

Jack moaned again, looking up just in time to see the Sports Master flexing and stretching atop what was left of the Central Park wall. He had changed clothes again, and Jack had to wonder if maybe he had blacked out for a minute. The Ranger's uniform was gone, replaced by a fencing ensemble; predominately white and complete with tights and thickly padded jacket. He wore too a meshed face guard helmet and glove and was limbering up an epee over his head, then striking dramatic poses in lunges. Was Sports Master a Meta, or what? Jack wondered how he was changing clothes in the blink of an eye. Starman shook his head, trying to banish the spiraling lights in his eyes even as Sports Master snapped to attention and saluted---

"To those who are about to die---" Sports Master leaped from the top of the wall, his body stretched in an all-out lunge, his sword arm extended to its limit. Jack scrambled back and rolled to his knees, then his feet, trying to get his staff up before him. The defensive glow of the star power was gone as he had lost his concentration, his finger losing the stud on the staff. Still, he whipped the pole up and tried to block even as the Sports Master twisted, his arm spinning oddly as the sword arched about in reposte, slicing through Jack's black leather jacket. Jack winced, sucking air through his gritted teeth as the epee cut into his skin---

"Bitch!" he snarled, stumbling back and away as his opponent seemed to dance across the grassy lawn that had become their battleground. "This jacket cost me over five hundred!"

"Casualties of war, son," Sports Master said with a grin as he easily slid into his en garde stance once again. "First touch to me!"

Jack grumbled and charged up his staff. He had had enough of this---

"Touché' away, asshole!" Jack snapped, unleashing the unbridled fury of cosmic energy focused through his staff. Even through the thin wire mesh of his helmet Jack could see his foe's eyes widen in surprise, the blast of stellar energy frying through the man's sword despite his best attempt at a parry. The force blast struck the villain square in the chest and sent him flying back, energy trailing after in the wake of his falling arch. Sports Master fell from sight beyond the wall, but Starman charged forward anyway, oblivious of the potential danger. He loved this coat---

Starman flew over the wall, energy crackling from his staff and enveloping him in a blaze of glory. He wanted to end this fight and fast. Sports Master had disrupted his day. He had lost his treasures back in the convention hall and his favorite coat now had a huge gash in the sleeve that would cost a bundle to repair -- if it could be fixed at all. Jack Knight was officially pissed---

His anger faded however as he saw the police converging on the fallen Sports Master. He was laying sprawled in the middle of 59th Street, stripped of anything resembling a sports uniform and dignity. He was now simply some red-haired guy dressed in white spandex, a gaudy belt about his waist that was sparkling and crackling with excess energy. An image-inducer of some sort Jack suspected, used to alter his costume and weapons depending on the man's mood and goals. The cops took a moment to make certain the man was down and out, and Jack was not sympathetic in the least.

Starman turned as a scream echoed from within the park. Someone was in pain, and he supposed it was his job to find out who it was and what was happening now. Besides, he still had some pent up fury to unleash. With any luck it would be someone who could take a little damage.

"Eat this, bird lady!" Tigress sneered and pulled the trigger.

Black Canary heard the taut string twang as the quarrel shot forward. She had just enough time to focus, a curt smile curling the corner of her lips as her hand flicked and she snatched the small arrow from its path just inches from her heart. She got some pleasure from seeing her foe's mouth fall open, her one good eye flaring wide---

"You're kidding, right?" Dinah took the quarrel and easily snapped the wooden shaft in half. "Girl, I used to hang with a couple guys whose favorite past time was shooting apples off the top of my head. Arrows don't do nothing for me---"

The Black Canary charged forward even as Tigress recovered from her shock, tossing the crossbow away and reaching for another weapon with her other hand. Dinah leaped as her foe produced a simple .45 automatic from its side holster. She was somersaulting as the woman fired with determination trying to get a bead on the heroine. Dinah felt the whip of wind and trailing heat as bullets sped past, almost hitting their mark. But the black Canary was good -- the best, trained by the best and she was already twisting in mid-flip, spiraling and aiming for her intended target.

