“What did they talk about in their emails?”
“We don’t know. As I said, they are encrypted and we have yet to break the code. Until we can, I’d like you to pay a visit to Mr. Gagnon and ask him in person.”
“We are on our way to Vegas to talk to River.” Ann waves her hand to point out the window.
“This lead takes precedence. We don’t know what triggered Tess, and unless you got something good from The Patriot, this is the warmer trail.” Vince’s jaw strains as he chews his gum.
“We didn’t get shit from The Patriot,” I say. If I would have known about Ann’s powers, though, I would have been more persuasive.
“I’ll patch Gagnon’s address through to your pilot.”
I nod. Vince reaches forward to press a button and the feed goes blank. The screen pops back up with a map. The blinking dot representing our plane shows us somewhere in the Midwest. A solid red dot shows Calgary, Alberta as the destination. ETA: One hour.
Do I need a passport when traveling in an experimental aircraft for a non-governmental entity? Probably not, I hope. I’ve never been out of the country before. Sucks my first time has to be to interrogate some punk internet hacker.
“Do you think DeLaCruz is the one who planted the bomb?” Ann swivels her chair so she faces me.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yeah, he may have done it, but it still doesn’t explain the Gravitess angle. I don’t believe in coincidence. Something in my gut tells me the bombing and Gravitess are related. Call it instinct.”
She purses her lips and nods. “All right, yeah, I can see that.”
We fall silent for a few minutes.
“Would you like something to eat?” Ann swivels her seat and stands up in the aisle.
“There’s food on this thing?”
“Those cabinets,” Ann points overhead, “are solid mahogany. Bathroom sinks? Imported granite. Bathroom floor? Imported marble. Do you really think they would skimp on a pantry?” She smiles at me. One of those smiles girls have that says, “Man, you’re just never going to get it.”
“Yeah, but I can fix my own food. Just show me the way.”
The rest of the flight is spent making sandwiches and chowing down. Meat, cheese, mayo, with potato chips crushed on the top – perfection. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started to eat. Two sandwiches later, Ulrich announces we will be landing shortly.
I brush the crumbs off my stupidly-expensive suit and make my way over to a seat.
“I couldn’t land at the address, so we had to stop at a local airport. Vince has arranged for a driver to shuttle you back and forth,” the pilot says over the intercom.
When the hatch opens, Ann and I are greeted by a man in a suit. He motions to the back of his black Chevy Suburban. “Relax, I’ll have you there in fifteen minutes, folks.”
At night, Calgary is lit up like a well-mannered Christmas tree. Or at least what I can see out the heavily tinted windows.
“So, what are you going to say to Gagnon?” Ann runs her hands over her brown hair to make sure there are no strays poking out from the bun. There aren’t. She’s as put-together and proper as royalty, if said royalty had superhuman abilities.
“I’m not sure. Probably, ‘Are you a secret agent of the villainous and completely stupidly named terrorist organization AHA?’ and go from there.”
Ann smiles a little. She turns from the window to me and back again. Her body is stiff, like a predator waiting to pounce. If I had to guess, I’d bet she’s clenching every muscle in her body to keep away the shakes. I’ve seen this in new cops before; she’s anxious.
“Wait a minute, we just went to shakedown the world’s most famous and most powerful superhero and you played it cool as a cat. Now we’re about to go talk to some punk who probably lives in his mom’s basement and you’re nervous?”
“Heroes don’t scare me, people do. Until very recently, the heroes have never shown even an ounce of the crazy that normal humans show on a daily basis. I don’t feel especially at home with either group, but at least heroes are predictable.”
She’s got a solid point. I’ve seen people do some bat-shit crazy stuff. Not even two weeks ago, I arrested a drunken hobo who thought he was a demon hunter. The guy was running around the sidewalk trying to cut people’s heads off with a sword made out of cardboard. Fucking loon.
“I guess I can’t argue that point. People can be pretty nuts. I don’t know heroes well enough yet, but I’m betting they’re pretty crazy too, when you get down to it.”
