by Ben Mason
“I knew you weren’t dead. Though you do look it. Woof, Christoph, what happened to you?”
“Wonderful to see you too, Franklin. As for the question, I decided to unretire.” Christoph took the box and moved back inside.
“Classic mistake,” Franklin said, following him in.
Shedding his clothes, Christoph found the night air worse than he had expected. He began to shiver until a warm towel was draped over him. “Much appreciated.”
“No trouble. You were one of my favorites.”
“Oh?”
“Paid on time and never hassled me. Some of the others not to mention the guys now…” He waved his hand dismissively, as if saying who needs them?
The suit was a perfect fit, meaning it had been nipped and tucked on the drive over. Not surprising considering how many ripped suits from both sides Franklin had been forced to speed over in quick order. Like the rest it was reinforced, capable of deflecting low-caliber rounds and cheap steel.
“You kept my last spare,” Christoph said.
“Nostalgia,” Franklin said, giving off a worn-out grin. His hands had started to dip into the clothes Christoph had been wearing. Searching for bugs, bombs, and any other hidden tricks. Much as they were both professionals, they were both professionals.
“Job didn’t go well?”
“I have a couple knife wounds.”
Franklin’s hands paused. His eyebrows rose up. “Someone wanted to double-cross you? Who’s the dead guy?”
“Dr. Murakawa.”
The hands froze again. “No way. No way. Not Murakawa. Guy may be an A-class weirdo and such, but I have never heard a peep from anyone who bought or sold to him.”
Christoph leveled his gaze at Franklin. “I don’t lie.”
The air was thick with rust and tension as both men gauged each other. Franklin’s hands fumbled with the vest before thumping one piece of fabric. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a knife and cut. A thin white piece of flexible plastic came into view. It had the size and thickness of a Chinese fortune cookie slip. Franklin’s face turned gray as he ran it along his fingers. On one side was a silvery M. “It’s Murakawa’s design all right.”
Christoph squeezed his knuckles, a flicker of anger rising in his chest. A small swell of tension pressed into his chest, a sign his power was returning. “I was hoping to get this suit on credit.”
“Done,” Franklin said dropping the vest. He was moving back to the door fast. “Listen, you never saw me. I need to get across town and help the Clockbuster stitch his inseam before he gets pulled in for indecent exposure.” He opened the door and hesitated. “The chip wasn’t deactivated, Christoph.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“When it comes to the doctor, I’m sure. His stuff doesn’t break. Whatever happened, Murakawa didn’t let you escape on accident.”
Weariness and anger hit one wave after the other. If there was a third wave of fear, Christoph chose to ignore it. “Thank you for telling me, Franklin. Have a good night.”
“Have a good life,” Franklin said, closing the door.
Christoph waited until he heard the car drive off.
Stepping outside, he tried to take in the situation. Murakawa was aware of the situation and doing nothing about it. Either he assumed Christoph was no threat—a far deadlier mistake than his double-cross had been—or there were more pressing matters to attend to.
Either way it helped Christoph. He needed to hunt down Heat Streak and test how much power he had been granted. Whatever the dangers, he wanted some practice before he went against an actual adversary. She came first.
Staring at Selenium’s bright towers, watching the small dark shapes flit across the sky falling in and out of the beams, he wondered where he should make his first inquiries. The city was the largest metropolis in all the world, dwarfing the others anywhere from two to three times in size. He could search for days and find nothing. He wasn’t sure when she was going to strike, but Heat Streak didn’t seem like one for patience.
He was going to find her, preferably before the end of the night and without professional help. Contacting his last few acquaintances, even if they were willing to help, would also draw attention to him, bringing Robert and a renewed jail sentence. Confined spaces and clashing orange jumpsuits weren’t the kind of send-off he was hoping for.
And Siv. If she found out about all of this, there would be no date on Wednesday or any day after. It had taken a lot of courage to meet up with him, give him a second chance. Her pride wasn’t going to allow a third, and he wasn’t going to be able to lie to her. Putting his hand against a rusting container, Christoph let his shoulders sag. He had struggled with the loss when she had left him the first time. If she found out now, left him again—well, Murakawa killing him wasn’t the worst scenario.
Standing up, dusting the flakes from his hand, Christoph decided there was only one option if he wanted to find Heat Streak.
There was no choice. If he was going to find her, he was going to have to go slumming for the information. He was going to have to meet with—
shudder
—an old acquaintance.
Opening an old door in his mind, he projected his thought out into the city.
I’m in need of assistance. Care to help?
The response came within seconds, along with a location.
Chapter 13
A warehouse.
It was enough to make Christoph want to throw up.
For all of her power and intimidation, for all the success of her “heists,” Heat Streak’s headquarters was in a warehouse. And not even one with a fresh coat of paint. No, it was one of those crumbling wrecks that the wealthy who lived on the other side of town were always trying to save and restore.
How far have I fallen that she intimidated me?