The Black Canary's spinning kick struck home, the heel of her boot connecting with Tigress' gun and sending it tumbling away into the brush. Dinah heard the woman's cry of pain, quickly cut short as her other foot slammed into the side of the woman's head, the natural momentum of her kick spinning her about for a second attack. Dinah whipped around again and landed awkwardly, skidding on the loose gravel of a nearby path before she regained her footing and started to run back. Tigress had rolled to one side again, dazed and unmoving from the assault. Dinah dipped a hand into her coat pocket, ready to end this.

She slipped her fingers through the loops of brass, curling her fist about the Vibro-Knuckles that she had taken off of Gizmo earlier that morning. Tigress was moaning, barely moving as Dinah drew her hand from her pocket and slowed her pace to a confident gait, a soft trill escaping her lips. It was the slightest use of her Canary Cry, just enough to get the knuckles vibrating with power. She could feel the charge building as she stood above the fallen woman who was holding her jaw, blood trailing from her broken nose---

"I have to admit -- bitch -- that this is going to hurt you way more than me."

Dinah Laurel Lance grinned wickedly, drawing back her fist even as Tigress blinked away tears and looked up at her through red-rimmed eyes. Dinah screamed, smashing down with her fist as though she were smashing through a thick stack of boards or concrete blocks. She felt bone crush as her blow shattered the woman's hand, smashing it down against the cold, hard-packed dirt of the path. It would be some time before Tigress would be able to cock a crossbow again. Pity she was ambidextrous. Dinah pulled back again---

"Whoa! Slow that roll, lady!"

Dinah snarled as she felt someone grab her arm and hold her back. She turned, already prepared to strike and break Sports Master, come to the aid of his sister. She had said that he had been robbing some convention across the street. Dinah barely checked her Bear Paw Thrust just an inch or so from the rather attractive nose of Jack Knight, Starman.

Jack blinked and swallowed and Dinah had to smile at his expression, staring at the palm of her hand right before his face. He shuddered and she could see the boy screwing his courage back into place---

"Ease off, Canary," he squeaked taking a step back and putting up his hands. She would have shattered his nose had she followed through, driving shards of bone into his brain with the impact. "She's done," he continued, nodding towards the unconscious Tigress lying at their feet. Her hand was pulped and blood was flowing freely from her nose and mouth, her face already puffing up and darkening to a big purple bruise. Dinah nodded and pulled off the Vibro-Knuckles, slipping them back into the pocket of her coat even as the police started to pour over the wall---

"Fancy meeting you here, Jack. Sports Master?"

"He's in better shape than red here, but out." The Canary chuckled---

"Guess our mom and dad would be proud, hunh?"

Starman ran his fingers back through his unruly black hair and forced a smile. "I guess so." He shrugged eyeing the bloody mess that was Tigress. "You okay?"

"Never better, Jack."

Dinah saw Captain Hall, recently appointed commander of New York's Special Crimes Unit, rushing forward. She had run into him several times over the past month or so as Checkmate had sent her out to take down a few of the lesser villains that had been popping up around the city. He was a friend of a sort, at least an associate within the NYPD. He stepped up and divided his attention between Tigress, Starman and herself as he produced a pair of cigarettes, offering one to her. She accepted, grinning as Jack's jaw dropped. He smoked she knew, but apparently thought that he was the only rebel in the hero set---

"What's the deal here, Canary?" Hall asked as he lit her cigarette with his Zippo. The Black Canary took a long drag and held it, exhaling as she felt the smoke and nicotine calming her down.

"Tigress was trying to kill me in revenge for what my mother did to her mother decades ago. I was in fear for my life and took appropriate action. I'd like to file charges."

