#5 - Up the Chain

#5 - Up the Chain

Metropolis

"I don't like this," Roy said over the radio for the third time. "This van is cramped and reeks of burritos. My seat is lumpy as hell. Reese is so hopped up on coffee the entire van is shaking. How did you two convince me to wait here? This isn't like me at all."

"You agreed that this meeting requires a more...subtle approach," Diggle whispered into his ear piece as he read the Daily Planet. He was sitting on a bench in Union Station, the central hub for the Metropolis train network.

The station was enormous. The entire front of the building was glass, allowing the early morning sun to light the station almost entirely. Travelers from within and without the city went about their lives, heading toward their destination, perusing the various kiosks and shops, or sitting amongst the benches and tables awaiting their next train.

"I can do subtle."

A low, feminine chuckle sounded over the radio. On the opposite side of the station from Diggle, sitting at a Starbucks stand, Agent Lyla Michaels smiled over her coffee. "I've known you for less than twenty-four hours and already I know that's not true, Harper."

"You wound me, Lyla."

Lyla's eye twitched slightly at his use of her name. She quickly gave up trying to convince Roy to keep things professional. At least he hadn't started hitting on her, yet.

"Any eyes on our man?" Reese asked over the radio.

"He's late."

"Maybe I should go look for him?" Roy offered enthusiastically.

"No," Diggle and Lyla said in unison.

"It's only been ten minutes," Lyla continued in an even voice. "He's probably nervous, watching his back."

"This blows."

"Just be patient," Diggle said, closing his paper and checking his watch. "He'll be here."

"Reese if you don't keep that leg still I WILL put an arrow through it!"

"Is this what it's like every day?" Lyla asked Diggle, chancing a quick glance behind her to see his expression.

"For better or worse," Diggle smiled. "I've learned how to be patient and understanding."

Turning back to her coffee, Lyla frowned. "Too bad it took you so long." The radio went dead, an awkward silence that Lyla immediately regretted.

"Oh don't stop now," Roy insisted. "By all means, something's got to keep me entertained."

"I've got eyes on him," Diggle announced, breaking the tension.

A short, skinny man walked slowly through the crowd. He wore a Metropolis Metros jersey and a Metropolis Meteors baseball cap, the sign of his identity for the meeting. His movement was stilted, as he kept checking around him every couple steps. If he was trying to avoid suspicion, it wasn't working.

"Where did you dig up this guy?" Diggle asked in a disapproving tone.

"You try finding a willing informant," Reese spat over the radio. "This is only the third person to come forward with info on Vertigo. The first is dead and the second was lying, just trying to get a meal out of us."

The informant finally reached a table near the center of the station lobby and awkwardly sat down. He continued to look around him in all directions, like prey on the savanna waiting for a lion to strike.

"All right I'm going in," Lyla announced, taking one last sip of coffee before tossing it out. She made her way toward the informant. When she was within about twenty-five feet of him his eyes locked on her and he became deathly still. Resisting the urge to pick up her pace, Lyla met his eyes and nodded. When she reached the table, she put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him, before sitting down opposite him.

"She's made contact," Diggle announced as he got to his feet. He idly walked over toward a trash can, keeping Lyla and the informant in his sight, and went to throw his copy of the Planet away.

"My name's Michaels," Lyla said, turning to the side to avoid staring the nervous man down. "Thank you for meeting me."

"N-No p-p-problem," the informant stuttered. He scratched at his patchwork, dirty blond beard. "I...um...I-I..."

"Take it easy," Lyla reassured him, reaching over the put her hand over his for a moment. "I know you're nervous but you're safe, I promise."

"S-Sure," he nodded, obviously unconvinced. "So what..."

"Look, I'm just going to ask you some questions. All you have to do is answer. Simple. Okay?"

"Okay." He relaxed slightly, but he continued to fidget and look around constantly.

"This guy could give Reese a run for his money," Diggle observed.

"All right, what's your name?" Lyla asked the informant.

"No," he quickly replied, shaking his head furiously. "No name."