Ann fakes a smile. All teeth, no emotion.
The car comes to a stop in front of a small row of duplexes. “This is it.” The driver points to the complex in front of us. “It’s the one over on the right.”
“Thanks, my good man. I’d give you a tip, but I left my bank roll in the Gucci suit.” I slap the back of the seat. “And keep the car running, Jeeves. You never know what kind of secret lair may be hiding the AHA madman.”
“Would you like me to come in as backup, Sir?”
“Nah, I’ve got Ann and Old Faithful here.” I turn to flash the driver the gun on my hip.
He smiles appreciatively. Dudes with guns always have an appreciation for dudes with guns. That’s written in a law book somewhere. Murphy’s or Newton’s or Attraction’s; someone’s.
I clear my throat. “But, uh, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra piece, would you?”
The driver wiggles in his seat and hands over a Glock holstered in a belt clip.
I hand the gun to Ann. “You know how to use this?”
“Do I know how to use that?” She drops her head to the side with a smirk. “The Initiative has the strictest training regimen of any group in the world, and that’s before you go into the Engine. I have more weapons training than you do.”
I nod in appreciation. Dudes with guns always appreciate girls with guns.
Chapter 9
OUTSIDE THE CAR, the cold Canadian air slaps me across the face. Hockey is obviously a violent sport because the players are freezing and pissed off about it. Clearly someone needs to install a continental heater up here. I bundle my arms across my chest and lead Ann up the walkway to the beige building. The manicured lawn shakes as we walk by. An average person would blame a breeze, but if you ask me, I’d tell you the truth: The grass is shivering. Who lives up here?
The plain building has two boring white doors next to each other. I step to the right one and press the buzzer. Inside the house a bell rings a pleasant little tune. The blinds next to the door part. Dull eyes peer out from the window and get owl-wide. Blinds snap shut. Thuds and bumps echo within the house.
Fuck me. How in the hell do I still look like a cop wearing a Dolce and Gabanna suit?
I glance at Ann. She shrugs.
I suck in a deep breath and shoulder through the door. A skinny guy in boxer briefs and Scooby Doo T-shirt freezes. He’s holding an external hard drive inside his oven.
“Would you mind stepping away from the oven?” I keep my voice level. The guy is as stable as the street-preacher’s chihuahua so I decide the full-on cop voice isn’t necessary.
He drops the hard drive and steps back. I stroll over and calmly pull the device out. Thirty seconds of pre-heating time won’t melt plastic.
“Kevin Gagnon, I assume.”
Kevin nods. His eyes track all over the room, from the computer desk, to the flat-screen TV with the video game system perched on a milk crate, to a box full of cereal sitting on the floor. Finally, his gaze lands on Ann. His hands cover his crotch, as though he’s just realized he’s standing in front of a woman in his boxer shorts.
“Kevin, we’d like to talk to you about some things.”
His eyes find me. “I-I…um, okay?”
“Things that you’ve been doing on your computer.” I shake the hard drive at him.
Kevin gulps. “It wasn’t me. I, um, was just holding it for a friend.”
“
And this friend is a member of AHA, yeah?” Ann steps up next to me. She has to step delicately to avoid at least six boxes of Easy Mac littering the floor. Even in flats, she seems to have a time navigating the trash-hole that is the apartment. At least the kid doesn’t live with his mom, I guess.
Kevin stares at us. Gape jawed. Somewhat blank. Check that, completely blank.
Ann must pick up on the lack of comprehension, because she says, “Is there information pertaining to anti-hero terrorist operations on this?” She takes the hard drive out of my hand and holds it out toward Gagnon.
He blinks. Gaze shifts from me to Ann to the hard drive. Another blink. Another round about the room.
Ann grunts and takes a seat at Kevin’s computer desk.
Kevin lunges. “Hey, you can’t do that,” he cries. “This is, is, is…this is illegal search-and-seizure.”
“Go cry that bullshit to a Mounty,” I say. “We don’t work for any government. Our rules are a little more…fluid.”
