The Erasable Man: Chronicles of Zachary Artemas

by Christopher Salch

  The sound of a shotgun racking cut me off.

  "POCKETVILLE POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!"

  Sheridan. Security must have called for backup when Janus showed up.

  "It would seem, we are out of time," said the man, smiling. One moment he was standing there and the next he was gone.

  "Dammit!" cursed Sheridan. "Lock down the building! He's not getting away that easy."

  A young officer nodded once, barking orders into his radio.

  "There's no point. He's already gone," I told him.

  "Yeah? I don't give up that easily," answered Sheridan. "And I'm sick of you showing up at my crime scenes!"

  "Believe me, I'd rather not be here myself. Unfortunately, I am at the mercy of my search," I said with a sigh.

  "And just what would you be investigating? You holding out on me?" questioned Sheridan.

  "You mean searching for, I find things, Sheridan," I corrected. "What I'm looking for is between my client and myself."

  "Might I inject an opinion into this conversation?" said Janus, brushing off imagined dust as he stood. "Mr. Artemas is not the person you should be concerned with, is he?"

  "And who the hell are you?" snapped Sheridan, leveling the shotgun barrel at Janus.

  "Janus Tekcop, at your service."

  "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" asked Sheridan.

  "Indeed? Then I suppose it would be a problem if I decided to leave," stated Janus.

  "You out of your mind? We're going to sit tight until my pals are done searching for the magician with the disappearing act. Then, you're all going downtown to answer a few questions."

  "I see. You hold the mistaken belief that you have control of this situation," mused Janus. "Now, let me inform you of reality. You will stand aside, allowing Zachary and myself to walk away. No one will follow—"

  "Dad… " I started to say.

  "Not now! I've been betrayed, manipulated, and attacked. I am in no mood to let this insect order me around."

  "He's not an insect, Janus. He's an officer of the law, and I have to live in this city," I corrected.

  "That's your concern, not mine. If you want to let this weakling push you around, be my guest. I'm leaving."

  "Hey! I'm the guy with the fucking shotgun, you're not going anywhere until I say you are!"

  "Look around, Sheridan—" said Janus.

  "That's Officer Xidorn, dirtbag!"

  "Mr. Xidorn, you don't know who or what you're dealing with," said Janus, taking a step towards the door.

  "I said don't move!" snapped Sheridan.

  "I don't have time for this. Paige?"

  Then things got violent.

  I slid back in the chair I was sitting on and cringed as its legs let out a loud grating sound. Sheridan woke with a start, sitting bolt upright only to collapse sideways as a wave of vertigo and pain overcame him. Paige had moved with as much speed, grace, and brutality as I remembered. He was lucky to have escaped with bruises and a lump on the back of his head.

  "Artemas?" asked Sheridan.

  "Yes."

  "Did a blur beat me up with my own shotgun?"

  "That was four hours ago, and the blur's name is Paige. She works for Janus," I told him. "Before you ask, we're at Pocketville Memorial Hospital. Nothing's broken, the paramedics wanted to get you checked for a concussion."

  Sheridan nodded, winced and lay back down. "Who the hell are those two?"

  I sighed, so much for keeping my family history a secret. "Janus is my father, a right bastard, and the reason I don't use the Tekcop name. Paige, is difficult to explain; she is at once cold, efficient, and as deadly as needed. Be thankful Janus only considered you an annoyance and not a long term problem."

  "That pair needs a lesson in respecting the law," he groaned. "Where can I find them?"

  "That would be ill-advised," I informed him. "Paige does not like repeating her herself."

  "That so? We'll see about that. What happened to my shotgun?"

  "On the table," I noted.

  Sheridan stared at it slack-jawed for a full ten seconds before groaning again. When Paige had finished, the weapon looked like a pretzel. "How am I supposed to explain that to my Captain? And you, you had better start spilling the beans on what you know, or I'll have you hauled in on conspiracy!"

