by Matt Cowper
Light Racer stared at the cop. The cop stared back.
And again Light Racer looked away. Round two to Vannetti.
“Very well,” Light Racer said loftily. “If you choose to turn a blind eye to this man’s nihilistic actions, I can’t stop you. The Elites aid law enforcement, but we do our utmost not to interfere.”
“That’s really kind of ya,” Vannetti says.
“That being said, we do have our own institution that deals specifically with rogue superhumans: the Superhuman Ethics Council. I will bring this matter before them, and they will decide if John Wagner has violated any Codes or Regulations.”
And he was gone. Another breeze that sent paper flying, and then the air was still.
“Oh,” sniffled Bouncing Brunette, “he ran off. Probably to go save the world. Which is great and all, but…I didn’t give him my number.”
“Don’t worry about that lost opportunity, darling,” I said, sliding close to her. “He wouldn’t know what to do with you anyway. Me, on the other hand….”
She shot me a look as frigid as the Antarctic Anarchist’s iceberg lair. To make her feelings even clearer, she turned up her nose and returned to her teller station to straighten up.
Yup, I was still toast, even though Spandex Boy was gone.
Still, things weren’t all bad. We’d made Light Racer look like a buffoon, and distracted Dak long enough for him to get over his battle-lust. My arm was swirling orange and yellow, with a few splashes of black here and there, which meant Dak was in a relatively subdued mood.
I turned to Vannetti and nodded in thanks.
“Appreciate it,” I said. “Dak here was getting riled up, and a fight with an Elite is something I do not want.”
“Feisty as ever, ain’t ya, Dak?” Vannetti said. “Good on ya for wanting to stick it to him.”
“Yes, it is unfortunate you two men caused him to retreat,” Dak rumbled, “but then, that just proves he is a coward, and not worthy of the tiny expenditure of power it would take to eradicate him.”
“That’s right,” Vannetti said, chuckling. “You hit the nail on the head, Dak.”
“I hit many nails on many heads. I also hit many heads on many nails. For I am the God of Destruction. This is what I do.”
“Of course, of course,” Vannetti said. “We know how you operate, Dak. Keep up the good work.”
“I shall do so. And you: keep destroying crime. It pleases me.”
“Will do, pal,” Vannetti said. “So, Johnny, how’s business?”
“Picking up,” I replied. “I had a meeting at 9:30, but then I got tied up here.”
“Well, shit, get on over to the office,” Vannetti said. “We’ll take care of this mess. Ain’t nothing to cart off these idiots and write ‘superhuman stops bank robbery’ on an incident report.”
“Thanks, Vannetti.”
“And don’t worry about that Ethics Council bullshit,” Vannetti said. “I’ll stop that cold – ha, get it? Cold? Frozen robbers?”
“I’m not worried about it,” I said. “This is the third time this year some superhero stooge has threatened me with their kangaroo court. But hey, if you want to throw another monkey wrench in the works, go right ahead.”
“Oh, I will,” Vannetti said, grinning wickedly. “I do love throwing monkey wrenches.”
“Alright, I’m outta here,” I said. “Actually, wait – I still need to cash my check.”
I walked over to Miss Pickens’s station, but the old woman had torn up the check and was standing there crying.
“You done me wrong, Sam,” she sobbed. “You done me wrong. Why oh why….”
I sighed. Looked like I was going to be even later to that appointment.
Chapter Two
“Good morning, Miss Tuppingham,” I panted as I entered my office. I’d jogged the last few blocks, hoping to get here before my 9:30 decided to vamoose. “How are you?”
“I’m excellent, Mr. Wagner,” my secretary replied, smiling. “Jared defragged me a bit last night – about ten percent of my mind, which is a lot, let me tell you, why, it took about five hours – and I’m thinking so clearly today!”
“That’s great,” I replied, grabbing some tissues from the box on Erna’s desk to wipe off my sweat. “But ten percent in five hours? With a mind like yours, I would’ve thought it would take days to defrag that much.”
