How do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found? More importantly, how do you find someone who doesn’t really exist?

 

It was early February and Luke was once again pouring through the NCIC records. The FBI’s National Crime Information Center was as good as he could get at the moment. He had Qismat’s fingerprints from her glass, but weeks of searching had resulted in nothing. He’d missed two of her strikes—one on a Russian cell of child slavers, another on a pair of social workers who had falsified records for The Colonel. Five deaths, one serious injury. It was Qismat’s only failure thus far.

 

Besides Frankie Jacks, that was.

 

Frankie had been as helpful as he could be, providing every name and location he could think of, and even making a few inquiries of his own. Luke, as Nemesis, had made sure Frankie was in a secure location and they communicated only through texting and only during certain times. Luke wasn’t taking any chances; Frankie was a small-time hood but he had a lot of connections on the street. Over and above the current situation, he could be very useful in the future.

 

Luke sighed and rubbed his eyes. He took a sip of coffee and switched over to the Hudson City Criminal Research Database and began his search again. He leaned back in his chair and cradled his coffee in his hands.

 

Qismat was a mystery. On one hand she seemed a relentless opponent, ruthless in the execution of her targets. On the other hand, she never once put anyone else in danger, and she seemed focused solely on those associated with The Colonel, either directly or peripherally. And she was beginning to be coy about their opposition. At the scene of the attack on the Russians she’d left him a silk rose with a Q embossed on one petal. She’d left it at the second scene, as well, but this time with a book of matches from Pops Bar. Fortunately he’d arrived before the local leos and had taken the matches and the rose, both. She was teasing him, taunting him. Flirting with him.

 

His computer beeped and he looked up from his reverie. A reminder from his organizer that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. He sighed and shook his head. He and Jen were doing very well, and he was excited about the potential for a real relationship, but the past couple of weeks had been grueling. Between his normal work schedule and his responsibilities with The Conquistadors he’d spent every moment of his free time trying to track down Qismat, in person or, as now, through virtual resources.

 

He yawned and took another drink of coffee.

 

He’d planned a special night. He had dinner reservations at Botticelli, followed by drinks at The Emerald. Blended Neon was playing and both Luke and Jen appreciated the mix of rock and jazz. It was a bit like a modern Steely Dan, and while Jen mostly preferred country music, she had a broad appreciation of music. Besides, it was more about the locale than the music.

 

The computer beeped again and Luke returned his attention to the screen with tired eyes. He almost dropped his coffee.

 

The Hudson City database had found something.

 

Two robberies from a couple months back—one a local electronics store, one a hardware store—had unattached fingerprints associated with the crimes. Basic electronics and camera gear plus tools. Luke sat forward and began typing, bringing up the details of the crimes—such as they were—and a map of the area.

 

Crown Point. Northwest corner.

 

He sat back in his chair again, nodding to himself. It was something. Not much, but something.

 

* * * *

 

Nemesis sighed. Rooftop to rooftop all around the area where the electronics and hardware stores were located and he hadn’t seen a damn thing. The few locals he’d scared or charmed into not running away and looking at a picture were of little help, either. The stores were old and had cheap security, the kind that wouldn’t require particularly specialized skills to enter. The inventory of items taken might lead one to think it was a random smash-and-grab, but Nemesis could see the pattern. The stores were easy to break into; the items taken would allow for more advanced opportunities. A subsequent string of small robberies that were listed as “unsolved” had confirmed his suspicions; this had been a preliminary shopping trip. Qismat had built her arsenal herself, and had started here.

 He dropped down to an alley and stalked his prey, a group of young men who seemed to carry respect and/or fear with them, judging by the other locals’ reactions. They turned a corner and Nemesis saw his chance. He stepped out from the shadows and smiled.

 

Three minutes later the men were all pointing in the same direction. Nemesis had gotten lucky. Seemed these particular boys fancied themselves as tough guys. It also seemed they’d picked on the wrong hot chick and ended up kissing pavement for their troubles. Now Nemesis had a more specific location.

 

He saw her. Coming from a Mediterranean grocery store with a small bag under each arm. She moved gracefully, casually, smiling at passers-by as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Nemesis edged around the roof top to follow her progress, leaping to the next as she continued on down the street. Two blocks down she cut through an alley. Nemesis found a vantage point at an intersection and waited.

 

Qismat paused at the intersection, her smile faltering. Nemesis took the moment to study her. She was like a big cat in the wild, sleek and lean and dangerous beyond compare, but no less beautiful for all that.

 

Qismat set the bags down and appeared to be waiting. Nemesis started to move to better see around the corner, but it wasn’t required. Three toughs exited from a back door in the alley ahead, laughing and joking. They all wore red sashes around their waists, marking them as junior members of Charlemagne’s organization. They saw Qismat and laughed. They headed toward her with cat-calls and whistles and more than a few obscene suggestions. She stood still, smiling, waiting.

