Give me a Hand

Arvin Sontag spent eight years in the slammer. He could have been there a lot longer, but he got out for good behavior. And what was that good behavior? Not ratting out his employer, the rich and powerful businessman who'd hired him to do a complex job. In trade, the invisible influence his employer possessed was wielded at the lawyers, the judges, and the wardens who'd had a say in his sentencing.

Sontag didn't talk. He knew he'd be well paid for his silence. It was all part of his professional reputation. Prison hadn't been so bad. He knew people, and people knew him. Besides, he'd gotten overconfident after the Enforcers disappeared, and that was his fault, not his employer's.

No, there was someone else who could be blamed. That vigilante who'd nabbed him. He'd been hit by a car that had no driver - he'd seen that clearly enough - and the grappling hook system that had knocked away his pistol were details that had stayed with him over the years. When he saw the Ice Pirate's attack on the bank on the news, and saw the hero named Link combine with his car robot and use his grappling lines to deflect an ice blast aimed at the news chopper, he had a suspicion. Several hours of investigation later, he was satisfied that he'd found the man who'd stopped him all those years ago.

Stopping that hero was out of the question as he was now. He'd powered up significantly, that much was clear from recent news reports. He'd have to stage an attack in a direction the hero would least expect. At home, perhaps, while in his civilian identity - presumably he had one, and facilities for building those toys he used. All that was needed was to learn his name.

He still had many useful phone numbers and email addresses. The big movers and shakers of the underworld changed their contact methods, but those who patronized their services weren't so careful. Sontag worked his way through a chain of thugs, operators, and middle-men until he found the name he remembered from the old days.

The man he was looking for worked on the waterfront, near the Halberd Hotel. He took the bus and walked the streets, looking for a particular sign. And there he saw it, clustered among many similar ones: Psychic readers, Tarot card consulting, divination. It wasn't hard to place some faith in extrasensory perception and magic, when the most powerful super-team on Earth had included a supremely powerful sorceress. Sontag's contact was the only one on this street who could really walk the walk.

"Come in," said the calm voice, well before Sontag had opened the door. Yes, this would be him. Sontag turned the door-knob and entered the little hole-in-the-wall office tucked against a larger office building.

The Hand sat calmly at a desk, the trappings of fortune-telling spread before him. Most prominent was a spread of playing cards, but crystal balls, wands, and all manner of other psychic or mystic paraphernalia were in evidence. Sontag knew these props were mere window dressing for the rubes. He smiled, sat down, and spoke.

"I'm here to find a man. I need a man of your particular talents to do so. I want the secret identity of a superhero."

The Hand folded his fingers together. "Superheroes are dangerous. This will cost you. Who did you have in mind?"

Sontag slid a photo across the desk. The Hand picked it up, turning it this way and that, pretending to study it.

"How much?" Sontag asked.

The Hand named a price. Sontag blanched.

"If you can't afford it, my friend, I'll wait patiently until you can," the Hand offered with a smile.

"But I'd be taking down someone who threatens your business," Sontag protested. "Surely that's worth something to you."

"No," countered the Hand. "You'd be receiving information from me and attacking a target. Your success is not guaranteed. Indeed, if his success against Ice Pirate is any indication, a man with your typical M.O. won't last a minute. And if you failed, and it was traced back to me..."

Sontag frowned. "Fine. I'd hoped to settle some old business and be done with him. I'll need to do some... jobs... to afford what you're asking. I understand you enjoy certain connections, and may be able to give me a referral."

The Hand nodded politely. "Your point about a threat to my business is well made. If you are motivated - and you bring your chance of success to virtual certainty, mind you - then our interests do coincide. I'll see what I can do for you. And who shall I say is looking?"

Sontag smirked. "Link. The Hand. It seems code names are the order of the day. Do not mention Arvin Sontag. Instead, say... Arson."