  "No. I don't think I'll be spilling anything. Right now, our disappearing friend is much more important," I countered, standing to leave. "If they let you out of bed anytime soon, I'll be at Mike's around six. We can talk more then."

  "Artemas, get your ass back… "

  His voice was muffled when I closed door. Dealing with Sheridan was only going to get worse. He had enough authority to cause problems for me, but not enough to put him on even footing with the other players on the field. When he couldn't find Janus or Paige, Sheridan would come looking for someone to vent his frustrations on, and that someone was me.

  Whatever else happened, Sheridan wouldn't be going anywhere for several hours at minimum, enough time for me to assess what I'd gleaned from the encounter. Meeting my prey, the killer, raised more questions than it answered. Almost sexless, and all but featureless, a plastic sheen made him look more like a mannequin than anything living. I had seen creatures like him before in the Wastes, but none as resilient or as intelligent as this one. Most of them were little more than mindless, roving beasts that couldn't bang two rocks together much less hold a conversation. On top of that, Anne's matches should have charred any exposed flesh, yet there wasn't a visible mark on the creature after two. Then there was his left eye. I had no doubt it was the 'relic' that T.E.M. wanted me to retrieve. How was I going to separate the glowing orb he used as an eye from him?

  It wasn't until I was outside the hospital that I noticed someone following me. Without the chaotic activity inside to mask her presence, the girl didn't appear to know how to blend in. It didn't help that she was wearing a peach colored leather jacket.

  Another amateur.

  Nervous panic took hold for a moment, and I had to force myself to take several deep breaths to calm down. There were only a couple of other people nearby, and none of them were paying attention to either of us. Either the girl was on her own or the real tail was so good I couldn't detect them. Not bloody likely now that I was on the lookout.

  I cut down a side street as casually as possible and a couple of quick turns put me in an alley hiding behind a conveniently positioned dumpster. It was going to take weeks to get the smell of kimchi and rotting fish out of my clothes to say nothing of the effort it took to hold onto lunch.

  Trying to breathe as little as possible, I settled in to wait. There was a chance my detour had been enough to lose the girl for good. Then again, better safe than sorry. An inventory of the few resources on hand yielded an empty forty-five, a box of Anne's matches, and my bare hands. The matches didn't have the intimidation factor of the forty-five, and would incinerate the poor girl—not quite what I had in mind. That left bluffing with an empty pistol or hand-to-hand combat, neither idea something I relished.

  I didn't have to wait long before someone started padding quietly down the alley. She crept past my hiding place so silently I would have never known had I not been watching. A shaft of sunlight caught her fiery red hair, turning it into crimson lava flowing down her back. Another young redhead I'd known years before came to mind. The two of us had a relationship about seventeen years…

  "Your last name wouldn't be Currie, would it?" I asked, stepping out of the shadows. She spun around, flinging her hair in a wide arc and sent a solid kick flying at my gut. It might have been enough to take me down if the kick had hit where and how she intended. Instead, my hands closed around her ankle, forcing her to choose between lost balance and a twisted knee. She went down hard, bouncing her forehead off the concrete.

  "Ow!" she yelped and cradled her head with her hands.

  "Let me give you some friendly advice: Don't answer questions with your feet," I said. "You'll wind up—"
<
br />   "How about shutting up and letting go of my leg!" said the girl.

  "Are you ready to talk, or are you going to try hitting me again?"

  "What do you think, asshole?" she snapped.

  "Wrong answer," I said, applying more pressure to her knee.

  "Alright! Alright! I'll play nice!"

  "Good. What's your name?" I asked, letting off a touch.

  "Aden."

  "Okay, Aden. Why were you following me?"

  "I wasn't following you," she answered.

  "You said you were going to play nice."

  "It's the truth!" she protested.

  "You like hanging out in dark alleys? Spill it, or should I go back to twisting on your knee?"

  She answered by twisting around and pointing a thin, shimmering tube at my face. I could feel the raw power bound up in that thing and realized it could probably level a city block if she wasn't careful.

