Hero Engine

by Nader, Alexander

  Ann unscrews the cap from her drink. The carbonation hisses, and the drink still foams as she takes a sip. “Finally, they decided on one last tactic. They asked me to go on an actual mission with a tried-and-true hero. Maybe a high-intensity situation would break something loose inside my brain, yeah? Allow me to use my powers or something.

  “The researchers brought in Meltin. His body could turn to liquid, like molten steel, before reshaping and hardening into anything. Meltin was one of the older heroes. They figured his experience might come in handy. That and he was bloody indestructible.”

  I vaguely remember the name. If I remember right, he died in Asheville, North Carolina a couple years back. I don’t remember how he died, but I have a feeling we’re getting to that. My mouth keeps itself shut. It’s a smart mouth like that.

  “First call came in was a bank robbery. Robbers locked themselves inside a main branch. They had hostages and fired shots at police outside. The situation seemed like a perfect way to break in a new superhero or die trying. No one except the highest SHI officials knew about me at this point. I think they planned to sweep me under the rug if I failed.

  “They kept the operation so secret, they didn’t even use Miles to traverse us to the bank. They sent us out by plane. The robbers seemed content to sit in their stalemate and SHI doesn’t care much about a few lives. The whole ‘few for the many’ policy is SHI’s unwritten rule.

  “Meltin and I get to the bank, all right? We meet with the head of the police, tell him we are going in.”

  “Excuse me. I’ve got one half-and-half pizza.” The cashier girl sets the pizza on a stand, pepperoni side facing me, spinach facing Ann. She sets out two plates and tells us to enjoy our meal.

  Ann flashes a weak smile and watches the pizza. I take a slice for myself and set it on my plate to cool. “What happened next?”

  Ann’s eyes shine. No tears, no quivering lip. Just a pair of gleaming greenish globes, reflecting the cheap light hanging over our table. “Meltin tells me to stay behind him. He says, ‘Just because you might have super powers, it don’t mean you’re invulnerable to bullets.’ I walked behind him, willing my body to prove any sort of super power. As we got close to the bank, maybe twenty feet out, the robbers took notice.

  “Two men pointed rifles at us out the shattered front doors. They had bandanas tied around their faces and black leather gloves on. Both their arms were covered in tattoos. Swastikas and skulls and naked women. I could draw those tattoos from memory.” Ann swallows. She takes a slice of pizza and sets it on her plate. Steam rises off the melted cheese. The sweet, earthy scent of spinach drifts in the air around us.

  “The men, they yelled at us to sod off or whatever. Meltin told them we were heroes. He told them their guns were useless against him. He kept walking forward. I stayed in his shadow like a frightened little girl. Finally, ten feet out from the front door, one of the men opened fire. Meltin took a stance like he was about to harden to a shield. I ducked behind him thinking he would stop the bullets just like he always did…” Her voice trails off and her eyes drop to the rapidly chilling piece of pizza.

  “Only, he didn’t stop the bullets, did he?”

  “No.” Her voice is a whisper. “I ended up dragging his body behind the police barricades. Paramedics were waiting, but it was too late, there was nothing to do for him.” Ann picks a spinach leaf off her slice of pizza and drops it on the side of her plate. “And that is how I found out my only super power is nullifying other heroes’ powers.”

  I don’t have any words of comfort. What do you say to a story like that?

  Ann grabs a slice from my side of the pizza. “And so, the Initiative deemed me a danger to heroes. I was forbidden from telling anyone I had been through the Engine. They gave me a desk job where heroes rarely visited and left me there until,” she checks her watch, “seven hours ago.”

  “Oh,” is all I can manage.

  We eat the rest of our pizza in silence, splitting my half of the pizza and leaving the spinach side untouched. When she finishes, she wipes her mouth with a napkin and sets it on top of her cold slice of spinach pizza.

  “Well,” I say, “you ready to go shakedown another hero? Maybe we can use the phonebook to get information out of this one.”

