The City That Heroes Built

by Daniel Pierce

  “It'd be one thing if it was an ex-wife or current lover, but someone he just recently met? Who doesn't even keep a toothbrush at his place?” she asked. “Unlikely. Also, not mentioned in the note, but let's put a pin in that. The poison.” She shuffled her papers.

  “Poison is a woman's weapon,” I said. She looked at me like I was an idiot. “I saw it in a show.”

  “Sixty percent of all poisoners are male,” said Bobbi Cannon, professional private investigator, who had a hell of a lot more experience than me. I did get unsaid message that I may want to shut up. “Ninety percent of murderers are male,” she continued. “That changes when you look at supras, but not as much as you'd think, given that 60 percent of supras are female.” She found the page she was looking for. “Unusual type of poison. They couldn't identify it. Doc called around but left the question unanswered. Also couldn't figure out how it entered his body. There was a large amount, I don't know the exact significance of these numbers, but it points to ingesting it. Poison tastes bad, this kind in particular. Could it have been a slow poisoning? Unlikely. He lived alone, prepared his own meals. Could it have been covered up by food of other flavors? Not according to the content of his stomach.”

  “So a unique poison, and they couldn't figure out how he got it.”

  “So make the leap and say he ingested it himself on purpose.”

  “Where'd he get a unique poison?”

  “Big time supra? He probably knows people.”

  “People who use poison?” I asked.

  “Let's go to the note.” She handed me a photograph of the note. The handwriting was atrocious.

  I can't take being so alone.

  The world will never be what I thought it would be.

  Being a hero was all I lived for and I've reached the end.

  “What do you think?” Bobbi asked.

  “I did some reading about suicide notes,” I said. “This is what I don't think makes any sense. Who did he write the note for? Marissa? The police? The Guardian Angels? And to what purpose? It doesn't really explain why he would do it. Why not go back to being a hero, then? Why not try to find some fulfillment between heroing and dying? I mean, why not get a hobby?”

  “A good point. Nothing about his home suggested this note was true. He didn't have any mementos. No autographs, newspaper clippings. He seemed like he liked to be alone, enjoyed being retired and on his own. Played a lot of golf.”

  “I can see not collecting anything that would indicate he was Glory Knight,” I said. “That just makes sense.”

  “It makes sense for teenage superheroes living at home, or people dating a lot, or someone with nosy roommates. For a suicidal old timer who only lives for being a hero? I don't think so,” she said. “You ever written a suicide note?”

  “I'm here, aren't I?”

  “People write the note, it's a big deal. It's a part of the experience, coming to terms with it, thinking about the reactions of people you leave behind.”

  “Right, justifying why you're doing it, explaining it, placing blame,” I said.

  “This note doesn't do any of that. There's also one thing I haven't gotten to yet.”

  “Which is?”

  “How did they know he was Glory Knight?” she said.

  I shuffled through my stack of papers. “Feds said so.” I handed her the document from the FBI to the Santa Maria police department.

  “'National sources',” she read. “Hell of a buzzword.”

  “The Feds don't really operate here since the Guardian Angels are so prominent. Maybe they've got an understanding.”

  “Maybe they've got a rat.”

  “What? Like someone in the Guardian Angels?”

  “It's possible.”

  “Maybe, but why burn that asset to identify a dead former member? If only the Guardian Angels could identify Glory Knight, that seems like a strange thing to reveal.”

  “That's why they use the term 'national sources',” Bobbi said.

  “Maybe it's a national voice identification database and they had an analysis of Glory Knight's voice that they matched to it,” I said.

  “Voice recognition technology only provides about a 65% match,” Bobbi said. “More likely they determined it through his phone, computer, or something else.”

  “Oh, his computer, we hacked it and it had a complex security program. Our hacker said it was probably unique to the Guardian Angels. Way higher tech than anything else she'd seen.”

  “His lap top?”

  “Desk top.”

  “They inventoried a lap top, too.”

