Joe raised his glass to the mayor's toast, broad grin on his face. Sam winced, and joined him out of politeness only. She was self-conscious enough as it was in the backless, sleeveless cocktail dress, and really didn't want to draw any more attention than she already was by not at least pretending to join in. She'd seen the looks all night. Even now, Dennis and Watts from the fourth floor chugged back the free champagne, thinking the glasses obscured their wandering eyes from her notice. Wrong. Pricks.
Joe drained his glass and gave a satisfied sigh of appreciation. He held it by the stem, looking around for one of the roving waiters to receive another.
"I can't believe you bought that bullshit, Joe."
Joe's smile didn't falter, his eyes still tracking the packed hotel ballroom. Sighting his prey, he adjusted his bowtie just a little and waved his glass in the air, waggling it by the stem in a faintly ridiculous "More please!" gesture.
"I don't." His teeth remained set in their smile, a gleaming band of white against the dark brown of his face. "Thing is, Sam, I know when to play the game and how to act like I mean it." He paused as an attractive waitress barely in her twenties switched his empty glass for a full one. Joe's grin stretched a little farther, and as the waitress walked away his gaze lingered on her rear, just a little. Sam caught the look and slapped him on the shoulder. Joe took a sip and turned to his friend and colleague, abandoning the fixed grin of his ventriloquist act and dropping his voice to a discreet whisper.
"This is the annual police charity ball. We all have to be here, Seven Wonders included. We know the mayor and the commissioner are in their pocket, and there's nothing we can do about it. We're also in the chief's little black book of naughty people, so we don't want to get noticed. We want to fade into the background and get this stupid charity event over and done with, and then front up with our case before we turn into pumpkins. Do you get it now, Detective Millar?"
She did, and she swore at Joe. She was sure his surprised reaction was also fake, as it didn't stop him bringing the glass to his lips and taking another gulp of champagne.
He was exactly right, and she should have known he was playing from the moment they walked in together. There was a reason that she and Joe stuck together both on and off the job. His ability to juggle difficult tasks and unusual requests, all the while presenting the facade that he and Sam were just a couple of regular cops doing their normal job, enabled her to continue work on her "extra-curricular" activities. It was a risk, but they'd managed for a couple of years. In reality, all it meant was longer hours for the both of them as they kept the official detective work up while Sam continued her investigation into San Ventura's most infamous criminal, the Cowl. SuperCrime, it turned out, was mostly clean-up, which meant she had to follow her own lines of enquiry if she was going to nail the bastard.
Which, it turned out, their chief had known about all along. And given that he hadn't given any indication that he did until the failed operation at the bank, perhaps they had tacit approval. The Cowl was a problem for everybody and Sam knew the chief wanted to get rid of him as much as she did.
Well… maybe not as much as she did. Sam sipped her champagne and pushed dark memories out of her mind.
"Captain Gillespie, how are you doing, sir?" Joe's hand steered Sam by the elbow around a ninety-degree arc so the pair were facing their boss. Gillespie looked just as fierce as always in black tie, and cast a quick look over Joe and Sam with a sour grimace before nodding in greeting.
"Good evening, detectives. I'm glad you were able to drag yourself away from your desks to be here."
Sam did her best to look demure. "Of course, sir, we've been looking forward to this for weeks." Joe nodded with a smile, and raised his glass. Sam wondered how much he was going to drink tonight. Or her, for that matter.
Gillespie's glass was full to the brim; Sam suspected it would remain so all night. The chief turned slightly and whispered something to a tall man behind him, with his back turned. The man immediately spun on his heel and joined the conversation.
"Detective Milano, Detective Millar, I would like to introduce the police charity's largest benefactor, Geoffrey Conroy. Mr Conroy, these are two of my finest detectives. Sam has been in the SuperCrime department for six years now, Joe for four. They're inseparable, and quite the dynamic duo."
The man was tall and had broad swimmer's shoulders that filled his expensive jacket admirably, despite one arm being held in a rigid cast. His chiseled features, an echo of 1940s Hollywood glamour, were marred only slightly by two dull black eyes. His tuxedo was expensively nondescript, save for a small gold crucifix lapel pin.
Sam knew exactly who he was. Everyone in the city did.
Conroy smiled and raised the glass in his free hand.
"Is that so, captain? Enchanted, Miss Millar. Detective Milano."
He bowed to Joe, and delicately took Sam's hand. Sam shivered slightly as one of the wealthiest men in the world, one of the most successful CEOs of one of the most successful industrial tech empires, kissed her hand. The smile on her face, for the first time that night, was now completely genuine.
"That's some cast you've got there, Mr Conroy." Joe prefaced the statement with a low whistle of appreciation. The billionaire industrialist grinned broadly, the lines around his eyes creasing into the dull purple bruises that circumscribed each. Conroy waggled the tips of his fingers, the only part of his left arm that was left out of the cast. Despite herself, Sam found the way the immaculate dinner jacket hung loosely over one shoulder rather rakish. Feeling her cheeks redden, she buried her nose in her champagne flute.
"You ever been waterskiing in the Virgin Islands, Mr Milano?"
