by Matt Abraham
... Nothing short of amazing, that is, if you’re fascinated by basic interior design. The only colors the guy decorated with were gray and beige, and there was barely any artwork to speak of. The only thing that stood out was the large amount of smoke alarms. There was one hanging on the ceiling of each room, and even one on the wall over the bookcase. I also noticed two fire extinguishers. One was next to the kitchen door, while the other flanked the large wooden shelves where rows upon rows of snapshots were on display. Each one captured a different moment in the life of the Waller family, and since I knew exactly what Pinnacle’s face looked like, I started my search there.
In the top left corner around a dozen sweater-clad people celebrated Christmas. One of the guys looked a little like Pinnacle, but no, if he was Benjamin I was in the wrong house. The hair and eye color were right, but his build and facial structure were off. Next I moved to the middle row where two young girls were laughing with an older woman at a birthday party. I skipped the young boy with a German Shepherd, and dropped to the bottom shelf where three generations of Waller men shared a grainy day fishing. I went through each picture carefully, but didn’t see Pinnacle in any of them.
From there I moved into the bedroom, starting with the closet. Grabbing the knobs on the accordion doors I pulled them apart. Inside were jeans and dress pants hanging above less pairs of shoes than I owned. Disappointing. I guess a fresh pressed uniform and cape would’ve been too much to ask for.
Stooping down on one knee I pulled out my hand scanner and checked for hidden compartments. Nothing. I moved to the dresser and opened every drawer. All I found were socks and shirts. Then I slide the whole thing away from the wall.
Behind it was another framed picture that must’ve accidentally fallen there. It was of the guy from Christmas in the living room gallery, only now he was standing in front of a Gold Coast City Fire Engine proudly wearing his gear. The badge on his chest read: Ben Waller. And that sealed it. The fireman wasn’t my guy.
I slid the photo back where I found it, replaced the dresser, and left.
With the second name now crossed off I headed to my next stops, the homes of George Norman and Martin Gomez. Something must have been going around because Norman’s kid was sick too, so he was home looking after her. Gomez was laid up in the hospital with a broken leg, which his wife was good enough to prove with a few candid pics of him smiling in traction. It was strike three and four, but I still had one pitch left.
I headed over to Hank Reynolds’ to take it.
Chapter 10
Reynolds lived in a swank condo in City Center, the kind built to keep the residents far away from guys like me. I hopped out, and headed towards the building trying to look like I belonged, but before I could get one toe in the doorman blocked my way. He was about as tall as me, a touch wider, and looked like he might’ve played some football in his youth. His temples were graying, and even though his eyes had a starter set of wrinkles they stared out from under his cap as sharp as whips. “May I help you?”
“No ‘sir’?” I said.
“You don’t need to call me sir.” He smiled as he motioned me away. “Just keep on walking.”
“I’m here to visit a friend of mine, Hank Reynolds. He’s on the thirty-third floor, if-”
“Mr. Reynolds didn’t notify me of any visitors.”
“He probably forgot. If you-”
“If you were familiar with Mr. Reynolds’ habits,” he said, and crossed his arms high up on his chest, “then you’d know he comes and goes sporadically, so when someone is expected he always informs me.” He put a little smug in his smile. “And he never forgets.”
“It’s not like he’s an elephant,” I said, “if you’ll just let me-”
“Why don’t you ring his cell? I’m sure he’ll be able to straighten this out.”
I figured any guy this severe would need at least a C-note’s worth of grease to get his wheels turning, so I pulled out a hundred, folded it in half, and slid it into his breast pocket. I expected a smile, but instead he wrinkled his nose like I shoved a dead catfish in there, and pulled it out. “What’s this?”
“I’m no historian, but I believe in ancient Rome it was called a bribe.”
“Listen here lummox,” he said, “this place is off limits to guys like you, so hit the bricks, they could use a good dusting. And this bribe, if it wanted to get turned down politely, would need to bring a few more friends. Now take it back, and scuttle on.”
I grabbed his wrist, and stopped dead. The feel of his flesh told me he was a little invulnerable, nothing special mind you, but it took me back. I’d never met a doorman with powers before.
“Get your hand off me.” He dropped his weight and twisted away. It was a nice move, but he wasn’t heavy or strong enough to pull it off, so all it did was leave him half hanging there like a trout.
“Not going to happen,” I said.
He struggled, then straightened up without a bit of fear in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but I stopped him and said, “Ok pal, before we have to do this the hard way let me ask, how do you like your steak?” I squeezed tight.
He grimaced, and grabbed my arm. Sweat formed on his brow.
“Come on, answer the question. How do you like your steak?”
He said through his teeth, “Medium well, I guess.”
“Well I hope you enjoyed your last one like that, because if you don’t help me, when I’m through with your jaw you’ll need them frappéd. You see, this way.” I pointed to the hand that had him, and tightened my grip. “This way is the easy way.”
He screamed, “No, enough, I give, I’ll take you up.”
I let him go and he cradled his arm before leading me to the elevator. When we got there he used his keycard to bring us to my floor.