"All right," Lyla said reassuringly. "All right, well then what can you tell me about Vertigo?"

"W-Which? The man or the drug?"

"Both. Start with the man."

"I dunno. I mean, no one knows. A-At least no one as low as me. I just push the drug, I don't have any contact with him."

"But you must have heard something," Lyla pushed. "Even rumors. Anything, no matter how inconsequential."

"Well...I mean they say he's a meta or something. He's got p-powers. Makes people sick."

"Do you know where he's based out of?"

"N-No. No. No one does."

"Do you have a name? Any personal info?"

"No." The informant shook his head furiously, his eyes darting about in all directions. She was losing him.

"Move on," Reese suggested. "He's too low level for this. We need him to get us up the chain a link or two. It's the best we're likely to get."

"Okay, so what can you tell me about the drug?" Lyla asked, smiling reassuringly. "You sell it on the street. Who supplies you?"

"It's never the same person. Changes. We get word on the street about a meet up a couple hours in advance. Maybe a day. I give them the cash, except my cut, and they supply more Vertigo."

"You've never had the same person twice?" Lyla asked. He shook his head. "You ever get a name?" He shook his head. "A plate number?" Another no. "Anything?"

"There...there was one time when it was two guys. I overhead them talking. They mentioned going back to the warehouse."

An audible groan came over the radio. They could almost hear Roy putting his face into his palm. "This is the worst informant in the history of informants. He's not just wasting our time, he's sucking the very concept of time into the black void of nothingness."

Lyla ran a frustrated hand back and forth through her hair. "The warehouse?"

"Yeah," the informant nodded. "And something about ziti. Maybe they were hungry?"

"All right Lyla," Diggle said. "That's enough, we're getting nothing."

"No wait," Reese practically shouted. "Ask him if it was Zesti."

"Ziti?" Lyla asked, reaching out to the informant's hand to try and grab his attention. He flinched back. "Could it have been Zesti?"

"Like...like Zesti Cola? I mean...sure maybe they were thirsty."

"Hmm, maybe," Reese mused to himself. "Zesti Cola had to shut down their Metropolis operation earlier this year after reporting record losses. The bottling plant is still empty."

"That is so little to go on. But it's all we're gonna get from this guy," Roy grumbled.

"Cut him loose, Lyla," Diggle said.

"Dock his pay, too," Roy suggested. "Sooo not worth it."

Lyla reached into her pocket, slowly, and pulled out fold of bills. She kept it hidden in her palm and slid it across the table to the jittery man. "Thank you. Go."

It didn't take him more than a second to make a decision. He snatched the bills and dashed away, almost knocking the chair over as he went.

"Hope you guys are thirsty," Lyla sighed. "Lets check it out."



The sun was setting on the City of Tomorrow. The golden rays of light broke through the floors of the concrete parking garage, blinding those who looked out to the west. Zytle, the man making a name for himself as Vertigo, rested with his back against a black SUV.

He wore the same costume he had when he was robbing banks. His dark green trench coat was untied, revealing a tight shirt, the bottom black, with green covering the top of his shoulders and meeting in a point in the center of his chest. The shirt had his mask attached, but he let it hang back like a hood behind his head.

"Late," Zytle said idly, more to himself than the three heavily armed men he had surrounding him. He took off his sunglasses for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose. "A sign of disrespect."

A few moments later, the sound of cars echoed through the parking garage. Two black BMWs drove up, parking in the middle of the lane in front of Zytle and his men. Eight men got out of the cars, all dressed in a myriad of expensive, casual clothing. All but one had assault rifles in their hands.

"Excuse my tardiness," the unarmed man laughed. His voice had a thick Russian accent. "I wasn't certain until the final moment that I would come. Your invitation was...most unorthodox."

"Of course, Volkov" Zytle smiled, waving a hand dismissively. "You honor me with your presence. A man such as you."

