The Acropolis had once been a small place where the working-class neighborhood could lose themselves for a few hours, perhaps enjoy the music of a small band while dancing away the night. For many, the dancing was an excuse to imbibe a few, and forget their troubles for awhile.

Its glory days long faded into memory, the Acropolis had closed its doors for the last time over forty years ago. And like many other old buildings in this section of town, there was neither the money nor the will to tear it down.

But though the owners had long abandoned the dilapidated dance hall, there were those who had discovered it still had its uses.

In a darkness lit by the kind of round, battery-operated lights that some people place in garages or closets, ten Nighthawks stood in an informal circle.

Five of them were evidently bodyguards - young toughs as wide as redwoods, complete with automatic weapons, brass knuckles and other fine accoutrements.

The other five were older, some perhaps older than thirty - an eternity for a gang member. These five talked, tersely.

They were here on business.

And far above, in the darkened rafters, Americana lay quietly on the crossbeams, listening.

"... found Edge this morning, in his garage. What was left of it."

"Someone's after our asses, Fairplay."

Americana perked up - Johnny Fairplay? She had heard of him. and that tall fellow next to him? Daddy "Longlegs" Fryre, she'd bet on it.

"Tellin' ya, that's why I called in a special."

"Who, the 'Fireman'?" a shorter fellow laughed, and the room laughed with him.

Americana frowned. She didn't recognize that name.

"No. I picked a guy from Atlanta. Calls himself 'the Bull'."

"Ooh, I heard o' him," smiled a man from beneath a wide-brimmed hat. "S'posed to be a monster. But how's he s'posed to help with the fires?"

"Simple, 'Smiles'," Fairplay said evenly. "Once we find 'em the Bull tears 'em several new ones."

Jake "Smiles" Jefferson, Americana thought. Whoa.

"And who knows?" Fairplay allowed himself a slight smile. "When the Bull's done with them, maybe he can take care of our other problem."

"Americana?" Longlegs said slowly. He shrugged. "Just a cost o' doin' business, boss."

"Cost o' doin' business, my ass," snorted Fairplay. "Damned witch has cost us thousands - hundreds of thousands! If I saw her I'd bust her ass!"

He threw a quick jab in the air.

"Yeah, I'd pound her face into hamburger! Then I'd stick her in - "

As he turned, hands upraised, he suddenly went pale.

"Take your best shot," Americana shrugged, arms folded.

Instantly the thugs arms went to their weapons.

"Relax. I'm not after you tonight."

She whirled once to the left, disarming three gunmen, then back to the right, disarming two more. Total elapsed time - two seconds.

"Holy!"

"Shit!"

"Annh!"

She smiled to herself. Man, when she was good, she was good.

Two of the bodyguards rushed her!

Like she didn't see that coming, Americana thought as she leapt over them and landed squarely on her feet.

"Knock it off! I came to talk!"

"Like hell! I say - "

"Smiles," Longlegs said, stepping forward and raising one of his very long arms. "Chill."

Wow, Americana thought as Daddy Longlegs stretched out. That man was tall. Seven feet, at least.

"Americana has come to talk."

He turned his attention to the heroine. "You seem fond of nicknames. I am Longlegs."

Americana nodded. "Nice to see someone can keep a cool head."

She looked back over her shoulder. Fairplay and Smiles had drawn guns and were pointing them at her.

"Hold 'em if you want to, guys. Can't hurt me."

She turned her attention back toward Longlegs.

"Just wait 'til I unleash the Bull on you, smartass," Fairplay stage-whispered.

"Bull's dead," Americana said casually.

"What?!"

"You're shittin' me!"

"Few hours ago."

Americana turned slowly, looking each man in the eye. "You guys have a real problem. Someone has it in for you - bad. Someone with a lot of knowledge about fire. How it burns, how it spreads.

"I want to stop him."

"Wha-a-at?"

"What Rolf means," Smiles said, grinning, "Is why should a heroine give a damn if we get killed? Why should we believe you?"

Americana rapidly stepped up to within a foot of him and thrust her chin forward until it was inches from his smiling face.

She did not look happy.

"You think you know pain? You know what it's like to burn to death, Smiley? No one deserves to die like that. No one."

She withdrew... slowly.

"Why you here?"

"Because, Mr. Fairplay, I thought you might have some ideas about who would want you dead. Who would take over the business should you disappear?"

