The City That Heroes Built

by Daniel Pierce

  “Do all your friends wear black?” I asked.

  The lady oozed a vibe I've never felt before. At first I thought I was under her power and felt suffocated. I brushed the feeling away and realized that what ever was happening was between her and Fiver, like I felt their sexual tension or hatred, or both. The vibe surrounded them. I was uncomfortable. I looked around for the rest of the team. Simon was busy behind the bar; no one else was around.

  “It's Russian Violet, sweetie,” she said. To Fiver: “Is this the new guy on the team?”

  “He's the Sunday evening bartender,” Fiver said. “Is it really hard to believe that I'd retire and buy a bar?”

  “You're too proud to retire. The word is out to avoid this place. No tagging, no selling, no shooting it up. Where would gangsters get the idea that they'd need to leave some of the worst streets in the city alone?”

  Fiver leaned forward, hands together. “Between you and me, yes, I've cleaned up this neighborhood. I bought the building. A little less street crime is good for business. In a few years, I'll sell this place and move on. But right now, I'm running a business and occasionally playing cards. I hardly have time to have a drink, much less join up with supras.”

  “Whatever,” Thirteen said. “It's not like I was going to beg to join up. Free Force wouldn't have me, either. People think I'm bad luck.”

  “What would give them that idea?”

  She looked legitimately hurt. “The New Powers were my friends, too, you know. Maybe we never sat around playing video games, but Virtuoso, Apparition and I spent a lot of time together. I cried when I found out about our team. And then when the Guard were killed, I hid and cried for days. I was afraid and alone, and had no one. You could have reached out. You could have found me. You've always had friends. You don't know what it's like to have no one.” Just like that, she seemed to shrink, whatever I felt still seemed to be there, but it pulled me to pity her.

  I actually was angry when Fiver said, “Maybe that's because you're always a complete cunt to everyone.”

  “At least I was willing to accept everyone for who they were and fight along side them. I guess I'll be seeing you around.” She got up to leave. “You're wrong about me, though. I may not be super nice, but I'll be there for my friends when they need me. And I'll be here for you when you need help, even if you have turned into an asshole.”

  She stormed off, coat swirling behind her. I felt mad as hell at Fiver up until she left the bar. My emotions changed in an instant, like stepping outside from an air-conditioned movie theater into the desert sun.

  “Jesus,” I said. Fiver looked unphased.

  “Eh?”

  “I could feel her leaving the room.”

  “That was Thirteen.”

  “I gathered that,” I said. “She wanted in on the team?”

  “I don't know. I think she wanted to be invited, but I don't think she wanted to be a part of anything. She was only here a minute before you showed up.”

  “So she's coming out of retirement?”

  “I don't think she retired.”

  “So what has she been up to?”

  “I don't know,” Fiver said. “I'd like to find out, but her powers are a wildcard.”

  Simon arrived with beers. “Staying on the IPAs?”

  Fiver nodded and wrapped his hands around the cold pint glass.

  “What'd you get on her?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I couldn't figure her out at all. Couldn't even get a signature.”

  “What do you mean by signature?” I asked.

  “Like an MRI fingerprint. I can tell the difference between you and Fiver and the next guy. I couldn't get that same sort of read on her.”

  “So like an anti-power?”

  Simon shrugged. “She's like that chemical you put on your windshield so that the drops of rain don't stick, you know?”

  “I'm not even sure what rain is,” I said, then had to explain. “California joke.”

  Simon shook his head and left me with a brooding Fiver.

  “So was that sexual tension I felt when I walked in?” I asked.

  “Dude. She may have murdered my friends.”

  “Just asking.”

  Fiver stayed deep in thought. For the first time ever, I finished my pint before him.

  “Fucking strange her showing up now,” he said.

  “Well, you got the press,” I said. “Having a couple of flashy flyers on the team is going to get you mentioned all over the Internet.”

  “Maybe. But she could have hit up Skyborne and Slowburn any time. Or talked to the Guardian Angels,” he said.

  “Maybe they distrust her, too.”

  “Free Force isn't around any more. Convenient to lie about them, use that as a way to try to get on our team. Guardian Angels, we could ask.”

  “Two of Free Force aren't around any more,” I corrected. “That leaves two more. Plus Skyborne and Slowburn worked with them for a while.”

  “Fuck I hate her,” Fiver said. “And I'm not even sure I hate her for the right reasons.”

  July 30, 2021

  Sometimes when I sleep, brilliant ideas come to me. I forget them when I wake up and torture myself all morning trying to remember them. My train of thought jumped to Isabelle. Thinking about her, brought it all back. I texted Jen about the information I needed, and made a quick phone call to Fiver and jumped in my car. He called me back to say he set up my meeting. I worked it all out on the way to Marissa Courtney's. If I couldn't talk to Glory Knight, I'd talk to his girlfriend.

  Diamond scoffed when I fumbled with my phone while getting out of my sad little car. She was wearing workout gear, and looked like she had just come from the gym. She escorted me in to Marissa's office, and I sent the photo of her to Jen, who was standing by to run her through the facial recognition program.