"A man such as me?" Volkov's face fell flat, his expression as hard as stone. He was a shorter man, at best five foot five. Yet what he lacked in height he made up for in bulk. His muscular arms stretched the sleeves of his brown leather jacket. His thick brown hair was slicked back with enough product it was likely flammable. "A man such as me is not 'summoned' by anyone. A man such as me, does not get asked to a meeting. A man such as me is petitioned for an audience, with respect!"

Standing toe to toe with Zytle, Volkov looked up into the other man's smirking face. He jammed a finger into Zytle's chest, hard enough to cause Zytle to flinch. "The only reason I came was curiosity. I wanted to meet the man who was pulling off those robberies. The man who thinks he's 'hot stuff' and can demand to see Volkov."

"Demand?" Zytle smiled again. "Well I am sorry if you felt that way about my request. I merely wanted to offer you a business proposition."

"Business?" Volkov laughed. He turned back to his men, who shared in his laughter. "You talk to me of business. You're not Intergang. You're a low level drug peddler! A sad refugee trying to reclaim his family's wealth with junk on the street!"

The smile faded from Zytle's face again. He fought hard to keep the boiling rage down.

"Ah yes," Volkov continued. "I looked up on you. I know all about you, Werner Zytle. You want to be royalty here in America, but you're nothing! I am royalty here! You need to learn your place!"

In the blink of an eye, Zytle grabbed Volkov's leather jacket, pulled him in, and headbutted the man right between the eyes. Volkov fell backwards, caught off guard, and onto the ground. His men reacted instantly, raising their assault rifles toward Zytle and his men. Zytle's mask was already covering his face.

"My place?" Vertigo shouted. Volkov's men managed to squeeze off a couple shots as they fell to the ground, writhing in pain and nausea, Sounds of vomiting and moans of pain echoed around them. "My place is soon to be running this city! It's what I deserve! What I've earned!"

Vertigo's men, pistols raised to cover the men writhing on the ground, looked at each other, unsure what to do. They felt a general queasiness, but whatever their boss was doing to the Russians, it was focused on them.

"Execute them," Vertigo pointed at Volkov's men. His tone was dismissive, as if he had asked his men to clean up a mess. Seven sharp pops and it was done.

"Y-You...ugh...maniac," Volkov spat as he shook on the ground.

"Now here's how this is going to work." Vertigo was smiling again. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of Volkov's greasy hair. "I am going to supply you with my product, and your organization is going to sell it. You will make a small profit, I will make more. Do we have an understanding?"

"F-Fuck..." was all Volkov got out. Suddenly his shaking became more violent. Foamy spit began to drip out of his mouth. Vertigo slammed Volkov's face into the pavement, mixing blood with his spit.

"Do we have an understanding?" Vertigo shouted. "You work for me or you die! I'm sure your family will be much more agreeable without you!"

No words came from Volkov. All he could manage was gurgling, choking sounds. Vertigo eased up on him, allowing Volkov to regain some composure.

"I...I will d-do as you...ask..."

"Good." Rising to his feet, Vertigo ended his assault. "It's nice to see you know where your place is. Beneath the boot of a man such as me."



Only the faintest orange glow on the horizon remained of the day. Nighttime in Metropolis was a magical time. The city glowed like a jewel against the dark. People call New York the city that never sleeps, but Metropolis puts it to shame. You could fly in from any time zone and immediately get to business of any kind.

That's not to say the city was perfect. Like any major city on the planet, there are the less fortunate areas. The places where people who came looking for a better life and failed are forced to dwell. The places where businesses once thriving in the booming city economy failed or were devoured by bigger sharks.

The docks on Hob's River in Downtown is one such place. Crime in Downtown is higher than any section of the city, besides Suicide Slum. At least crime that the public is aware of. While always booming with activity due to the influx of cargo ships and trade, many warehouses and plants in the area have been shut down and left abandoned. One such place is the Zesti Cola Bottling Plant.

"Sad to see it shut down," Diggle said quietly from the passenger seat of Lyla's car. He and Lyla were parked across the street from the plant, watching and waiting as Roy investigated. Detective Reese had returned to the station to file a report.