Captain Hall stared blankly at the Black Canary for a moment then sighed, a cloud of blue smoke billowing about his head. They had been through all of this before, many times now---

"Okay," he shrugged, turning towards Jack Knight, "what about you, Starman? You filing as well?" Jack shrugged---

"I guess."

Hall sighed again and watched as paramedics ran up to tend to the wounded Tigress. "Okay then. Hope you're willing to follow through. Follow me." Hall turned and started back the way that he had come. Dinah watched the man then turned to her erstwhile partner, crooking her arm for Jack to take it. He looped his arm somewhat nervously through hers and together they started off in Captain Hall's wake.

"So, Jack . . . Been awhile. What say after all this we grab a bite to eat and catch up?" Jack Knight shrugged, but smiled.

"Why not? My big trip to New York's a bust anyway. Sports Master fried the convention and my stuff's a loss." Jack shrugged towards the hotel, "may as well have some fun."

Dinah smiled, looking her escort up and down. He was young, probably ten years her junior, but he was damn cute and had an ass to kill for. He was no Oliver, but after that battle she was feeling just a bit raunchy and it had been awhile. Any port in a storm she decided, flicking her butt into the duck pond and getting a tighter grip on Jack's arm.

"Why not?"

Sports Master stared as the paramedic adjusted the transport harness about the neck and jaw of his unconscious sister. They had been arrested easily enough after his battle with Starman, which had left him unconscious as well. He had been surprised to find his sister, Tigress, in worse shape than he was though. Tigress had been his ace in the hole just in case things went down bad at the 'geek convention'. He had not expected Starman to be there, and apparently Tigress had not expected the Black Canary.

They had taken his molecular manipulator, the device that the Thinker had rigged to rearrange the molecular bulk and mass of his costume allowing him to change clothes in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately that eliminated his weapon's supply as well and left him in the stark white polymer bodysuit with wires and leads trailing down. NYSCU had locked the manacles on him and shoved him into the back of the transport to the local Meta holding facility, along with his battered and unconscious sister, two guards in riot armor and a paramedic. He probably could have gotten free of the cuffs and escaped the van if he wanted to -- even without his weapons he was not exactly a pushover -- but he could not leave his sister to the police.

"That's got it." The paramedic flicked a switch on the harness and slid back onto his bench as a slight hum started on the collar. The transport harness would keep his sister's head and neck stable as well as start to work knitting the fractured bones in her jaw. She was done up in bandages all about her head and face as well, and both hands were set in temporary casts. The Canary had really done a number on her---

"She'll be all right?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. The paramedic nodded---

"I should think. With a bit of rest, I---"

Sports Master looked up at where the paramedic was suddenly staring, towards the front of the van. There was a man there, older and distinguished looking with graying hair and goatee. He was wearing a tuxedo complete with a tophat and a cane with a huge jewel as the handle. He was standing between the two guards, and Sports Master could see the shock wash over them even through the tinted glass of their face screens. They started to stand, turning and raising their rifles even as the old man laid a hand on each of their shoulders---

Dormire!

Sports Master blinked, watching as the two guards slumped to the floor asleep without a word or firing a shot. The paramedic was standing now; reaching for his radio as the old man pointed his cane---

Glacies!

There was a burst of cold swirled about the van, a misty chill that sent shivers down the Sports Master's spine. With chattering teeth he stared at the paramedic who was suddenly frozen solid and encrusted with ice from head to toe. The man's body shifted and Sports Master tensed for the impending crash but the body tilted precariously against the wall and wedged into place for the moment. He turned back to the man---

"I know you . . ."

The old man crouched beside Tigress who was strapped to a gurney for transport then looked up with a sly grin.

"It has been awhile, lad. I was there for your Christening, and your sister's third birthday party I believe. I am sorry about your mother. I wish I could have attended the funeral, but I was . . . detained."

"You were in jail." The old man smiled---

"Yes, a condition I have no wish to repeat. For any of us," he said glancing towards the driver's compartment and lowering his voice just a bit. "I'm putting the band back together."