Joe shook his head. "A detective's salary doesn't usually stretch that far, I'm afraid. Although if you want to have a word with my chief here I'm sure he'll be all ears."
Conroy laughed. "It's amazing at this time of year, let me tell you. But if you do get down there, just make sure you pay attention to your instructor. Or… well!" His fingers waggled again, and his laugh was shared with Captain Gillespie. Sam felt one eyebrow go up on its own. Gillespie, laughing? Wonders would never cease. She turned back to the billionaire.
"I'm glad you could still make it, Mr Conroy. That eye looks fresh and sore." Sam hoped it was a polite observation. Socializing with the city elite was not her favorite pastime, nor her most practiced.
Conroy nodded behind his drink, presenting Joe and Sam with just the waggling crystal base.
"Uh-huh." His voice echoed in the flute. "Took the fall yesterday, just got back this morning. I might be busy and rich and have, oh, sixteen hundred invitations to charity balls and auctions and bake-offs every year, but the most important is the SVPD Benevolent Fund. No way I was going to miss this. It's been in my iCal for eleven months!" He laughed with Sam and the others, but stopped to press the side of his empty but still-cool champagne glass to one black eye. "Ouch. But please, if you'll excuse me, it looks like I'm wanted."
Joe and Sam waved him off as Conroy bowed again and ducked off to talk to a young woman in hotel uniform, who was discreetly waving a white envelope to get his attention.
The trio stood in silence, avoiding eye contact for a while. Sam really needed another drink but there was no sign of a nearby waiter. If anything, the captain's customary scowl grew ever deeper.
Finally a waiter arrived; Sam and Joe switched their empty glasses for full ones while Gillespie actually took a real sip of his drink.
"Will you guys relax? You come to the ball every year. Does it always have to be like this?"
Sam turned but found Joe heading to the buffet. Under Gillespie's withering glare, she felt even more ridiculous in the little dress.
"Sorry sir, it's fine, really. No, really." She sucked on her fresh glass and found it emptied faster than she had intended. She gulped the mouthful awkwardly and hoped the chief hadn't noticed. "I've never met Mr Conroy before. Not in person, anyway. He's not what I expected at all."
&nb
sp; Gillespie grunted, and, having now broken his no-alcohol rule, allowed himself a generous mouthful of drink. "He's rich, he's young. Ish. Good-looking. Some people have it all, I guess."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, chief. He was nice."
This raised a smile. "Yes, he's nice. Looks like he sure must've taken a tumble. The perils of the rich and famous, eh, detective?"
Sam clinked her glass with his in mock toast. "Who'da thunk it?" She spun idly from side to side on one heel, turning enough to see Joe heading back toward them at some pace, holding his cell phone to his ear with one hand and balancing a pile of food on a far-toosmall plate with the other. As he approached he looked up, shaking his head at his partner as he finished the call.
"What's up, Joe?"
Joe pocketed the phone. "Sorry to bust up the party, but we're needed back at the precinct. Body's been found in an alley off Main and Descartes. Homicide are on the way but Jackie Chan wants us to take a look. Irregular, could be one for our department."
"Main and Descartes?" Sam flapped her arms against her sides. Work, just as she was beginning, perhaps, maybe, to enjoy herself. "Well, great. Sorry sir, duty calls."
Gillespie nodded. "That's not far. Check the scene and if it's not too much of a mess, come back here and send out Starr or Luigo. I'd rather have my two best detectives here representing the department than spending too much time on a routine case. And don't forget, we have an audience with Aurora at 11pm sharp. That's something we can't miss."
"Understood, sir." Sam turned to leave. Joe looked at his plate, reluctant to abandon the luxurious surrounds for the cold night. Gillespie held out a hand. Joe glanced between the chief's pale palm and his plate, before finally surrendering to his superior.
Joe met Sam in the lobby just outside the ballroom, where she was waiting for an attendant to fetch her coat from the cloakroom.
"Wait a second…"
"What?" Sam kept her eyes on the retreating form of the attendant as he disappeared into the cloakroom.
"Did the chief just call us his best detectives?"
"Don't worry, he was joking."
"The chief never jokes. It's those eyebrows. They're an alien parasite that exerts some kind of mind control."
"Is that a fact?"
"Sure is, partner. Aurora told me himself."
"Oh, Aurora now? Well, I'll be damned." Coat retrieved, Joe helped her into it and patted her on the back.
"Yep," he said. "We go way back. First-name basis, y'know. And besides, 'Aurora's Light' is a real mouthful."
Sam laughed. "That mouthful saved his ass from that superpowered copyright lawsuit, remember."
"Ah, the lifestyles of the superpowered and litigious."
Sam sighed.
"Let's go."
"Mr Mayor."
With one last wave to the assembled guests, Smith turned from the podium. Behind him, his personal staff and colleagues were still ap plauding his third (fourth?) toast. He smiled at them all, and raised his glass again. It was empty.
A red gauntlet holding a full glass appeared in front of him. The mayor took it gingerly, careful not to touch the fabric of the glove as it shimmered with energy, then made to playfully slap the provider on the shoulder before pulling his arm up short, theatrically. His staff laughed politely.
