Super Mom: Besieged (Chapter 3) (Patreon)

Chapter 3

Hightower red light district, one week later, 11:45 PM…

Super Mom ripped the locked back door off, tossing it across the dark alley. The red, white, and blue clad heroine rushed inside, quickly checking behind every closed door in a rush as she moved toward the front as fast as she could. She was on the search for a criminal: Joey Tucci.

Joey was a brutal street thug, hired muscle for loan sharks, and sometime bodyguard for pimps and pushers. The sociopath had no fear, including no compunction about threatening witnesses in his upcoming criminal trial. His bail had been revoked, and Super Mom intended to put him behind bars before he could retaliate against anyone.

She reached the main room. Stopping three steps in, she scanned the strip club. Really, it was the seediest of titty bars. Topless women pole danced atop three stages, with men sitting around the stages and at bistro tables. Other strippers were giving men lap dances, while still more sat on laps while wheeling the men to pay for drinks or lap dances. It was all so nasty, so salacious. Debauchery on parade.

Joey was a tall, muscular white man, so she shouldn’t have a problem spotting him in that sea of African-American men. But everyone, patrons and strippers, were black. It was painfully obvious she was the only white person in that club. 

“Dammit. He’s not here,” she muttered. “I will not rest until… Of course. Sheeze.”

Four enormous black men stood up and squared off on her. Their expressions were of cold violence. Criminals bent on taking down a super heroine. Everyone wanted that ultimate score. To defeat a super-powered masked vigilante earned a man great honor and esteem in the underworld and mean streets of Hightower.

Hell, just scoring a solid punch on a super heroine was worth something.

“I am not feeling indulgent tonight, so just get out of my way,” she warned, marching toward them. Violet eyes narrowed, delicate gloved hands curled into fists. She made sure her heels struck especially loud to intimidate. But the men stood firm, defiant. They didn’t look like gangbangers, who were the most likely men attempting to score some coup points in that district.

She spotted a familiar face at a nearby table. T-Bone Carter was a six foot seven pimp. Super Mom almost didn’t recognize him, since he’d shaven his head since the last time they crossed paths. The notorious pimp was drinking a beer, smiling, and nodding.

“Do these idiots belong to you, T-Bone?”

“No. Not my men, Super Mom,” he said. A mercenary glint filled his dark eyes as he looked her up and down. “But you very well might be mine before this night is over.”

She sighed gustily. Why? Why did every pimp just want to sink his claws into her? What was their obsession with forcing good women into that most vile profession? Unfortunately, he had the right to want it. Not a crime. It was just immoral. Disgusting. Nothing she was allowed to do anything about.

“Get out of my way, or else,” she said to the four men.

They chose or else. All four rushed her at the same time. That was too much for even a super heroine, so she flew off the floor, whipped around them super fast, and drove her stiletto-heeled feet into the back of one of them. That strike hurled him face first into a wall, putting him down for the count. 

Super Mom never hesitated. She hit the floor spinning into a roundhouse, kicking the next man in the face as he turned to confront her. He was out before he hit the ground. So she leapt over him to pound five punches into the ribs of the next man. From his expression, she definitely broke ribs with every punch. He was out of the fight.

“Last man standing, my friend,” she said, striking a classic pose before him. “Care to reconsider your previous choice?”

“No!” he shouted, throwing a right cross at her face. 

Super Mom leaned back to avoid his fist, and then surged straight into him. Fists, feet, and elbows pummeled that poor soul. She drove him back against the wall, before kicking straight up into his chin. The man crumbled to her feet.

The raven-maned heroine turned on a heel and strode out of the titty bar without further challenge. The strippers, bouncers, and patrons just stared at her with sullen eyes. She shook her head. Large, brutal men threaten her, she defeats them, and they thought she was the bad guy. Didn’t make sense. 

Like politics, if you aren’t on my side, then you are always wrong. And you’re evil.

The heroine marched out the front door and onto the crowded sidewalk. Everywhere she looked were scantily attired hookers and johns. The street was packed with slowly moving cars full of young men, some cranking their radios. The neon lit scene was a riot of sound and movement. She lifted up to fly just twenty feet above the chaos, smiling at how the mere sight of her shook the denizens of those mean streets.

Just within sight were half a dozen brothels, even more small hole-in-the-wall strip clubs, two peep shows, and countless boutiques catering to the sex workers and strippers. Then her eyes locked on a familiar face, who was watching her. Case Michaels was a pusher. There was a warrant out for his arrest concerning a driveby shooting the previous week. But he ducked down into the crowd.

“Not tonight, scumbag,” she muttered. “If I can’t have Joey, then I’ll drag your butt to jail.”

Super heroines, like criminals, were creatures of opportunity. She took off after him, hitting the last spot she’d seen him just seconds later. The crowd scattered away from her, opening up a large circle. Case was no where to be seen. Her eyes locked on a boutique door, which was slowly closing.

“Help!” a woman screamed. “Don’t touch me. I said no! Help!”

Super Mom never hesitated. She forgot all about Case, focusing on the poor woman being attacked. She flew up until she spotted the commotion. Not really a fight. A white man was dragging a young white woman to a black Land Rover. Her first thought, did T-Bone Carter have a black Land Rover now? Was the pimp trying to force another woman into prostitution?

Flying straight over to the vehicle, Super Mom flipped it over on it’s side. Then she leapt over it to land between the stunned looking man and his lost means of escape. She struck an aggressive pose, chin high, fists on well-rounded hips.

“Super Mom!?” the man cried. “It’s not what you think. She’s my girlfriend.”

The heroine flinched back. She knew the man. Mayor Randolf Hook.

“Mayor Hook?” she whispered, trying to wrap her mind around what she saw. “Girlfriend? You’re a married man! With children!”

Oh, that ticked the heroine off. The man she voted for in the last election was cheating on his wife? On top of that, he was publicly manhandling his so-called girlfriend. Really, he was attempting to kidnap her according to the law since she didn’t want to go with him.

Suppressing her righteous rage, Super Mom pulled her phone out of her right boot top and dialed the super heroines’ police dispatcher.

“This is Super Mom. Please send officers to the 2300 block of Hightower Street. I have detained a man attempting to kidnap a young woman,” she said. “I’ve witnessed him committing assault and battery.”

“What? Are you mad, woman?” Mayor Hook cried. “I’m the mayor. We’re friends. Give me a break.”

“No one is above the law,” she said. Looking at the frightened young woman. “What is your name?”

“Cindy,” she squeaked. “Cindy Ford.”

“His mistress?”

“I guess. Kinda. Sorta.”

An Annarky PD squad car came to stop next to them. They turned on their emergency lights at that time, blinding half the people on the street. Super Mom turned to speak to them, but kept an eye on the mayor. The man had a lot to lose, so might try and run away. But he was short, chubby, and wouldn’t get far.

“Super Mom,” one of the officers said, scowling at her. 

The other cop had hostile eyes on her as well. She rolled her eyes. Ever since arresting those six cops a week back, who were Fourth Reich Movement sympathizers, if not members, the city’s police had been cool toward her. Many showed open hostility toward her. 

“I caught Mayor Hook trying to kidnap this young woman,” she said. “He had hands on her, dragging her toward his vehicle.” She indicated the Land Rover on its side. “I detained him for you.”

“You expect us to arrest the mayor?”

“Yes. No one is above the law, officer.”

“But…”

“No buts. Arrest him,” she said. “The courts will sort it all out. Just do your duty.”

“You will pay for this Super Mom,” Mayor Hook snarled. “I swear, if it’s the last thing I do, you will pay.”