Sports Master had to smile. "What, the Injustice Society?"

"Or the Secret Society of Super Villains, I haven't quite decided yet. I want you and your sister to join me, and a few mutual friends." The old man's smile widened, a wall of sparkling white teeth shining through his goatee and mustache. Sports Master chuckled---

"Why the hell not? Beats jail I guess."

"Excellent!"

With a flourish and flair the Wizard stood and whipped his cane about the compartment. The jewel on the handle sparkled brightly, strange energies spitting into the frosty air. Sports Master watched, trying to follow the jewel's intricate path, listening to whatever the magician of menace was mouthing but the words slipped away, the pattern lost.

There was a sudden flash of light and warmth, and the world faded away . . .

Manhattan:
The Upper West Side,
Later . . .

Dinah woke with a start as the annoying buzzing burned through her brain. She blinked and moaned, rolling over and draping her arm across the warm body of the naked man in the bed at her side---

"Whazzat . . ." Jack mumbled, half awake and Dinah moaned again. She was still tired and aching, but she felt marvelous as well. Content and full, Jack had real staying power---

The door buzzed again and Dinah frowned, finally rolling over and sitting up on the edge of her king-sized bed. Whoever was at the door was not going to go away so she supposed she had best answer the door and make them. She slipped her feet into her slippers and stood as the door buzzed a third time, slipping her long, silken robe about her. She tied the sash as she looked down on Jack Knight, smiling warmly. He was handsome, his hair a wild mess as he slept fitfully, only barely awake. He had a great body, if just a bit thin, and the tattoos were a nice touch, as was the nipple ring and cock piercing. That had felt great, and that tongue---

Bzzzzz!

"All right!" Dinah snapped, giving her obi a final cinch. She padded out of the bedroom and across the hardwood floor, glancing at the wall clock as she passed heading for the door. It was almost seven and the room was dim. Dinah assumed seven at night. They could not have slept that long, straight through 'til morning.

Dinah pressed against the cold wood of the door and peered through the spy-hole. All she saw was a golden stickpin, thin golden tie and stark white shirt bulging in the fish-eye lens. Whoever it was, was tall, but then almost every man she knew was of heroic stature. Whoever it was would regret waking the Black Canary, she thought as she set about undoing the several locks that ran along the edge of her door. She flung it open with some force, ready to rip whoever was on the far side a new one---

"What--?" she snapped, but the question choked in her throat as she saw the bundle of flowers that met her gaze. Two dozen roses of the deepest, darkest red that she had ever seen -- almost black. They were not her favorite, but as a one-time florist she knew that they must have cost a fortune, especially at this time of year. They smelled heavenly.

Dinah Laurel Lance glanced up as she smiled despite her irritation and her mouth suddenly fell slack and agape. Her eyes grew wide at the presence on the far side of the door, almost the last person she ever expected to see again---

She gasped, feeling her heart flutter and skip a beat---

"You!"

Black Canary # 8 - "The Dating Game"

The following is an excerpt from Black Canary # 8.

Dinah Laurel Lance stared at the dozen long stem roses, her big blue eyes wide with shock and delight. They were beautiful, trimmed and wrapped to perfection and smelled heavenly and fresh. Most remarkable, they were a deep, dark ebony, blacker than any she had ever seen before. Dinah knew of course that there were no black roses, not really. Being a florist for most of her life; first under her mother's tutelage and then on her own she had seen her share over the years that had come very, very close. None however were actually black but rather a deeply dark red. These she suspected were the darkest she had ever seen and had to have been cultivated with the greatest tender care somewhere far away from the frozen environs of New York, and even North America. She could only guess at the price.