“Oh, Mr. Wagner, you flatter me so! If I was a younger robot, I’d think you were hitting on me!”
Yes, Erna Tuppingham Mark-355 was a robot, probably the nicest one you’d ever meet. She was designed to look like a seventy-five-year old grandmother, complete with liver spots, turkey neck, and thin white hair. Jared, her “grandson,” did an amazing job on her; she even knew his deceased grandmother’s recipes and all the songs she used to sing. I knew it was going to be a good day when Erna came to work with a plate of her delicious peanut brittle while crooning “Meet Me at Space Sector 2599.”
Jared also threw in some upgrades that have gotten me out of more than a few sticky situations, but it was the kindness and humility that really made her shine.
I looked around the small – excuse me, cozy – interior of my office, but no one was sitting in the dented steel folding chairs in the waiting area. The door to my personal office was closed, however, and I could make out a figure through the frosted glass.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “Had to beat up a few right-wing nutjobs.”
“They deserved complete eradication,” Dak rumbled, “not the paltry injuries you inflicted on them.”
“Oh, Dak,” Erna said. “There you go again, wishing everyone was destroyed. You know, suppose you did destroy everything in existence? What would you do then? You’d be bored to tears!”
“I would not be bored at all,” Dak rumbled. “I would simply destroy the nothingness.”
I wanted to ask just how nothingness could be destroyed, but that question would probably lead to a long, confusing conversation, and I had a client to meet. “Is that my 9:30 in there?”
“Yes, it is,” Erna replied. “Her name’s Julia Anderson. She’s been waiting patiently. I talked with her a bit to keep her company, but then she shooed me away, said she’d be fine by herself.”
“She a superhuman?” I asked.
“No, I scanned her as thoroughly as I could. No superhuman abilities, no tech. However, her husband is – or was – a superhero. That’s why she’s here.”
“Was?” I said. “He’s dead? Or did he lose his powers?”
“He died,” Erna said sadly. I almost expected to see tears; most robots didn’t cry, but Jared had installed tear glands in Erna, and she was a gusher. This time, however, she held back the waterfalls. “It’s just too bad, Mr. Wagner. It’s just too bad.”
“Superheroing is a tough business,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t say I knew how tough; Erna didn’t know about my past as the Daring Destroyer, and I wanted to keep it that way. It’s not that I didn’t trust her; I did, but if someone captured her and hacked into her system, everything she knew would be there for the taking. Better to keep my secrets to myself.
“Who was her husband?” I asked.
“Captain Neptune,” Erna replied softly.
“Huh. I read about that. Didn’t one of his arch-nemeses finally do him in?”
“Yes, it was Gray Squirrel,” Erna said. “That miserable little man. I’m glad he’s finally locked up for good.”
Captain Neptune died just last week – I remembered the newspaper articles, the breathless news reports on the television and radio, the candlelight vigils, and the funeral procession down Main Avenue. He wasn’t one of the Elites, but he wasn’t an also-ran either; everyone remembered him saving the city from Gale Force’s tidal wave a few years back. He was also active in environmental issues, his ability to communicate with aquatic life aided scientific research, and his control of water currents meant he could contain oil spills or other man-made accidents. A true pillar of the
community.
It was a shock to everyone when Gray Squirrel killed him – probably a shock to Gray Squirrel, too. The guy was the smallest of small-time villains, never much of a threat even to teenage superheroes. I mean, he dressed up as an eastern gray squirrel and threw nut-bombs at people, and he chattered just like the actual tree-rodents. I never faced him myself, but Captain Neptune walloped him regularly. I remember Neptune once said in an interview that Squirrel was a pitiful man, that he didn’t really mind getting beat up, as long as someone paid attention to him.
“Case sounds interesting already,” I said. “Oh, before I forget – see if Mardi Grass can get me a new door. I mean, look at that wood – it looks like it’s been pulled up from a shipwreck.”
“Well, sir, she may be…uhm…unhelpful, since you haven’t paid your rent this month.”
“Oh. Yeah. Forgot. You’re right. Don’t contact her. And if she stops by asking for a mowing, tell her I’m not interested in being her lawn boy.”
