Double Lives (Johnny Wagner, Godlike PI Book One)

by Matt Cowper

  “I am no gimmick,” Dak rumbled. “I am—”

  “Yes, yes, you’re so powerful and threatening,” Woodruff said, chuckling. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing a god is angry with me.”

  “I will smite you, you grinning baboon,” Dak said. “When Dakroth’gannith’formaz is done with—”

  “Please be quiet,” Woodruff said, like he was trying to calm a toddler. “Now, I see Mrs. Anderson has Comfortable Fortress technology, which may mean she is able to record the goings-on inside her house. However, please note that nothing can record me; the tech on my person is beyond your comprehension, so I won’t explain it. Just know that nothing I said will be transcribed, so don’t think you can go running to the some reporter with an exposé.”

  He moved past me, but then his eyes lit up. “Oh, I forgot about the other things!” He smiled apologetically. “There were apparently more than a few women in Captain Neptune’s life, and I’ve heard he treated them quite roughly—”

  “Stop it!” Julia yelled, jumping up from the couch. “You’re…you’re contemptible….”

  “Mommy, I’m scared!” a pint-sized voice squealed.

  We all turned, and saw Julia’s daughter, Molly, standing in the hall. She was dressed in purple pajamas and holding tightly to a teddy bear. Her bottom lip quivered as she looked up at us with innocent eyes.

  “Molly, it’s OK,” Julia said softly. “Go back upstairs.”

  “But there was yelling and…are there bad men here?”

  “No, no, of course not, sweetling!” Woodruff said, rushing over and bending down to peer at her. “We’re just having an adult conversation. Sometimes adult conversations get a bit heated. But don’t you—”

  “I don’t like you,” Molly said, stepping back and putting her teddy bear in front of her, like a shield. “I think you’re the bad man.”

  Surprisingly, this seemed to deflate the chief prosecutor. He stared at Molly, finally at a loss for words. Molly returned the gaze, her pixie face set in the candid stare of a child. After a few moments – a pause that wasn’t mathematically-calculated – he stood back up and moved to the door.

  “Good day, folks,” he said weakly. “Think long and hard about your next move.”

  Then he was gone, leaving behind two angry but helpless adults and one frightened but brave child.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Mommy, what’s happening?” Molly asked, shuffling over to her mother and looking up at her beseechingly.

  “Nothing, chattermonkey,” Julia said, picking up her child. “That man who just left was being mean, but now that he’s gone, everything’s OK.”

  “What about that man?” Molly asked, pointing at me with her teddy bear. “Is he mean, too?”

  “No, he isn’t,” Julia said. She bounced Molly a few times and gave me a brittle smile. “He’s trying to help us. He’s a private detective.”

  “Oh.” My vocation apparently didn’t impress her.

  “Name’s Johnny Wagner,” I said, extending my left hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And I am Dakroth’gannith’formaz, little one,” Dak rumbled. “I see you are carrying what humans call a teddy bear. I do not think this is a suitable toy for a child. I suggest you play with action figures and barbed wire. You can never start down the path of destruction too early.”

  “Dak, leave the kid alone!” I yelled.

  “What was that, mommy?” Molly said, looking around excitedly. “Someone’s talking to me, but I can’t see them!”

  “It’s Mr. Wagner’s God Arm,” Julia said. “It’s kind of quirky. I’ll explain it to you later. Now back to your room. Me and Mr. Wagner have a lot to discuss.”

  She set Molly down and the youngster bounded out of the room. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and yelled back to us in her squeaky voice. “Nice to meet you, Dakithgoofyfoz!” Then she thumped up the stairs, giggling.

  “That is not my name, child,” Dak said. “Come back here and recite my appellation until it is seared into your mind!”

  “You’re upsetting my client,” I said. “We’ve talked about this over and over.”