Dinah looked up at the man that was holding the bouquet out before her. In his own way he was as dark and alluring as the flowers he held, if not more so. He was a tall man, tall and broad and strong she could tell at a glance. He was handsome too with his smoldering eyes and deep olive complexion. His raven black hair was slicked back and tied in a slight tail at the nape of his neck, his face smooth and free of shadow. He was wearing a smoky gray Italian cut suit that fit him in all the right places. The shoes were Gucci, but Dinah could not place the tailor cut suit, assuming it was custom made. The only ornamentation he wore was a clasp and cufflinks, platinum by the look and shaped to resemble tiny pyramids in honor of his social club. Adam Blakewell flashed Dinah a slight, conceited smile as she licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry-

“Forgive me Miss Lance,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “for arriving unannounced and at such an awkward hour, but you are a hard woman to get a hold of. I think perhaps your phone might have difficulties.”

Dinah nodded trying to close her mouth even as she pulled the lapels of her short silken housecoat together. She could not begin to imagine what she looked like, having just gotten out of bed. Her hair must be a ratty tousled mess, her make-up smeared and sleep still crusting her eyes. She could feel her skin flushing with embarrassment as she tried to find her voice. Blakewell had caught her totally off guard. It was a feeling that she was unaccustomed to, and one she hated.

“I tend to unplug my land line,” she half lied. She rarely answered the telephone, leaving the answering machine to do her dirty work. Even her cellular was set to Voice Mail and she hardly ever checked that. It was usually Sarge Steel anyway, droning on in some secret code with updates about the current cases that she was working on for Checkmate. One of those, coincidentally, involved Adam Blakewell himself, and his Pyramid Club up Fifth Avenue on the other side of the park. Steel suspected that Blakewell was involved with the newest ‘Mob' influences about the Tri-State area, though so far Dinah had found nothing to tie him in. Hell, the terrorist group Kobra had attacked him and his club just last winter, a few short months ago. She hadn't seen Blakewell since- all the more reason to be surprised now. “Seems I got on somebody's sales call list. Damn phone never stops ringing.”

Blakewell smiled, nodding as he glanced past Dinah and peered into the darkened apartment. Dinah blushed again and stepped aside, opening the door wider to accommodate. “God, I'm sorry. Come in…”

Blakewell's smile grew as he bowed ever so slightly and stepped lightly into the room. Dinah could smell his musk as he passed, a pleasant odor of manliness and mint. She smiled, closing the door behind him and sagging against it feeling warm and comfortable. He cut a fine figure from behind, solid and tight in his suit, standing calmly and patiently as his gaze drifted about her apartment. She was ashamed of the mess that it was in. she could see dishes piled in the sink in the kitchen and there were clothes strewn about; draped over chairs and the back of the sofa. Her boots were heaped under the coffee table, and Jack's jacket was piled to the side where he had sloughed it off. It was just that she was there so rarely lately, just to sleep and eat really, and she never felt like…

Like-

Oh Gawd… she moaned. Jack…

Jack Knight was still asleep in her bedroom. After the tussle they had had earlier that day with the Sports Master and Tigress they had decided to go have coffee and catch up. Jack had been in town for a convention, but the Sports Master had tried to rob that so Jack's trip was basically ruined. They had spent a quick hour in a Starbucks on Broadway- just around the corner really- and one thing had led to another and they had made their way back to her place, both feeling tired and lonely, both looking way too enticing after a battle. How many times had Oliver gotten her into bed after a fight?

Blakewell was looking at her, his gray, lavender eyes seemingly searing into her soul. Did he know? It would not take a genius to see the signs that she had a guest in the bedroom. Her appearance, Jack's leather MC jacket with that damn Marshal's star blazing on the lapel…

God…

“Are you well Miss Lance? You seem somewhat nervous, flushed.”

“I-“ She had to get rid of Jack!