  Chapter 11

  BACK IN THE PLANE, we call Vince before the wheels leave the tarmac. Vince shows up on the screen after a few seconds. He’s wearing his mostly jovial expression, but bags are swelling under his eyes, and he doesn’t seem to be chewing his gum with the same pop as when we met earlier. This long-ass day is starting to show. I wonder if I look that bad. Ann still looks fresh, but her eyes stay closed an extra half-second with every blink.

  “What have you guys got for me?” Vince stifles a yawn.

  “Kevin Gagnon was a bust,” I say. “I don’t think he could have infiltrated an organization like SHI. He might be okay with a computer and may spill over some hate-speak on the weekends, but I doubt he gets any further than passive racism.”

  Vince steeples his hands, chin resting on index fingers. “Did you glean any useful information from the man?”

  I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Something about sitting in the plush leather seat has reminded my body of just how fucking exhausted it is. The bed I left in Atlanta is a world away, now. “He said he talked regularly on a hero hate forum with two guys. One named LDeL…”

  I wait for Vince to make the simple connection. Years on the force has taught me that even bosses like to feel like detectives. So every once in a while, you have to toss them the easy alley-oop.

  “Leroy DeLaCruz. You don’t have to lead me, Quig. I’m more than capable of keeping up.”

  I’ve been wrong before.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  Ann clears her throat. “There was a second person Gagnon spoke with frequently. Screen name: CapeH8er69.” The corners of Ann’s mouth draw back in a grimace.

  Vince’s jaw drops an inch before tightening into a clench. “His name is what?”

  “Cape Hater, ‘hate’ with an ‘eight,’” I draw an imaginary digit in the air much the same as Kevin did earlier tonight, “Sixty-nine.”

  “Sixty-nine,” Vince says. The normally-amused Vince is anything but tickled by this.

  “Yes, it’s an Internet code word for ‘Never been laid,’” I say.

  This prompts a tired smile from Vince. Ann manages a laugh.

  “Do you have a real name for Mr. H8er?” Vince is already typing away at a keyboard.

  “We couldn’t get one out of Kevin, but I don’t imagine you will have a particularly hard time tracking that one down.”

  “I suppose you are right. I assume you two are off to Vegas to check up on River?”

  “Precisely,” Ann says.

  There’s something about hearing the word ‘precisely’ with an English accent that makes it sound much more precise. I expect it to be in a sentence like, ‘The tea will be served at precisely three P.M.’

  “Be careful with River. He’s smart and tricky and will take advantage of his psychic powers if you give him the chance. Ann, I want you by Jim’s side, understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Ann nods.

  “Jim, find out what you can about Gravitess. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can dig up about our possible terrorist friend in cyberspace.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I press a button on the screen, ending the call and folding the monitor back into the tabletop.

  I stretch my arms over my head. The movement does little to ease the tension in my muscles, and I don’t even want to think about the ball of unpleasantness forming in the side of my hip. Chasing DeLaCruz back at SHI headquarters was not friendly for my body. At least I got to clothesline his ass, though.

  Ann reaches down the side of her chair. A footrest springs up and the seat reclines. “We’ve got about forty minutes until we hit Vegas. I’m going to try to catch some sleep, all right? You should do the same.”

  I nod and
reach for a handle on the side of my seat. The chair adjusts and I am wrapped in a warm leather half-womb. My eyelids droop, but after ten minutes of counting non-existent flowers on the wall, I decide that sleep is not happening tonight. Of course, it’s not.

  Three minutes of fumbling with the chair sets me upright. I open the computer on the desk and click around the screen, hoping to find Solitaire or something good. Instead of something useful, like a game, all I can find is a handful of programs I’ve never heard of. Out of boredom, I click on one called ‘Directory.’

  The program opens up to a login screen. Instructions tell me to hold my thumb in the bottom left corner. I do so and the screen says, “Hello Mr. Quig, nice to see you today,” with a feeling that is exactly three percent more genuine than computer telemarketers. In the corner next to my name it says, ‘Access level 2.’

