Superhero Detective Series (Book 4): Hunted Page 9

  Captain Obvious clawed at the ice that filled his mouth. He made sounds that were a combination of moans and gags. He fell to his knees, still trying to get the ice gag out of his mouth. It was in vain. The band of ice wrapped around his head and mouth kept the gag in place. His chest heaved, his face getting even redder than before. The sounds coming from him grew more and more frantic. He was panicking, hyperventilating.

  I walked a bit closer to him, still wary. He had taken me by surprise once. I did not want to be caught off guard again. Who knew what else this guy was capable of? I still had my gun down at my side, not pointing it at him, but letting it be obvious that I had it. Captain Obvious looked up at me. His face was panicked. His eyes were imploring. They were the eyes of a man who thought he was suffocating.

  “Calm down, kid,” I said. My voice was soothing, like a man trying to sooth a child having a tantrum. “You can still breathe. You’re panicking, is all. Breathe through your nose, not your mouth. Like this, see?” I said, taking a noisy exaggerated breath in through my nose. I let it back out slowly. I felt like a Lamaze coach. I hoped I was not helping give birth to a ball of buzzing bees.

  I took a few moments for what I was saying to penetrate Captain Obvious’ skull. It was further confirmation he was not the sharpest tool in the shed or, in light of where we were, the shiniest sewer grate in the alley. But, after a few long moments, he calmed down a bit, starting to breathe very obviously and noisily in and out of his nose. His hands stopped clawing at the ice around his head.

  After he stopped panicking, Captain Obvious looked at me imploringly. His wide eyes were pleading. He grunted at me insistently. I did not need a grunt-to-English translator to know what he wanted.

  “What’s that Lassie? Has Timmy fallen into the well again?” I asked. Captain Obvious grunted louder. He pointed at the ice around his head and in his mouth. He probably did not understand the reference anyway. He was too young to have watched Lassie. Heck, I was too young to have watched Lassie. I was well-versed in pop culture references, even the ones I did not experience firsthand. I could stop a bee attack and make a Lassie reference all in the span of a few minutes. It was good to be well-rounded.

  “All right. Let’s make a deal. If you agree to not try to spit any more bees at me and tell me why you were following me, I’ll melt the ice and not kick you up and down this alley like a soccer ball. Or shoot you.” I brandished my gun a bit. Captain Obvious glanced down at it. His eyes widened. I did not think he had noticed it before. He would for sure notice it if I shot him with it. “How does that sound?”

  Captain Obvious looked back up at me. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded in agreement. I assessed his body language. He was not holding himself like someone who was going to attack me again. So, I used my powers to melt the ice in his mouth and around his head. I did it slowly so as to not scald him by heating it too quickly. Though I did not point my gun at him, I did not put it away either. Nor did I release the water swirling over my head. Captain Obvious did not look like he was going to attack me again, but I have been wrong before. Better safe than stung to death.

  Captain Obvious spit out water and ice once enough of it had melted to free his mouth. He started coughing. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees. He retched a bit. Since I had been rushed, I had not been too careful about how far into Captain Obvious’ mouth I had shoved the ice gag. I had gone from the highest echelons of superherodom with the Sentinels to watching a man make an already filthy alley filthier. Being a Hero was not all wine and roses.

  “You’re a Meta!” Captain Obvious said once he was able to talk again. He said it accusatorially, as if I should have warned him I had powers. Now he knew how I felt about him.

  “Indeed. Not only that, but I’m a licensed Hero. Assaulting a licensed Hero is a crime you know. Not to mention just a bad idea unless you want a major fight on your hands.” Captain Obvious’ eyes got wide.

  “You’re a Hero?” he said. There was a touch of awe in his voice. I resisted the temptation to strike a heroic pose. Too showy. Captain Obvious glanced down at my clothes. “But, where’s your costume and mask?”