  Marissa was wearing yoga pants and a light jacket. She also looked out of breath. Her bodyguard was either her personal trainer or her work out partner.

  “I was told this was of incredible importance,” she displayed her displeasure.

  “It is about Benjamin Hanes,” I said.

  She said nothing.

  “I know why he was killed.”

  Nothing from her.

  “So do you. I need his files, whatever he was working on for the Supra Rights Watch.”

  “That's got nothing to do with me,” Marissa said.

  “It's got everything to do with you. Rachel Thomson introduced you because Ben worked for the Supra Rights Watch. You asked him to look into your brother's case. He fell in love with you. He's been going a step further than normal advocacy. That's why he was killed. He discovered something or someone discovered him,” I said. She stayed quiet. I continued.

  “The thing is, you can stay as quiet as you want, but that's what keyed me in on it. There's no record of you two, except innocent emails in his encrypted system. He was paranoid as only a veteran supra can be. Everywhere else, there's a record of him. Certified accountant, records of his clients, pro bono work for the poor in the neighborhood. Golf buddies writing back and forth. Nothing on you, except dull emails. But he kept them hidden because he didn't want anything coming back on you. That's not a professional relationship. That means you're special.”

  She looked at me funny. Maybe I was on the right track.

  “You're special enough to protect, you're special enough to share with, or maybe do something for. I've got a hunch that he was going to break your brother out of prison. I've got no proof. Just a pattern. And you likely hold the key to the bigger picture.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I thought a lot about that on my way over here,” I said. “No real reason. I started looking into it because I like heroes. You don't want to believe that your hero would kill himself. Not a real hero. Maybe that's why. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see, and I built it all up, but there's just too much that he was doing. Pulling strings. Asking questions. I've started to go down the same path,
maybe whoever got him is going to get me. I'd just like to know what I'm going to find in the end.”

  “I don't know who killed him or why,” Marissa said. “He was looking into the Citadel, and the practices there. It started out with the civil rights issues. My brother is a part of that. But there's more. The sedation. The torture. Guantanamo has nothing on this place. I found documents that alluded to some of the things that go on there. The testing, power enhancement and suppression. The side effects. Davey was part of that. He benefited from the research to get his power.”

  I looked at my phone. Jen had texted back.

  No match.

  But here's a 90%. She sent an old picture of Diamond along with it. She lacked the muscle in the picture, was generally smaller. A second picture showed her in a wheelchair.

  I held the picture up to Marissa.

  “Your bodyguard is on the same juice, it seems,” I said. “Is this what got Ben killed?”

  Wait, why was I confronting them? Was I about to get killed myself? I looked over at Diamond. She stared blankly.

  “Of course not,” Marissa said. “There's nothing worth keeping secret. I don't know why Ben died, but he wasn't looking in to this. He was looking into the abuses in the prison. Trying to find a smoking gun.”

  “You think the government killed him?”

  “Nothing he was going to find would be something that the Citadel hasn't already been accused of. People don't care if supras are tortured or murdered.”

  “But if it was happening, he was going to break in and get your brother out?”

  A blank stare was the answer.

  “He's dead,” I said. “I'm not looking for a confession, I'm not trying to lock him up.”

  “What difference does it make?” she asked.

  “Why kill him? Why try to stop him from breaking in to a place that can't be broken into?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Can you tell me what Doo Wop stole when he broke in?” I asked.

  “Proprietary information,” Marissa said. “That's all I know. I'm an investor, not a board member.”

  “Whatever got Ben killed could get me killed. Or you, or someone else. Something he found out while he was researching the Citadel and Bio-Citadel.”

  “I don't know,” Marissa said. “Like you said, he kept me protected from it.”

  I had hit the dead end. Again. I felt the hype and enthusiasm leave me. I turned to exit without energy for the walk out.

  Then she said, “You can ask the team.”

  I stopped. “What team?”

  “He put together a team.”

  “A supra-team?”

  “To get in and out of the Citadel,” Marissa said. “To save my brother.”

  “You know!” I was too excited. Diamond stepped up to me and put up a hand. “I'm trying to figure out who killed your boyfriend, and you can't even let me know that.”

  “I have no reason to trust you.”

  “Do you even care why Ben died?”

  “My brother is still in prison.”

  “So you're still going forward with trying to break him out?”

  “I'm not doing anything. I'm not involved in any way. Ben was going to get a team together to plan it.”

  “David's being arraigned August 11th,” I said. “That's the deadline, isn't it? After that, he's eligible for a whole new drug treatment.”

  “Without due process,” Marissa added. “Without being convicted of anything. The same broad anti-supra laws that are used to pick up villains are going to be used to pick up heroes. How long until they come knocking on your door?”

  “I'm not a supra, and I'm not doing anything illegal.”

  “You don't think you're going to get wrapped up in criminal conspiracy charges just for talking to your friend at the bar?” she asked. “They'll get you if they want you. You'll get a nickname in the press, and they'll throw you into prison with criminals that your friends terrorized, beat up and sent there.”

  “Touché,” I said. “But whatever, there's nothing I can do about that right now. The bigger point is that Ben's team has 12 days to get to your brother before they charge him with terrorism, and drug him for the rest of his live long days.”