  “Oh. Hell,” I said.

  “Yeah, so, plenty of ways that his ID could be sussed out, none of which ultimately matter. We go back to unique poison. Demographically, possible suicide risk. In actuality, unlikely. The unsaid part of that is that as people get to old age, retirement, etc., there are reasons for killing themselves; public disgrace, cancer, humiliating divorce, financial ruin. He didn't have any of that. Hence the suicide note is likely fake. It's written left handed, but not by someone accustomed to writing left-handed. Ink is smeared; lefties curl their hand around like this. Basically the writer couldn't forge the note in Glory Knight's handwriting, so they wrote it sloppy,” she said.

  “So what's our final answer?”

  “He was poisoned by a visitor he knew.”

  “Where do we go from here?” I asked.

  “I don't know. If Fiver wants, I'll go talk to the investigators, but they probably won't add much.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for your time.”

  “I owed Fiver,” Bobbi said. “No big deal.”

  “How did you meet him anyway?” I asked.

  “He hired me to track someone down for him. Been helping each other out ever since. How about you?”

  “He needed a ride somewhere.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, my old partner doesn't like him much. Tried getting him on a DUI a few times, so he's pretty much given up driving. Anyway, I'll leave this all with you, then?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She saw herself out.

  July 8, 2021

  Last night, Free Force captured New Axis, a team of two supras and a criminal gang that had been responsible for a series of ongoing hate crimes in Arroyo Grande.

  The July edition of Anti-Hero Magazine was released today. It featured Black Reign, with a hastily re-written end of the article to account for her dramatic televised death. Their online site hosted each of the videos.

  I saw Isabelle after work. She bought me a late lunch, and agreed to let me buy her dinner Friday night, since she had Saturday off. She got up early during the week to open the coffee shop. Early mornings would prevent late night crime fighting, but she had an amazing, fit body, and for a person that works in a coffee shop it seemed moderately unlikely. Also she didn't talk about working out and she ate pizza with me. Most people in her kind of shape can't shut up about how much they work out.

  Her early departure left me looking to kill time and I wasn't in a hurry to head back to the bar. But then I thought, what the hell? What else was I doing?

  I went and updated Fiver and Cal on the status of the Glory Knight investigation.

  “That's not much,” Fiver said.

  “Did Glory Knight ever fight someone who could have poisoned him?” Cal asked.

  “Bride of Scorpions,” I said. “The Guard fought her. She was one of their first major foes, but she's been in the Citadel since 2012 at least. Just got her death sentence commuted, she's in the sleep farms.”

  “Got to be someone else.”

  “The only ones who come to mind are in the Citadel. Fly Fang. Maybe La Dama del Silencio, depending on how her powers worked. I mean, every major villain besides LEGION and Gravicide is locked up.”

  “There's always another villain,” Fiver said.

  “Yeah, I've got more research to do,” I said.

  “So do it.”

  “Yeah.” I got up to go.


  Fiver got up with me. “I need a ride first,” he said.

  “Where to?”

  “Diesel Bar.”

  “I don't know it.”

  “I'll give you directions.”

  I drove. It wasn't far.

  “So, look, I want you to tag along with me to this meeting,” Fiver said.

  “This place is rough,” I said.

  “So is the person we're meeting. Remember when Bobbi Cannon wanted me to find that girl who had been abducted? Freezing Kate is the person that gave me that information. She's not one of the good guys. She doesn't do me favors. There's an expensive price for dealing with her, so don't ever do it.”

  “Why are you dealing with her?”

  “I didn't want to see a girl sold off into slavery.”

  “It seems like something worth paying the price for,” I said.

  “It was, but there was still a price. You don't want to pay it.”

  “Okay. So why am I here if I'm not supposed to deal with this person?”

  “You got someplace better to be?”

  “No.”

  “So come meet Freezing Kate, one of the city's great villains,” Fiver said.

