Superhero by Night Omnibus

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  The van shook as it took a turn a little too fast, but I managed to keep my feet.

  I don’t know what was keeping me going, certainly not adrenaline. That had worn out after I left the hospital. If I didn’t get my grub on soon, I was going to pass out.

  The van came to a halt and I made my move. Leaping shakily to my feet I lurched for the doors. It took a few tries to get the handle to turn. Just as I opened the door the van started off again and the pavement came up fast—I barely had time to get my hands up before I hit the ground.

  I rested my head against the hot ground for a moment before pushing myself up. I dragged myself over to the sidewalk and took a moment to breathe. Who could I even go to? If the gang had district attorneys and police in their pocket… what the hell was I supposed to do? I’m no detective. I’m not a hero.

  Standing around sure didn’t help; I needed to move. This city was nothing but a pile of bad memories now. There was a park not two miles away I used to take Sara too… the same one Mom took Charles and me to when we were kids. They were all gone—

  No. I can’t go down that road, not yet. I have to have a plan, something to do. First things first. I need food and for that I need money.

  I spied a bus stop half a block away and stumbled for the bench. My legs felt like rubber and my whole body had gone from aching to straight-up pain. I collapsed on the bench, leaning my head back for a moment. I blinked… and hours passed. When I passed out the sun was high in the sky, now it faded toward the west casting pink light on everything.

  “Dammit,” I muttered.

  At least I felt a little better. Still starving though. I pulled the bag out and up-ended it on the bench. The necklace Mom gave me when I graduated from college spilled out along with my Gucci wallet. Though singed, it was still intact. I pulled it open and all my ID and cards were still there, though I had no idea if there was any money in the accounts or if any of them were even open.

  The silver necklace with the St. Christopher medal dangling from it caught the dying light of the sun, reflecting it at me. I reached over and picked it up.

  “Oh Mom… I guess it did bring me luck after all,” I said. I pulled the medal around my neck.

  Still hungry. Right. I heaved a huge sigh and pushed myself up. I thought I’d seen a Jimmy John’s a block away. Now I just had to get there and hope they were still open.

  Chapter 4

  I can see Sara’s face as the blade slices through us both. In reality, she died instantly; in my dream, her pain and anguish lingered for an eternity.

  “Ma’am, we’re here,” the Uber driver said quietly.

  I shook myself fully awake. After I had eaten, I caught a Lyft to Baton Rouge and then a plane to NYC. Then one Uber ride to my hotel and I’m back home, sort of. The apartment I rented had already gone to someone else. When I left I put all my things in storage but after three months they auctioned it all off, leaving me with just what was in my bank account and the clothes on my back. It was easy enough to restore my cell phone at the airport. I used that to call ahead and rent a hotel room for a couple of nights.

  It wasn’t the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in—Dubai had that honor. This would do, though. I tossed my new shoulder bag on the bed and collapsed into the corner chair. The decor felt like it had been pulled out of a 1970’s magazine and I felt dirty just being in the place. I opened the one window wide to let in some semi-fresh air. I was in Hell’s Kitchen after all—the air wasn’t that fresh to begin with.

  I’d slept at every given opportunity since leaving New Orleans, and I was just starting to feel more normal. My body was still stupid-weak from six months in the coma and despite how hungry I was all the time, I could barely eat more than a few bites before my stomach revolted.

  It all still left me with the problem of what to do? I couldn’t trust any public official in Louisiana—any one of them could be on ISO-1’s payroll. That left me with just one option: the FBI.

  Did one just call them, though?

  I stumbled over to the mini-fridge and pulled out the only Diet Coke, ignoring the sign that explained the price gouging on the twelve-ounce can. A few gulps later and the caffeine worked its magic on me. I looked up the NYC field office for the FBI and hit the button connecting me to an agent.

  What do I even say?

  “FBI New York City field office, how may I direct your call?”

  “Uh… I’d like to report a crime,” I said.

  “Ma’am, that is a matter for your local police, if it’s an emergency I recommend calling 911.” The operator hung up before I could say anything. Well damn, that didn’t go smoothly. After thinking about what I would say, I tried again.

  After the opening line, I spoke. “I’d like to report a multiple homicide committed by a city district attorney.” That got their attention. After a few seconds, the operator passed me through to someone else, who asked me a few questions before handing me off again.

  “Special Agent Jordan, Public Corruption and Organized Crime, can I have your name please?”

  “Madisun Dumas,” I said, repressing a yawn with the back of my hand. A glance at the lone battery-powered clock told me it was seven in the morning. How was I still awake? Even the little sleep I stole on the plane and the cab couldn’t make up for the bone weariness I felt in every part of me. “I’m sorry, uh Agent, can you say that again? I haven’t slept in a while.”

  “I’d like you to come down to 26 Federal Plaza. If we can corroborate some of what you’ve said, we’ll have a solid start to the case. Can you do that?” he asked.

  That was the first good news I’d heard since I woke up.

  “I’d love to sir. And thank you for listening. Can I come right now?” I was so tired, but if it meant finishing this mess, I could push through. It wasn’t like I’d never done a 72-hour photoshoot before; I knew how to dig deep.

