by Matt Abraham
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Maybe you can swing by Mrs. Freeman’s house?”
It took a second to realize who she was talking about. “Wait, you mean the missing Kapowitzer? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“She’s sweet,” Widow said, “plus she lives in a real quiet part of town, and I can’t think of a safer place to spend the morning.”
“Maybe.”
“Ok,” she said, and headed out to her desk. “I’ll call Mrs. Freeman and tell her you’re on your way.”
“While you’re at it call Monday too, let him know I want to meet for lunch.”
Widow was right. I knew visiting Mrs. Freeman was a safe way to kill some time, and I didn’t want to hang around the office anyway. If Lynchpin really was knocking off board members then Lynx was in danger, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d welcome anything that could take my mind off that.
Chapter 31
Mrs. Freeman lived in one of the older parts of Gold Coast, an area called Sunnyport. It was near the bay, not right on it mind you, but close enough to get the cool breezes. Trees lined every street, and practically each block had its own park. It was a pleasant place as neighborhoods go, but I could tell its best days were behind it. Every tenth row home was boarded up. Next year there’d be more. That sort of thing spreads like cancer.
I pulled up in front of her four-story apartment building, hopped out, and walked inside. I made my way to the third floor, and rang Mrs. Freeman’s bell.
“Who’s there?” she said through the door.
“Dane Curse, Mrs. Freeman,” I said. “You called me about Earl’s keepsake a few days ago. My secretary phoned earlier.”
I heard the chain disengage from the other side along with a series of locks, and Mrs. Freeman opened the door. She was a tiny woman wrapped in a flower dress with matching slippers and silver hair to her shoulders. “It’s so nice to see you Mr. Curse, I was expecting you sooner.”
“I know ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Well, considering everything that’s been happening I suppose it’s understandable. Come in.”
I stepped into the house, and despite the windows being wide open I could taste the mothballs and floral air freshener. That aside, though, the place was nice, quaint. The carpeting, walls, and furniture were either yellow or green, and I immediately liked it all. Her home made me feel like a teenager again.
“Please, take a seat.” She pointed to the couch on the far wall flanked by two pre-war lamps. “Can I get you something to drink? I have some very nice tea brewing.”
I sat down and said, “No thank you, ma’am. If it’s alright with you I’d like to jump right in. Please, tell me everything about Earl’s old Kapowitzer.”
Mrs. Freeman joined me on the sofa. “It was almost two weeks ago. On Thursday I think. I was sleeping in my bedroom, and I heard a noise out here.”
“This room?” I asked. “You heard a noise in your bed from this room here?”
“More the hallway.” She motioned to the path that led further back into the apartment. “And I got up to see what the commotion was. That was around eleven pm.”
“How did you know?”
“I checked the clock on the bedside. It has an extra large face. So I heard the noise, put on my slippers, and then I came outside to see what it was, and if you can believe it there was a young man, on his knees, rooting through the closet. I yelled at him to get. He looked up, said something rude, and went right back to looking.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, I told him that I would phone the police. He just laughed, as if I wouldn’t.”
“Probably thought it was a bluff, considering how the, uh, how Earl used to-”
“You can say it Mr. Curse. How Agent Dreadful earned his money. I have no illusions about my late husband, but I assure you, it was no bluff. Despite Earl’s profession I have always led an honest life.”
“You don’t seem the sinister type.”
“No, I’m not. So I made the threat again, and again he insulted me.”
“Really, he just sat there talking with you?” Bizarre. “What was his voice like?”
“Well, like anybody else’s. Not too high, not too deep. I remember being surprised at how sophisticated it was, not rough at all, more like a professor’s.”
I nodded. “Professor. Got it. Please go on, what happened next?”
“Well, he found what he was looking for, then got up, and ran out the door. Of course I locked it behind him. It was only after, when I looked through the closet, that I realize what he had taken. If I had known then I would have put up a fight.”
I nodded again. It looked like some peck might be left in her yet, though not enough to handle a burglar no matter how professorial. I was glad she didn’t press the issue. “The locks,” I said, motioning toward the door. “Were they forced?”
She shook her head. “No. I checked the next morning and there weren’t even scratches. I don’t know how he got them open, but he must have been a very smart man. Those are B-Locks.”
I walked over to check. I hadn’t noticed before, but she was right. B-Locks. Old school deterrents that were pretty decent in their day. They look like four regular locks installed in a row, but the trick is that each needs to be unlocked in a specific order for all of them to open. I don’t mind admitting I’ve had problems with them in the past.
I returned to the couch and said, “You’re right, he picked them without leaving a scratch. I can’t do that. The guy’s got skill. And he stole your Kapowitzer?” A broken Kapowitzer. What would you do with one? That was a bigger mystery than who took it.
“Yes, I can’t imagine why. It doesn’t work.”
“None of them do,” I said.
Mrs. Freeman looked my way. “Yours still functions, doesn’t it?”
“It’s the last one.”
She nodded. “Because of that business with the Brazilian boy all those years ago.”
“Earl told you about that?”
