“Further on up the road,” I said. “What happened here?”
“One of your escapees ripped the front off the hardware store and stole all the chains... but only the chains.”
“Only the chains?” Icerazor asked, his raised eyebrow barely visible behind his mask.
“How do you know it was one of the escapees?” I asked.
“Who else would be running around in an orange jumpsuit with ‘Rockstead’ across the back?” Hare asked. “Skinny fellow, but,” he waved towards the devastated building, “that doesn’t mean a whole heck of a lot.”
“Which way did he go?”
“Hell if I know. Can’t find anyone who saw him leave.”
“Thank you, Captain Hare.”
I stepped aside and found my phone.
“Verify Shadowdemon,” I said when Shiva picked up.
“Voice print verified. Go ahead.”
“We have an escapee sighting in Pickman’s crossing.”
“Nature of sighting?”
“A quote ‘skinny fellow’ in prison orange ripped the front off of a hardware store and stole the chain inside. Who are we looking for here?”
“Known behavioral parameters exclude most of the fugitives,” Shiva said. “Probability suggests Ronald White the Second.”
“What?”
“Do you need me to repeat the previous statement?”
“Masquerade was one of the escapees?”
“This information was included on all public notices.”
“That’s just great,” I said.
“You have not been assigned to fugitive pursuit,” Shiva said.
“I know, I know,” I said.
“I take it your call wasn’t good news,” Dekker said.
Part 23
There was nothing we could do to help in Pickman’s Crossing. I hated to just drive off, but the situation was well in hand, and we needed to get moving. So I brought everyone back to Sterling Towers. Sitting around providing a report of our activities was not terribly exciting, but it was not the first time I’d been through the routine. Dekker, however, was visibly irritated. I wasn’t contributing as much to the report as I normally would, as the Fund was more interested in the details of the machinery than the mundanities of the search. So when one of the Fund’s regular employees told me that Mister Edgars wanted to speak with me, I didn’t hesitate before heading out.
It had been a while since I’d seen Berthold Edgars. I hadn’t spoken to him since early summer. Not that this was a surprise. Board members tended to be busy, and I didn’t have a good reason to have sought him out. The staffer led me to a small conference room in tower one. It had rather bland furniture of pale faux wood and gray cloth. Seated at the end of the table was the smiling old man. His hairpiece was as unconvincing as ever, and his twisted, almost corkscrew, cane rested against the arm of his chair. Some people knew him better as Torquespiral, and his code name came to the fore in my mind more often than his real name. He waved me in and the staffer departed.
“Come in, take a seat,” he said.
I closed the door and sat down. There was a bit of a pause while he gave me the opportunity to begin the conversation. When I declined, he continued.
“Of late, we have been reviewing policies regarding member morale.”
“I don’t have a morale problem,” I said.
Torquespiral gave me a smile that was at once sarcastic and patronizing.
“Regardless of your self-assessment,” he said, “The whole purpose of the revised policy is to try to handle issues members might have before they become problems. The Community Fund has of late focused a great deal on the Fund, and neglected the Community.”
“Paranoia and secrecy are part and parcel of the Hero life,” I said.
Torquespiral gave me the same grin again.
“Of course, You already know better than me...” I said.
“Being people who fix problems, members are not always that good at admitting when they need help. In less general terms, you are prone to this particular defect.”
It wasn’t my intent to audibly scoff at the accusation, but I still made a noise and picked up a disbelieving expression.
“I seem to recall hearing that your team practically had to browbeat you into requisitioning proper equipment for yourself. And that you had evidently been running around under-geared for years. Despite having been a member of the Fund from a young age.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I seem to recall having a granddaughter on your team. Along with a very pale friend with horns. And then there were all the official reports and evaluations filed with the Fund. But that is beside the point.”
“It’s not as if I could afford anything,” I said.
“The only cost to pay off a negative credit balance is community service,” Torquespiral said. “But that’s the past. I’d like to talk about the present.”
“You keep implying there’s an issue you want to bring up.”
“It’s not explicitly a Fund issue, but one which some of us here could provide assistance if you were to ask for our help.”
“You keep talking around the subject.”
“The fact of the matter is, I heard about it by way of someone who I do not officially know in the capacity by which they themselves heard about it. And they politely requested to not be implicated in informing me of the issue.”
“I’m still drawing a blank, so if you can’t tell me what you’re hoping I’ll ask for your help with, we’re going to end up talking in circles.”
Torquespiral sighed.
“It has to do with a bridge.”
“Mister Thirty-Eight came to you, didn’t he?”
“In his defense, you did seek out his help with solving the eminent domain issue.”
“Doesn’t that put the lie to your earlier-”
He cut me off. “Please don’t quibble about past commentary. The question at hand is whether you are willing to ask for my help with this matter.”
“It’s not a Fund issue.”
“But it is a Community issue.”
“It’s my problem to deal with.”