  “It’s fine, Johnny,” Julia said, returning to her seat on the couch. “I thought it lightened the mood a little.” She frowned and stared down at the messy coffee table. “We certainly need some levity after that.”

  I sat down in the recliner Woodruff had only recently vacated. It was still warm from his prestigious buns.

  “Is any of that true?” I asked.

  Julia whipped her head towards me. She balled up her fists, and I thought she was going to throw one of the piled-high newspapers or magazines at me.

  “It’s….” She trailed off, and her anger was gone before it even got above room temperature.

  “I’m not trying to be harsh, Mrs. Anderson,” I said. “Not after that satanic performance Woodruff just gave. But I don’t think you’ve told me everything.”

  Julia stared into the past for several long moments. Finally she rose and walked over to the dusty mantel, where a half dozen framed family photos sat. She picked up one of herself and Patrick and smiled grimly.

  “I had my suspicions,” she said. “We suddenly had more money. Patrick told me he got a raise, but he was a schoolteacher – they don’t get raises that big.” She placed the photograph back on the mantel – but face down this time. “I just put my head in the sand and pretended everything would be fine – and now he’s dead.”

  “Maybe Patrick got in over his head,” I said. “If he was running drugs, it’s possible one of the drug kingpins killed him.”

  “Maybe,” Julia. “He did act strange sometimes, like he was on something, but I didn’t…I just thought he was stressed from being a superhero as well as a teacher, husband, and father. Maybe he was over-stressed, and that’s how he dealt with it, with drugs.”

  I wanted to tell her that Gray Squirrel suspected his arch-nemesis had been using drugs, but before I could speak, Julia continued: “And now Woodruff says Patrick was cheating on me….”

  She walked over to a window and stood peering out at the side yard. “Patrick used to be…average. Like me. I’m not going to win any beauty contests. I know that. I’m just an average woman who wanted to marry an average man and have an average life.”

  She glanced over at me, perhaps expecting me to contradict her self-description, but I said nothing.

  “Like I said, Patrick used to be average,” Julia continued. “A few pounds overweight. A bit pale. But then the accident happened. He became Captain Neptune. You saw how he looked. Muscular, square jaw, eyes like…like emeralds.” A sob escaped from her. “But he was still married to me. Little old me. I thought for sure he’d divorce me. All the women, everywhere we went…I knew what their looks meant. But he didn’t divorce me. He stayed loyal. I mean, I suspected he had a mistress or two, but….”

  “So he changed physically?” I asked. “How did you explain that to everyone?”

  “After the accident, Patrick took a two-week vacation – by himself,” Julia said bitterly. “When he got back, we simply told everyone he’d been to some intense wilderness camp in the mountains and got himself in shape. Everyone believed it – the women especially.”

  Julia returned to the couch and stared angrily at the newspapers on the coffee table, the very things that soon might drag her and her dead husband through the mud.

  “Woodruff said something about the women being treated rough,” I said.

  “I don’t know anything about that. He never struck me – never. Molly either.”

  “Did you argue? Fight?”

  “No, not really,” Julia said. “Patrick had a way of just brushing me off. He was Captain Neptune, after all. Who was I to question him?”

  I let a few moments pass before I continued.

  “So everything Woodruff said could be true,” I said.

  “I don’t know – maybe.”

  I sighed and stood up. “Before you make any d
ecisions about how to handle this, you should hear what Gray Squirrel and Waverush told me.”

  “Woodruff said you talked to Homer. I was amazed you convinced that Burt Harrison fellow to let you in there.”

  “In retrospect, it doesn’t look like it was a good idea,” I said. “I have to apologize—”

  “Don’t. I hired you to do a job. You’re doing that job.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “What did Homer say?” Julia said bluntly.

  I sat down beside her. “He said he had no idea that bomb was made of null-raxite. He thought it was a device that would swap his and your husband’s minds.”

  “But…why on earth….”

  “Homer revered your husband. He wanted what Patrick had. And, to be blunt, I think he wanted you.”

