Tomboy: Dark Dominion (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

Tomboy: Dark Dominion

Chapter 4

Tomboy moved stealthily through the night shadows. The Strip was lit up like Broadway. The west side of the Strip was lined with boutiques, book stores, and cafés, while the east side was the tree-lined edge of campus. The Parisian Café was open for business, but not for too much longer. Some of the shops were already closed for the night.

She didn’t see any suspicious vehicles behind the stores. Crouching, she eased down the line of closed backdoors and half-full dumpsters. The shapely heroine spotted an attached maintenance ladder up to the roof, but it had a security cover over the lower half. Tomboy used her superior strength to jump straight up and grab the rungs.

I’m not so easy to stop, she thought with a grin. I love my FEM Belt.

The Force Energization and Manifestation belt infused her with the strength of ten men. It sucked energy out of her, but at a tolerable level. The Power Bracers also sucked away her energy, but they did it a lot faster when she used her shield or stunner.

The entire block was one structure, with a flat, gravel roof. Her stilettos crushed when she walked, instead of the usual clatter. Tomboy moved carefully, as quietly as she could down the building, going back and forth between the front and back. No sign of trouble. Yet.

She hoped the bad guys took the night off. Tomboy was on her own that Friday night. Gloriosa was out of town for the weekend, while Vixen and Puritan begged off saying they had ‘events’ they had to attended in her secret personas. Puma just said she needed a night off for some mental health.

Tomboy wanted to take the night off, but after seeing Mrs. Trudeau she couldn’t live with herself if she allowed those men to rough up the café owner again while she danced the night away at some club.

When she reached the Parisian Café, Tomboy looked behind the small business. Door closed. No light below. The owner’s ten year old economy car was nestled up between the door and trash dumpster. So she moved up to the front and looked down on the empty tables.

“Closing time,” she muttered, spotting Mrs. Trudeau carrying the small bistro tables and chairs back inside. “Good, go home where it’s safe.”

There were only a few cars on that stretch of the Strip, and fewer pedestrians out and about. Before she turned back to the rooftop, a very distinctive car cruised slowly up the Strip.

“Whoa. A Rolls Royce limo,” she whispered. “Money, money, money!”

The limo drove between a pair of black Land Rovers. That display of uber expensive British motorized muscle made her wonder if there was a rich Brit living in the city. Her mind wandered a second, while her eyes followed the expensive vehicles up the street.

Stop it, Kelly. Focus, she scolded herself. I’m looking for the Kingpin and his goons, not a rich sugar daddy.

Running interference against the thugs terrorizing shop owners was all she could do at the moment. Tomboy had to find their leader, the Kingpin, to truly stop them. The mob boss not only ran the protection racket, but controlled most of Dallas’ prostitution, drugs, and gun smuggling. She assumed that if he was the city’s top pimp, it also meant he was knee deep in human trafficking.

“I really have to…” she started, but trailed off when the Rolls and escort turned at the next intersection. She followed their headlights as they turned into the drive behind the shops. “Why would someone so rich be slumming back there?”

Tomboy returned to the back and looked down into the dark drive, now lit up by three sets of headlights. The suspicious vehicles stopped behind St Elmo’s Pizzeria. Large men in suits got out of the Land Rovers and pounded on the door.

The pizzeria owner opened the door a moment later, and the men started punching him. Tomboy cried out softly, and then raced down to a spot over the crime scene. She watched as the pizzeria man was dragged to the Rolls Royce and forced to his knees. The back door opened, but no one got out.

The occupant within the Rolls spoke too softly for Tomboy to hear over the idling engines. The shop owner mostly knelt there, head down, looking defeated and dejected.

“Is that Kingpin?” she whispered, heart pounding. “He’s right there. I could…”

Her eyes darted left and right, counting six big-ass goons. There were probably more in all three vehicles. Tomboy understood she might be as strong as ten men, but that didn’t mean she could fight and defeat that many men at once. Those thugs were experienced brawlers, each and every one of them a threat to a reckless super heroine.

If nothing else, I have to see who is in that Rolls, she thought. Here goes nothing.

Tomboy vaulted over the side of the building. She hit the concrete drive, her heels sounding like a pair of pistol shots. Men cried out and jumped for cover, while others pulled pistols and looked around for the threat. The busty blonde didn’t give them time to think.

“Surrender in the name of the law!” she shouted, swinging her bat at one thug’s knee.

He wailed in surprise and pain when she knee-capped him. For some reason, that act gave her a cheap thrill. About time one of those big, mean thugs suffered some of what he dished out. Then as he hopped away on one foot, two more charged her. For once they realized the uselessness of gunfire, and just tried to get hands on her.

Tomboy spun into a savage kick to one goons’ chest, sending him stumbling back. The other man grabbed her upper left arm, and cocked his fist back for a punch in the face. The teenage heroine swung her bat around to intercept his punch. She barely managed it, what with his unfortunate hold on her arm. But his fist slammed into hard wood. Pain filled his face as she jerked free of his grip.

“Ouch, bet that hurt.” She grinned, and then kneed him between the legs. “But not as much as that.”

She charged toward the Rolls Royce, which was started to drive away. The back door was already closed, and she realized the windows were tinted too dark for her to see anyone inside. And then as its wheels started to spin and burn rubber, Tomboy cried out in frustration and lashed out with a foot to kick the left rear quarter panel.

All three vehicles raced away as she stood there in the dark panting.

Looking around, she discovered the pizzeria owner was still on his knees gawking at her. Two goons lay to either side of her, writhing in pain. So she pulled her phone out and called the police to come pick them up.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said to the shop owner. “Are you hurt in any way?”

“I’ll be all right,” he said, voice strained with pain. “Just scratches and bruises.”

Tomboy squatted in front of him, catching and holding his eyes.

“Sir, you spoke to someone inside the Rolls Royce,” she said. “Do you know his name?”

“Kingpin.”

Yes! Her heart skipped a beat. “That’s great, but do you recognize him? Do you know his real name?”

“No. Just Kingpin,” he said. “At least, that’s what his hired muscle called him. That, and Boss.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, feeling her shoulders tighten. Not going as well as she hoped. “Can you describe him to me?”

“No,” he said, glancing at the two injured thugs. “I can’t. I’ve said too much. Leave me alone.”

Tomboy nodded and stood up before him. She watched his eyes slowly look her over from feet to boobs. Yeah, their eyes usually stopped on her boobs.

“Fine, sir. I don’t want to hassle you,” she said. “But just know that if no one speaks to us heroines or the police, then Kingpin and his goons are going to keep coming back over and over and over again. You’ll never be safe from them.”

He lowered his eyes, nodded, and said nothing more.

Tomboy just wanted to scream.