It was not just that Adam Blakewell was probably the handsomest man she had met in ages, and the richest, and the most appealing and… dashing… He was hot, all right! She would admit it. Hottest piece of ass she had seen in a long, long time. He was unfortunately also the subject of a Checkmate investigation and Sarge Steel would kill her if she let this chance slide by because she was embarrassed. Not that she believed for a moment that Blakewell was dirty, but that was what she was getting paid for. Adam Blakewell was obviously here to see her. He was obviously interested and had gone to the trouble and expense to look into her past enough to know how impressed she would be to get a bouquet of black roses. He had done his work, almost made it to first base on that sweet bit alone. He deserved her attention at least.

Jack would understand. It wasn't like they had made some commitment in the last couple hours after all. At least none that she remembered. Frankly, she didn't remember all that much.

“I'm sorry Adam,” she said as she backed as gracefully as she could manage towards the bedroom door. “Could you give me just one quick minute? You can put those in water if you like. There's an empty vase in the kitchen.”

“Of course.” Blakewell smiled again, nodding as he went towards the kitchen and Dinah backed into her dark bedroom. She shut the door quietly behind her and made a dash for the bed. She scooped up her panties from the floor beside the bed, stepping into the soft silk as she hissed at the man still unconscious and sprawled across the coverlet.

Jack Knight was handsome in his own way she supposed. He was cute, good looking and in great shape, but he had a few too many tattoos for Dinah's taste. Too many piercings in places she never would have suspected, though one in particular she now recalled was well placed. He had been fun, but in the end, now that she saw him in a new light with his hair wild and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth she realized that he had simply been a convenient distraction. They had needed each other earlier, but now he had to go.

“Jack…” she hissed, slipping a JLA tee shirt over her head, running a hand through her hair to try and get it into place. She had no time to brush it.

“Jack…” she hissed again, a little louder as she pulled her hair back into a tail and tied it into place with a black scrunchy. Later for that. Jack Knight moaned, his head lolling to the opposite side. Dinah sighed. He was out of it, worn to a frazzle. Dinah leaned over the bed and gave him a rough shove on the shoulder-

“Jack!” she snapped, trying hard to whisper.

“Wha? Whazzat?” he mumbled, propping up on his elbows and looking about blearily into the darkness. God, how young was he? Twenty maybe? Dinah felt truly old all of a sudden.

“You have to go, Jack. Something suddenly came up.” Thank you Marcia Brady.

“Hunh?”

Lord…

“You have to go, Jack. I'm sorry, but a case literally dropped into my lap. You need to get out.”

God she sounded like such a bitch, and Jack had been sweet. Still, she had no time for niceties. Jack knight rolled out of bed, his hard on raging as he groped about for his boxers-

“A case?” He glanced at the clock, yawning and rubbing his hand through his hair and down his face. It was just after eight PM. “Can I help?”

“No, Jack. Yes! Get out!”

Jack blinked, his bleary expression growing cold and slightly hurt as he stared at her. Dinah had to look away, watching her feet as she stepped back into her slippers.

“Can I at least get dressed first?”

“Hurry.” She tossed him his boxer shorts and threw his shirt onto the bed beside him. She watched as he got dressed, silently chewing her lip, and she could feel the cold seeping through the room.

“I need my coat.”

God… “Jack…” she whined, wishing she had grabbed the thing when she had come into the bedroom. Adam would know for sure if she went back for it. “Please-“

Dinah gasped as there was a light rapping on the bedroom door. A second later the bedroom door swung slowly open and Adam Blakewell stood framed in the doorway. He was holding Jack's leather coat-

“I'm sorry for intruding, Dinah. I thought your friend might need this.” Dinah moaned and sank onto the bed as Blakewell tossed Jack's MC to him. Jack nodded his thanks as he slipped into the leather.

“I'm sorry.” Blakewell continued. Dinah watched as the two men looked each other up and down, sizing one another up. “I should come back later, when you have more time-“

“No!” Dinah almost shouted, standing up in a rush. Jack gave her a final glare, then turned his cool attention to Blakewell-

“'Sokay, man. I was just leaving.” Jack Knight moved to the corner of the room and grabbed his Star Staff from where he had left it propped earlier, brushing past Dinah without a word. He took a final look about the room to be certain that he hadn't left anything, then headed for the door.