  “Me?” Julia’s hand went to her throat and her bloodshot eyes shifted around uncertainly. She looked like a wallflower who’d just been chosen for a dance by the prom king. “I don’t understand.”

  “He said he spied on you and your family from afar,” I said. “With your home protected by Comfortable Fortress tech, he was too spooked to try closer surveillance. What he saw…well, he wanted what Patrick had – including you. He said you were unhappy, and that he could make you happy.”

  Julia looked away and hugged herself. “I know I wasn’t content with our life, not really. But…to want to take control of my husband…and what about Patrick? His mind would have been in Gray Squirrel’s body, right?”

  “Yeah, it would,” I said. “Homer said he would’ve locked his old body up in one of his hideouts. He stressed that he wouldn’t have killed Patrick – or Gray Squirrel, or however you want to look at it. For what it’s worth, I believe him.”

  “What else did he say?” Julia asked. “How did he find out my husband was Captain Neptune?”

  “Your husband told him, not directly, but—”

  “Told him?”

  “Yes. He said, ‘Patrick used to be like you’ during one of their battles. Homer suspected he was on some sort of drugs, something that had clouded his judgment. He didn’t know what Neptune meant, but he started to check out all the Patricks in Z City. He eventually stumbled upon a Patrick Anderson in the newspaper – some article talking about an award your husband had won – and from there he was able to deduce that your husband was also Captain Neptune.”

  “‘Patrick used to be like you’…yes, Patrick used to be like Homer, I guess, but then, as I told you, he changed. To speak about himself like that….”

  “Yeah, it sounds like he had a split personality,” I said, “or it could have just been the drugs.”

  “I…I don’t know what to think about all that.” She looked down at the coffee table. “It sounds like Patrick was an insane criminal and an abusive womanizer! And Homer, wanting to impersonate my husband – it’s all so crazy!”

  She fell silent for several minutes. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking; she was just staring down at the paper-covered coffee table, in a sort of stupor.

  “Julia?” I said finally. “Are you OK?”

  She looked at me with wide eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “You hired me to find out the truth,” I said, “and that’s one part of the truth – if we believe Homer and Woodruff, that is.”

  “Yes,” Julia said softly, “I suppose it is.”

  “So do you want me to keep going?” I asked. “After what I’ve told you, no one would blame you if you said to hell with Squirrel, that he could rot in his cell forever. And then you’ve got Woodruff to contend with.”

  I wasn’t going to mention I’d promised Homer I’d find out who set him up. Woodruff’s threat made keeping that promise impossible at this juncture; I wasn’t going to jeopardize Julia’s life, promise or not.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She scrunched into the couch, as if she was hoping it would swallow her so she didn’t have to make a decision. “What about Waverush? You mentioned something about him.”

  “Yes, we had a…heated argument.” I debated telling her about my fight with the so-called superhero, but the fact that I was rescued by an assassin who’d been hired to kill her husband nixed that idea. “He said you wanted revenge on Patrick, and that you’d ruin the reputations of a lot of heroes if they happened to get in your line of fire.”

  “He said that?” She un-scrunched herself and perched on the edge of couch, her hands gripping her knees. “That’s ridiculous! That’s not who I am!”

  “I’m just telling you what he told me,” I said. “You mentioned Patrick’s and Waverush’s problems when we first met, but I think this is more than just a tiff between former partners. Waverush knows something – maybe he knows everything.”

  “Everything?” Julia said, as if the weight of that word was going to crush her.

  “It’s possible,” I said. “I’d love to have another chat with him and find out.” I gave her a meaningful look. “Or you could tell me what you know about him.”

  “I…don’t feel comfortable doing that. As I told you when we first talked, I don’t want to slip up and reveal his identity. It’s not fair to him.”

  “While that’s a nice thought, trust me when I say Waverush isn’t giving you – or me – the same consideration.”