Better not to think about it. The depression was liable to kill him.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he let the smell of the city take him back. Deeper into the warehouse district of the Luna Limits most of the scents were less than pleasant. A mixture of discarded trash and urine from the drunks who thought bathrooms were for the less sober and fortunate. Still, he was underneath stars dimmed from the shining constellation of Selenium’s lights. It made him feel young again.
From close by the noise pollution of cars and horns masked the crunch of his shoes as he moved out of the alley across the street. He had made sure to hide in the darkness to analyze the rotations of the guards and check for other security measures. There were none. Disappointing, but not surprising. Their focus was on the money. Greed had a way of making men sloppy. There weren’t even any guards set on the roof to raise a possible alarm. In a city of fliers such sloppiness lead to incarceration. It was the kind of work ethic Christoph expected from people who threatened retirees and families.
Another part of his mind pointed out that guards were liable to attract attention to an otherwise decaying warehouse which looked abandoned. Maybe they had an iota of intelligence between all of them. It didn’t matter. In a few minutes they were going to be removed from the gene pool.
Two men were slumped along the outside of the large metal sliding door. They were dressed like bums. The muscles and subtle shifts in their neck muscles told Christoph they were more likely guards.
“They’re the lookouts,” a voice said behind him.
Christoph sighed. “I haven’t been out of the game that long, thank you.”
“Only trying to help,” Dominic said, stepping into the light.
Dominic was a study of contrasts. For all of his psi-powers, he had the body of a linebacker and the face of a boxer who was more journeyman than champion. His nose looked like it had been turned to Play-Doh and mangled in the hands of an overactive toddler. His dark hair (now graying at the temples) was as unruly as ever. And—despite all the years they had been together—he still dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a dark blue leather jacket. The other thing that hadn’t cha
nged was the cocky grin across his face. It had been annoying when the young man was a teenager. Now it was close to insufferable.
He had practically gloated the whole way to their meeting point forcing Christoph to close the mental link between them and guess the exact spot.
Dominic closed his eyes. There were no telltale signs when he used his powers.
“There’s a bunch of guys in there. More than twenty,” he said with some genuine surprise in his voice.
It took Christoph off-guard as well. For a woman like Heat Streak to be running a scheme with more than a dozen minions and not have anyone in the profession know about it was unheard of. Unless the others had gotten sloppy in his absence.
“Strange,” Dominic said, the smile fading before he caught his old teacher staring at him, letting it come back.
The years hadn’t changed him. Disappointing, to say the least.
“Are they armed?”
“Oh yeah. Oh, you mean right now.”
“Dominic.”
“It’s Cerebrus,” Dominic said, scowling at the patronizing tone. “And no, they aren’t. They’re counting the day’s receipts. They were good. Not one normal called the police. Not surprising being the good sheeple they are.”
Christoph took a step toward his former protégé who waved him off. “Anyway, they aren’t likely to be able to do much if you’re as capable as you were back in the day. Are you?” Dominic asked, his eyes glinting.
So this was why he had decided to lend his support. He wanted to watch an old man fail.
Am I?
Much as he hated to think it, the question was valid. The fog inside of him hadn’t abated and Christoph was sure there was…something deep inside waiting—
watching
—for him to push past this false limit.
It made him think of Avros again. Laughing while stuck in a set of steel ropes, floating high in the sky, free from work, or food, or even sleep. Christoph forced the man from his thoughts. He was Gravitas. Avros had the crystal for too long and he had been second-string. Christoph didn’t even have the thing, so it was no longer affecting him anyway.
Or was it?
Christoph shook off the doubts. Some of the serum must have leaked into his cuts before they were healed. It was the only explanation. Which meant their effect was going to wear off sooner or later. He needed to strike now if he was going to keep the Kimbles safe.
Judging the distance from their spot across the street, Christoph guessed it was about three strides if he reduced his mass. Then he was going to have to take out the guards, the door, and then handle the gunfire from the rest plus whatever Heat Streak decided to throw out. About as difficult as playing a fiddle with your feet.
“I’ll be fine,” Christoph said.
“Want me to help?”
Christoph cocked an eyebrow.
“Hey, you owe me a favor after this anyway,” Dominic said, shrugging. “Might as well get your money’s worth. Besides, maybe she’s hiding a bigger secret. I mean, she tipped over a decent number of suburbs all without it spilling out to the cops or the Watchers.”
“I think you need to stick to blackmailing CEOs and politicians.” Christoph adjusted his jacket, undoing all the buttons. It was less elegant, but losing one after Franklin had cut ties was a possible embarrassment. And he didn’t want to leave any evidence.
“Suit yourself,” Dominic said. “I can at least knock out the front door, hit one or both of the guards.”
“Fine.”
“Hey, Christoph?”
He turned.
“What did she do? To bring you out back among the living. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and here’s this no-name calling down wrath and vengeance.” The smile was going from his face, not his eyes. “What did she do?”
Christoph gritted his teeth. “She threatened a child.”
Dominic shrugged. “So she’s one of those supers, huh?”
“What do you mean by that?”