  “Yes. Does that explain why someone would kill him?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at all.”

  I left Marissa Courtney's gated community and drove to a mom-and-pop hardware store in Guadalupe. I parked across the street and watched, and thought. I watched and drank coffee. I watched and ate pizza. Salute carried boxes, and heavy bags, moving things around with the lightest touch. He was friendly with customers, quick about his work, and mostly in the store out of sight. When he left, he walked. I meant to follow him once he got into his car, but he didn't. Just walked a few blocks to a pretty nice apartment complex, went in. I waited an hour. Chinese was delivered, to one of the apartments, maybe not even to him. Other residents came home. A couple left. Just another dull ex-villain, though I imagined him hard at work on a blog or discussing right wing politics on the internet and trolling some liberal college kids.

  I went to Murphy's. Fiver had a shady looking gangbanger at his table. I went to the bar. The bartender looked at me.

  “Don't you work here now?” she asked. “You can pour your own beer if you don't want to wait.”

  “I'm happy waiting,” I said. “You're probably better at it than me.”

  She smiled and finished with her current pours.

  “What are you having?” she asked.

  “Pliny,” I said.

  “Good choice.”

  She poured the beer. Fiver was still talking.

  “Don't get a lot of those guys around,” she said.

  “What guys?”

  “Gang members. Supposedly they don't come within a mile of this place. That's what Cindy told me. Thinks the boss scares them away. Ex-Navy SEAL or whatever he is.”

  “Para-rescue,” I said. “He used to get people out of scary places.”

  “That, plus the metal leg. He's a pretty tough guy.”

  “He around, by the way?”

  “Not today.”

  Fiver's guest left.

  “Thanks,” I said. Fiver waived his empty glass. “Can I get a pint for him?”

  “Sure.”

  I carried it over to Fiver. He was beating out a rhythm on the table.

  “How are things?”

  “Shitty,” he said. “Skyborne is fucking with all the mobsters he can find, and they're not the right ones.”

  “He's not getting any leads?”

  “What makes you think that beating on someone is going to get him to tell the truth?” Fiver asked. “How do you know the truth when you hear it?”

  I shrugged.

  Fiver sighed. “He's gotten leads, plenty of bad ones. Instead of giving up their bosses, they're giving up rival mobs. Instead of working against one criminal organization, he's got a half dozen working on killing him now. He's lucky he can fly.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don't know,” Fiver said. “He's off phones. Jen was with him when he was jumped before dawn. She's off hers as well, just in case. Does she have people?”

  “Like a family? Not really.”

  Fiver looked past me, nodded at someone over my shoulder.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Get out of here and don't look behind you. You don't want this guy laying eyes on you. Go. Quick.”

  I went into the back, facing away from whoever just showed up.

  I called Cal. He didn't answer. Neither did Simon. I wanted to see, but I didn't dare look. After a couple minutes, Fiver texted me. Safe

  He was alone at the table again.

  “You need to get up on burners,” he said. “Anyone you've been texting or calling needs to switch phones, too.”

  “What happened?”

  “They found his phone, got the call logs. Grabbed the call logs from those phones. They're willing to start hitting everyone. Or they k
eep it to Skyborne.”

  His phone rang. He answered. “Yeah? Okay. Okay.” He hung up. “I've got four hours to find Skyborne and convince him to leave the city forever or bodies are going to start dropping.”

  “What if you can't?”

  “Then I've got to kill him myself,” Fiver said.

  “Wait? What?”

  “I don't think it'll will come to that.”

  “You're going to side with the mob over Skyborne.”

  “He picked a fight with a lot of people, went around torturing people to get information. Bad information, that he then used to attack the wrong people. I'm not going to call them innocent, but they were innocent of attacking his family. Instead of doing detective work, he destroyed any lead we could have had, and guaranteed that no one who did has information will help now. He lost this. He made it worse.”

  “So what?” I said. “They threatened his family.”

  “Who did?”

  “The mob.”

  “Which 'mob'? Which guy? If he had good information, we could have gotten something. Detective work. Thinking. Following leads. Instead he went the street cop method, beating on someone until they said something, and foolishly believing they were eventually telling the truth.” Fiver was frustrated. “Look, trained, veteran police officers are asked to determine if someone is lying or telling the truth in studies. Every cop thinks he knows when someone is lying right? What do you think their success rate is?”

  “How do I know? Eighty percent?”

  “It's 45-60%, depending on the study. That's coin flip range, except when it's worse. Torturing someone might get them to talk, but there's no reason to believe it. Now someone who is moderately good at lying, who has been avoiding police and law and order for their whole life, under duress, you think you've got the skills to know what's true or not? Neither did Skyborne, but he believed it, like every other egotistical supra. “

  “So how do we even get in touch with him?”

  “Through Slowburn. I'll go sort this. You keep your head down. Someone is in our phone tree. Burn everything. Email addresses. Billing addresses. Destroy the phones. Like melted, unrecognizable. Don't try to save a buck.” He pulled out a stack of cash, handed most of it to me. “Buy your girlfriend a new phone. Tell her there's a virus on your smartphone. Destroy hers, too.”