Nightingale Read Online Free PDF Page A

shrank back against the alley wall.
    A figure eased out of the shadows where the bullet had come from. He looked like a bad guy from some old spaghetti western movie. He wore a long black leather duster and cowboy boots, complete with silver tips and jangling silver spurs. Black hair hung loose to his shoulders, while a black-and-white, paisley bandana covered the bottom half of his face. A black ten-gallon hat was pushed low on his forehead. He held a silver revolver, except it was much larger than your typical gun. I knew who he was too—Bandit, one of the city’s ubervillains who was known for his two six-shooters. The handguns fired a variety of unusual projectiles, in addition to bullets. Bandit was a gun for hire, so to speak, an ubervillain who pimped himself out as a mercenary and enforcer to anyone who could pay his price.  
    Gun drawn, Bandit moved in front of Talon, who slumped against the alley wall, clutching his wounded shoulder. The other men limped to their feet, forming a semicircle around the injured superhero.
    “Tycoon wants what you took from him,” Bandit said, drawing out each and every syllable. “Now.”
    Tycoon was mixed up in this too? A whole smorgasbord of heroes and villains had come out to play tonight. Tycoon was Bigtime’s most notorious mob boss—and one of the most secretive. He’d never been photographed, and only two or three of his most trusted lieutenants even knew what he looked like or who he really was. More info gleaned from Piper. She paid attention to such things.
    Tycoon could have been an ubervillain for all his secrecy. Yet somehow, he managed to run an empire of gambling and prostitution—and never get caught. Lately, the rumor mill and news outlets buzzed about him branching out and dealing in euphoridon, a very dangerous, very addictive radioactive drug with all sorts of nasty side effects.  
    “Tycoon … can go … to hell,” Talon said. “And you with him.”
    Bandit raised his gun and leveled it at Talon’s heart. “Fine. Dead bodies are always easier to search anyway.”
    I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Talon with a bullet wound in his shoulder—and about to be killed by an ubervillain. I might know a thing or two about handling drunken businessmen, anxious debutantes, and carefree caterers, but this was beyond my area of expertise. By the time I called the police, Talon would be dead, and Bandit would have whatever he was after.
    I decided to improvise, something I was pretty good at. Through the slits in my coat, I patted the various pockets of my vest, searching for something useful. I’d once saved the mayor from embarrassment by spray-painting red polka dots all over her white suit after she’d sat down in a puddle of ketchup at a restaurant opening. Surely, I had something that could help save a superhero. Gum, breath mints, tissues, hairspray, more relaxidon pills …  
    My fingers closed over my cell phone. I whipped it out and turned it around, shielding the screen’s light from the goons in the alley. They probably couldn’t see me anyway, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  
    I tore off my glove and scrolled through the various ring tones until I came to the one I needed—the police siren. I’d used it before to sober up wasted frat boys and sorority girls at college mixers.  
    I called up the sound file and pressed Play . Half a dozen sirens erupted from the phone. It didn’t sound like the real deal to my supersensitive ears, but it should be good enough to fool Bandit and his gang of thugs. At least, I hoped it was. Otherwise, there would be one less superhero in Bigtime.
    Bandit’s head whipped around to the end of the alley where I stood. I forced myself not to shrink back into the shadows. I didn’t think he could see me, because I wore black from head to toe, but I wasn’t going to draw attention to myself by moving. You never knew what ubervillains would do—or what they were capable of.
    “Bandit! Let’s