He moves toward the computer.
I let my hand make a wide, obvious movement toward the gun on my hip. Kevin freezes. Good boy.
Ann plugs the hard drive into the computer. After clicking through a couple folders she sighs and swivels in her chair. “Really? This is what you’re worried about?”
Kevin’s face scrunches up. The poor guy must think this is some sort of cop-trap.
“What is it?” I peer over Ann’s shoulder at the screen. Fuzz is all I can see.
She faces the screen. “All right, we’ve got the entire “Die Hard” series, everything remotely related to Terminator, about a hundred gigabytes of music, and a dodgy folder titled ‘Special Videos’ that I don’t exactly feel like clicking on.”
Kevin blushes. Having one’s secret stash unearthed by an SHI agent is pretty high up on the embarrassment charts.
“Any information about AHA?” I keep my gaze on Kevin, hoping for some kind of tell.
“What the hell is AHA?” Kevin infuses gusto in his voice, as if not getting arrested for all kinds of copyright violations has given him a set of balls.
“The Anti-Hero Alliance.” I cross my arms and stare. Tired of playing games, my hunger has climbed beyond the airline sandwich level. “We have information that you are a member who has been in contact with Leroy DeLaCruz.”
“Oh, wait, you mean that bullshit ‘Fuck the Capes’ forum?”
At the mention of the word ‘cape’ Ann stands up from her chair, hand on her gun, jaw clenched.
Kevin puts his hands up and trembles. I don’t blame him. “Okay, okay, take it easy, Lady. Yeah, there’s this forum where humans can get together to complain about the ca—” Kevin swallows the word. “Complain about the heroes. They get everything handed to them. They are above human law and above human government. It’s bullshit.”
“How many people are on this forum?”
Kevin shuffles his feet on the carpet. He kicks an energy drink can. The can falls over and a little splash of caffeine spills onto the floor. “I don’t know. A lot, I guess. I only talked to two guys, really.”
“What were their names?” Ann’s voice has an edge, reminding me of the badass she claimed to be on the plane. SHI training standards are insane, even regular Joes that work desk jobs are required to run a sub-seven minute mile and bench press their own body weight. Or so the rumors go.
“I don’t know their real names. One goes by LDeL…”
Leroy DeLaCruz.
“…and the other goes by ‘CapeH8er69’.” Kevin cringes as he says the name.
“Cape Hater Sixty-Nine?” There is no way this bunch of half-asses infiltrated SHI, avoided super-national security, and blew up the Engine.
“Yeah, but ‘Hater’ is with the number eight. You know, like ‘H-eight-er.’” Kevin draws the number eight in the air with his finger. I briefly debate breaking the finger solely to justify this monumental fucking waste of time.
“I think we’re done here.”
Ann scans the apartment one last time. Her upper lip curls, indicating soon isn’t soon enough.
As I step across the threshold I say, “Oh yeah, Kevin…”
Kevin sits in his computer chair. He leans back, puts his hands behind his head, and watches with a half-smile, cocky now that he thinks he’s getting off.
“I’m going to have SHI monitor your computer. If you post one more inflammatory comment towards superheroes, you are going to find yourself in court for that rather large media collection you seem to have acquired. Understand?”
The attitude fades as quickly as the color in his face.
“Have a nice day.” I wink and slam the door behind me.
Chapter 10
ANN SLAMS HER DOOR with a fury that Hell couldn’t come within light years of. Her face is still flushed with rage and a strand of hair has come loose from her military-spec bun. It dangles in front of one of her hazel eyes. She clearly thinks Kevin should be punched in the face. I can’t fault her for that.
Our driver turns to face us. He takes one glance at Ann’s bottled-up anger before asking me if we are headed back to the airport.
“Actually, you know of any good restaurants?” I’m starving and Ann can’t be far behind.
“Define good,” the driver says, eyeing my suit.
“Burger or pizza good.”
The driver smiles. “Yeah, I know a great spot for a pie. It’s even on the way.”
“Let’s go there.”
The engine roars to life.