  “At the pawn shop. I swapped it for this gun. The same one I’m going to shoot you with if you don’t start talking.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up placatingly. He paused. He wiped a bit of spit off the side of his mouth nervously. “You promise you won’t tell him I told on him?” If I had thought this grown man had reminded me of a child before, he definitely reminded me of one now.

  “Who’s him?” Captain Obvious took a long breath.

  “Brass Knuckle.” He said it with a lowered voice while glancing around, as if he was afraid saying the man’s name would make him appear like the Devil. Brass Knuckle was not quite as bad as the Devil, but he was mighty close to it. Brass Knuckle was a supervillain, and a particularly nasty one at that. Though not the smartest man to ever put on a mask, he made up for that deficiency with towering ambition and sheer brutishness. If someone asked me who ran Astor City’s prostitution industry, I would have said Brass. I had dealings with him before, but not lately.

  “Why in the world did Brass Knuckle want me followed?” I asked. “If he wants me to start turning tricks for him, he’ll be waiting a long time. I already have a job. And I look terrible in heels.” Captain Obvious looked aghast that I would joke around about Brass Knuckle that way, like I was taking the Lord’s name in vain or something. Brass inspired that kind of fear.

  “Brass Knuckle didn’t want me to follow you specifically. He paid me and a few other guys to hang out outside the Sentinels’ mansion. He wanted us to follow anyone who went in or out of there, find out who they are and what they’re up to, and then report back.” Captain Obvious paused, as if he had just then realized something. “Hey, who are you, anyway? What’s your name?” I almost said “Puddin’ Tame. Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.” But, if he did not get my Lassie reference, he certainly would not get that one. I blamed the education system.

  “Never mind what my name is,” I said, not wanting him to report who I was back to Brass Knuckle. “I’m the one holding the gun, so I’m the one who gets to ask the questions. What’s yours?” I looked at his buzzcut while thinking of the buzzing sound his bees had made. “Let me guess—it’s Buzz.”

  Captain Obvious looked stunned.

  “Yeah, it’s Buzz. Well, Randy is my real name, but people call me Buzz. How did you know?”

  “I’m psychic.” It was in fact a lucky guess, but I should have known Randy and the circle he probably ran in could not think of anything more imaginative than Buzz. Beekeeper probably would not occur to them. The Apiarist was probably well beyond the extent of their vocabularies. “Why does Brass Knuckle want the people who leave the Sentinels’ mansion followed?”

  Buzz shrugged.

  “Hell if I know. When Brass Knuckle tells one of his boys to do something, you do it. You don’t ask too many questions if you know what’s good for you.”

  “I’ll have to get it directly from the horse’s mouth, then.” Buzz’s eyes widened in fear.

  “You’re not gonna tell him I told you anything, are you? He’ll be pissed if he finds out I talked to you. People who tell Brass’ business tend to turn up dead.” With his widened eyes, Buzz seemed even younger than he already did. The longer I spoke to him, the longer he did not seem like a bad guy. Just an overgrown, untrained kid with more size than sense. I kind of felt sorry for him. I grew up around a lot of people like Buzz, people who, because of their size and intimidating appearance, took what they thought was the easy road into street thuggery. That path was not in fact easy, though. It led to jail if you were lucky, and to the morgue if you were not. Hell, if I had zigged instead of zagged and not met Zookeeper shortly after my family died, I might have wound up like Buzz myself, doing things I ought not be doing and finding myself outclassed when I accosted the wrong person.

  “I won’t tell Brass,” I sai
d. I did not want to get Buzz into trouble. Shadow often said I was the world’s oldest Boy Scout. Times like this made me think she was right.

  “You promise?” Buzz’s eyes were still wide with fear.

  “I promise.” I felt like a parent telling his child he would not be punished. I thought about memorializing my promise by flashing Buzz the three-fingered Scout Sign, but he probably would not know what it meant. He would probably think I was trying to flip him off but did not know how.