  Fiver and I were both in hoodies and jeans. We looked like a couple of college kids about to get torn apart in a Tarentino vampire movie. The Diesel Bar was located down an alley in the southeast of the rail district. There were no sign identifying it, no bouncer at the door, none of the California mandated alcohol disclaimers. The room was mostly dark, except for the neon light “Diesel” over the bar and the spotlights on the tables with the dancing girls. We wound our way through the tables filled with burly bikers. I did my best to take sideways glances at the dancing girls. At one table, a group of three women in black leather and masks consulted. At another, a costumed man in yellow and blue turned over his 8th shot glass and reached for number 9. The 30-year-old rock music was surprisingly not too loud.

  Freezing Kate epitomized villain-chic in black leather and black boots with a half dozen buckles on each. She looked like she'd been strapped into a leather straight jacket, but her hands were free, one holding a cigarette she ignored and the other an oversized silver goblet.

  Next to her, a man in sunglasses and a suit, complete with a fedora and vest. He wore gloves, odd at any time of the year in Santa Maria. When Fiver slid a piece of paper across the table to Freezing Kate, she slid it over to the man in the hat. He took it, looked at it, stood, pocketed the note, and left. Fiver gave him a head start, then got up to leave.

  “Why don't you stay until he confirms that you upheld your end of the agreement?”

  “Because I've got things to do.”

  “Stay anyway.”

  Fiver sat back down. “I knew you liked me,” he said. “Mind if I switch sides of the table? I like blondes.” He took the seat next to Freezing Kate, giving him the view of the busty blonde dancing on a table nearby.

  “Why don't you introduce me to your friend?” she said.

  “My driver,” Fiver said. “Cops keep trying to get me on a DUI.”

  “Very sensible of you. I like when you're sensible. I don't like surprises.”

  “I'm always sensible,” Fiver insisted. “You think I'd screw you over? Send your guy on a wild goose chase?”

  “No, but you might be sending him into trap.”

  “And if I did, I'd still have fulfilled my end of the bargain. You wanted the man located. You didn't ask me to kill him, and you didn't ask me to watch out for traps. If there's a trap, I didn't set it. Maybe your man will be tough enough to handle it.”

  “He is, I'm sure, but he's not my man. He belongs to Ragnarok.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Fiver said. “I'm not religious.”

  Freezing Kate looked amused. “And here I thought you were well-connected.”

  “I am, I just travel in classier circles than you,” Fiver said.

  “Ha.” She motioned for a waitress, got a new goblet, and a glass of whiskey for Fiver. “Do you want anything?” she asked me. “Diet Coke maybe?”

  “That'd be terrific,” I said.

  “Diet Coke for the choir boy,” she said. She looked me over until the Diet Coke came. My feelings lie somewhere between unnerved and uncomfortable. Fiver was lost in the swaying curves of the blonde behind me. Had I know I'd be there a while, I would have chosen a better seat. We sat without conversation for a while. I started playing a game on my phone.

  Fiver's phone rang. “Yeah, cool, get out of there,” he said and hung up. “Target is where I said and your man, Ragnarok's man, just showed up.”

  “Well, isn't that nice. He should be calling me any minute now telling me it's done.” She placed her phone on the table. It didn't ring. After several minutes, she said, “Any minute now.”

  “You sure he paid his bill? Ragnarok should know better than to hire a guy with a thrift shop suit and hipster hat.”

  “You can tell that to Ragnarok.”

  “I'd be happy to.”

  Finally, her phone rang. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay.” She hung up. “So Oubliette was waiting for Whispership when he showed up.”

  “So he killed her, too?”

  “She got the drop on him apparently. The target left with her a few minutes ago. Whispership presumably has ceased to exist.”

  “I hope he wasn't paid in advance,” Fiver said.

  “Did you tell the Guardian Angels someone was looking for the target?”