  “I understand that,” Julia said, “but I’m not going to stoop to his level.” Her feet rubbed against the carpet restlessly. “As far as I know, he hasn’t done anything illegal – and that’s all I’ll say.”

  I decided to let the matter rest; if I kept pushing Julia, she’d either break down completely or lash out at me. I’d just have a chat with Waverush when he regained consciousness, and hope he didn’t throw me into Jameson Bay again – that is, if Julia wanted to continue with this, which she still hadn’t committed to doing.

  “So, I have to ask again,” I said. “Do you want to keep going?”

  She sighed and scrunched back up into the couch. “I…I still don’t know what to do. I don’t want the press to attack us, to ask me a million questions. I couldn’t handle it. They’d camp out in front of our home, we’d never get a moment’s rest….”

  “Yeah, Woodruff would find a way to keep the fires stoked. He’d probably strongarm one of the networks into making a television special about all this. And if Woodruff decides to charge you with anything….”

  “He can’t,” Julia said, though her fear was evident. “I didn’t do anything. I—”

  “He probably knows you didn’t do anything,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t find a way to throw you in prison. He could probably make a conspiracy or an obstruction of justice charge stick.”

  A few more sobs shook her thin body, but then she abruptly wiped away her tears and looked over at me. “What about you? He threatened you, too.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “If he tries to run me out of Z City, me and Dak will pound those perfect cheekbones into gravel. Ain’t that right, buddy?”

  “We will do more than that,” Dak rumbled. “We will string him up by his intestines so the crows can feast on his still-living body. Then, once his agony has reached its pinnacle, we will douse his flesh with acid, and stab his eyes with—”

  “OK, that’s enough,” I said. “We can do without the graphic description.”

  “No, that is not enough, John Wagner,” Dak said, his voice cracking like a spiked whip. “I am worked up now. I must destroy.”

  “Dammit, Dak….”

  “What does he mean, he must destroy?” Julia asked.

  “Well, he’s the God of Destruction, so if he doesn’t wreck something every so often, he gets ornery.”

  “I don’t understand….”

  “I have to unleash him soon, or he’ll take matters into his own hands and probably end up blowing a truck-sized hole through your wall.”

  “Oh.” She looked around frantically, and I was about to tell her to calm down, that I could control him for a few more minutes, but then she motioned to the coffee
table, stacked high with print media. “Destroy all this. I want it gone. Will that work?”

  “But…aren’t those—”

  “Yes, most of them have stories about my husband,” she said defiantly, “but they’re not…they’re not real. I want them gone. If you don’t destroy them, I will.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable—”

  She leaned over and touched my arm – my God Arm – and looked at me with a mixture of pain and innocence. I thought of Felicia; she used to have that look after a long night of superhero patrolling.

  “Please,” she said.

  “All right.” I pulled off my glove; my hand was glowing red, like a blood moon. “Dak, will this satisfy you?”

  “Paper? You want me to destroy paper?” Dak said, his voice like metal grinding against stone. “I cannot believe you think me such a puny god, that the destruction of paper will quench my cravings for annihilation.”

  “But those writers worked hours on those stories,” I said. “By destroying them, you’re destroying their voices as writers, you’re crushing their dreams, you’re—”

  “Say no more. You have convinced me. The crushing of dreams is always embraced by Dakroth’gannith’formaz.”

  “Might want to move, Julia,” I said.

  Julia jumped up and ran halfway to the kitchen, and then watched as a red light emanated from my hand. A crimson laser sliced through the air, and there was a sharp buzzing noise. Shadows danced around the room. Then the light show stopped, and an odd cinnamon-like smell drifted into my nostrils.

  I looked in front of me. All of the newspapers and magazines were gone – along with the coffee table. There were also some scorch marks on the hardwood floor. Thin lines of smoke drifted to the ceiling.

  “God fucking dammit!” I yelled. “We said the newspapers and the magazines, not the coffee table!”