“You're Starman aren't you?” Blakewell asked, still blocking the doorway. Jack stopped abruptly and finally nodded.

“Yeah.” Blakewell extended a hand-

“I am most impressed by your exploits in Opal, sir. Most impressed. You do your father and brother proud.” Jack stared blankly at the moment, obviously caught off guard, then slowly a smile crept across his face. He shook Blakewell's hand-

“Thanks. Thank you.”

“Adam Blakewell…” Blakewell stated frankly, smiling widely and warmly.

“The millionaire?”

Blakewell chuckled. “At least. I've been looking into a factory in your city recently, several abandoned textile mills on the outskirts of Opal. I was skeptical as to doing business there, but meeting you here, a friend of Dinah's, well, it almost seems an omen.”

“I guess…” Jack shrugged, not quite knowing what to say. “Lord knows Opal could use the jobs. It's a great city, though. You won't be disappointed.”

“I'm sure that I won't. A pleasure, Jack.”

“You too…”

Dinah sat staring at the exchange, unbelieving. She was expecting a heated argument at the least. A temper tantrum out of Jack maybe at her bitchy attitude. Hell, Blakewell was a Meta, they could have started slugging it out. Jack glanced back though and gave Dinah a smile, more a smirk-

“Later, Sis…” Gawd, he needed to rub that in didn't he? “I'll call you.” Jack chuckled, knowing he had got in the final dig and left.

Bastard…

Dinah knew that Ted Knight- the original Starman had had an affair with her mother back in the Fifties and Sixties. Apparently Jack did too she had learned over coffee. Her mother had been positive that her father was Larry Lance. Fairly positive anyway. Give or take a month however, it was not out of the realm of possibility that she was related to Jack Knight. Dinah shivered, not wanting to go that route-

“Are you all right, Dinah?”

Dinah looked up and saw Blakewell staring at her, concern now on his face. Sympathy even? God he was handsome…

“I had hoped we might go for dinner, perhaps a bit of dancing. You do still owe me a dance. But if you're not up to it-“

“No!” she shouted, standing up again, ignoring the fact that her kimono opened up for a brief moment baring all. She grabbed her coat closed and tried to calm herself. “No, Adam, that sounds wonderful. I'd love to. Just- just give me a minute to screw my head back on, ‘k?” Blakewell nodded with a knowing grin-

“Of course. Take your time. I'll wait without.” He bowed slightly again and left. Dinah waited for the door latch to click shut before she collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh. She fell back, her head spinning as she stared at the ceiling, trying to get her thoughts together. She had to get straight. She could still smell Jack in the sheets-

Finally she sat up again and stared at the closet. She had a perfect opportunity to get into the head of Adam Blakewell for Sarge Steel and Checkmate. They had been tracking him for months but for some reason could never seem to pin the slightest crime on his ass. If he was a crook- a mob boss like they figured, then he was damn good at it. The best!

Screw it! Dinah finally decided and stood, walking to her huge walk-in closet and thumbing through the rows of gowns and dresses, glancing occasionally at the shoes piled high on the floor. Oracle had set up this apartment as a Safe House, and had supplied clothes, food, and even a bank account before she severed ties with the defunct Birds of Prey. Dinah had taken advantage of it all, having nowhere really to hold up in New York. She had taken over the apartment, and one fine day she had gone shopping. Screw Oracle too…

Dinah smiled as she held an impressively expensive Dior gown to her body. Adam Blakewell had come calling on her, not Oracle or the Black Canary. He was interested in her; Dinah Laurel Lance, and if he wanted to show her the town, well she was more than happy to oblige. She deserved it after all; after all the shit she'd done thanklessly for the League lately, and Checkmate, and screw Sarge Steel while she was at it. Dinah Lance deserved a night on the town, and she'd take it.

Screw…

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