“Certainly, Mr. Wagner.”
“Alright, I’m going in,” I said, spritzing my mouth with some Mint Zing freshener. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, sir! I know you’ll convince her that Godlike Investigative Services can handle all of her needs!”
“Thanks, Erna.”
Like I said: kindness and humility.
I opened the door to my personal office and shut it softly behind me. Julia Anderson looked over at me as I entered. She was wearing a long skirt and a blouse with a few too many wrinkles, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She probably wasn’t more than thirty-five, but she already looked old and worn. She gave me a thin smile as I held out my hand.
“Johnny Wagner,” I said. “The Godlike PI himself. Sorry I’m late.”
She shook my hand weakly. “I’m Julia Anderson. Please, call me Julia.”
“And call me Johnny,” I said, smiling and moving to my desk chair. I sat down, got my legal pad and pen ready, and gave Mrs. Anderson my most winsome smile.
“First off, let me offer my condolences,” I said. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Thank you,” Julia said, again smiling thinly. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. It’s about his murder.”
“Yes, Gray Squirrel—”
“No, I don’t believe that,” she said, shaking her head with a surprising amount of animation. “At least, I don’t think he meant to kill my husband. I…I just don’t think he had that much hatred in him.”
I recalled the news channels had shown footage of Captain Neptune’s death, with some parts blurred out to protect the more squeamish viewers.
“Wasn’t there a video or something?” I asked. “I remember something odd about it….”
“Yes, there’s a video of the…of my husband’s death. There was a traffic camera set up at an intersection, and it caught Gray Squirrel tossing one of his nut-bombs at Patrick…that’s my husband, by the way.”
“Yes, I remember reading about you both in the paper,” I said. “He seemed like a good guy.”
“He was,” Julia said, her eyes glistening. “I…I’m sorry. This is still tough….”
“It’s OK,” I said. “Take your time.”
Julia sniffled and wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath and regained her composure.
“So, as I was saying, this video…Gray Squirrel was robbing a pawn shop, and my husband happened to notice the robbery, so he ran after him. They got to this intersection, and Squirrel threw a nut-bomb at my husband, and…well, you need to see for yourself. Do you mind looking it up? It’s on YayTube.”
“Sure, not a problem,” I said, swiveling around in my chair to my computer desk, where my ancient Yay-PC Maestro sat. As I opened the Iceberg browser, the computer’s innards groaned like someone who’d eaten too many burritos. I really needed to upgrade, but to do that I needed money, which was perpetually in short supply.
Julia stood up and walked over, looking over my shoulder.
“Just type in ‘Captain Neptune death’,” she said when the browser finally got to YayTube.
I did so, and the screen filled with thumbnails of different videos, most of them showing a busy intersection.
“Are you sure you want to watch this again?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “It’s…it’s important that I don’t forget.”
I nodded and clicked the first thumbnail, and we waited for it to load, which took another eternity. Despite my computer’s slowness, Julia didn’t fidget or comment; I could actually feel her stillness. It seemed like she was doing this out of duty.
The video loaded, showing pedestrians and cars moving through the intersection. There wasn’t any audio, so there was an eerie disconnect. About ten seconds in, a man wearing a furry gray suit, big pointy ears, and a long bushy tail rushed into the picture – Gray Squirrel. He knocked various pedestrians aside and dashed across the intersection, causing cars to swerve and drivers to shake their fists.
Then Captain Neptune surged into view. His muscles bulged out of his green and yellow spandex, and his long strides made him look like an Olympic-caliber sprinter, especially compared to Gray Squirrel’s mincing waddle. He was on the hapless villain’s tail in seconds – literally, as he stomped on Gray Squirrel’s trail, causing the dolt to slam to a halt.
Gray Squirrel turned around, said something no doubt meant to be intimidating, reached into his giant utility belt, and pulled out one of his nut-bombs. It was shaped like an acorn, but it was melon-sized.
