I'm floating in the sky over Central City, hoping that crossing the last item off my list won't be too difficult. Personal protective gear was my first priority when I returned to Earth after my mining expedition, but the bike gear I'm wearing was only ever supposed to be a short term solution. There are probably many people who could make the equipment that I want, but I only know one name and Mr Scott couldn't help. He never bothered with specialist gear himself and every name he knew retired long ago. I suppose that I could ask Wonder Woman if there was a smith on Themyscira who could enchant something to my specifications but given my last encounter with magic, I think I'll leave that for plan b.
The name I have is a G or a B and he makes the apparel of the Central City Rogues. Presumably if he's still in business then his name isn't known to the police. Which means that the only way I can think of for getting the name and address of the Rogues' supplier is to directly ask one of them.
A swift review of my supervillain related files reveals that I will want to avoid Mirror Master, The Trickster, The Top and Abra Kadabra. They are either too dangerous or have abilities I can't properly predict. Pied Piper seems like a good bet if his character is anything like his comic incarnation but I don't want to take the risk with a guy known for mind control. While none of the remaining members should be underestimated, I think that the safest to approach is probably Digger Harkness aka Captain Boomerang. Heh, Captain Harkness. Oh, I wonder if Doctor Who exists here? Have to check later.
Captain Boomerang got out of prison a week ago after serving eighteen months for armed robbery. It would have been longer if he'd used a gun but apparently the judge couldn't take a fellow armed with bent bits of wood entirely seriously. I sort of understand how he felt. I can only speculate how he manages to threaten The Flash badly enough to warrant inclusion in the Rogues at all. My best approach is probably to pose as a neophyte supervillain, use a little flattery and bribe money. After all, being a failed armed robber can't pay that well. And with that decision I utter probably the strangest instruction any Lantern has ever given their power ring.
"Ring, scan Central City for boomerangs. Exclude all toy and sport accessory shops."
"Boomerangs found."
"Give me an image of the area around the highest concentration."
An orange image appears in front of me. Looks like a bar. At this time of day not many people are inside but I can clearly see Mr Harkness on a stool in front of the bar itself. He is alone, and appears to be nursing his drink. One platinum coin should pay his bar bill without hindering my finances to any significant degree. Even better, he'll probably recognise it. Surprising how many people assume that it's silver. Must be the association with gold.
"Ring, plot parabolic flight path."
The ring makes no audible response, but a moment later I can feel the route, as well as its suggestions for avoiding the level of notice that touching down in the middle of the street would attract. Top of building then down fire escape it is.
Flight isn't an uncommon ability amongst metahumans and related oddities, but the only regular flier in Central City is Weather Wizard and he isn't particularly good at it. Perhaps some people see me as I make what is basically an exaggerated long jump over their heads, but I doubt that they think much of it. Onto the flat topped roof -must leak terribly-, reorientate, walk over to the metal fire escape, down, and out of the alley onto the street. I'm back in casual clothing so I don't attract much attention.
Minimum age for alcohol consumption in the US is twenty one, right? I'm not certain I could pass as that, and I don't have any paperwork to prove my age. Doesn't matter, I wasn't planning to drink here anyway. I push open the door. There's a television I didn't notice in the corner playing news of the aftermath of some sort of local super hero fight. A flash of OrangeVision confirms that aside from a shotgun behind the bar only Mr Harkness is armed. I walk over and occupy the stool next to him. He glances at me before returning his attention to his drink.
"What'd'you want?"
He sounds bored. Do random people walk up to him a lot? Do supervillains have fans? Not just crazy types like Dr Quinzel who obsess over their subjects, but actual rational admirers?
"Directions to your tailor, actually."
He frowns, but doesn't look up.
"Come a long way for a suit, ain't ya?"
"Says the Australian."
Nothing.
"You know, I heard a joke about that. If you hear someone speak, and you can't tell whether they're an Australian or a New Zealander, always guess New Zealander. If they're actually from New Zealand they'll be dead chuffed that you thought of it before Australia, and if they're from Australia they'll just laugh."
Nothing. Now I feel really awkward.
"Um, no, ah, not for a suit. There's a place in Vietnam I go to, they take your measurements and run the things up while you get lunch. I was referring to your other clothing."
That gets me another glance. Appraising? Irritated? I can't tell. I'm rubbish at facial expressions, and the ring can't really help.
"Look, I don't need another bleedin' reportah-."
I open my right hand on the bar, palm up, and create a rotating orange sigil.
"Ah. Now, how the hell d'y do that?"
"Power ring. Same as what the Green Lanterns use. I prefer my colour scheme, though." I dismiss the construct.
He appears to consider. "Where'd'ya get it then?"
"The Green Corps is run by the Guardians. The Orange Corps is run by the Controllers. They really don't get on. This sector already has three Greenies -four if the guy from the forties is still alive- so, here I am."
"Yew on Earth to pick a fight?"
I shrug, both arms adding emphasis. "Depends on how things go."
"Yew plannin' on starting something here in Central City?"
"No no. Just here to shop for clothes. I'm probably not even going to be working in this city."
He looks at my hand, and pulls what is probably his contemplative face. "Yeyh, a'right." He waves at the barmaid. "Oi, Jessie, paper and pen."
The barmaid puts down a glass she had been cleaning, pulls a sheet off her waitressing notepad and passes it over with her pen. Mr Harkness scrawls something and passes it over. Fortunately, my boss' handwriting is worse.
"Tell 'im Digger sent you."
Gambi. Paul Gambi. That was his name.
"Thank you. I appreciate it." I get up. Wait… "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm a bit new at this." I reach into my leg bag, take out a platinum coin and place it on the bar in front of him. "Would you accept a more practical demonstration of my gratitude?"
He squints. "Not silver."
"You know, you're the first person who's realised that straight out? Platinum, about two thousand dollars' worth."
He picks it up delicately with left thumb and forefinger. "I'd'a heard about a theft."
"I broke no Earthly law getting it. Please, have a few rounds on me."
He comes close to smiling. "A'right. Cheers mate."
I nod to him, and then turn and leave. I doubt that Mr Gambi will be able to provide me with the armour I want today but I should be able to get measured up and select materials at least. Ideally, he'll have some standard armour lying around that I can adapt in the meantime. I don't want power armour at this stage -since Steel isn't active I doubt that there is anything on Earth that measures up to what I can get off it- but I do want something that can reliably stop low calibre bullets. Beyond the stuff I know of from my own parallel I don't know what might be available on the grey market here, but from what I remember Mr Gambi is a basically honest guy and will probably be able to talk me through it.