"I ain't talkin with you," fumed Johnny Fairplay. "The Nighthawks solve our own problems!"

"Fine," Americana sighed. "Mr. Longlegs - have you anything to add?"

Longlegs stood tall, sniffing the air.

"Question. If we're all together, aren't we a target?"

As if in answer the four walls of the dance club instantly burst into flame!

"Oh my God!"

"We're gonna fry!"

Americana looked up as the roof ignited into a wall of fire!

She quickly looked around, panic rising in her throat.

No, not panic - smoke! Smoke and hot air!

Oh, heavens! She was immune to the fire, true - but the fire was consuming more than the building - it was burning away the oxygen in the air!

"Follow me!" she barked just before taking a deep breath - it was uncomfortably hot, but it was air!

She flew toward the front of the burning dance hall and landed inches from the roaring flames. If she just blew through the wall, chances were good the fire would simply fill the hole. But if the wall held together just a little longer...

She bent down and shoved her hands underneath the wall... then...

Americana swiftly stood, bringing the wall up with her. With a cry of exertion she flipped the entire front wall into the street!

"Come on, come on!" she cried, counting as they came... seven... eight...

Eight... where were the others?

The roof, weakened by the loss of the front wall and the fire itself, started creaking ominously as debris started raining down.

"Ohh, heavens!"

Americana took a deep breath and plunged into the flames!

She found one of the bodyguards, stumbling through the smoke, desperately trying to find his way out. The man looked up to see a burning beam falling toward him, and he screamed.

The next thing he knew, he was being deposited on the street outside. By the time he realized that Americana had knocked away the beam and grabbed him, she was already back inside.

The sheets of flame, the roar of the burning building, the thick smoke in the firestorm's winds - all conspired against Americana finding the last man.

But the heroine rapidly flew, low to the floor, in a criss-cross pattern - the floor was only so big.

It took her only seconds to find him, lying on the floor. He moaned softly, part of the fallen ceiling covering a gaping wound on his head. He was all but buried from the waist down.

Americana took a few seconds to throw aside the debris, then gently picked him up and flew out of the building.

On the other side of the street, she held a piece of the man's shirt on his forehead. "Shhh, it's okay. Okay... "

She looked up as the dance hall collapsed with a roar.

"Heavens," she muttered.

"Americana."

She looked up.

Daddy Longlegs stood with his arms at his side. "He all right?"

She nodded. "He will be."

Longlegs nodded back. "Thanks."

He glanced off toward the sirens sounding in the distance.

"I've got to go."

Americana paused.

She could hardly arrest him, while tending to this man... but she didn't really want to. He was the only one who cared enough for the bodyguard to stick around.

"Be careful."

Americana turned back toward the man in her lap as Longlegs melted into the shadows.

'Be careful', she snorted. What was she thinking?

Hard as it was to admit it, she found Longlegs almost likeable. She almost prefered it when the gangstas acted like jerks - it was much easier to pound them.

She smiled slightly, then rose to greet the fire trucks that were just pulling up in front of the ruined dance hall.

But as their sirens fell silent, she was startled to hear a scream!

"Take care of him!" she shouted, indicating the man with the head wound.

Then she took off running!

At this time of night, in winter yet, sound travelled extraordinarily well - Americana hoped that she had the right direction. It sounded like it had come from the next block or two...

She charged around the far corner - and came to a stop.

A charred body lay in the center of the street, the remains of its clothes still spurting flames and smoke.

Americana knew instantly that the man was dead.

She also knew immediately just who the man was.

Longlegs.

Oh. My. God!

She stood, staring at the man's smouldering remains.

"Americana."

She looked up.

"Sirens stopped a bit early," came the voice, rolling like molasses. "Or he screamed a bit long. Whatever."

A striking woman with pale, almost white, skin strode into the center of the road on high-heeled boots. She wore what amounted to a black, two-piece swimsuit; the top was flared and sported red triangle eyes, and the bikini bottom had an arrow-shaped extension up her middle, forming the nose and mouth of a skull.

She tossed her long, auburn hair and extended a red-gloved hand; a large tongue of fire appeared in her palm.

"Suppose I'd have to deal with you sooner or later," she said with a menacing growl, and aura of fire erupting about her as her eyes glowed red.

"By the way... the name is Skullfire."