"And they say you can't get good service in San Ventura?"
This was the mayor's show, although perhaps not everyone was looking at him now. Beside him, a deep, hearty laugh emanated from the barreled chest in bright red and yellow that stood next to him. Aurora's Light, leader of the Seven Wonders, husband to Bluebell, and the most powerful superhero left in the world. Everyone called him Aurora.
The superhero's smile pushed his half-mask up his face a little, the flaming halo above his head flickering as he chuckled at the mayor's joke, tugging his thick salt-and-pepper hair like he was swimming in deep water.
"I hope I didn't warm that up too much for you, Mr Mayor." He raised a glove, palm-upwards, and created a small translucent yellow sphere of plasma, hovering an inch above his hand. It wobbled slightly, and Aurora let the crowd get a good look before quickly forming a fist and squeezing the ball of energy to nothing. There was an appreciative murmur, and sporadic applause broke out. The mayor laughed.
"Can I book you for my son's ninth birthday party? Our magician had to cancel."
"The Seven Wonders serve the city." Aurora gave a tight bow. "Now, sir, if you'll excuse me?"
The mayor waved his glass, and Aurora left the group of councilors and city staff.
He would have stayed to chat a while longer, maybe done a bit more with the plasma − middle-aged housewives loved it, and middle-aged housewives were, according to the mayor, the most influential group of voters. But he couldn't ignore the alert buzzing in his ear. As the most famous – and imposing – person in the entire room, he had no trouble reaching the quiet edge of the ballroom, the crowd parting to let him through without pause before closing in again in a wake of appreciative gossip and beating hearts.
He reached a pillar near the buffet, and turned back to face the charity ball. In the crowd, but at the periphery, he caught sight of a tall black woman in an ochre dress. She caught his eye and nodded, imperceptibly, before turning and casually taking another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
Aurora touched his belt, the alarm clicking off with a sharp beep.
"Report, SMART."
"Citadel of Wonders to Aurora. Tracking on the Angel Vault has been lost. Vault breach presumed." The voice that entered Aurora's head was metallic, artificial, but not without inflection, simulated though it was.
Aurora took a breath. "Confirmed. Stand by."
He clicked the communicator off, and looking up saw the black woman moving slowly towards him. Happy that no one was observing with any particular interest, he began to walk towards her.
"Oh, excuse me."
Aurora stopped and smiled broadly, inwardly cursing at his own distraction. The man in front of him had a broken arm and two black eyes.
"Mr Conroy, a pleasure as always." Aurora bowed in acknowledgment. Looking up, he allowed a small smile to cross his face. "I heard about your Caribbean excursion. No permanent damage, I hope?"
"Only my pride, Aurora!" Conroy laughed, then with a grimace passed his uninjured hand inside his open jacket to rub a cracked rib. "Anyway, how's it going, big guy? The city keeping the Wonders busy?"
"Well," Aurora began, looking around the charity ball meaningfully, "the SVPD are the country's finest, I have no doubt about that. But San Ventura is no ordinary city. With the Cowl still at large…"
Conroy hissed, shaking his head. "We can't let that son of a bitch hold this proud city back, Aurora. That's why charities like this are important, that's why the Seven Wonders are important, that's why Conroy Industries is committed to the future of San Ventura."
Aurora held up a hand. His eyes were blank white ellipses in his mask and his chin was the only bare skin visible. Aurora's expressions were nearly impossible to read. That was the point. Superheroes – like supervillains – had to have one hell of a poker face.
"Don't worry, Mr Conroy, I know how committed you are to the future of our great city. You keep the place running from the bottom. We'll keep it running from the top. The Cowl doesn't have long now. One man − superpowered as he is − can't stand up to the seven of us much longer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll let you get back to the party."
"You got it." Conroy shook Aurora's hand as the superhero dialed back the swimming haze of heat around it enough not to burn. Aurora then gave his customary curt bow, and walked on.
Conroy watched the hero's receding back for a moment, then headed over to one of the plate windows that lined the entire east face of the ballroom. San Ventura glittered at night, a million points of light twinkly in the misty sea air. And at the center of it, towering above the skyscrapers of the business district which reflected its light back from their tall glass walls, the
Citadel of Wonders. Tonight, the night of the SVPD ball, the thin triangular sliver that was the headquarters of the Seven Wonders was illuminated in a rotating display of blue, red and green light, mimicking the colors of the Police Benevolent Fund's logo.
Conroy gazed at the Citadel for just a second, then took a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket and put it to his ear.
"I hope," he whispered, "you're calling with good news?"
CHAPTER NINE
"Stone cold, is what."
"Murder is what it is, detective. Stone cold or not, makes no difference."
Sam kept her distance. The large pool of blood, black on the alley floor, was no longer spreading and the leading edge had been demarcated clearly with a little plastic triangle. But she'd never got used to the butcher's-slab stink of a stabbing, and until the scene lights were up, God only knew what she might step in. Joe was less cautious, squatting within reach of the body, enough to poke and prod with a pen. Sam seriously hoped it wasn't the same one he used to write up his notes.
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