  "If you want to keep breathing, let go of my leg."

  "Where did you get that?" I asked, keeping my voice carefully level.

  "I'm in charge here!" she barked back. "Get your hands off my leg!"

  "Be careful where you point that thing," I said and backed away from her very slowly. Her aim never wavered. "You want answers, so do I. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

  "What's your name, asshole?"

  "You can call me Artemas," I answered. "How about you answer my question, is your last name Currie?"

  "Hey! I'm asking the questions! Where did you get those matches?"

  "What matches?" I asked coyly.

  "The ones you used at Pocketville First National Bank!"

  "Oh those matches! I picked them up at a bar down… "

  She pointed her tube just off my left shoulder and launched a thin stream of fire that singed my hair.

  "Okay… I was given them by an old friend."

  "Given? Don't you mean stole?"

  "No, I don't mean stole," I snapped back.

  "Whatever, asshole. I know where you got'em, and I want'em back."

  I had to get control of the situation before Mr. Wild Eye came calling or this kid did something she would later regret.

  "Fine, you want them? You'll have to come with me," I said. "The rest of them are in my office."

  Aden nodded and slipped her weapon back into her jacket pocket. "Just so you know, this thing can burn you from the inside out and not leave a mark. Won't even put a hole my jacket. So, any tricks and you'll be a well-done asshole. Got it?"

  Well-done? "Got it."

  Aden fell in behind me, pushing what I assumed was the business end of her metal tube into my back. She was way out of her depth and way too young to be waltzing around town on her own, even if she was armed. I was just as certain that no one knew what she was up to. The question was, what could I do about it?

  My office was just as I had left it: quiet, dark, and the desk covered in papers. There was a spare magazine for my unnervingly light pistol in the desk along with a number of nastier things that I had no intention of using. The less lethal ones might teach the little imp a lesson about annoying her elders, but that might get me in even deeper trouble if I had guessed correctly about her mother.

  "Home sweet home! Could I get you something to drink? I have a nice selection of teas …"

  "Look, asshole, all I want from you are the matches," Aden said and plopped into my desk chair. "Where are they?"

  "Don't be so impatient. I keep them locked up in the back. It wouldn't do to mistake them for regular matches now would it?"

  "Whatever," she said, turning the chair around.

  That was it. I drew my pistol, still empty, and cocked it. Aden stiffened, but didn't move.

  "One mistake too many," I said. "Never turn your back on a captive. Now put your weapon on the desk, and roll the chair back."

  "You really don't want me to do that," cautioned Aden.

  "I really do. Set it down, on the desk there to your right, very slowly and very gently."

  She smacked the tube down, denting the well worn surface, and kicked away from the desk, scratching a drawer.

  "Damn it! I said gently! Moves like that will get you killed!"

  "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed girl, would you?"

  "That's not the point!" I grabbed the chair and spun her around to face me. "If you're going to play this kind of a game, you have to play it right. I could have killed you any number of times already!"

  "I can take care of myself!" she snapped back.

  "Whatever you say, kid. Let me know how to contact your next of kin, and we can see just how well you can take care of yourself!"

  There was a knock at the door.

  Aden and I stared at each other for a moment before I brushed the chair aside and went for the spare magazine in my desk. The kind of people who knocked usually didn't warrant an armed response, but better safe than sorry. Aden wormed around me and snatched her own weapon as I let the slide drop on my forty-five.

  "You threatened me with an empty pistol? You've got balls, asshole."

  "We don't have time for a lesson in bluffing. Whoever is on the other side of that door could be a nobody, or—considering the feathers I've ruffled lately—someone who isn't going to have any qualms about taking potshots at snotty little girls."

  Aden started to say something then clamped her mouth shut and disappeared somewhere behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see what she was up to and realized she wasn't in the room anymore.