“Thanks,” I said, and stepped into the hall. “Don’t bother calling the cops. I’ll ghost long before they get here. But if you do, know that I won’t just break your jaw, I’ll pluck it off and take the whole thing with me. Now scuttle on.”
He didn’t say anything as the elevator closed.
I walked towards Reynolds’ door with my heart beating double time. I had been all over the city looking at the only places Pinnacle could live, and the smart money said I had finally done just that. Its owner was missing, it sat on a high floor of a secure building, and there was even a powered-up gatekeeper. It all fit.
I rang his bell. No one answered.
I rang again, and added a knock.
Still no answer.
So I stooped down, and looked at the lock. It was standard, and shouldn’t be too hard to pick. I reached into my pocket. And the door swung open.
Standing in front of me was a fit, thirty-something guy in a robe. He said, “Yeah?”
I straightened up. “Uh, are you Hank Reynolds?”
“I am. What do you want?”
I stood looking at him for a second, scrambling for something to say.
“What do you want? I’m very busy.”
“Nothing,” I said, “you’re not my guy.”
“Whatever.” And with that he closed the final door that was open to me.
I took the elevator back down, and left the condo in a haze that didn’t fully clear until I was back at my office.
Chapter 11
Widow was sitting at her desk typing away. “You look like you dropped your ice cream in the dirt.”
“Yeah.” I closed the door behind me and hung up my hat and coat.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Don’t you have work?”
She shrugged. “Right now? About as much as you.”
I walked over to the waiting room couch and plopped down on it. “Then that would be a lot.”
“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look it. But maybe I can cheer you up.”
“How?”
“You have another case.”
“I don’t got time
for it.”
“I think you might make the time.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“A lady called, she said that she got our number from a mutual friend, Eeka Mouse.”
“Eeka? Wow. How old did she sound?”
“Very. She claims someone stole a keepsake that belonged to her dead husband.” Widow cocked an eyebrow. “A Kapowitzer.”
“What?” I shot up. “A Kapowitzer, seriously?”
“Thought that might get your attention.” She laughed. “It doesn’t work obviously. It was destroyed.”
“Yeah, Gun Control, I know.”
“I guess you would.”
“What was her husband’s name?”
“Earl Freeman.”
“Ha, Agent Dreadful. Funny guy.” I remembered Earl. He was a pretty successful thief. At least he was before his career got cut short when he robbed the wrong mansion.
“That’s the one. Anyway, Mrs. Freeman says she held on to the pistol after he died for sentimental reasons, but somebody broke in and stole it. Or what remained of it.”
“Why would anyone want a broken Kapowitzer?” I shook my head. “Did you get her number?”
“It’s on your desk.”
I walked into my office, picked up the number, and dialed it.
Mrs. Freeman had a sweeter-than-apple-pie grandma’s voice. “Hello?”
“Hi Mrs. Freeman, this is Dane Curse. I’ve been told you need some help locating a missing item that belonged to your late husband.”
“Oh yes, but it’s not missing, it’s been stolen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m working for another client right now. Can you come by-”
“Oh no, I tried that. I couldn’t find the place.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know it’s uncommon, but there’s a holographic projector outside my door that keeps it hidden. I assure you, we’re at the end of the hall on the fourth floor of the Tanziger Building. Call when you arrive, and my girl can come down and escort you up.”
“I don’t know, is there any way you could drop by my home? Please?”
“I can Mrs. Freeman, but I’m afraid it won’t be for a few days. The market for defunct Kapowitzers is a limited one though, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
I got her details down on a scrap of paper and shoved it into my pocket before I said goodbye, then walked back to the waiting room and sat on the couch.
Widow looked at me. One pair of her hands kept typing while the other grabbed a file from her desk drawer. “How was she?”
“In need. I’d like to help.”
“Too busy with this secret case?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Wait a minute, you’re not sore, are you? I’d tell you about it if I could.”
Widow returned her attention, and all four hands, to her typing. “Of course not, it’s just you’ve never kept me out of agency business before. Makes me wonder what all the hush is about.”
“It’s important, that’s all I can say. But also damn near unsolvable. So take my mind off it for a moment. What about Mrs. Freeman? She couldn’t find us?”
“Said the office was too well hidden, adding that any PI in want of business shouldn’t be so hard to find.”
“Not my fault,” I said, “if I want to stay in business I have to be hidden.”
“Hey, I see your point, but I can see hers too. Thanks to that tech in the hall this place is impossible to locate unless you know exactly where it is,” Widow said. “Heck, I got lost the first time I came here.”
“I didn’t know that.” Maybe Mrs. Freeman was right, maybe I should take it down, and not hide behind a smoke… “God damn it!” I leapt up and grabbed my coat and hat like I was mad at them.
“What is it?” Widow leaned back to get out of my way, which she wasn’t even close to being in. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah, with my head.” I threw on my gear and bolted. And for the second time that day I high tailed it over to Ben Waller’s apartment, leaving twin strips of rubber in my wake. I pulled up to the place barely getting Jane into park before I jumped out and ran up the steps, cursing myself the entire time for losing nearly half a day to stupidity.