  “You know anything else you’re not telling me?” I asked Buzz. Buzz shook his head no. I believed him. Not only was Buzz as easy to read as a three-year-old, but while I had been talking to him, I had been monitoring his body with my powers—heart rate, perspiration rate, blood pressure, that sort of thing. When I asked Buzz if he knew anything else, none of his vital signs changed, which led me to believe he was telling me the truth. Unless someone was a really accomplished liar, lying usually was accompanied by a change in vital signs. For most people, lying was stressful, and put detectable strains on the body. Lie detector machines worked because they picked up on those strains. After practicing for the past several months, I had gotten pretty good at being a human lie detector. I should have rented out my services to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In the meantime, my lie detecting abilities were telling me Buzz was telling the truth.

  “Since you have Metahuman abilities, are you registered with the government under the Hero Act?” I already knew the answer. Guys like Buzz were not too scrupulous about following the law.

  “No.” He said it sullenly, as if he was expecting a lecture. Of course he was not registered. Not only had Buzz been hired by a known criminal Metahuman to stalk people, but also the fact he was an unregistered Meta meant he was in violation of federal law. That meant I was duty-bound to turn him into the authorities.

  Fortunately for Buzz, I was sometimes not too scrupulous about following the law myself.

  I holstered my gun. It was clear I would not be needing it.

  “Get out of here,” I said, stepping back and jerking my head towards the mouth of the alley. Buzz did not move.

  “You mean you’re just letting me go? You’re not gonna call the cops?” He looked and sounded shocked.

  “No. Consider it my good deed for the day,” I said. Buzz took a few steps forward, slowly, as if he thought I was playing some sort of trick on him. His pace sped up once he had gotten past me.

  “Here’s some free advice Buzz,” I said as he walked away. “Find another line of work. Not everyone is as nice and forgiving as I. If you’re not careful, you’re going to run across the wrong person one of these days and get yourself killed.” Buzz looked over his shoulder at me. He nodded twice in acknowledgement. He scurried out of the alley, turned the corner, and was gone. I suspected he would not listen to my advice. Buzz still was of an age—certainly mentally if not chronologically—where he believed he was invulnerable. One day, probably soon, he would get himself in over his head. If a well-trained, powerful Hero like Avatar could get himself killed, what chance did a guy like Buzz have?

  I shook my head. Buzz was not my problem. Despite how much I admired him, neither was Avatar. Since I had turned down the job of finding his murderer, I had no client and no case to work on.

  I did have an unanswered question, though. Why in the world would a pimping lowlife like Brass Knuckle care who went in and out of the Sentinels’ mansion? If I could not figure out who killed Avatar, at least I could work on figuring out the answer to that question. I had time on my hands, and I was curious.

  Brass Knuckle was not the kind of guy you confronted by yourself if you could avoid it, though. I did not want curiosity to kill this cat. It was time to call for backup.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Why do you care if this Brass Knuckle character had you followed?” Shadow asked me. Shadow and I were parked in her car across the street from Spread Legs, a strip club. It was owned by Brass Knuckle. We believed he was inside, as he was most nights. “Men follow me around all the time, yet you don’t see me staking their businesses out in the middle of the night.”

  “When you’re shaped like a Coke bottle, of course men are going to follow you around. I’m not,” I said. Shadow looked me up and down in the darkened car.

  “No, you’re not,” she concluded. Her teeth gleamed white in contrast with her dark face. “More like a side of beef. Sucks to be you.”

  “Inner beauty is more important anyway.”

  “The only people who ever say that are the ones who don’t have much in the way of outer beauty.”

  I started to argue, but stopped myself. She might have been right. She usually was. In her dangerous line of work, she had to be. Shadow was an unregistered Metahuman. She was invisible to electronics, had heightened reflexes and speed, and was super strong, super tough, and sometimes super deadly. She earned her living as a mercenary. Pay her the right amount of money—as I was doing tonight—and she would do just about anything. The only limit to what she would do was her own rigorous, and sometimes inscrutable, moral code. If she felt she needed to, she had no problem with torturing or killing someone. Since I was a Hero, she curbed those tendencies around me. Usually.

  “If a criminal like Brass is having people followed when they leave Sentinels mansion, it must be for a nefarious reason,” I explained.

