Previous: Meet Blink | Part 1 | Part 2
In last week’s episode, Blink met up with the retired Captain Heroic, and convinced him to help save Frank Crain from the Blackuras. Blink stole that wad of cash from them, and now the street racers are revved up for vengeance! Can he rescue Frank on his own?
The Heromobile glided into the parking lot, wearing its “old sedan” skin, near-silent but for the whisper of tires on pavement. The Blackuras’ own fleet hid it from the house. Before tonight, Stevie would have been thrilled beyond words to get a ride in the Heromobile, but Blink was focusing on the work ahead. He had outlined his plan to Captain Heroic, who suggested a few refinements. But he was ready to go.
“How did you find this place?” Captain Heroic asked.
“I was hangin’ out at the Twenty-Four on Saturday, and one of them came in for gas. I heard ‘em talkin’ about how much money they took in, so I popped into the trunk and hitched a ride. Then I popped out after they cut off the motor. When they went inside, I looked in the window, and saw all this cash laying on the table. So I popped in, grabbed two handfuls, and popped out before they knew what was going on. I found a Slaver-Mart bag in the trunk on the way over, so I stuck the loot in that and got away.”
“That’s what Mom calls Saver-Mart. Where she works.”
“Gotcha. Did anyone get a good look at you?”
“Nah. I was wearing a balaclava, anyway.” Blink fished it out of his hoodie pocket. “I guess I need to put it on, huh?”
“I’ve got something better. In the glove box.”
Blink opened the box, and lifted a black eye mask. “This?”
“Why not? It goes with your hoodie. Maybe wear the two together.”
“Yeah.” Blink pulled the balaclava over his head, then added the mask. “Now you see me…”
“And let’s see if we can locate your friend.” Captain Heroic pulled something out from under the driver’s seat that looked like a futuristic pair of binoculars.
“What’s that?” Blink asked.
“Infrared scope, with image enhancement. Lets me see through walls. Sort of.” Captain Heroic pointed the scope at the house, turned a knob, and began muttering. “Bunch of people in the kitchen… living room… upstairs—uh, that’s not it. Heh. Oh… I think I found him.”
“How do you know?”
“One person, sitting still in the middle of a bedroom. It’s upstairs on the left. Can you do your thing from the ground, up to the second story?”
“No prob. Let’s get started.”
Inside the house, the happy party babble came to a halt with the hollow report of a string of firecrackers going off in their mailbox. Several Blackuras leapt to the windows in time to see an old Buick take off, burning rubber. Even through the walls, they heard someone bellow, “Whoooooo! Catch me if you can, slowpokes!”
With a chorus of “Oh hell naw!” the Blackuras poured outside to their cars, some on cellphones, alerting other members already on the street. With the yowl of highly-tuned four-cylinder engines, the street racers added their own tire smoke to the haze. They turned the corner, and blew by a big yellow pickup truck sitting at the curb.
Upstairs, Frank Crain listened to the commotion, hoping maybe the cops had come for him. But things got quiet again, except the couple in the next room kept doing it, and he shook his head.
Then there was someone in the room with him.
“Really, I ain’t him,” Frank pleaded again. “Just lemme go, okay? I don’t know nothing.”
“Sssh. You wanna get outta here?” a voice whispered.
“Yeah,” Frank whispered back. “Who are you?”
“The real Blink. Now you know why secret identities are supposed to be secret.”
“Yeah. So you ain’t mad at me about sayin’ I was you?”
“Maybe a little, but this ain’t your battle.”
“What’s the deal, anyway? They kept sayin’ something about money.”
“I pulled a fast one on them, and they didn’t like it.” The zip ties around Frank’s wrists parted, and Blink started cutting at the bonds around Frank’s ankles. “Have they figured out you were just talking crap?”
“I thought if they had, they’d let me go.”
“Okay, you’re loose. Let’s—”
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Blink and Frank turned to see one of the Blackuras standing in the bedroom doorway, brandishing a lug wrench. “Siddown, both of you!”