“Yes, ultimately it is,” Torquespiral said. “But which is the more prudent path, standing there howling at the storm, or accepting the aid of the man who can redirect the wind?”
“That’s a terrible analogy. And it’s starting to sound too much like taking unfair advantage of the Community’s influence.”
“If you don’t want my help, simply say the word. But I have to ask, does anyone benefit from a seven million dollar demolition cost?”
“The demolition company,” I said.
“But I don’t think the city taxpayers want to foot that bill. Not when an alternative could be whispered into the right ear that would permit the bridge to be built and your hideout left intact.”
“You’ve done a lot of research into this,” I said.
“I had taken a leave of absence from the board. I had time on my hands and didn’t want to think about my own mistakes for all of it.”
“I wondered where you went,” I lied. I felt a bit ashamed that I hadn’t noticed his absence more acutely. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen Neutrino for just as long.
“What I came up with was a thought. No ground has been broken yet. They haven’t even officially taken possession of the land. If the design of the pylon were changed slightly, it could be built over the existing structure without needing to demolish it. Then you could lease the space used by the pylon to the city as long as the bridge was in use for an amount equal to that property’s local taxes. The current plan would remove the plot from the tax rolls anyway, but by not having to buy it from you, they save the money they’d have had to sp
end on that. And by not having to demolish the building they’d save millions more while you’d get to keep using it. Traffic would be heavier, but I think it would make everyone except the demolition company happy.”
“You really didn’t want to think about your own problems,” I said.
Torquespiral smiled and sat back. “Do you want to ask me for my help on this matter?”
I was surprised by how much effort it took to actually say the words. It had been far easier to go to Jack. He had been the prime mover behind getting me that hideout in the first place.
Going just by the time spent cleaning up, it might have been a bad idea to let Xiv help make breakfast, though at least Xiv had fun, and he did help to clean up the mess. We did end up having to throw out a lot of ingredients that had been spilled or ruined. I could always record the loss as teaching basic life skills to Xiv. Then again, I don’t think anyone routinely audited our food bills. While we were washing the dishes, my phone rang. After the voice recognition, Shiva patched in Saito.
“Good morning Mister Saito,” I said.
“I do hate running the same people around like errand boys,” Saito said.
“But there’s a shortage of people available.”
“We’ve had a reported sighting of Masquerade in Kenwood County. He’s gone, but we should go pick up the information from the Sheriff’s office.”
“It’s closer than Promontory Cathedral,” I said.
“We will let them know you’re coming.”
As I hung up, Xiv put the last of the plates in the drain.
“Do you want to go for a drive?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
It didn’t take long for me to change into my kit. We were on the road not long after that. Kenwood county was north from New Port Arthur, out past the office where I still had to meet a shrink once a month. Given the lack of substance to the sessions, I figured I was only on his schedule to justify his salary. There were a handful of hobby farms owned by rich people in-between real farms owned by farmers and a smattering of mill towns like Brooksville. Some of the views were more bucolic than others. It was a little far for a practical commute into New Port Arthur, but not so far as to be outside of the metropolitan sphere of influence.
The Kenwood County Sheriff’s Office was in Brooksville, a few blocks from the riverfront. It was a neatly kempt brick building that was neither brand new nor decrepit with age. I pulled into a small lot with half a dozen parking spaces and parked. The front atrium was tiny, with a uniformed officer behind a pane of what was probably Plexiglas. I presented my BHA card, though it was fairly obvious who I was. “Sergeant Derosiers will be out shortly,” the uniformed deputy said, handing me my card back. I stood by the wall and waited.
A plain door sporting several different signs telling the general public not to try to wander past opened. The aforementioned Sergeant Derosiers was a short woman, only reaching my shoulder. Most of her apparent bulk came from her patrol kit and body armor. Her black hair was back in a ponytail, and her soft features failed to carry the seriousness her expression was meant to convey. Her gaze wandered in a thoroughly unprofessional manner until she caught sight of Xiv and paused.
“I suppose you’re the guys from the Community Fund,” she said, her tone that of someone trying to not blurt out something stupid.
“We were told you have some footage of one of our escapees?”
“Yes, this way,” Derosiers said, almost too hastily. We followed her through the door, and down a white cinderblock corridor. It ended at a room full of cluttered desks. There was a marked shortage of people. It looked as if Derosiers and the deputy at the front desk were the only two who’d shown up. That didn’t sound right. I could snoop around for sign of them, or I could just be direct.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“Dueling protests at the new Rainbow plant,” Derosiers said.
“Rainbow plant?”
“Rainbow Energy built a power plant by the river. One group wants it shut down, the other wants it to start generating. It’s already built, so it’s probably going to start running soon.” She waved dismissively. “The protesters make a lot of noise and go home. It’s nothing to worry about.” At the back of the room was an old tube-screen television and a video cassette player. I boggled briefly as Derosiers found the tape and fed it into the machine. While not nearly as old as the projector Grandpa Walker used for the footage he’d found, this tape had been made recently. Who still used video tape?
