Mason went straight for the door and disappeared inside.
I decided to give him a few minutes to get settled in. It seemed polite to allow him to do all the things evil villains have to do before the good guy takes them down with amazing panache. Just as I started toward the trapdoor, something caught my attention. A dark figure moved cautiously down in the alley beside the Shadow Passage. Scallion? No way! How lucky could a girl get? He kept to the shadows, right where you’d expect a vomitous mass of loathsome troglodyte to be. Not that I’m judging. Innocent until proven guilty, as they say. This was better than extra points during a pop quiz. I powered on my night-vision zoom. I had to see if this creep looked like he did in my memories.
Wow. Personage dressed in skull mask and black leotards. Andy would have been thrilled. Change of plan. I would still pound Mason on general principle, but first—OH MY GOSH! If I captured Scallion, he could lead me to…
Nicolaitan.
An outrage that I never knew I had coursed through my veins. I was one step closer to my parents’ killer. My hands tingled as psychic energy concentrated into my fingertips.
A whole new level of determination flooded over me. I crawled to the roof’s edge and crouched. Scallion stood perfectly still, seemingly at ease in the darkness. I tensed, ready to leap down to the street and take him. I had to see the face under that mask.
He hesitated, then slunk through the alley and stopped below the Shadow Passage’s fire escape. I pulled back just as he tossed a line at the fire escape ladder, which ended a good fifteen feet above the ground, and swung effortlessly up to the first rung. Looked like I wouldn’t have to chase my masked bud after all. He was coming to me.
I hurried to the air conditioner unit, ducked behind it, and laid flat on the gritty rooftop, my head out just enough to see, relying on the darkness to hide me. Scallion peeked over the edge of the building, then nimbly rolled his body over the low wall. Nice moves, very agile. I would have given it a ten, but the guy had no fashion sense. My taste in music was trailblazing compared to that black onesie. I had to deduct points. Haute couture he was not. I immediately felt sorry for Scallion, and considered letting him go. The shame of that getup was punishment enough.
Scallion kept to the shadows. He moved soundlessly across the roof, lifted the trapdoor, and gazed back in my direction. I crouched lower, suddenly overcome by an eerie feeling that he was looking right at me, wishing I had worn my uniform with its Shimmer mode. Then Scallion disappeared through the open door.
Relieved, I slipped across the rooftop to the trapdoor and listened.
No footsteps. No breathing.
I slowly peeked through the open trapdoor into the attic below. The attic glowed a spidery green through my night vision. Arachnophobia threatened to end my mission.
A narrow access door on the far end of the attic squeaked and moved. A shadow disappeared through it and down the stairs to the little room beside the SSA. I lowered myself silently through the roof and slid down the ladder.
The air smelled of mildew and dirt. Paper, debris, and unidentifiable glop littered the filthy wooden floor. Muffled voices and muted music floated up from the Shadow Passage below. I looked toward the narrow door Scallion had disappeared through, and thought about following him. That would be the easiest way to get into the little room. And the most dangerous. Hi, I’m looking for a man who’s dressed in Low Budget Kung Fu Movie attire. He’ll likely try to kill me when he sees me. Can you tell him I’m here, please?
I looked around the attic, searching for Plan B, when a tiny streak of light caught my eye. I moved toward it, stepping softly to keep the ratty floor from creaking under my feet.
At one time, the Shadow Passage must have had an apartment above it. In the corner of the attic stood a bathroom sink. Beneath it, a sliver of light shot through a bit of dry-rotted duct tape covering an old drainpipe. I knelt, reached under the sink, and touched the pipe. It wiggled. I tugged slightly and it moved. Slowly, quietly, I removed the pipe from the floor, leaving a two-inch hole in its place. Thick dust floated in the pale light that burst through the opening and the music got louder. I pulled a small device from my secret agent pocket and lowered it into the hole, then tapped a switch. I gasped as my mask’s lens filled with a scene I was not prepared for. I wasn’t looking at the arcade. I was staring into the Star Ship Angel.