“Do you really think now is the best time to be going for some nosh?” Ann’s question comes through gritted teeth. The lack of ‘h’s in her English vocabulary become even more pronounced. Fair enough, I tend to sound much redneckier when I’m pissed.
The driver turns the radio up and beats away a bass line on the steering wheel as he drives. A city brighter than Atlanta lights the night sky.
“What else should we be doing?”
“We should brief Vince on the interrogation.”
“That wasn’t an interrogation. That was a circus. The little shit doesn’t know anything about a terrorist plot, and I’ll be highly surprised if the ‘Dipshit8er’ lead gets us anywhere.”
“In that case, we need to be moving forward to Vegas so we can question River about Tess.”
“You’re right, but I need to eat. That tiny sandwich on the plane isn’t enough to keep my ass going for a sixteen-plus hour day. Especially with no end in sight.”
Ann’s shoulders slump. She probably knows I’m right. The bad posture doesn’t suit her at all.
“You do like pizza, right?”
“Everyone likes pizza. Especially the kind with spinach.”
“Ack,” I say, “spinach on a pizza? Gross. Pepperoni and jalapeño is the only way.”
“We’re here.” The driver comes to a stop outside a small pizzeria.
“Thanks. We’ll be out in thirty.”
I step out of the car and into the street. This city has a kind of bright neon glow about it. The feeling in the air makes me think of a less-crowded Tokyo. Having never been outside of Georgia means I’m no expert in world lighting. I walk around the car and hold out a hand to help Ann. The color on her face has resumed its normal state. Maybe the car ride chilled her out.
The pizza place has plate-glass windows facing the street. There is a miasma of garlic and grease floating outside the store. The smell is a beautiful thing. Through the windows I spot a handful of tables with a few people eating inside. I don’t know what time it is here, but the night seems calm. Probably late enough that most of the sensible people are in bed, leaving only the cool and/or crazy people left out. We walk to the order counter.
The cashier has her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and is wearing a green apron with white flour dusted across the front of it. “Hello, what can I get for you all tonight?”
“Do y’all do spinach pizza here?”
“We sure do.” She smiles. The gesture is friendlier tha
n your typical service worker smile.
“Cool. I’ll take a large pizza with half that and half pepperoni-jalapeño. Oh yeah, and two cokes.” I point to the cooler nearby.
She taps away at her register. “That’s going to be seventeen dollars.”
I pull out my wallet and grab a twenty.
She looks at the bill and winces.
Shit, this is a different fucking country. She meant Canadian Dollars, not American. “Um, take Visa?” I hold up my credit card.
She smiles and takes the card. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring it out when it’s done.”
I open the cooler and grab a Dr. Pepper. “What would you like?”
Ann’s head drops to the side. “You said we were getting Cokes.”
“Yeah, two cokes.”
“But, that’s not a Coke.”
I sigh, getting it now. “Same thing. It’s just an expression. What kind of soda would you like?”
“I’ll have a Coke. You know, the real one with the red label.”
“Very funny.” I grab the drink and we take a seat by the front windows.
“So, you never told me how you found out about your powers.”
Ann traces her finger down her drink, leaving a line through the condensation. She shakes her head like she doesn’t want to tell me, but with a deep breath she starts, “No one knows what kind of powers a person will come out of the Engine with, all right?”
I nod.
“Sometimes it’s obvious. When Fogo came out of the Engine on fire, everyone knew what his power was. Others are more of a mystery. A lot of the heroes come out of the Engine looking exactly as they did when they went in. That’s what happened to me. The researchers weren’t surprised when I came out of the Engine with the same look as when I went in.
“So they put me through a standard set of tests designed to ‘draw out’ my new abilities, understand? Think of a superhero obstacle course. I failed every test. Flying? Nope. Super strength? Not an ounce. Telekinetic abilities? I couldn’t so much as bend a plastic spoon. No one at SHI knew what to do with me. By this point all heroes showed some kind of aptitude. I kept catching researchers whispering about me being a failed hero.”
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