  “Does two work for you?” he asked

  “Yes, it does. See you then.” I hung up the phone and fell into bed. I didn’t even take my shoes off, just passed out fully clothed on the top comforter.

  Fancy hotels have magnetic cards that allow entrance into rooms; cheap hotels have keys. Guess which one this was? The jangling of keys on a ring brought me up to consciousness. The walls here were so thin, it was probably just someone walking by. Then why did it stop as soon as the noise reached my door?

  No one knew where I was. I had no one to tell; everyone I could talk to about something like this was dead. The entire murder flashed through my brain again and it threatened to unmake me. I had fought against really feeling it since I awoke from the coma and now wasn’t the time to sort through those intense emotions. Bitter regret built up in my throat at the realization that I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to Sara much less attend their funeral.

  The jolt of emotion woke me fully, kicking in my adrenaline as the door eased open. I didn’t wait to see who came through. I rolled off the bed, stuck my hand through the loop on the shoulder bag, and ran for the window.

  A deafening roar boomed behind me as I jumped through the window. I was still too weak—my knees banged painfully on the bottom sill—but I was out and laying face-first on the ground. The window exploded, showering the alley with glass and debris as automatic gunfire sprayed the air above me, bullets whizzing by so close I felt like I could count them.

  I screamed—I couldn’t help myself. Once the gunfire stopped, I pushed myself off the wall and ran on wobbly legs as fast as I could, heart pounding in my chest and lungs begging for more air. I managed to make the street as someone behind me crawled out through the broken glass, cursing as they did so.

  Oh crap. What if they just gun me down in the middle of the street?

  I looked around, desperate for something to protect myself. I stumbled out onto 49th and headed west. Maybe I could lose myself in the crowd? The federal building might as well be on the moon for as far away as it was…

  It couldn’t be a coincidence… them finding me. I ch
ecked my phone; it had only been two hours since I called the FBI. How far did this corruption go? Hope for justice, hope for a life, slipped away with each step. If I couldn’t trust the FBI, who could I trust?

  I’d seen enough movies to know this sort of thing wasn’t an accident. How on Earth could my random call to the FBI have landed with an ISO-1 plant? It couldn’t have. It just couldn’t. And if it did, then I was dead already, because that would mean everyone was on their payroll. With so many superheroes in the world, that just didn’t seem likely.

  I pulled out my cell phone while looking back the way I’d come. It took me three tries to hit the redial button, but I finally managed to calm my shaking fingers enough to cooperate. It only took a few seconds for Agent Jordan to answer.

  “Someone just tried to kill me at the hotel I was staying at,” I said with no preamble.

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “For the moment. I haven’t told anyone where I was, not even you. What do I do?”

  He went silent for a long moment. Fear rose up in me, something more frightening than the gunfire. What if I was right? What if everyone in power was corrupt?

  “It’s possible we have a leak. Anywhere I tell you to go will be dangerous. Do you have a place you can hide for a few days, give me time to come up with something?”

  A number of possibilities ran through my head until one clicked.

  “Yes. Yes I can.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Call me back in two days. I’ll have a plan in place… and good luck.”

  I tossed my phone in the first trash can I passed: I’ve seen enough movies to know that phones can be tracked, and I could always pick up a new one from just about any store.

  I had one idea. The modeling agency had dorms for their lower-tier models when they visited NYC. They were located in lower Manhattan, and I knew the doorman; we’d often crash there when we had late nights. He wouldn’t bat an eye if I showed up to sleep.

  I stopped cold. He wouldn’t have batted an eye six months ago—but I kept forgetting so much time had passed. Six months.

  Everything I missed. I don’t even know where they’re buried.

  That hadn’t even occurred to me. Did they bury them in New Orleans? I would have to go back once Henry was in jail. It might be safe then.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was just going to have to risk the dorm. I had known Hector for seven years, and I was sure he’d let me in, even if he knew I wasn’t with the agency anymore.

  Crossing the street, I turned south and walked with a purpose. The subway entrance was only two blocks away; if I hurried I could catch the next train. Sirens in the distance reminded me how not safe I was. Who could I trust when everyone I could call for help worked for the people trying to kill me? I put my head down and kept going. At least it wasn’t raining.

  I opened the door to the apartment building we called “The Dorms” when I worked for the agency. Thank God, Hector was still the doorman. He was always so nice to the girls, we always felt safe around him. Hector was a few years past fifty, with thick black hair gone gray at the temples. His skin had the dark complexion of El Salvador, his native home. Though, if I recall, Hector’s family moved to the US when he was seventeen. By time in the country, he was more American than me.

  “As I live and breathe, Madi!” He leaped up from behind his desk and wrapped thick arms around me. “Oh, it’s good to see you.” With his big hands on my shoulders, he pushed me away for a moment to look at my face. “Times can be tough. I’m sorry about your family.”

  My hope fell. If he knew about them, then he knew I wasn’t a model anymore.

  “Hi, Hector. It’s good to see a friendly face.”