  I have no idea how many levels there are, but at least I’m not the lowest guy on the totem pole. That’s always a bonus. Inside the program, the first folder that pops out is labeled ‘Heroes.’ I click and am given two options, ‘Active’ and ‘Inactive.’ Active, please. A list of all the current superheroes populates. I scroll down until I find a file on River.

  Hero Alias: River

  Real Name: Jesper Gustaffson

  Birthplace: Stockholm, Sweden

  Recruited From: Local police force

  Date of Birth: September 14, 1978

  Date of Engineering: June 1, 2004

  Powers Given: Ability to control minds of humans and other heroes. Ability to move small objects telekinetically, but greatest power lies in subliminal suggestion.

  Notes: May 7, 2005: River has started to display an affinity for gambling. Keep close watch.

  October 22, 2006: River’s propensity for gambling is becoming a problem. After a three-day leave, agents physically removed River from The Grand Hotel and Casino.

  January 17, 2008: After many run-ins over gambling, River appears under control. He still visits the Grand Hotel with some regularity, but no more drunken outbursts as have been his trademark up to this point. Will continue to monitor closely.

  November 1, 2011: River is on probation for six months after using excessive force to apprehend a serial killer. Suspect kept swatches of skin trophies from his victims. Once in custody, River controlled the suspect’s mind, forcing the killer to flay himself to death.

  October 12, 2013: River disciplined for drinking at Headquarters. He was discovered on the flight deck of building, naked and urinating into the ocean. He threw a bottle of whiskey at one of the men who tried to detain him, resulting in ten stitches for agent’s facial laceration.

  Well, this River character sounds like quite an interesting fellow. A drunk gambler who apparently doesn’t think much of authority. This should be peachy.

  As if the world can sense my apprehension and laughs in the face of my fear, the plane banks left. Out the window, I spot the neon shithole that is Las Vegas.

  Chapter 12

  ANN WAKES UP as the plane touches down. “Did you get any sleep?” She pushes her palms against her eyelids to clear the fog of waking.

  “Nah. I did some reading on our interogatee while you were out.”

  Ann purses her lips. “Find out anything interesting?”

  “He seems like a drunk who likes to gamble away his days.”

  Ann drops her smile. “Everyone knows that. Do you not remember back in,” she tilts her head and looks up at the ceiling, “oh-five, oh-six maybe, he got kicked out of the Luxor?”

  I shake my head.

  “Yeah. He caught a guy cheating at a craps table.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “He made the man slam his own head against the table. Repeatedly. No one stops River. Eventually, the guy passed out and broke the hold. The man needed facial reconstructive surgery and, from what I’ve seen, he still didn’t come out quite the same.”

  “Great. River sounds like a real charmer.” I get out of the plane and walk down the runway where another black SUV awaits us. We hop in the back and a friendly old driver reaches back to shake my hand. He’s apparently FBI, but his gray hair and mustache make him resemble a butler more than anything.

  “Charmed to meet you,” the driver says. “Where can I take you this evening?”

  “The Grand, if you would be so kind.” I lean back wishing I’d gotten some sleep. My muscles are heavy and lifeless. Hopefully, I don’t get into any more fist fights.

  The hotel-casino is only a short drive from the airport. Our friendly old driver drops us off at the front and says he’ll keep an eye out.

  The sluttiness of Vegas is in full, tail-feathered display. Hundred-thousand dollar sports cars wait for valets. Barely-dressed women hand out pamphlets for brothels. Big-time gamblers strut around like losing at thousand-dollar-a-hand blackjack tables is no big thing. I want to go back to Georgia.

  “So what’s the plan?” Ann leans close to my ear to be heard over the din of the city around us.

  I take the tie off my neck and hand it to her. The basics of a plan are rolling around in my head. I unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt, take my gun out of the holster and tuck it in the back of my waistband.

  “What are you doing?” Ann takes the gun holster I hand her and holds it in the same hand as the tie.

  “I’m going to try to have a peaceable chat with River. From what I read in his file, he’s not big on authority-type figures, so it’s going to do me absolutely zero good to go in there with my cop-face on. Maybe if I approach him with a ‘mutual interests’ kind of vibe, this won’t end in a fistfight.”