Chuckling, Dominic shook his head. “I wonder what color the sky is in your world.”
Christoph thought about Murakawa stabbing him in the back and pushed it aside. The boy never had been able to hold all the tenets of supervillainy. Probably thought nobody else was able to either. “Just get the door,” he said.
Whipping back around, he pushed off, running toward the door and in his mind, into the fog.
The guards shot up as he crossed the first half of the street, their hands in their jackets. Before they were able to start firing the front door groaned and snapped off its hinges, smashing into the man on the right.
The man on the left gawped. “Wha—”
The door answered.
Christoph moved past the doorway and onto the warehouse floor.
Inside Heat Streak was standing in her flame-retardant suit, red skin glowing like a bulls-eye, pointing and directing her men, screaming at them. Most of them were putting wads of bills through money-counting machines or tossing empty duffel bags to the floor to be filled again after the tallying was done. Some had stopped and reached for their guns the second the door decided to go renegade.
The fog passed and Christoph felt better. Every muscle in his body was stronger, his vision sharper, his ears able to hear every curse these men were giving him.
He willed his mass to return to normal, willed a field of gravity to surround him.
Nothing happened.
Time was moving slower. The men’s eyes were growing wider, the sound of guns scraping out of their leather or plastic holsters. The whole place smelled of stale sweat and greed.
Digging deeper, Christoph willed the power to come. It didn’t refuse. It didn’t even seem to exist. There was nothing to call on. It was as if he was a normal old man. Somewhere in the back of his brain he felt his leg starting to shriek in pain, paying dividends for all the years he had pushed it away.
No.
No.
NO!
And the fog took over.
All of the men dropped to the ground their gun hands crushed flat, their necks broken, the rest of their bodies untouched.
“You,” Heat Streak screamed.
Christoph didn’t hear her. He stared at the bodies. Under the fluorescent lighting it was hard to see, but yes, it was only the gun hands and their necks. The rest of their bodies were untouched. He’d never had that much finesse before. How—
A ripple of heat caressed his face.
Turning, he saw Heat Streak. Her eyes were wild, her hair fanning close to the flames, ready to be burned up. A cyclone of white fire was swirling above her head. “I’m going to kill you. Should’ve moved aside and let us work, Mr. Man. I wasn’t going to force you to pay. Now I’m going to burn you from the toes on up. Slow.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Christoph said.
Shrieking, Heat Streak ran toward him, the column of fire spinning above her.
Christoph had never been one for cruelty. Revenge was necessary, but it wasn’t personal. Even when the other party cursed you, smeared your good name, did crimes in your name, it was never personal. He had never allowed himself to feel good while getting revenge. It was a drug, and he didn’t want to turn into an addict.
For the first seventy-one years of his life he had stuck by this axiom.
It failed him as he cut out all gravity from Heat Streak. He reduced her mass to nothing. And than he did the impossible. He reduced her mass to less then nothing, lifting her up into the air slowly. Her hair singed and blackened as it entered the cyclone she had created. Her eyes widened as she stared up, helpless to stop it. She clawed the air at her sides trying to call the fire off. Christoph kept changing the mass in her fingers, kept making small, microscopic tweaks. Things he had never dreamed of doing before. None of what he did made sense. All of it felt good.
As she saw the hopelessness of her situation she clutched her silver lighter in both of her hands and screamed. Then her head went into the flames and she stopped.
The rest of her moved quickly, her body twitching, the soles of her boots dripping puddles onto the floor.
When the flames went out her cinders fell to the floor.
Somewhere inside, Christoph was horrified by what he had done, horrified by the fact that he was smiling. But the bitch had threatened him and his friends.
She deserved it.
“Dear God.”
Christoph turned around. Dominic was surveying the damage, his face pale. “You didn’t mess around. You were never this…brutal. What happened?”
The power left Christoph. So did the joy. He stared around at what he had done. His heart stung a little like rusted nails had been driven inside. The pain was purely physical. His leg hurt as well though not as bad as before.
He studied his former protégé.
“She threatened a child,” he said evenly. He had made his decision. Now he was going to live with it.
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Dominic studied the men and Heat Streak’s ashes. And also the money. So be it. None of it was the Kimbles’.
Tugging at his jacket, Christoph forced his hands to stop shaking, forcing them to rebutton his coat. “Thank you for your assistance, Dominic. In the future if you need repayment for this favor, don’t hesitate to reach out. Preferably by PO box. However, I can schedule a time when I leave a mental link open. Say every Thursday at two p.m.?”
“Sounds good,” Dominic mumbled. His eyes had sharpened again, but the smile (to Christoph’s satisfaction) had wilted.
“Have a good night,” Christoph said.
“You too.”
Moving out of the warehouse, Christoph tried to think of his next plan. It was hard. The effort had left him exhausted. Then again, the entire day had been exhausting. He felt every minute of his age. Slicking back his hair, he tried to think. Most likely Murakawa knew where he lived. The doctor also knew that Christoph was alive.