"It's not like the company is out of business," Lyla said with a slight sarcastic tone.

"Yeah but I love Zesti Cola. Just hate to see it on tough times."

They sat in silence for almost a minute before Lyla said, "Soder Cola is better."

It was enough to make Diggle laugh out loud. Lyla didn't join in, but she did smile and look over at him warmly. "I guess that explains us, huh?"

The smile evaporated from Lyla's face. "Not right now, John."

"'Not right now' what?"

"We're on a stake out. You're...unorthodox partner is sneaking in to what could be a metahuman drug dealer's base of operations. I don't think this is the time to start reminiscing."

"You're right," Diggle replied quickly, his voice even. "Won't happen again."

The silence continued for a while. Diggle used a set of binoculars to try and keep track of Roy, but it was difficult. Lyla nursed a luke warm coffee.

"You look good," Lyla whispered. "I'm glad you're doing good. D.E.O. Pretty huge. Andy would be proud."

"Lyla..."

"All right I'm on the roof," Roy's voice sounded over the radio. "No sign of anything yet. Heading for a skylight, see what I can see."

"Where'd you find this guy, anyway?" Lyla quickly changed the subject.

"I didn't. Deputy-Director Stewart did. He used to be a vigilante."

"What really?" Lyla asked loudly. "Who was he?"

"He went by Speedy in Star City when he was a teenager." Diggle saw she didn't recognize the name. "His partner was Green Arrow."

"Oh? Wow." She took a moment to process it all. "So what happened? Green Arrow disappeared, if I remember correctly. Did he die? Get hurt and retire?"

"He doesn't talk about it. I don't pry. I think Stewart knows but..."

"All right, remind me to complain about the janitor here. These windows are filthy."

"See anything?" Diggle asked.

"Hmm, not much, but eyeline is limited. I'm going to have to move around and find a way in."

"Negative," Lyla said. "We don't have a warrant. Keep it outside the building."

"Sorry, what was that? Signal's breaking up. Go inside the building?"

"Harper this isn't a game," Diggle shouted through his earpiece. "Harper?"

"Hold on, someone's coming."

"Harper?" Lyla asked. "Report."

Even from this distance from the building, Lyla and Diggle could hear the gunshots. They nodded at each other and both exited the car, sidearms ready.

"Harper what's going on?" Diggle asked as they ran across the street. He heard broken glass from above.

"Well," Roy finally answered, his breathing heavy. "Warrant or not I'm inside the building, not by choice." They could hear more gunfire from inside the building and over Roy's radio. "I think we can safely say we have probable cause."

Lyla and Diggle ran up the the front door. Lyla put her back against the wall beside it and nodded to Diggle. He placed a tiny device on the padlock and stepped back, a moment later a small controlled explosion broke it open. A swift kick and they were inside.

They rushed through the large hallways toward the main bottling area. Dozens of work stations were set up in the large room, though most were empty. A quick survey and it was obvious this place was being abandoned yet again.

The whiz of an arrow from above them was followed by a small explosion. They looked up to see Roy trading fire with at least three people on the opposite side of a large catwalk system. Diggle raised his gun and opened fire. It was hard to make anything out, and he wasn't expecting to hit much, but the added pressure would help Roy make his move.

"John!" Lyla called out, grabbing his tie to pull him down behind one of the empty work benches. Two more men with automatic rifles ran up from across the room and opened fire. Bullets flew past on both sides of their cover.

"Just like old times," Diggle shouted above the hail of gunfire. "You or me?"

"I've always been faster," Lyla reminded him.

Diggle nodded. "Go!" Rising up slightly above the work bench, Diggle returned fire at their assailants. They ducked down behind their own table as Lyla rushed off to the left, circling around to set up a crossfire.

Diggle heard a scream from above him, followed by a thud to the far right on the main floor. Sounded like Roy was making progress. Diggle ducked back down and changed his clip, avoiding more gunfire.

"In position," Lyla called out. "Ready?"

"As ever. Now!"