“Actually, no. He never shared that part of his life.” Mrs. Freeman glanced up at me, a smirk on her face. “Perhaps you could? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Gossiping with old women isn’t really my thing, but the fact she thought we were being so naughty made it irresistible. “It’s not that special a story. One of Brazil’s baddest black capes had a son who got killed by a Kapowitzer. They knew because the type of energy residue the blast leaves behind is unique to the gun. Add the fact that these pistols are genetically locked to their owner, and you get a bunch of Brazilians hunting down everybody who owned one, knowing that if they murdered all fifty of us they’d eventually get their guy. In the end they either killed every owner, or destroyed their weapon.”
Her eyes were sparkling. “But not yours?”
“No, not mine,” I smiled, and pulled out Lois.
“May I? I’ve never held a working one.”
“No.” I returned Lois to her spot under my jacket. “They jolt anyone who isn’t the owner.”
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t. But back to business, can you describe the man who took yours?”
“I can do better than that. After he escaped I sketched a portrait of him. It’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it.” Mrs. Freeman shuffled off. I crossed my legs and leaned back in anticipation of seeing how good her artistic skills were, preparing myself for some very blurry disappointment.
She returned with a large folded yellow sheet of paper in her hand, and extended it towards me. “Here you are.”
“You know Mrs. Freeman, before we go any further I just want to let you know that there’s a very slim chance I’ll be able to find this person. With legal items I can lean on the law to assist, but something like this…”
“My hopes are high, but my expectations will stay reasonable.”
I looked into her eyes. They reminded me of homemade cookies. “Ok, let’s take
a look.” I flipped open the sheet. “Oh my God.”
“What is it? Is everything alright?”
I looked at Mrs. Freeman, then back at her sketch. “You’re sure this is the man?”
“I’m positive, what’s wrong?”
In my hands, drawn with subtle texture and expert shading, was a very accurate portrait of Mindgame.
Chapter 32
I bolted from Mrs. Freeman’s place, letting her know that I’d be in contact. I took the steps down, opened the door, and saw Jane right where I left her. Then I got a bad feeling, and froze in place. I leaned out. Five SPEC Agents flew overhead in a V formation with Pixius, the world’s handsomest hero, at their head. A handful of dames were on the other side of the block. They were looking up with me, but none of them made a sound.
Once the flying force passed by I hopped into my car, and called Widow on the comms.
“Hey Dane, how’d it go?”
“Fine, did anyone call?”
“Nope.”
Patience isn’t something I value, or naturally possess, and I didn’t like not knowing where Lynx was. Maybe she was snooping. Maybe she was meeting with the Sindicate Board. Or maybe she was with most holy death. “Great. Now do me a favor and go into my filing cabinet. Look up Mindgame, and read me his last known address.”
Widow didn’t answer right away. In fact, I would’ve checked if she was still there, but I could hear her breathing. Finally she said, “Excuse me?”
“Relax, it’s not-”
“Not what? The dumbest idea you’ve ever had? I ask you to keep your head down, and you want to swing by the one place every SPEC in the city’s looking for? Why precisely? You want to see if Impenetron’s brunch is as good as the Michelin guide says?”
“Knock that noise. It’s for Mrs. Freeman.”
“Oh Really?”
“Yes really. Now get me that address or I’ll swing by and do it myself.”
“Fine, but I want to go on the record as to how dumb this is.”
“Widow...”
“Yeah yeah, give me a second.” She read me Mindgame’s address along with another warning. I took it in stride. There was an excellent chance I’d be there and gone way before any lawmen showed up. Plus it might give me the opportunity to rule out his involvement in Pinnacle’s murder. I would handle two leads at once, a rare luxury.
Traffic was light, and I made it to Mindgame’s without incident. I parked, and took the steps down to the basement unit. His lock was extremely simple to pick, and when I walked into his pad I could see why. The single room efficiency was run down and cheap. The floor was covered in dust, and dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. The only two windows in the apartment were high up and caked with so much muck I could barely see the pedestrians’ feet as they walked by.
The place screamed long vacated.
I turned to go, but noticed a clean swath of wall. I walked over to it, and pulled out my hand scanner. When I read the display I smiled. The whole thing was hollow. Mindgame may be smart as a whip, but his place didn’t have the same level of protection Pinnacle’s did, and it took less than a minute to find the trigger for his secret door. It slid out of the way silently, and I walked in slow, letting Rico lead the way.
The room was bright, very clean, and vast enough to extend under half the block. I moved past a dozen rows of shining machinery, and while what I saw wasn’t nearly as impressive as the goodies at Professor Varius’s, they weren’t half bad either. When I got to the back wall I ran into a collection of video monitors, stacked five by five, each showing different scenes from inside the lab and outside the building.
Sitting in front of them, slumped over the desk, was Mindgame.
“Wake up, bright boy. I got some questions for you,” I said.
He didn’t move.
“Hey, Popular Pete, rise and shine.” I grabbed the nearest piece of scrap, and tossed it at him. The hunk of metal hit his back, and fell to the ground, but he still didn’t move.
That wasn’t right.
