The continued adventures of Extendy Enna, esq.

Out of eleven interviews you were able to schedule, ten went relatively uneventfully. Lady Light made her arrests forcefully, sometimes causing injuries or temporary blindness. She had no respect for due process or evidence; two of the people you've interviewed haven't been convicted of anything at all. Your eleventh stop is different.

Your first stop is with a former client, one of the first that was ever assigned to you at the public defender's office. He shouldn't hold that against you; like many other first-offender cases, it was resolved with a plea to a lesser charge and time served, putting Jimmy "Scooter" O'Neil right back on the street with reduced employment prospects due to his newly-checkered record. You remember Scooter as witty and charming, a young con artist in the making who got caught on camera palming the cash out of the register after he'd managed himself hired at a respectable department store with no references and a sob story about a non-existent grandmother with medical problems.

The district attorney's office was less cooperative when Scooter, less than a month after his plea bargain, crashed a van into a wall, or at least that's what you remember hearing from Mary over lunch one day. When police arrived at the scene, the back of the van contained two dead men and fifty-three guns. Both dead men had lengthy criminal records and the guns had been stolen from the evidence vault at the police station two days previously. One of the dead men was suspected of having powers, by the notes in his file, but Scooter is as mundane as they come.

Scooter claimed to be ignorant of his cargo and innocent of everything including reckless driving, blaming Lady Light for the crash. She also prevented him from leaving the scene until police arrived. The case went to trial, and he earned himself some more serious time behind bars. He was reportedly a model inmate, which is why he's out again already; still, as with your other interviews, you've texted Jake your plans in advance, just in case Scooter misbehaves. When you arrive outside the halfway house in South Park, you can see Scooter's head above the porch railing. He's smoking a cigarillo on the porch, and a van that looks pretty similar to his ex-girlfriend's old van is parked in the driveway. A long ramp of fresh unfinished lumber extends from the porch to the driveway. You wave at him; he waves back. Climbing up the old worn stairs to the porch, you see that Scooter is in a wheelchair.

He smiles broadly at you. "Miss Deren, right? You don't look a bit older. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Scooter. I wanted to ask you a few questions," you say. "Is that alright?"

Scooter's smile falls off his face like an errant pancake falling from the ceiling after an energetic ten-year-old's attempt to make breakfast on Mother's Day. "What kind of question?"

"Well, first, um ... what happened?" you say, gesturing at the wheelchair. "I had no idea."

"I haven't been able to walk since the day of the crash," he says.

You pause, digesting that. "In the trial, you said Lady Light caused the crash," you say. "Do you blame her for your paralysis?"

"It's all in the trial records. She caught me, I was doing the crime, I did the time, I learnt my lesson," Scooter says. "Call me James. I'm putting all that behind me now. No time for dwelling in the past."

"Jimmy - James, I mean - I'm not trying to get you in trouble or anything." You sit down on the porch swing, across from Scooter, and pull your shoe off. "I've read the police report. I've read the trial records. They're pretty light on detail." You tap your artificial foot with your knuckle, letting the hollow knock speak louder than words. "She's the reason I don't have a foot anymore."

Scooter looks at your bare leg briefly. "Ahh, yeah. That's rough," he says quietly. His voice sounds sad.

You lean back in the swing. "So, let me try this again: What happened?"

Scooter takes a drag from his cigarillo, blowing smoke up toward the sky. "I got a text from Mikey saying he needed wheels. I didn't ask Mikey nothing, because I didn't wanna know."

"Mikey's your cousin?" You say. "Michael Forrest?"

"My aunt's stepson. Big guy, always wore black leather jackets and sunglasses. Never took 'em off except to sleep," Scooter says. "I didn't have much to do with him before I was your client, you understand, but I was between jobs and things were tough. I needed the money, and Mikey needed someone reliable. I figured as long as I didn't know anything, I wasn't on the hook, yeah? Just a guy with some wheels. So, I go and pick up Mikey, I drop him off at the corner and circle the block a little while until I see him on another street with a little guy and a couple of big sacks jogging along. So I pull over, he gets in, I drive all casual-like until I get to the five. Cop tries to pull me over for some shit, probably expired registration, and I take off with Mikey saying I gotta lose 'em."

You nod. This is all in the record, even if nobody believed Scooter didn't know anything about what his cousin was up to.