The tape started playing. It showed a grainy, black and white image of a sidewalk. The electrical snow of over-used video tape crawled up the picture in irregular waves, rippling and distorting the otherwise static scene. I only knew it was the tape and not the camera because the timecode got distorted the exact same way. The whole system was probably older than I was. On the image, a shambling mass crawled down the pavement. It was composed almost entirely of chain. Chains from the tiny to the massive, all shifting like the tendrils of some eldritch abomination. The bell-shape of the mass almost made me miss the human figure within the embrace of the chains. It wore a riveted metal mask and part of a number was barely visible on its shirt. The figure paused, and its head turned towards the side of the image. The short, tightly curled hair was indistinct on the poor quality image, but it wasn’t hard to recognize the familiar features of the man. In a shower of glass shards, Masquerade glided through a window at the left side of the image. A few moments later, he glided back out and continued in his original direction.
“That it?” I asked.
“You’re lucky you have even one camera on the incident around here,” Derosiers said. She rewound the tape to before Masquerade’s appearance and ejected it. I accepted it once she put it in a case.
“Do you think anyone would mind if I checked out the scene?” I asked.
“Don’t see why they would. It’s at eight thousand and four Riverwalk Drive.”
“What’s the best way to get there?”
“Take a right out of the lot, go down to Bridge street, take a left, continue until you cross the river. The first left is Riverwalk. Take it a few miles to reach the eight thousands.”
“Thanks,” I said, and headed back out. Derosiers’ directions were easy enough to follow, but she forgot about one little detail. On the five thousand block of Riverwalk was a brand new gas-fired power plant. It was a modest brick and concrete structure with four smokestacks reaching high above the river side. Heat haze rippled the air above the facility with less energy than the crowds along the chain link fence surrounding the facility. My face sank into my palm as I realized Derosiers had sent me right through the protest. One crowd, closer to the fence, waved professionally made signs showing the Earth on fire, and complaining about global warming or something along those lines. The other mass had more improvised banners talking about jobs and food. A thin line of sheriff’s deputies separated the two. The mass of people blocked the entirety of the street.
The sound of competing shouted chants reverberated through the car windows. Xiv sighed and shook his head. “Everyone is just shouting,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.
“People have a right to speak their mind, even if no one is listening,” I said. Turning off the engine, I stepped out of the car. The nearest deputy intercepted me before I’d gone far.
“We didn’t call for tights,” he said. “The situation is entirely under control.”
“I get that,” I said. “I just wanted to know the best way around the protest so I can get up to the eight-thousand block of Riverwalk.”
“Oh.” He seemed a bit surprised, but snapped out of it quickly. “There’s a maintenance road that runs behind the power plant and comes back to Riverwalk.” He pointed to the narrow strip of pavement just past the corner of the chain link fence. “It should get you pa
st the protest easy enough.”
“Thank you,” I said, and returned to the car. I made a careful three point turn and then turned down the maintenance road. It felt like it was only two-thirds of a lane wide, and was the sort of path that made me ask if it was even a road. At least it was smooth blacktop instead of gravel. Frustration welled up as I turned the bend at the corner of the lot to find a van parked on the road. It was a plain white van with no one at the wheel sitting cold and idle. The path around it was blocked on one side by the fence, and on the other by a poorly positioned flatbed loaded with two-foot diameter pipes.
My forehead thumped against the rim of the steering wheel.
“I thought this was a road,” Xiv said.
“It is,” I said, turning off the engine. I climbed out of the car and started checking to see how feasible it was to drive around the flatbed. I heard Xiv’s door open and close while I was examining the spacing. The gap did not look wide enough to drive along without sliding down the bank of the river. I shook my head and went back to the car. Xiv was perched atop the fence, peering at the power plant. Seeing him not returning to the car, I paused.
“What’s so interesting?” I asked.
“I thought she said the power plant wasn’t running,” Xiv said.
“That’s what I remember Sergeant Derosiers saying too.”
“Why is stuff coming out of the smoke stacks?” Xiv pointed, but my gaze went back to the heat haze shimmering in columns over the building without prompting. It might have been late summer, but the localized haze was not a result of the weather. Not that the weather was particularly hot today. Indeed, there wasn’t even a haze above the blacktop.
“That is a very good question.” I scrambled over the fence and landed in a crouch. The lawn was badly torn up by tire tracks and mistreated grass, leaving clusters of green amidst the pale, sun-baked soil. Something felt wrong. I didn’t really have cause to believe something was actually amiss about the power plant being on before it was open. But I was reminded of a Technomation van with Quebec plates in the wee hours of the morning. One incongruous detail that led to something more. At worst there would be nothing going on. I approached a gray-painted metal door and began to reach for my lockpicks. Then I paused and simply tested the handle. The door opened without difficulty. A plain white cinderblock hallway extended in from the door. Brackets for as-yet uninstalled signs hung next to otherwise unmarked doors along the hall. The air smelled of fresh paint.
Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus) Page 131