  He smiled at me again. “I’ve watched you girls grow up, God knows I can’t protect you when you’re out there,” he said with a nod toward the streets, “but in here, you are under my care.”

  That brought me a smile. Hector was more like a father to the girls who worked here than some actual fathers. It was a safe place.

  “Hector, I’m sorry I haven’t come by to see you. I’ve been… away.”

  He nodded. “Of course, of course. I was sorry to hear the agency let you go. You were always my favorite. Mamaita always bought all your magazines and pinned you up on the wall in her bathroom. She thinks you’re so beautiful.”

  “Tell your wife she’s an angel.” My voice caught as I spoke; this was harder than I thought. It had been a long couple of days. “Hector, I need a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need a place to stay for a few days…” I didn’t know if he would or could help me—I just hoped so.

  “Honey, you always have a place here. You wouldn’t be the first ex-model I let stay in one of the apartments. If the Agency knew they’d fire me, but you girls… well, someone needs to look out for you.”

  He let go of me, moved back around the low desk he used to watch the doors and cameras, and retrieved one of the many keys from a peg on the wall. “417 is vacant for the month. We just had the carpets cleaned. It’s been a week, but they always book these things out for a month. It will smell a little, but you can have it for three weeks.” As he spoke, he handed me the key and closed my hands around it. “It’s good to see you,” he said with a genuine smile.

  “It’s good to see you too,” I replied. After another hug, I left him for the elevator. Exhaustion and wariness almost overcame me right there but I ground my heel into the floor and squeezed my palms into fists. Just a few more minutes and I could collapse.

  Chapter 5

  I spend the next two days inside the apartment, with no phone calls and no Internet: just me, a TV, and pizza delivery. For the first time since I woke up in the hospital, I actually felt rested—even hopeful. Today was the day I reclaimed my life. Today I would make a statement to the FBI, get Henry arrested and make ISO-1 leave me alone. And then I could grieve for my family in peace.

  Today was the day.

  I was going to pick up another cell phone, but I decided against leaving the place. Hector let me borrow his laptop and I used Skype to make a call over the Internet. It took far too many minutes to transfer to him, but when he finally answered I let out the breath I’d held since I started the call.

  “Agent Jordan, this is—” I stopped myself from revealing my name. What if that is how they found me last time? “—the person you asked to call you.” He chuckled in response.

  “You’re clever. Okay, I have the spot. No one knows about it and it’s only a block from my office. We’ll meet, have coffee like a couple of coworkers, and then walk back to my office. Once you’re in the building, you’re safe. I already have Witness Protection standing by. You ready?”

  I closed my eyes for a second. Sara’s face came right back to me.

  I have never been more ready for anything in my life. Henry is going to pay for what he did.

  “Yes,” I said in a whisper. He told me the location and I jotted it down to make sure I remembered it right. He told me to meet him at noon, which was only an hour away.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get these guys.”

  I thanked him before hanging up.

  I clamped down on the relief flooding through me—I didn’t want to count my chickens just yet, then spent a few minutes making sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind before I headed for the door. I doubted I would ever be back here. Not that this apartment was special to me, but it represented the life I no longer had. The one I lived for almost seven years. That I would miss.

  Hector wasn’t at his desk when I came out. Sadness flickered inside of me. I sure would have loved to say goodbye. I searched through his desk real quick, found some post-it notes, and jotted a little message, circling the whole thing with a heart. He was such a good man to have helped me.

  Forty-five minutes later I stepped off the bus at Center and Worth, just one block east of the Federal Building and across the street from Thomas Pain Park and Foley Square
. I chuckled when I saw all the food carts; I had just done a photoshoot here not a year ago and I remembered this incredible cart with the most amazing salted pretzels. I glanced around, looking to spot it, but alas I didn’t see it.

  The outdoor Cafe on the corner was new. I made my way across the street through the throngs of people. The sun was shining and there weren’t any clouds. I wished I’d had sunglasses or a hat. As I drew closer to the meeting place, I realized my clothes were rumpled and I smelled. Well, there wasn’t anything I could do about the latter but I spent a few minutes flattening out my borrowed clothes and running fingers through my hair until it had some semblance of control. Compared to how I used to dress, I looked like a homeless person.

  The Cafe had seven small circular tables arrayed in a circle around a covered coffee stand. All the tables were full of people chatting and enjoying their lunch-time coffee, completely unaware of the horror my life had become. How many times had I passed someone on the street who was in pain and desperation the way I was now? Failing to realize how hard their life was? Too many to count.

  The only table that wasn’t full was the one farthest from the street. A lone man in a modest black suit read on his Kindle as he sipped his coffee. That had to be him. Gathering my wits, I approached him.

  “Agent Jordan?” I asked.

  “Yes?” he looked up with a smile. If anyone were watching us, they might think we’re two friends meeting for coffee. Which, I supposed, is what he wanted. I sat down in the chair opposite him, placing my bag on the ground next to me. He leaned forward, pushing his Kindle to the side. I caught the title as the screen lock came on.

  The Adventures of Mr. Perfect and the Land that Time Forgot.