Keeping Rico steady, I walked closer and nudged him with my free hand. His flesh was too firm, too cold. Holstering my pistol I circled around and looked at his face. Mindgame’s eyes were unblinking and glazed over. His mouth was wide open. Grabbing a handful of hair I pulled his head up and checked his noggin. It was undamaged. I gave the rest of his body a thorough once over, but there were no bullet holes, no puncture wounds, and no bloodstains.
I didn’t care he was cadaverous, but I was interested in who killed him and how he died, so I searched his jacket and pants pockets, then pulled off both shoes to see if he had anything hidden. My search provided no answers. So I turned my attention to the room, starting with the desk. The only things there were schematics. They were technical and too complex for me, but they were also soaked and smeared illegible by an overturned cup of coffee so I let them be, and took a loop around the lab. About halfway through my search I ran into a wall safe. It was open, and empty except for one thing: a broken Kapowitzer. With a smile I shoved it in my pocket, then finished up the search, but there was nothing else amiss as far as I could tell.
And then I realized, the monitors.
Mindgame’s last moments would be recorded on them, along with who had killed him. I ran back to where they hung, and looked for the drive that kept the data, but there was nothing. To find it I’d have to follow the cords, and since the screens were set into the wall I’d need to rip them out.
Oh well, not like Mindgame’ll care.
I punched through the wall to the right of the console. A few seconds of feeling around and I had a handful of wires. I was about to rip them out when I saw, on the middle screen, two SPEC Agents standing right outside the apartment.
They pounded on the door. I heard the knocking behind me. If they caught me here, with stolen property in one hand and a dead man in the other, I was cooked. I dropped the wires and ran back into the apartment proper. The only way out was straight through the shining boys on the other side of the door.
They knocked a second time, then jiggled the knob. “Mr. Mull, are you in there?” the voice outside said. “We represent the Special Powers Extraction Commission. We are entering your domicile.”
I looked around. The windows that led to the street were too small. So was the cupboard under the sink. But there was a large chair in the center of the room. It was just big enough to hide behind. I dove for it, and hunkered down as the door exploded off its hinges.
The duo leapt into the room. “Mr. Mull, identify yourself if you are on the premises,” one of them said. “Cress, weapons hot.”
I heard the unmistakable sound of a hand cannon powering up. “Weapons hot, sir.”
“Begin the search.”
I pulled Rico out. His hammer was already cocked.
“How about we start there.”
“Holy crap.”
The Agent’s footfalls got quieter. I waited a few seconds, then peeked over the chair. The lawmen were in the lab. I was alone. Ever so quietly I tiptoed through the open door, up the stairs, and out of the building.
#
When I got to the office Widow greeted me with a “How did it go?”
I pulled out the busted Kapowitzer, and held it up. “Better than alright.”
“Thank God, I’ve been worried sick. Monday called. He wants to meet at Eggs Am in one hour.”
“Did you tell him I’ll be there?”
“Yes I did.”
“Outstanding.” I retired to the back office and called Lynx again. And again there was no answer. I tried to stay calm. She was probably just keeping a low profile, and would contact me when she had something. At least that’s what I told myself. In the meantime I’d talk to Monday, see what he knew about Mindgame and the anonymous informant.
And once that’s out of the way maybe I’d enlist his help in taking down the most powerful black cape alive.
Chapter 33
While I waited for my appointment with Monday
I exchanged my suit and shirt with one of the spares I keep in the office. As I slipped on my tie the outer door flung open, and a large outline of a man burst into the office and rushed past Widow.
The SPEC alarm on my wall lit up bright red.
I ran to the door and threw it open. A pair of silver hands snatched my lapels. They belonged to an Agent. He pulled me in close so that all I could see was my reflection in his faceplate. I grabbed his wrists, then spun him onto the couch. With my left I pinned both his hands down, and raised my right up high like a wrecking ball.
“Stop!” It was Widow. The pistol she held was hanging at her side. The other three hands were pointing at the Agent.
I turned back to the lawman and read his badge. “What’s the big idea Monday, you feeling suicidal?”
Monday jumped off the couch and into my personal space. He pressed the release switch on the side of his helmet, and the faceplate flicked up revealing a pair of angry cop eyes, colored Swedish blue. “Tell me you aren’t involved in this.”
“With what? What’re you babbling about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” He pointed a finger in my face. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Wish I did, sheriff, but you’re making less sense than a busted cash register.”
Monday stared into my eyes. “Dane, shoot me straight. Are you involved in Pinnacle’s death?”
“How could you know that?”
“You are? How could you-” He grabbed my lapels again.
And again I pushed them away. “Paws off the merchandise, grabby. Now shut up and sit down. In that order.” I motioned to the couch. Monday looked at it, then at me, and to his credit he sat. “Now listen, here’s…” I turned around. “Widow. Sorry, you mind closing that?”
She surveyed the scene. “You sure, boss?”
I nodded, and she closed the door. Then I turned back to Monday. “I didn’t kill Pinnacle, genius. I’m investigating his murder. Been on the case for a couple of days now.”
“What? You’ve known for a couple of days? I was here a couple of days ago… ugh, the collar.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Just tell me everything.”