  "Great! Another disappearing act," I mumbled and settled into my chair. I kept the pistol carefully hidden beneath the desk, and counted to five.

  "It's open!" I called out. As the door opened, I could have been looking at Aden's twin. Anne looked much as I remembered her, a little older, a few fine wrinkles around the eyes, but her hair still had the same fiery red, and her eyes were as sharp as ever—but worried. There was very little question left in my mind that the girl who'd been pushing me around for the last hour was her daughter, and about the only reason for Anne to show up on my doorstep.

  "It's been a long time," I said quietly.

  "Hello, Zachary," she said.

  "The last time I saw you, you made me promise not to look for you. No matter how much I've wanted to, I've kept that promise," I said.

  "I know," she whispered, visibly deflating. "Thank you for that."

  "Well, don't just stand there. Either sit down and tell me what you want or leave so I can go back to pretending you don't exist," I said and scooted back from the desk. Anne jumped as I slid my pistol back into its leather holster and snapped the retaining strap into place.

  "Are you in some kind of trouble?" she asked.

  "Comes with the business, but that's my problem, not yours," I replied. "So, why did you decide to pay me a visit after all these years?"

  The best questions are the ones you already have the answers to—they give you a glimpse into how people think. Sometimes people will surprise you and sometimes they are all too predictable.

  "Well, I've lost something—" she started, but I cut her off.

  "Something or someone?" I asked.

  "Someone. Zachary, I have a daughter."

  "Congratulations," I said. "Anyone I know?"

  Anne frowned, "She's missing."

  "We've already established that. You want me to find her, then I need all the relevant—"

  "That's what you do isn't it? You find things."

  "That's what the ad says: Zachary Artemas, The Man Who Knows How To Find Things."

  "Good. I need her found, and I don't need you digging into my personal life!" she snapped back.

  "Are you sure you want to be my client? The last time we were in a relationship, it didn't end well."

  "This isn't a relationship. I need you to find my daughter, and you're the only person who can help me!" said Anne.

  "Of course it's a relationship—a business relationship!" I said. "If you need my help that badly, let's talk about my fee—"r />
  "Your fee! She's my daughter—"

  Something thumped in the closet behind us. Why couldn't the girl have stayed quiet for another few minutes? Anne whipped out her own version of Aden's weapon and had it pointed at the closet door before I realized she'd moved. Where her daughter's had pulsed with barely contained energy, Anne's seemed to suck all the heat out of the room. I could see it, and yet it felt like she was holding an empty void—a hungry, insatiable vacuum.

  "Anne," I said keeping my voice even "You don't want to use that."

  "What? This?"

  "Yes! Do you want to burn down my office and everything behind it?"

  "It doesn't work that …" she started off, looking curiously between me and the tube. Her eyes went wide, and the weapon disappeared back to wherever it had been hiding.

  "Aden Currie!" barked Anne. "Get out here this instant!"

  More rustling from the closet and the girl slowly opened the door, her eyes downcast, not looking at either of us. She looked over at Anne. Mother and daughter locked eyes, and I realized just how dangerous being anywhere near the pair during an argument could be.

  "Now ladies, let's stay calm …" I said.

  "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in school," yelled Anne. "Not running around harassing innocent strangers—"

  "Innocent! He has your matches! Not the big ones, but—"

  "Of course he has them! I gave them to him!"

  The temperature in the room started rising as their tempers flared hotter. It wouldn't be long before I had to take drastic measures.

  "Ladies …" I said, trying to get their attention.

  "Why would you give them to an asshole like him?"

  "Aden! He's not an asshole. He's… he's none of your business!"

  "Ladies …" A bead of sweat dripped down the side of my face as more and more heat rolled off the pair. Papers at the edge of my desk were starting to smoke. If they kept this up, I'd need a new desk, not to mention a new chair, and a new office. The least of my troubles would be another visit with Sheridan. I grabbed a fire extinguisher from the kitchen.

  "Who is this asshole? You never tell me anything—"