Captain Neptune simply stood there, a paragon of superhero resolve, giving what appeared to be a lecture to his adversary. Neptune had enhanced durability, in addition to super-strength and his aquatic-based powers, so I guess he wasn’t afraid of Squirrel’s pathetic little bombs.
He should’ve been afraid of this one.
Gray Squirrel tossed it at Neptune, and it nailed him right in the forehead. An explosion, colored deep blue, knocked both men backwards – but Gray Squirrel was only scratched up, while Captain Neptune was now headless, a pool of blood oozing out of his neck.
A blue flash – had the bomb been made of null-raxite? Of course, an adept bomb-maker could construct his bombs so that they produced explosions in any or all colors, but that blue shade was the natural color of a null-raxite detonation.
“That was an impressive slaughter,” Dak rumbled. “Of course, it is not to be compared to any of my feats of ruination, but for a mortal in a squirrel costume, it is good.”
“Don’t you fucking open your mouth and gloat over this poor woman’s husband.”
“Do not pretend to be upset, John Wagner. I remember you ridiculing this Captain of Neptune many times as being part of the ‘boring-ass nice-guy spandex brigade.’”
“That doesn’t mean I want the guy dead!”
“Why do you not desire death for a fool? I do not understand your human hypocrisies.”
“There,” Julia said, stepping forward and pointing at the screen. “Look at Gray Squirrel’s reaction.”
I snapped my attention back to the screen. Gray Squirrel scrambled backwards a few feet, his eyes wide, then he covered his mouth with his hands and stared at Neptune’s fallen body. He stayed in this position for at least a minute, rocking slightly back and forth, until several cops sprinted onto the scene. They looked in horror at Captain Neptune’s corpse, then started yelling at Squirrel. It looked like things were going to get ugly, but one of the cops pushed through the group, got Squirrel in handcuffs, and dragged him out of the camera’s shot. It appeared the other cops heckled the by-the-book cop, but they didn’t follow him.
The video continued on for about another minute, with the remaining cops trying to direct traffic and keep the public away from Captain Neptune’s body, before fading to black.
I looked up at Julia. Her eyes were shining again, but again she suppressed her tears.
“Mrs. Anderson, are you—”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, looki
ng away. “I’m not going to break down. I’ve already done that – too many times. And as I said, please call me Julia.”
“Alright,” I said. “You said something about Gray Squirrel’s reaction?”
“Yes,” she said, turning back and looking me determinedly in the eye. “Look at how he acted when his bomb went off. He was completely surprised – he had no idea it would be that powerful. And he didn’t run away. He just sat there, waiting to be arrested.”
“Maybe it was just remorse,” I said. “Maybe he planned on murdering your husband, but once the deed was done, the weight of what he did sunk in.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She returned to her seat and sat down, clasping her hands in front of her. “Homer wouldn’t do that.”
“Homer?” I said, swiveling back to my desk.
“That’s Gray Squirrel’s real name: Homer Bollinger. Everyone finally learned his identity – and my husband’s, too – after he…after my husband died, and Homer was thrown in jail. He worked at Yay-Mart, but he apparently inherited some money – that’s how he bought all his super-villain equipment.”
“Yeah, working at Yay-Mart would be a good cover,” I said, scribbling. “Well, I guess death is the great unmasker, isn’t it?”
“Sort of,” Julia said. “But at least one other person knew my husband’s identity when he was still alive: Gray Squirrel.”
I jotted down a quick note, then leaned forward. “I don’t remember seeing anything about that.”
“It’s never been mentioned,” Julia said, some anger bubbling to the surface. “I told the cops and the prosecutor about it, but they said it was a detour they didn’t need to take. Everyone’s just rushing Homer though the system so they can toss him in MegaMax.”
“I’m sorry if this is rude,” I said, “but we just watched a video that clearly showed Gray Squirrel killing your husband. Now unless the original video is a fake….”
“It isn’t. Or at least the experts say it isn’t.”
“And it looks like there were plenty of witnesses….”
“Yes,” Julia said, “there were.”
“OK, so I’m confused. Isn’t that all the proof you need?”