"Then everything went white. I hit the brakes, but I didn't see the turn, so bam, right into the building. She made me crash. The little guy went out the windshield. Mikey and me were wearing our seat belts in front, and the airbags went off, so we were okay. Not great, but okay. So, then Mikey unbuckled and made his way to check on the cargo, and the back door opens. Then Mikey screams, and then she comes up front." Scooter pauses, taking a breath. "Then she walked up, said it was a pity that poor fellow had his neck broke in the accident. Then she shoots the back of my seat, saying it's such a pity that one of the loose guns in back accidentally discharged during the crash. I played dead until the cops came. So, that's why I can't goddamn walk anymore."

"Wow," you murmur. "Did you tell the police?"

"Hell naw. I didn't want them to finish the job. The first thing they did was take selfies with her. I told my lawyer, but she said we didn't have a chance at proving anything. Then she asked how come I said the little guy went out through the windshield when the cops found his body in back with the guns. Then she told me to stop trying to talk my way out of trouble and that my best chance was to act really pathetic and repentant and push all the way to a jury trial. Said that a judge and jury would figure I'd already paid a whole bunch, what with being paraplegic after the accident and all." Scooter stares off into the distance. "Can't prove nothing now, either."

"I'm sorry," you say. You feel bad for Scooter. "That sucks."

"Thanks," he says. "But it's cool. Life goes on. Right?"

"It's not cool. Absolutely not cool," you say. "And I want to bring Lady Light to justice for everything she's done."

"If anyone asks," he says, "I ain't said nothing to nobody. And that's how my life is going to stay cool. It's gonna be hard enough to start back up out here without hanging a target around my neck."

You bite your lip. You're not entirely sure if he's telling the truth, but he's not faking his injury, and everything except the bit about the little guy going through the windshield and then somehow ending up in the back of the van fits together.

What should you do about Scooter's story?
[] Ignore it. He might be lying, he might just be scared, but he's no help. Build the rest of the case with a volume of interviews.
[] Intimidate him into cooperating. You know scary people.
[] You could help him. Especially if he helps you. You know people who could help him out.
-[] (write in what to try to bribe him with)
[] Invite him out for drinks with some company, and then try to manipulate him into telling his story again with a few more people around to hear it.
-[] (write in who)
[] (write in)

"Look," you say slowly. "I know something that might help you."

His eyes brighten slightly. "Really?"

"Yeah. I get it. You don't want trouble, Lady Light is trouble, you're worried. But Lady Light isn't the only gal who can give you trouble." You put your hands on your hips and glare down at him.

"But..." Scooter shrinks back.

"The people that are trying to take down Lady Light?" You lean close and lower your voice to a point barely more than a whisper. "We're more trouble. I know the supers that brought her down and took her in. I'm actively working with the prosecuting attorney's office on this. We can wait until you're ready to cut a deal, or you can come forward, put your story on the record, and stay out of trouble. And I'm not patient."

You walk down the porch stairs and then look over your shoulder back at him. "Looks to me like that's maybe a bit under thirty feet of ramp with just over a three foot drop. Code is for one foot per inch of drop, unfortunately. Trouble can start with the smallest things, Scooter. It's a pity you "

Scooter wheels his way towards the ramp. "Wait," he says. "What if I don't want trouble? I don't want trouble."

"It's simple, James, you write your story down in as much detail as you can remember and then call me. I'll set up everything from there, and you won't have to worry about a thing. Like I said, I want to bring Lady Light to justice for everything she's done. Your story can help with that."


"You're right," Ginger McFarland tells you, sipping at a mimosa. "James is a charming young man. Jumpy, but charming. I'm glad you talked me into interviewing him. My editor says he'll find space for a shorter version of the piece in a few days, probably a few inches somewhere in the local news section with the full version on the website, or maybe just on the website."

"Confidentially, I can tell you two things that will happen on Tuesday that might change George's mind," you say. "But only if you promise it's not going to get around."

"Okay," Ginger says, giving you a cautious look. "I can keep my lips shut for two days. What happens on Tuesday?"

"The Gray Knight will be doing an interview with a reporter from TMZ talking about why he stopped working with Lady Light," you say. "Second, Lady Light is going to be discharged from the hospital and transferred to a holding cell. They've kept that quiet because they're worried the transfer might result in another Silent Siren escape sort of situation, but they won't be able to keep it secret after it happens. You can tell your editor he's got at most two days, tops, to get to the front of a big surge of interest in stories like James's."

Ginger shakes her head. "Really? The Gray Knight on TMZ? The man is allergic to reporters."

"Really," you say. "He's not a fan of TMZ, but they were pretty eager to schedule an interview with him, and he has some bombshells he feels he needs to drop."

Ginger drains the last of her mimosa, and eyeballs her half-eaten plate of waffles. "I'll make George see reason," she says. "We're moving more paper copy these days, what with the way things have been. I can probably get him to squeeze the lede for the story somewhere on the top half of the front page."