  “Seriously? Why would I tell the Guardian Angels anything? If I could get a hold of them, which I can't. I'm pretty sure that this guy was targeted because he talked to the Guardian Angels or someone else, so don't try to lay the blame for this at my feet.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. Not even a little. But if I had, and I didn't, I still would have done what you wanted me to do.” If looks could kill, Fiver would be a dead man.

  “We've got one other bit of business,” Freezing Kate said. “I have a client who is looking for Red Panzer. South American Supra. You heard of him?”

  “Can't say that I have.”

  “One of the armored types. Fought on the communist side of a couple of cold war adventures in the 60s. Worked for Noreiga in the 80s. Recently, came north.”

  “You want a location?”

  “I'd prefer if you could turn a supra on to it, stop him before he does whatever he's here to do. Your conscience shouldn't be a factor in this one.”

  “I'll look into it. That all?”

  “That's all.”

  I left with Fiver.

  When we were well away from the Diesel Bar, Fiver said, “Well, that went better than expected.”

  “So you're working for Freezing Kate?”

  “I'm paying for the information that kept a kid from being sold as a slave to evil men,” he said.

  “Did you tip off the Guardian Angels?”

  “No, but I knew Oubliette was the bodyguard.”

  “What if the guy didn't have a bodyguard?” I asked.

  “He was a bad guy who was trying to sell out other bad guys. I'm not going out of my way to help a mobster collect a payday from the government.”

  “So why did I come for this?” I asked. “Last time you brought Cal in case you needed to be extracted.”

  “I figure you're sort of the team historian,” Fiver said. “It's good for you to see what the rest of us are doing. It's not a part time job, you know. We're at it all the time.”

  “At what?”

  “Building a decent city, one step at a time.”

  I left him at Murphy's.

  “You coming in?”

  “Nah, I'm done for the night.”

  “All right, man.”

  July 9 - July 15, 2021

  The week flew by, but I was mostly busy with personal stuff. I saw Isabelle every day, dinner on Friday night, and she stayed over. Saturday we went to the beach, Sunday she went home, I volunteered at Kids Remembered. I had seen Isabelle there two
weeks ago. I didn't mention that. She wasn't around when I was there on the 11th, but when she came around Sunday night, I mentioned that I volunteered there. She didn't react. The rest of the week we spent time together when she got out of work.

  I researched Red Panzer, but didn't get much. No connection to Santa Maria, California, or the US, aside from having fought some government supras in the past. The Sunshine Bunch robbed their first bank of the summer on Monday.

  Tuesday, 3/5th of the Guardian Angels, Oubliette, Persephone and Ravelin took on a group of mob hit men, defending a state's witness at a safe house. Sentinel and Sunday didn't make an appearance, despite the prolonged battle. Speculation about a break up crossed the media, but the next day they issued a statement, saying they were looking at expanding the team and would be approaching potential recruits in the coming months.

  The rest of the week, I declined invites to Murphy's and spent my time with Isabelle. She loved the beach, and coffee, and animals. She juggled work and school, and just graduated. She was accepted into UC Santa Maria for med school, and would start there in the fall. She was wicked smart, and mentioned having a private tutor growing up, I think on accident. She shared an apartment with her cousin in Lompoc, and the rest of her family was still in Albuquerque. She never mentioned them, or her parents or much about growing up. We ended up going to the beach a few times during the week, and dinner a few nights.

  On Friday, Isabelle said, “I feel like this week has been a whirlwind. Like seven weeks of dating crammed into seven days. Is that weird?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “I really like hanging out with you, but I sort of need a mental breather. I'm going to hang out with some friends this weekend.”

  “Cool, I'm going to do the same.”

  “I noticed you ignored a lot of texts.”

  “Yeah, my friends are sometimes pushy.”

  “So I'll see you Monday, then.”

  July 16, 2021

  Saturday morning I slept in, enjoying being alone for the first time in a while. Temperatures around the city would be climbing past 100 today, which made it too hot for coffee even if I was cranking the air conditioning. I ended up chasing the caffeine withdrawal headaches with soda while I looked in to the Sunshine Bunch.