  “Nefarious? Nice word. Are you using word-of-the-day toilet paper again?” I ignored the question. I was a Hero. We took the high road in the face of impudence.

  “Since Brass is definitely up to no good in having people followed, I figure it’s my Heroic duty to find out why.”

  “That’s all probably true,” Shadow said. “But, I’ve known you a long time. Long enough to know that you can’t stand not knowing something. You can talk about your Heroic duty until you’re blue in the face, but at the end of the day I suspect you’re just curious.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, there is that,” I said.

  “If you had been with Pandora back in the day, you would have opened that box long before she did.”

  “Pandora’s Box? Nice mythological reference.”

  Shadow smiled slightly. “I learned it from watching you,” she said. “You never did tell me what you were doing at the Sentinel’s place, by the way.”

  I wanted to tell Shadow about Avatar. A world-wide icon did not die every day, and I desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. But, I had given my word to the Sentinels I would not spill the beans.

  “The Sentinels got themselves in a pickle, and they broke open one of those emergency boxes. You know, the ones that read ‘In case of emergency, break glass.’ They found a picture of me inside with my name and number written on the back. So they gave me a call. I swung by the mansion and gave them someone of my best crime stopper tips. They were quite grateful. There’s talk of renaming the mansion after me.”

  Shadow regarded me silently for a moment.

  “Fine, don’t tell me then,” she said.

  The car fell silent for a bit again. We both watched the front of the strip club.

  “You got a plan for how you’re going to get this Brass Knuckle character to tell us why he’s having people coming from the Sentinels followed?” Shadow asked eventually. “From what you’ve told me about him, he’s not the sort to go around volunteering information. Crime lords rarely are.”

  “I thought I’d win him over with my sparkling personality.” Though perhaps it was my imagination, I thought I could almost hear the effort it took her to not roll her eyes.

  “What’s your backup plan for when that doesn’t work?” she asked.

  “In the unlikely event that doesn’t work,” I said, correcting her, “then I figure we’ll just improvise.”

  “I could always pick him up by the scruff of his neck, shake him a few times, and say ‘Tell us what we wanna know muthafucka.’” For a moment, the meticulously correct English that Shadow normally spoke in dropped away—she had a
master’s degree in English, after all, and could probably teach Shakespeare a thing or two about what his plays meant—and she instead sounded like she had been raised in the inner city. For all I knew, she had been. Then again, she might have been raised on Venus. Despite the fact I had known Shadow for years, she was still largely a mystery to me. “It’s the simplest plans that often work best.”

  “It’s just as likely Brass will pick us up by the scruffs of our necks and give us a few good shakes. He’s not someone to be trifled with. It’s why I brought you along.”

  “And here I thought it was to add some much needed class to your operation.”

  “That too.”

  Spread Legs was in an area of Astor City known as Dog Cellar. If you looked at a map of Astor City, you would not find an area labelled Dog Cellar. That did not stop everyone in the city from calling it that. Degenerates and lowlifes knew Dog Cellar like the backs of their hands, whereas honest citizens avoided it like the plague. The fact I knew all too much about Dog Cellar said a lot about the way I spent my time. I comforted myself with the thought that if one was a doctor looking to cure diseases, you spent a lot of time in hospital wards, not in health clubs.

  I looked some more at the front of the strip club. It was late evening, the day after my encounter with Buzz. The neon signs flashing outside the club lit up the night. One such sign flashed the name Spread Legs almost hypnotizingly. The name was smart branding. It made it clear it was not a nunnery. To drive the point home, the neon outline of a reclining woman was mounted high up on the building above the flashing letters of the club’s name. As Shadow and I watched, the neon sign went from having the woman’s legs closed to having them spread wide open in a fashion that was probably meant to be provocative. It missed provocative and hit trashy. What the flashing sign lacked in subtlety it made up for in obviousness. It was just as well. If you were looking for women to jiggle their naked body parts in your face, you were probably also not looking for subtlety.