When I got to the door I picked the lock again, and walked in. The place was exactly like I left it: boring carpet, crappy TV, and too many smoke alarms. Or, if my hunch was right, just one too many.
Specifically the one on the wall right over the bookcase.
I jumped up, and ripped it down. The top row of books on the shelf disappeared, revealing a metal rod. Wrapping my hand around it I took a deep breath, and pushed. Nothing happened. Then I tried moving it side to side. Still nothing. But when I pulled it towards me the bookcase gave a small click, and swung outwards.
I couldn’t help but hold my breath as I stepped out of Ben Waller’s world, and into Pinnacle’s.
Chapter 12
The hidden room was small, but not cramped. It had smooth, white walls that were slightly rounded, and nearly every inch of them were covered with framed keepsakes. There was one light in the center of the ceiling, and beneath it sat a workstation with a high-end communications unit about the size of a ham radio next to a small stack of papers. It looked promising, but I started my search in the far corner where, folded on a pedestal, was Pinnacle’s uniform. I was this close to it only once before. Bright red dominated the torso and sleeves. A silver that made fresh snow look dull covered the legs, and ran up the chest to form his trademark P. I picked up the cape, and rolled it between my fingers like a miser would his gold, easily recognizing the nearly indestructible feel of Wonder Weave.
After I had my fill I put it back exactly how it was, and moved along the walls. Newspaper clippings, pictures of classroom visits, and children’s drawings were everywhere, along with an obscene amount of awards from civic groups. I counted over a dozen keys to a dozen cities before I got to the display cases, which held his most impressive trophies. There was a chunk of the giant comet that almost destroyed Gold Coast, the Horn of Thehmoon, and on the far right sat a mask belonging to True Patriot who was, for those keeping score, the very first white cape I ever fought.
When I finished the circuit I took a seat at the workstation, and began leafing through the small stack of letters there. The first was from a sick little girl at Gold Coast Children’s Hospital who wanted Pinnacle to take her flying before she died in four months’ time. My heart sunk an inch. This was the exact type of request he’d respond to. I moved to the next one. It was a note that read: Thanks for the wishes big brother, I’m the third Waller man to make it! I wish dad was alive to see it, both his sons started in Gold Coast House 182. P.S. Look what I found, your old gear! And hey, I know it’s a long shot but will your mom be coming to my birthday? I’d love to see her. It was signed ‘Barry’.
Of course, the photo I found earlier was of his brother, or more accurately half-brother. I shook my head and moved on to the next letter. It was from Templeton University asking Pinnacle to speak at their graduation, something he’d done often. I picked up the fourth expecting another person asking for something, only it wasn’t.
Dear Pinnacle,
I have been informed that you have yet again failed to lend your support to our plans for national expansion. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how vital it is that my network be implemented across the country, and how pivotal your support is in making that happen. Without a SPEC presence in every city black cape crime is sure to expand to epidemic proportions, and the loss of life this will cause could be catastrophic. I would like to remind you that I cannot be dissuaded from this plan, and if you continue to maintain this obstinate position it will force me into actions I’d rather not take. Frankly, considering the cover I’ve provided regarding the penchant you and your allies have for the destruction of public property I expected more assistance. I am very eager to discuss this further with you at our meeting later this week.
Yours Humbly,
Marc Humphries
&n
bsp; Executive Director
Special Powers Extraction Commission
Huh. Monday said that despite minor friction the SPECs and white capes got along fine, but unless I was reading this wrong there was hostility between those lines. The director was known as a serious man who believed in his mission. How far would he go to expand his force? I made a note to check up on it, then picked up the last letter figuring it couldn’t be more intriguing. And not for the first time today I figured wrong.
The next time you cross me I’ll kill you. I have the power and the will. Watch your back.
Unlike the previous one it was written by hand. The script was rushed and sloppy, but also distinctive. I pocketed it along with Humphries’ correspondence and leaned back. These were a nice couple of leads, not great, but nice. Granted, getting close to Humphries would be a major challenge, as would finding this felt-tip-fiend, but nuts to that. These letters were put aside by Pinnacle, which made them important, and I couldn’t help but feel closer to finding his killer.
I took a deep breath, and gave the room one last look.
I was about to leave when I saw a small, blue object sitting on the edge of the table that must’ve been hiding under the stack of letters. It was one of those key chain toys they sell in tourist traps, the kind with a picture in one end and a tiny spyhole on the other. Holding it up to the light I peered inside. It took a second to make out what I was looking at, but when I did I forgot all about the papers in my pocket.
It was a shot of Pinnacle, as Ben Waller, smiling in civilian clothes, and God damn it if he didn’t have his arm wrapped around just who Fangirl said I’d find; Ms. Ida No, the luckiest girl in the world. She was a real looker, too. Petite, pert, with long dark hair thick enough to lose a finger in, eyes like two flecks of tundra, and a set of curves as warm and inviting as a bath full of bubbles. Who was she? I checked the sides of the souvenir for a logo or the seller’s address, but it was blank. So I inspected the picture again to see if I could find any clues to her identity or whereabouts.