  A man in a torn-up Army Surplus jacket runs up to us with a fast food cup extended. One of the valets rushes him, shouldering the guy out of our path. A handful of pennies scatter across the neon-lit, check that, the LCD-lit parking lot. A man in a nice suit with a Grand nametag offers his apologies. He hands us each a ten-dollar playing chip.

  As the manager struts off, Ann scowls at him. “All that poor homeless guy wanted was some change and they tackled him like he just tried to assassinate the President.”

  I shrug, not sure what to say. The whole altercation is just some shit that doesn’t quite happen where I come from. Even the old crazies are treated with a kind of light-hearted reverence in the south.

  Ann takes her gaze off the casino worker and turns back to me. “So what’s my role in this whole deal?”

  She’s not going to like this one bit. “I need you to hang back and keep an eye on me from a distance.”

  Her mouth flattens into a straight line. “Have you lost your marbles? I know you’re exhausted, but you’re not stupid.”

  I think that may have hurt my ego, but I’m too tired to figure out how heavily I’ve just been insulted. “Yes, I heard what you said, but I need to convince River to talk to me. He needs to think I’m an open book. If he tries his psychic ability on me and nothing happens, my plan will never work.”

  Ann’s expression stays the same. “I don’t like this.”

  “You don’t have to like it, but I know you understand. You’re rested and you’re not stupid.”

  The comment cracks Ann’s face as her concern crumbles. “Fine, but I’m keeping close. If anything goes wrong, I’m stepping in.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine. Just a couple guys chatting over a game of cards. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  The look on Ann’s face tells me she’s going through each and every one of the terrible things that could happen.

  “Cheer up, Sourpuss.” I give her my chip. “Give the slot machines a ‘go’ on the casino’s dime.”

  She takes the money. I head for the casino before I lose my nerve.

  Bombarded with more flashing light than I ever thought possible, this place is like I’ve walked into an epileptic nightmare. Seriously, does the city have seizure warning signs on the outskirts of the town? Two long rows of slot machines and video poker line the aisles. To the left is a long bar and to
the right is the entrance to some form of auditorium. I wonder if Richard Cheese is playing tonight. That’s one lounge act I would love to catch.

  I walk down the rows of video machines. Old women with fanny packs and Big Gulps sit and perform a ‘Coin, pull, lose,’ routine times infinity. Once I’m through the slots, the table games come into view. Roulette and craps and blackjack go round at a frantic pace. Shouts of victory and defeat pollute the air to toxic levels of drunken douchebaggery.

  No one at the tables looks like River, so I shoulder my way back to the darker corners of the room. Up ahead is a semi-circle table with only two people present: A dealer and a very blond gentleman. I glance over my shoulder and find Ann taking a place at the farthest craps table with a view of River. She’s got a good eye – I’m impressed. Hopefully, she’s not affecting his powers.

  River stretches in his chair, an empty bottle of Irish whiskey sitting on the felt next to him. He taps the table for a card and then sweeps a lock of hair behind his ear. I dig out my wallet and scrounge up a couple twenties. The chances of that buying me into this game are slim, but I’ll see how it plays out.

  “This seat taken?” I motion to the chair next to River.

  Pale blue eyes take me in. He smiles wide and slaps the seat in question. “Yeah sure,” he says. His accent sounds like a doped-up leprechaun without all that Irish purry bullshit. “It does get so lonely while drinking all by one’s self.”

  “Don’t tell that to George Thorogood.” I take a seat and hold my twenties out to the dealer.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but you’ll have to exchange for tokens at the money counter.” He points toward the opposite corner of the room. “Nearest one is that way.” His lip curls. He adjusts his vest before dropping his arms to his side.

  “Oh, shit, sorry.” I start to get up, but River stops me.

  “It’s okay, I’ll spot you a few to get started.” He slides a hundred bucks worth of chips my way. “Tony, let’s call this next couple hands at a twenty dollar buy-in. That should give my cop friend here at least five hands to get some information out of me. More if he bets wisely.” River winks at me.