 

Nemesis settled in to watch the show.

 

It was over quicker than he would’ve liked. Like a dancer Qismat leapt into their midst, spinning and ducking and dodging her way around the brawlers until they ceased to move. She brushed some imaginary dirt from her shirt sleeve and turned to retrieve her grocery bags.

 

The door opened again, and half a dozen more men spilled out. All wearing red sashes. Three were regular toughs. One was an man of mixed Asian descent with a satchel. The other two were twins. Big men, roped with muscle and shaved heads. Nemesis tensed.

 

The toughs assessed the situation quickly and fanned out, their drunken joviality forgotten as they approached Qismat with cautious fury. One of them snarled something and Qismat motioned him forward, dropping into a ready stance.

 

The first three men rushed forward while the Asian simply set his satchel down and reached inside. The twins stayed in position, watching with expectant curiosity. Qismat quickly deflected the attacks of the toughs, but by then the Asian was upon her, nunchaku whirling at blinding speed.

 

Now fighting a primarily defensive battle there was little Qismat could do against the men except dodge. What blows she landed were of little strength and only served to buy her the necessary second to defend from the next attacker. The Asian was relentless, stepping in and attacking, then moving positions when the other toughs rushed in. Qismat backed away slowly.

 

Finally an opening presented itself and she launched a blistering attack using hands and feet that drove the Asian back and, finally, off his feet. The three toughs paused in their attacks while the Asian scurried back out of reach, only climbing to his feet when he was safely back with his pack. The men held a brief consultation and the large twins nodded and smiled. One reached out and picked up a garbage can lid. He grinned a gap-toothed smile as he bent it once, then again. The other smacked his fist into his palms.

 

Now all the toughs had retrieved weapons of some sort; pipe, two-by-four, a length of chain, and a knife. Once more they advanced, much more warily than before. Nemesis had seen enough.

 

As the toughs rushed forward he dropped into their midst. In the ensuing surprise he and Qismat managed to knock each man back a pace. The vigilante found himself back to back with his own nemesis. She smiled at him over her shoulder.

 

“So serious,” she purred. “And so sweet, coming to my rescue like that.”

 

Nemesis opened his mouth for an angry retort but was forced to fight as the toughs rushed in.

 

The two fought in unison, pivoting and turning to complement each other’s moves without letting any of their foes within reach. At first it was defensive; the strength of the twins’ attacks coupled with the Asian’s skills and the simple brutality of the other toughs kept them from coordinating any attack of their own. With a simple hiss, however, that all changed.

 

Nemesis spun quickly, his staff swinging wide. Qismat ducked under and rolled back even as Nemesis struck his target in the head, sending him flying. Qismat, now behind Nemesis again, came up and drove a booted foot into the groin of the Asian. With that simple exchange the battle shifted.

 

Now on the offensive the two whirled down the alley, driving their foes before them and attacking without words or mercy. In short order they had left a string of unconscious bodies behind them, including the twins, until only the Asian remained. Qismat finished him with a vicious spin kick and he dropped to the ground.

 

They stood, both breathing heavy as much from the excitement as from the exertion. Qismat was smiling. Nemesis wasn’t. She turned slowly to face him, seemingly relaxed, but Nemesis knew better.

 

“What now?” she asked lightly. “Do we fight?” She smiled and pushed her hair back. “Or perhaps…get to know each other better?”

 

Nemesis shook his head. “We’ll fight if you don’t stop.”

 

Qismat laughed, a musical sound incongruous with the dankness of the alley and the bodies lying about them.

 

“Always so serious!” she admonished. “Do you not ever just enjoy yourself?”

 

“Not when lives are on the line.”

 

“Lives are always on the line.” She licked her lips and stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “So, we fight, then?”

 

“Are you going to stop what you’re doing?”

 

Qismat smiled. “No.”

Nemesis nodded almost wistfully. "Then we fight."

 

Qismat made a tsking sound. She pulled her hands out and held up a tiny dart. Without preamble she casually flicked it to the side. It fell in a lazy arc into the back of one of the men.

“That was poison.” She held up her other hand, revealing a small vial. “This is antidote.” She tossed it into the garbage bin nearby. “You have two, maybe three minutes to save him.”

 

Nemesis stared at her as she stepped closer. She reached out a hand. Nemesis flinched and she laughed softly.

 

“So serious,” she said, patting his cheek. “Be a good boy and save the bad man.” She stepped around him and picked up her grocery bags. Nemesis seemed rooted to the spot.

 

She gave him a wink over her shoulder. “Until next time, habibi."

 

Nemesis sprang forward, quickly locating the vial. He looked up. She was gone. He administered the antidote and waited until he heard sirens.

 

Then he, too, was gone.