Lyla and Diggle both rose up and opened fire. The two gunmen ducked down, but Lyla was on almost the complete opposite side of the room and had open shots on their back. One of the gunmen took two in the back. The other turned in time to see her and raised his hands, letting the assault rifle hang down on it's shoulder strap.

"One down, one detained," Lyla announced to the group. She held her gun on the perp, unable to safely remove the rifle from his chest yet.

"Status, Harper?" Diggle asked. He ran over and grabbed the perp, lifting him up enough to take the rifle off him.

An arrow suddenly impacted the table next to them, a rope attached to it. Roy slid down and landed with a thud. "All set. They need a bus, asap." He looked over at Lyla and winked. "Got that technical talk from Law and Order reruns."

Lyla rolled her eyes and pulled out her cell phone to call it in. Roy and Diggle turned toward their perp.

"So," Roy started, pulling an arrow out of his quiver and idly played with the tip. "You gonna tell us what's going on here? Or do we need to be...persuasive."

Lyla, still on the phone, quickly turned to stop him. Diggle held up a hand and quieted her, giving her a look she understood.

"I'll never squeal!" the man shouted. His clothes were sweat stained and he reeked. His curly brown hair stuck out in all directions, and his beard was just as bad. "I'm no snitch!"

"We just want to know where Vertigo is," Roy said quietly, calmly. He squatted down next to the man, still playing with his arrow. "You guys were clearing this place out. So where's the new one?"

"I don't gotta talk! Right to remain silent!"

"I'm not a cop," Roy countered. He put the tip of the arrow on the man's cheek, right below his eye. "So you better start talking."

The man blubbered for a moment. Lyla paced, unsure whether to intervene or not. Finally the man said, "Mr. Zytle will kill me! I can't!"

"Zytle?" Diggle asked. "Is that your boss? Vertigo?"

"Oh shit! Oh shit! I'm dead! I'm not talking!"

Roy stood back up. It wasn't much, but it was more than they had. Perhaps the MPD would get more out of him. At least they finally had a name.



"Mr. Zytle, we got word from Volkov's crew. They'll accept shipment tomorrow. We just need to make the arrangments."

Zytle looked up from his work station, a large smile on his face. "Well that was faster than I expected."

"A little too fast?" The large man was standing in the doorway to Zytle's personal lab room.

"Hmm, perhaps. Volkov is playing ball after what I did to him, but he's not going to take this lying down for long."

"He's going to try and hit us back."

Zytle snickered at his man's insight, for what it was. "Of course he is. And since I can't be everywhere at once, I need to make sure you and the others have an edge." After pouring a green mixture into a tiny vial, Zytle capped it with a needle and held it up for his man to see.

"What's that boss?"

"A new, slightly different version of Vertigo. Though this isn't one we'll be selling on the streets."

Zytle waved for his man to come in. The large man finally stepped inside and walked to the other side of the table. "What's it do?"

"I'm glad you asked," Zytle said as he walked around the table. "This little concoction combines the effects of my standard Vertigo with a little something I picked up on a trip to Gotham City. There's a Doctor there who has...similar scientific interests to mine. Though he wasn't willing to share. We equip our boys with this and it'll help keep Volkov and his men in line."

The large man laughed in approval. "I'll bet. Must be some powerful stuff."

"Let's find out."

Zytle stabbed the man in the arm with the needle. The green liquid drained into his body in an instant. The man swatted Zytle's hand away but it was too late. He grabbed his boss by the shirt, anger overtaking him for a moment, but quickly fell to his knees.

"Tell me, how do you feel?" Zytle asked, looking down at the man like one would look down at an insect.

Reaching his hands up to his head, the man dug his fingernails into his scalp. His breathing was fast and shallow. His pupils constricted as he stared off at things that weren't there. Sweat began to pour off of him. Before long, the room was filled with the man's screams.

"Mr. Zytle," another man came to the door, obviously frightened. "T-There was a problem. A, uh, a problem at Zesti Cola."

"Do tell."

-To Be Concluded-