"Want an exclusive interview with the super who took down Lady Light?" you say, wiggling your eyebows. "I might be able to get you one," you add. "Maybe."

"It's not exclusive if the Gray Knight is already doing TMZ," she says.

"The Gray Knight isn't the hero who took her down," you say. "He just delivered her to the station."

Ginger signals the waiter. "Another mimosa for me, and another mojito for my friend," she says. "On my tab. Actually, just put both meals on my tab." After he leaves, she turns to you. "Give me that interview and I will get George to hand over the front page to the Lady Light case."

"She's shy," you say. "I'll ask her, but I make no guarantees she'll agree, especially in time for a Tuesday paper. She doesn't really want credit, but it's going to come out anyway once the court case starts moving forward."

"Well, okay, I guess it is what it is," Ginger tells you. "I'll do what I can to convince George to push Lady Light onto the front page of Tuesday's paper."


Your phone rings. You answer it quickly; you recognize the number. "Hello?"

A woman answers. "Hi! This is Mary." You hear a faint background noise of other voices.

"Oh!" You exclaim. "Mary, hi. How are you feeling?"

There's silence on the line. "Well, I guess I should start by apologizing for calling you in the middle of dinner," she finally says. "I hope it didn't bother you too much."

You smile sheepishly. "No, no, it's fine. Jake's picking up take-out right now, we were both working late. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Well, kind of. There's been... well, I haven't seen much of you since the incident at the Apple store, and I wanted to thank you properly by inviting you over for dinner. Would Tuesday night work for you?" Mary asks. "You could bring this Jake fellow you keep talking about. I'm looking forward to meeting him."


What to do about Mary's invitation?
[] Accept.
-[] Bring Jake.
-[] Don't bring Jake.
[] Reschedule for a different day, you might want to do some follow-up work on the case after all the press hits the fan.
-[] Bring Jake.
-[] Don't bring Jake.
[] Decline.

What about Ginger McFarlane interviewing Tentacle Girl?
[] On second thought, it's not a very good idea, let's not make that happen. You can say you tried.
[] Tell Ginger that she'll have to put up with going blindfolded to a secret location if she wants the interview - the hero has secrets.
[] Give Ginger a time and a place to go to and trust that she can keep a secret.
[] Just give Midori Ginger's phone number and let her figure it out. She won't learn how to handle the press if she doesn't start working with them directly.
[] (write-in)

The two TMZ reporters are dressed more casually than you expected, but you don't make a habit of watching TMZ. You're watching it in a sports bar, the weekday morning crowd light barely half an hour after opening and the bartender moving with the slow careful precision of someone who had drunk like they hadn't expected to be called in to cover their sick coworker's opening shift. They're broadcasting live from an undisclosed location with the Gray Knight.

"So, what do you say about the Squidbat claiming the credit for your takedown?" The blonde reporter leans forward with her microphone with an eager expression.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't heard," the Gray Knight says, his Vader-esque rumble non-committal.

"It was in the Seattle Times this morning," she says, clarifying. "Said that the Squidbat fought Lady Light one on one and beat the tar out of her. What do you feel about this brazen attempt to steal credit from you?"

The Gray Knight shrugs. "I know we've had our differences in the past, but Tentacle Girl deserves full credit here. She fought Lady Light, and she won. She just needed a little help getting her to the police. I misjudged her as badly as I misjudged my own partner."

"Wow, really?" The male reporter shakes his head. "Are you her sidekick or something?"

The Gray Knight stands very still for a moment, one finger raised. This is all the more impressive to you now that you know his suit isn't powered - this is a man carrying well over a hundred pounds of metal on his arm. "I never have been a sidekick. My partnership with Lady Light wasn't of that nature."

"Really? Dude, you're fronting," the man says. "Everybody knows L wore the pants."

"We worked from my base," the Gray Knight growls. "I taught her how to use a police scanner. I supplied her with equipment. I was not her [BLEEP] sidekick."

You lean back. "I win," you tell Jake. "Told you we'd have some bleeping in this interview."

"Fine," Jake says, gesturing at the bartender. After a long sullen moment, the bartender stops pretending not to see it and shuffles over.

"Two Cosmopolitans," Jake says with a heavy sigh, pushing aside his Bud Light. "I lost a bet," he says to the bartender, a pleading note in his voice.

The bartender gives the smallest shrug. "Two Cosmos. Got it."


"Seattle Times reporter Ginger McFarland has now been missing for two days," blares the radio.

You pause as you reach for Jake's keys in the ignition. Wait, what? You lean back in the driver's seat.

"Walked out of work for lunch and never came back. You ask me," says the DJ, "Lady Light must be connected to someone powerful who wants to keep a secret, and Ginger dug it up. I give it two, three days before CNN says she shot herself two times in the back of the head in a tragic suicide. Next up, Acid Drinkers with Ring of Fire. Enjoy."

As a Polish thrash metal cover of the song made famous by Johnny Cash pumps through the speakers of Jake's truck, you count backwards on your fingers. You last saw her on Monday; today is Thursday. She disappeared around lunchtime on Tuesday, then, right as national news shows started scrambling to clip pieces out of her two side-by-side front-page interviews. You open up your phone and scroll through your message history, finding an unread message from Ginger dating from 11:42 on Tuesday.

>> Editor is so happy we scooped the television stations for a change. I bet he blows a valve when he gets my next interview piece ;-) I told him I'm taking a long lunch.

With a sinking feeling, you realize that you probably know as much about Ginger's whereabouts as the police do... which is to say not very much. Jake taps on the window, holding up something wrapped in a towel.


Tonight, Mary has baked three different kinds of casserole. Jake, not one to arrive empty-handed, brought a pie baked with apples from his backyard as well as a suspicious-looking unmarked jug of homemade cider. The latter is a disappointment to the Kowalski kids, who have been told it's adult cider and that they can have a little taste but that's it.

It's a wonderful dinner, even if you can't quite get the missing reporter out of your mind. Jake and the kids talk about schoolwork while you eat slowly. You're not done eating dinner when Mary serves an early dessert to the children and tells them not to get the game controllers sticky downstairs. After the thundering herd has descended out of the way, the conversation turns to adult matters, Marty casually but systematically interrogating Jake about his career, family background, financial affairs, and life goals with an accountant's attention to detail and an almost-fatherly concern.

You've never seen this side of Marty before, the side that talks about IRAs, tax filing, depreciation, and all the little fiddly details that Jake would need to sort out if he sold his cider at a roadside stand, something that Jake apparently had been thinking about before the growth in super-related crime drove him into putting in a lot more overtime. At a certain point, some silent signal passes between Mary and Marty, and after a few meaningful glances between the two of them, Marty takes Jake outside to look at the fire pit.

"I see our old client Scooter was in the paper," Mary tells you. She's the one who got assigned Scooter his second time through.

"Yeah. I looked him up and put him in touch with a reporter," you say.

"Enna, I hope you weren't ... you're serious about Jake, right?" Mary asks you. "Scooter is no good. Charming, but no good. Watch yourself around him and don't get involved. However sympathetic he may seem."

"Yeah. Yeah," you say. "I know better than that. Now. I think. You approve of Jake?"

"Of course. He's solid, respectable, polite, and Marty thinks he'll make a good father if the two of you have children. He also passed Marty's checks for being financially responsible, which is a lot harder," she says. "Oh, and Marty thinks the cider would be a lot better if he added just a little bit of ginger to kick it up a little. I agree, it went really nicely in the pie."

You're not sure how Marty communicated that assessment to Mary, but the two of them have been married a while. "Well, I'm glad you like him," you say.

"Only looking out for you. I made tiramisu tonight, but I didn't want to step on your man's toes," she says. "You can take it back with you. Also, the rest of the broccoli casserole. Jake clearly liked that one and I don't have enough fridge space to spare right now."

"Ah. Thanks," you say.

Ginger is missing.

[] It's okay, you'll just tell Jake to add ginger to the cider next time.
-[] Then just focus on continuing to destroy Lady Light's reputation.
-[] Then just focus on continuing to help Tentacle Girl's reputation.
-[] Then just focus on (write-in goal).
[] You should try to track down Ginger McFarlane. She's probably run afoul of...
-[] ... the Crimson Emperor.
-[] ... that creepy portal the Army Corps of Engineers covered with concrete.
-[] ... the FBI.
-[] ... Hell's Belle.
-[] ... the Pharaoh.
-[] ... Prince Tenor.
-[] ... Scooter.
-[] ... the Silent Siren.
-[] ... (write in other villain or location)
[] You should try to get someone else to help find Ginger McFarlane. The police are already looking, but you should point someone else at the problem ...
-[] ... Jake.
-[] ... Tentacle Girl.
-[] ... the Gray Knight.
-[] ... the Crimson Emperor or his allies.
-[] ... Interpol. You'll just have to manufacture some clues involving a certain ring.
-[] ... Prince Tenor.
-[] (write-in other potentially helpful person or combination thereof)
[] (write in other course of action)